Page 16 of Baiting His Bride

But the Carson I fell for, that weekend months ago, had a way with words. And his playful banter wrapped around me like a warm blanket and made me wish things were different. So the truth is, wild horses couldn’t keep me away from that press conference.

“They can,” I confirm, past the lump in my throat. “I’ll be there.”

“In that case, I have something else for you.”

The heels of his old-fashioned leather boots snap together as he reaches back into his satchel. My mind races as unease floods my chest, shortening my breath. What more could he possibly have?

He lifts out a mint-green gift box tied with a matching thick satin bow. It’s small and square and about the size of a box of tea. He sets it on the table and retreats with a tip of his cap. Luke’s PA sees him out and closes the door, leaving the three of us staring at the box.

Well, I’m staring at the box, at least. Until I glance up and find the two of them staring at me.

Carson

The familiar sharp, pungent odor of ink alongside the woody scent of the newsprint running through the machines a level below the steel catwalk I stand on always makes me think of my grandfather. He’s the one who often brought me here when I was a little boy. He’d point out each step of the process it takes to deliver the news first thing every morning, rain or shine, to a circulation of nearly a quarter of a million readers.

The clank of the printing plates slices through the warm air now, along with the swish of the rolls being fed into the press. Then the papers move down the conveyor belts at a rate of twelve papers per second, before they’re cut, folded, bound and bundled.

In a way I’m here tonight to say goodbye, although the parting isn’t bittersweet. Finally, the pieces I’ve been snapping into place for months are about to come together. And all I can think about right now is how Mallory would love this place. I can’t wait to bring her and show her around after the announcement is made. After there’s nothing standing between us, because I won’t officially be “press” anymore.

The door at the end of the walkway opens. My brother, Henry, in his polished-leather wingtips and carrying a manilla envelope, is the last person I expect to see making his way down the ribbed-grate walkway of the plant, here on the outskirts of Chicagoland. My fingers curl around the railing, his unexpected appearance sending a slither of dread up my spine.

“You’re a hard man to track down,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the clamor as he joins me at the railing overlooking the floor of the plant.

“I didn’t know you were looking for me.”

He shoots me a sidelong glance. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s no room for more questions. I’ve worked tirelessly for months to dot every i and cross every t. The press conference is tomorrow, and Mallory already confirmed she’ll be there.

“What?” I ask, trying to get a read on him. But Henry’s always been the serious one, the one who doesn’t have a spontaneous or impulsive bone in his body.

He trains his familiar blue eyes on me. “Are you sure?”

I scoff, relief easing the tension in my shoulders. “One hundred percent.”

He cocks an eyebrow then glances down at the envelope. “It’s not too late.”

And with four little words the dread is back, rearing its ugly head. “What do you mean, it’s not too late?” My voice is low and dangerous. “The papers have been signed. The board has voted. It’s a done deal. The press conference is tomorrow at noon.”

“Grandfather had his doubts about your…motivation. He had a clause added to the final agreement. I’m here on his behalf. And mine.”

“What clause? What are you talking about?” My stomach rolls, panic coiling through my gut. I’ve been waiting for tomorrow, for the chance to share this news with the world. But really, I only want to share it with one person who’ll be sitting in that conference room crowd. The woman I’m doing this for. The gorgeous beauty I’d sacrifice anything for.

“He wanted to give you an out. An eleventh-hour chance to confirm this is what you really want, with no consequences if you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“And I do, too, Carson. I need to know this isn’t moving forward if you’re having even a shred of a second thought. I don’t want each of these dominos to fall into place and then find you resent me for it later. The clause is spelled out right here,” he says, raising the envelope, “in black and white, for you to see for yourself.”

I don’t blame them, either of them, for doubting me. If I were them, I’d question my actions, too. Attending to the details of a delicate plan, with a dozen moving parts and ramifications that impact our company and its succession plan, has never been my mode of operation. But things are different now. I’m different. And that change started the minute I fell for Mallory Stone.

“I don’t need to see anything. The clause will go uninvoked,” I assure him, my gaze sweeping over the factory floor as conviction floods my veins. “Tell Grandpa I made up my mind months ago, in the blink of an eye, really. Tell him I have no regrets tonight and won’t have any tomorrow or the next day or the next.”

If anything, these last four celibate months have only confirmed I can’t imagine my life without Mallory at my side. And I’m fairly confident she feels the same. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

Though she’s kept her professional distance since that wedding weekend, she hasn’t moved on. Hell, she even canceled a date this past weekend for no observable reason. And that was before my special delivery earlier today.

“If you’re sure,” Henry says, with a dip of his chin, disbelief still etched on his face.

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