Reluctant Consent (3 page)

 
If she’d never met the man in the first
place, she couldn’t miss the way he solved so many of her problems before she
even realized a hurdle lay in her path.
 
If it never happened she didn’t have to remember how gorgeous and sexy
he was, or how she melted into a soft fuzzy pool at his feet when he touched
her.
 
If Andrew never really
existed anyway there were no confusing feelings and thoughts to buzz around in
her head about the weird ideas he might have held about marriage.

    
Denise returned to
several of her favorite pastimes.
 
Once again she joined the girls for drinks after games in the intramural
leagues she played on.
 
She renewed
her close acquaintance with the various bartenders of the city and made many
men happy to be alive by returning to her favorite form of exercise, top of the
bar dancing.
 
And since she had
lost her driving privileges, at least temporarily, she fattened the coffers of
the local cab company.

In
this way Denise had coped with Andrew’s disappearance from her life.
 
She had no idea what he had been up to
in the meantime, not that she would seriously consider the mandate anyway but maybe
he was already married?
 
Surely
that would reverse the clause?
  
Could she be penalized for not doing the impossible?

If
he hadn’t married, Denise wondered if he were bribe-able?
 
Perhaps she could offer him a huge
chunk of cash to marry someone else very quickly.
 

This
was doubtful, of course.
 
The
Neanderthal lived by a weird code and such a thing was sure to violate his
principles.

Her
head ached.

***

Two
days later Denise was ushered into the office of her lawyer. Mellissa Ambrose
did not look like a Killer Law Dude but she was willing to trust Robert who had
assured her Melissa was
The Man
.
 
“Her balls are metaphorical,” Robert
intoned, “but real.”
 
He wrapped an
arm around her in a supportive manner, whisked her into the inner office, and
helped her into a chair as if she were ninety.

“You
asked for the bottom line, Ms. Marrow.”
 
Melissa the Killer Law Dude stated.
 
“Here it is: I can’t help you.”

“Why
not?”

“No
one ever really wants just the bottom line.”

“What?”

Melissa
waved her hand.
 
“This is a well
written document.
 
Sound law.
 
No holes.
 
You might be able to buy off the other parties.
 
But your executors have to impose the
restrictions.
 
You can appeal of
course, but it will be years in process and in the meantime your brothers will
be grandparents and will have grown up with your aunt anyway.
 
Marry the guy.”

“I
can’t.”

Melissa
looked mildly interested.
 
“Why
not? Ugly? Fat? Stupid?
 
Money can
fix just about anything.”

“What
if the man is a complete sicko?
 
Could that help?”

“Sick,
how?”

Denise
gaped.
 
No way she’d answer that
one.
 
“Could it help?”

“It
might.” Melissa sighed.
 
She’d been
hoping for something good.
 
Sex with puppies.
 
She’d heard about a man who wanted to marry a cow he kept in his
bedroom.
 
Something good.
 
“Sick is subjective.
  
It would have to be pretty
universally acknowledged as perverse, detrimental, and still you’re talking
years in process while your youngest brother starts to shave at Auntie’s
house.”

“Call
it a philosophical incompatibility.”
 

Melisa
shook her head.
 
“Nope.”

***

   
Denise was no more
successful when she met with her aunts.
  
Perched with perfect posture on the edge of their
chairs, the three aunts were flanked by spouses wearing solemn thoughtful
faces.
 
Her own brothers looked
like young Golden Retrievers awaiting the signal to frisk off after birds.

    
She used all of her
powers of deceit, persuasion, bribery and black mail but to no avail.
 
An Aunt, clearly designated as
spokesperson, made
their own
effort at bribery. Denise
declined.

   
The aunts filed out in
quiet disapproval, a united front.
 
The Golden Retrievers broke loose and hurled gratitude and questions
until Denise put two fingers into her mouth and whistled at which point they
fell silent.

She
lied blatantly.
 
“It will all be
okay!”
 
Then she stalked from the
room.

Chapter Two

    
“Denise Marrow
calling.”

Andrew
Cross grinned.
 
 
He’d been expecting the phone call.
 
“I recognize the number, Denise.
 
What can I do for you?”

“I
have to ask you a personal question.”

“Have
to, Denise?
 
If there’s someone
holding a gun to your head give me a cue and I’ll send a SWAT team around.”
 
Here was one complaint about
Denise.
 
Everything was overly
dramatized. He was a man. No drama.
 
His motto.

Denise
sighed.
 
“I should have known you’d
be a dick.”

Andrew
quirked a brow at his phone, grinned, shrugged, and pressed the end
button.
 
He laid the phone on his
desk and kept his eyes on the second hand sweeping its way around the face of
the clock.
 
He made himself let the
phone sound three times.

“We
were cut off, Andrew.
 
I’ve a
question to ask.”

“We
weren’t cut off, Denise.
 
I hung
up.
 
Your first words need to be an
apology or I hang up again and I don’t answer when you call back.”

He
imagined Denise having a near aneurism of fury.
 
“I’m sorry about your parents, Denise.
 
