Marry Me for Money (3 page)

She placed her hand on my lap, placating me. “He loves you. You know that, right?”

“Nana, I know that. That’s why it is that much harder to leave him. It’s not like I don’t care for him. I do,” I said, looking up at her. “But he was born, raised, and will probably die in Bowlesville, and that’s not the life I want to live. If he had it his way, he’d be working at the local factory, and I’d be barefoot and pregnant in his kitchen. I didn’t work through high school and study my butt off to end up here, just raising kids. I want out, Nana. I want the bright city lights. I want corporate America. Eventually, I want those four kids with the big house and white picket fence, but I don’t want it anytime soon,” I said, determination set in my face. “Jason doesn’t want those things. He’s content here in Bowlesville,” I said, releasing a breath. “And I’m just not.”

“I want you out of here as much as you do. That’s why I’ve been pushing school on you so much. I can’t help but feel bad for the boy though,” she said, lifting herself from the bed. “You need to do the right thing and break up with that boy if you don’t want to be with him anymore.”

I looked up at her expectant eyes and nodded slowly.

Her eyes crinkled as a small smile appeared. “Graduation is in two weeks,” she said, her voice softening. “Where did the time go?” She reached for a strand of dark brown hair that had escaped from my ponytail, and she tucked it behind my ear. “I’m so very proud of you, baby girl,” she said, resting her hand on the side of my face. “I’m very proud of the young lady you’ve become and the woman you are going to be.”

Leaning into her hand, I reveled in the softness even though her skin was folded in wrinkles from many years of working at the Laundromat. “Thanks, Nana.” I rested my hand on top of hers. “I do my best to make you proud of me,” I said, meeting the eyes of the woman who had raised me since I was six.

Bringing myself back to the present, I shook my head and glanced at the ticking clock beside me, mentally counting the hours of sleep that I had left.

“I have to go and get some sleep, so I am recharged for my meeting tomorrow. You’ll visit me soon, right? You promised,” I whined. Being in this new city and not knowing a single soul made me nervous and lonely all at once.

“Girlfriend, you’re the first person I’m seeing once they grant me some vacation over here.”

“Okay,” I said, releasing a breath. “And, Kendy, I know I’ve said this before, but—”

“You don’t have to say it,” she said, cutting me off. “We haven’t heard from her. Don’t you worry though. If she does ask about you, I’ll never tell her where you went.”

I calmed at her reassurance. “Thanks. I don’t want anything to do with that woman.”

I glanced at the pile of mail held together by a single half-inch rubber band. The letters never ceased to keep on coming. They reminded me of my past and prevented me from moving forward. I’d have to deal with the mail eventually.

I shook my head to focus.

This is my fresh start, and I will not let that woman ruin it.

Sitting at the country club’s restaurant, I felt the fluttering in my stomach from nervousness. According to Caroline, the owners of the companies needing loans were middle-aged men, who I would soon learn I had nothing in common with.

Mr. Jack Plack, CEO of Plack Industries, sat back while drinking his coffee. I watched the steam rise from his cup. Behind him, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see golfers teeing off.

“I’m estimating ten million to renovate and expand our oldest plant. We want to make Bowlesville the pilot plant with new state-of-the-art equipment, and eventually, we want to roll this out throughout the nation,” Mr. Plack noted.

Sitting a little taller, I tried to look confident as I grabbed a pen to take notes in my portfolio. I glanced at Jim, my banker, as I listened attentively, and stopped myself from chewing the top of the pen in my hand.

Last night, I’d instantly recognized the name of our client. Plack’s logo covered all of my moving boxes. They were a household name, big on packaging materials and distribution. It amazed me how the father of the person in front of me had started the company from scratch before it had grown into a multimillion-dollar corporation.

Mr. Plack took a sip of his coffee. “What do you need from us to get this moving?”

I moved to his line of sight, ready to fire off my questions. “Do you have your second-quarter financials with you? It looks like first quarter indicated a ten percent drop in sales from the previous year?”

“Yes, I do. We lost a client, but we have gained a few more to make up for that decline.” He shuffled through his papers, and as he handed me the financials, he spotted someone behind me.

“Kent!” he yelled over my shoulder.

When I twisted my head to see whom his attention was directed to, I almost had to hold my chin up to prevent my jaw from dropping to the ground. Over six feet of tall, dark, and handsome filled my eyes. I swore, he walked straight off the cover of
GQ
magazine. His eyes were the deepest golden brown, reminding me of chestnuts, which complemented his wavy dark brown hair that didn’t have a strand out of place.

When his eyes caught mine, I felt my cheeks warm because he’d caught me staring, and I immediately looked between Mr. Plack and Jim to avert my eyes. When I glanced up again, he was standing by our table.

“Kent, have lunch with us. We’re discussing business.” Mr. Plack gestured for him to sit down.

“Dad, all work and no play…” He laughed. “You should enjoy the weather and get out on the course.”

Mr. Plack stirred uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m booked with meetings all day. Come on, you should join us, son.”

I couldn’t help myself and stole another glance. When Kent caught my stare, I saw a small dimple emerge, and my temperature rose ten degrees. I wiped my hands on my skirt and looked to the bread to prevent myself from gawking any further.

“Well, I haven’t eaten, so maybe I will join you,” he replied.

Guys usually didn’t make me nervous, but I felt uneasy under his gaze, and fidgeted in my seat.

“Okay, good,” Mr. Plack said, sounding relieved.

“Dad, I’m just sitting for lunch,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I’m on my way to see Mother.”

Mr. Plack motioned for the waitress. She brought in an extra chair and positioned it right beside me.

“Jim, this is my son, Kent. Bethany, Kent.”

