Page 18 of Baiting His Bride

The move makes sense and wouldn’t be a done deal if Carson didn’t want it, which only adds fuel to the fire that…I’m the reason. The motivation. It’s a certainty that lands in my gut like a cannonball that doesn’t detonate. One that’s confirmed the minute he reaches the podium and addresses the gathering.

Because, after some words of gratitude for his grandfather and support for his brother’s competent leadership, Carson expresses enthusiasm for his new role, explaining that it will allow him the freedom to pursue other interests.

And when pressed what some of those interests might be by that same eager reporter in the front row, Carson once again pins me with his sky-blue eyes. “I’m hoping a relationship with the most brilliant and beautiful woman in the city. A woman who once said to never let anyone or anything come between you and the person you love. If she’ll have me, that is.”

Carson

Mallory is sitting in the back row, wide-eyed, as every reporter in the room spins to search her out, craning their necks and trying to gauge her reaction. As am I.

And so far? The jury’s still out.

This isn’t the response I imagined when I pictured this moment any of the hundreds of times I’ve played it in my mind over these past few months. Maybe, I moved too far too fast. Perhaps, I should have given a more generic answer and waited to speak with Mallory privately, away from dozens of reporters and cameras.

But I don’t regret declaring my intentions aloud in front of a room full when I have no idea what she’ll say in return. Because I mean it.

My eyes are still on her when the overeager reporter in the front row pipes up again. “Does this mean you’re no longer one of the most eligible bachelors of the year, according to Chicago Magazine?”

I grip the podium with both hands. My fingers tightening on the edges. “I sure hope so.”

It’s been almost four months with no contact. The entire summer and into the fall was spent putting pieces into place and biding my time. And now that the cat is out of the bag, Mallory’s not even throwing me a bone. Not a hint of that beautiful smile or a clue she’s thrilled I’m no longer press.

I fell for Mallory Stone four months ago and thought she had feelings for me, too. In my case, absence made the heart grow fonder, but maybe, it was the opposite for her. Good thing I’ve never been the type to give up once I’ve determined the end game. As long as it’s not a no from her, there’s a chance.

I wrap up quickly at the microphone. First, thanking everyone for coming and then assuring them both Bennett Media Group and the Foundation will come out soon with more information about the transitions. Then, without wasting a minute, I make my way through the crowd to Mallory in the back row. But rather than dispersing, those gathered turn to watch, as if the press conference hasn’t officially ended.

“Mallory,” I murmur, as she rises and holds my gaze.

“Carson.”

Her tone is even. Polished. Unreadable. I step close enough to tease my senses with a whiff of her bright perfume, but I keep enough distance between us to be professional. Even though I’d give anything to kiss those lush pink lips right about now.

“Do you have a minute?” I ask, knowing her answer will tell me everything.

A beat and then, “I do.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you’d say that. There’s another room where we can talk. Somewhere a little more private.”

“This works for me.”

My brows come together, and I glance around. There are reporters surrounding us with recording devices and cameras and—

“I thought you were just playing,” she says, dragging my attention back to her face, completely composed save for the small V forming between her delicate brows.

“I was,” I assure her, my tone threaded with steel. “I was playing for keeps.”

Her head tilts to one side. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“When did you decide to leave the company?”

I reach for her hands, holding them in mine, grateful she doesn’t jerk away. “Remember at the wedding, on the patio that sunny afternoon, when we were getting ready to practice walking down the aisle?”

“Of course.”

“And do you remember standing there, in that light-green dress and high heels, telling me I was off limits because I was press?”

“Yes.”

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