They were lovely people.
 
You received the flowers?”

“Yes.
 
Thanks.”
 
Again silence.

“Denise.”

 
She snapped the words.
 
“I’m sorry.”

“You’re
sorry for-? Speaking disrespectfully, maybe? Rudely?”

“Oh
my god.”
 
She sighed.

Andrew
waited.
 
He was a patient man.
 

“I’m
sorry if I offended you.”

“Denise.
 
An apology should address the speaker’s
actions, or words. If?
If you offend?
 
How can ‘dick’ fail to offend,
Denise?
 
Surely you didn’t mean it
as a sign of respect?”
 
His voice
remained calm.

Denise
sighed.

“I’m
sorry I spoke in a manner which offended you.”

“You’re
still managing to suggest I’m at fault.” He sounded like a pompous dick -- to
use her word -- but he held his ground. If the future he dreamed of was to
happen with this woman he would have to remain calm, stoic, unmoving.
Mind you a little levity might make the medicine
go down.

 
“But you’re getting closer, sugar.
 
Give it another shot.”
 

He
heard her blow air out her nose.

“I
am very, very, very sorry I was rude.”
 
Her voice was laden with sarcasm but it showed compliance even if she
wasn’t ready to give up on the pride yet.

“Forgiven.
 
What’s up? How can I help?”

“Are
you married?”

“What?
No!”

“Engaged?
Close to engaged?”

“Not
even dating, Denise.” He threw her a bone.
 
“You broke my heart, lady.”

She
blew out another breath.
 
“Can you
meet me for coffee this afternoon, please?
 
It’s important.”

She
sounded sad, and reluctant, but not bitchy with ego, and his heart went out to
her.

“Name
the time and the place, sweetheart.
 
I’ll free my schedule.”

***

Denise
pulled air into her lungs with a desperate gulp and pushed her way into
Starbucks. Andrew, handsome as ever, sat at a
table which
actually afforded some privacy. She saw a steaming mug and a scone waiting for
her and her heart ached.
 
She’d
adored Andrew and he had, always, taken care of her.
 
Too bad he had this weird predilection for kinky stuff.

She
forced herself to smile and pretended her skin wasn’t crawling with
embarrassment.
 
Weaving through the
maze of tables she admitted she had a fondness for kinky stuff herself, and if
she were ruthlessly, viciously, dying day honest, she thought she could go for
kinky spanko stuff in the context of sex-but not the other weirdo, I’m the
dominant man stuff.

Her
toe caught in a maze of computer cable and she pitched forward. Flushing deeply,
she caught herself at the same moment as Andrew’s hands grasped her upper arms
and stopped her fall. He manfully hauled her to his chest and she felt every
bone in her stupid body melt.

She
loved his chest. Andrew had the best chest.
 
Broad, muscular, with the requisite happy trail leading down
to his pubis --but otherwise his chest was hairless and she loved it that
way.
 
When she put her face against
his chest she loved the heat that radiated straight to her.

She
fought to free her foot.

“Jeez.
Walk often?”

 
She looked down, happy to be distracted
from her body’s reaction.
 
The
speaker had at least fifteen items jabbed into parts of her face and worse, she
was tiny in the annoying way so many young women were these days. .
 
Denise opened her mouth and then closed
it again.
 
In the past Andrew liked
to mention that life was not a reality TV show and real people didn’t act as if
it was.
 
So she’d keep her mouth
shut just in case he was ok with kinky stuff in public and she was liable to
find herself embarrassed.
 
Besides,
maybe he was right?

Andrew
propelled her firmly towards a chair, pulling it out for her and when she sat,
sliding it a fraction closer to the iron café table.
 

She
tucked her bag under her chair, remembering how shocked he’d been at her
willingness to pay that kind of money for a purse while complaining about the
price of her textbooks.
 
She took a
sip from the mug and using every ounce of willpower she could summon looked up
and met his eyes.

“Thanks
for the latte.
 
Exactly what I
needed today.
 
You always did take
good care of me, Andrew.”

His
eyes smiled back at her and he drank from his own mug, black coffee she’d bet.

Denise
traced her lips with a quick flick of her tongue and then rolled them inward
and pressed them together.
 
One
hand groped blindly for a chap stick in her purse.

“You
know my parents, Andrew.
 
They were
nuts. All due respect, with them dead and all, but…
”
 
She dashed a few tears away
before they could slide down her cheeks.

Andrew
put his hand out and touched her arm.

“How
can I help you?”

“My
parents left a totally unreal will.
 
It can be fought of course, but in the meantime it leaves my brothers
with my Aunt Lucinda.
 
I can’t do
that.”
 

“According
to
their
will I can only be their guardian if I marry
you.”

Complete
silence. Andrew’s hand slowly withdrew.

“Marry
anyone?”

“Marry
you.”

She
looked at her lap.
 
Tears dripped
steadily down her face. Furious, she snatched the napkin from under her mug,
blotted her eyes and blew her nose, glaring at Andrew the whole time. His face
radiated warm, patient understanding. She wanted to pound him into a pulp.