Jim shook Kent’s hand first as I wiped my hands on my skirt again before I stood and took his. His piercing eyes surveyed me, and I pulled my hand back and quickly sat down.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your business meeting,” Kent said, taking a seat next to me. He selected a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth.

I watched him as he chewed. I lowered my head into my financial statements as I told myself not to gawk, but I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t used to seeing super fine men sauntering around in my small town of Bowlesville. Then again, I was no longer in my hometown.

“So, Kent, are you in the business of packaging and distribution with your father? Learning the ropes?” Jim reached for a piece of bread and swirled it in the olive oil.

“No, I don’t do anything actually. I don’t work.” Kent shrugged.

Jim was taken aback, and the whole table was silent for what seemed like forever even though it was only a couple of seconds. I peered up from my financials and studied Kent’s beautiful face. I was slightly disappointed. In the few seconds of silence, I mentally noted that his attractiveness had died down multiple notches because of his lack of ambition. The fact that he’d admitted it made him look like a spoiled brat.
Bummer that the looker in front of me has brawn but no brains.

“Yes, all my son does is plays golf all day, goes to the beach, shops, gallivants with his women, and spends money that his grandfather and I have worked so hard to earn,” Mr. Plack said, sounding aggravated and not in the least bit amused.

At the tension in his voice, my head dipped lower into the financial statements as this was a conversation meant between two people and not for the whole table to hear.

“Not interested in succeeding your father in the business?” Jim pressed.

I wanted to kick Jim for prying any further and causing more awkwardness at the table.

“No, not at all—not even with my Ivy League college degree.”

My head perked up, and I caught Kent staring at me while chewing yet another piece of bread. Jim changed the subject by talking about the basketball playoffs, and I was happy that the conversation was steering into a normal, comfortable zone.

“Hey, sugar?” Kent asked.

“Huh?” My heartbeat doubled in my chest, and I blatantly stared at him, oblivious to the playoff talk around me.

“Can you please pass me the sugar?”

I blinked a couple of times before realizing what he just said. “Oh. Okay. Sorry,” I grabbed the sugar near me and passed it to him.

“So, what do you do for the bank?” he asked, spooning the sugar into his coffee.

I peered at him from under my eyelashes. “I’m an underwriter.”

“Interesting,” he noted.

“It is interesting. As an underwriter, we basically look at the company’s financials and the needs of the company, and based on their performance, we see if they can service the loan. If not, we build parameters around the loan to ensure that the client can repay us.” I noticed an increased pitch in my tone, and I pressed my hands on my lap to stop my fidgeting.

He smiled at me, and I immediately warmed.

“You know, you’re cute when you blush,” he whispered, leaning toward me.

That flush on my face started to burn up. I looked to the others and was glad they were engrossed in deep conversation about the Chicago Bulls, so they were oblivious to the comment he’d just made. The feeling of shyness dissipated as irritation inside me began to rise. I found myself annoyed that he had been trying to embarrass me and get a reaction out of me in front of my colleague and customer. I didn’t care that he looked like a model from
GQ
.

I glared at him, and the corners of his mouth lifted at the evil look I was giving him. The silence grew, and we were interrupted by our lunch being served. When the waitress dropped off our plates at our table, I noticed she was trying to catch Kent’s attention. I wondered if he was oblivious to her attention or if he got this everywhere and just didn’t care. When she put his plate down, her arm brushed against his and when he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, her cheeks flushed pink.

Seeing this small interaction, I realized he must have this effect on all women. I suddenly wished my face hadn’t given me away and that his good looks hadn’t made me blush like a little schoolgirl. I mentally noted not to do it again.

Staring at my grilled chicken sandwich, I couldn’t eat. I loved food, yet sitting next to this man made me self-conscious. Aggravation was seeping into my skin because I couldn’t enjoy my sandwich in peace. Instead of grabbing the sandwich with both hands and stuffing my face like I normally would, I took my knife and fork and poked at the sandwich.

“So, continue and tell me more about the expansion of the Bowlesville plant,” Jim added before chewing a French fry.

Mr. Plack took a sip of water. “Yes, we will also be expanding our product line, so we will need more storage space. Bowlesville will be our test factory, and eventually, we want to renovate the rest of our distribution centers to mirror it. Jim, have you been to our Bowlesville plant? You would be able to see that it is in need of expansion.”

“No, not yet. Hey, Beth, isn’t that where you’re from?” Jim glanced my way, and everyone else’s eyes also shifted in my direction.

I widened my eyes before taking a big gulp of water. “Yes, I’m originally from Bowlesville. It’s a small town with lots of manufacturing companies, but Plack Industries is the biggest one,” I lifted my glass to my lips and kept drinking, hoping they’d continue on to the next subject.

“Have you ever been to the plant? I’d love to give you a tour sometime when you’re available,” Kent said.

It took all my energy to keep my face steady as I placed my glass back on the table.

“When would you like to go?” he asked.

Mr. Plack studied his son with an amused look on his face. “You haven’t been to the Bowlesville plant in years.” He paused, assessing his son, and then he turned to Jim and me. “Are you available next week for Kent to take you on a tour of our Bowlesville facility? I’ll be out of town, visiting our plant in California, so I won’t be able to make it.”

From what I knew, Kent was not involved in the company. Why he would want to take us on a tour, I had no idea.

As the waitress started to clear out our plates, Jim reached for his phone. “I will have to check my schedule, but I’m pretty booked next week. I’m sure if Beth is available, she can go.”

My mouth dropped at Jim’s comment, and I composed myself before he could catch me giving him a dirty look. I cleared my throat and tried to sound confident as I said, “I’ll check my schedule at the office, but I do believe Renee said I will be busy with meetings.” My hands were clenched under the table, my fingers digging ridges against the inside of my palms.