Page 32 of Sweet Nothings

Nineteen days until we’re married and the company is officially mine.

Let the countdown begin.

TEN

Every time he called me Mrs. Harding, I was certain I was going to combust. My skin grew hot, and I immediately became wet between my legs, my clit begging to be touched. After my impromptu meeting, I wanted to go home and change my panties, but I was already late for another meeting with a client I’ve been consulting for the past several months. Our case is scheduled to go to court in the next few months and I need to be as prepared as possible.

Luckily, I keep a spare pair in my desk for emergencies.

Once I’ve changed, and when I finish with my client, I email over the latest paperwork to Frederick and message Roe asking if I can come see her this weekend. She tells me Steven is out of town again to bid on another artist’s work and she could use the company.

My heart has been heavy since she told me she was sick. I’ve spent the past several days researching everything I possibly could on what type of cancer she has, the survival rates, and the treatment plans. Hours of pouring over research and joining cancer support groups made my head spin and my stomach nauseous. I forwarded over all the information I found to Steven but haven’t heard back from him yet. I figure if we’re going to getRoe through this, it’s best we work as a team to support her the best we can.

I want to tell Roe I’ve come up with a solution to gather up the money so she can get the surgery and the chemo treatments she’ll need after. But I want to tell her when I have an invitation in hand—proof this is for real. Relief settled over me knowing Lennon still wanted to marry me, even though I turned him down when he first asked. I don’t plan on touching his money for Roe’s treatment. In fact, I plan to use his income as a safety net in case Roe’s treatments take more than what I have in the bank.

Thankfully, the salary I make working for Frederick affords me a little wiggle room, allowing me to set aside a savings account for emergencies. And Roe’s sickness is an emergency.

By the time I make it home, eat dinner, bake about a dozen more cookies than I could possibly eat, I take a shower and climb into bed, thinking about Lennon.

I’m going to be married to Lennon Harding in nineteen days. Scratch that. Eighteen days. This day is practically over.

Although the echoing pain of my marriage with David years ago will forever be engrained in my memory, something about the idea of marrying Lennon feels different.

Being around him stirs feelings inside me I never felt with David: a pounding heart, weak knees. His eyes look into mine as if I’m an algebra equation he can’t solve, causing my skin to flash with heat. All physical reactions I haven’t been able to control.

There’s a connection to him I didn’t realize I had until today, and although Lennon is using our marriage to win ownership of his company, I don’t feel used in the same way David used me. Maybe it’s because, in part, I’m using my marriage with Lennon to gain something as well.

At peace with my decision, I let sleep overtake me and try to get Lennon’s voice out of my head.

Mrs. Harding.

Unlike yesterday, this time when I show up to Harding Holdings, I’m greeted by Lennon’s assistant.

She’s standing in the middle of the lobby, waiting for me as the elevator doors slide open. A tablet is clutched between her delicate hands as she holds it to her chest.

“Good morning, Mrs. Harding,” she practically sings, holding her hand out to me. “I’m Mr. Harding’s assistant, Olivia.”

“Um, good morning, Olivia. It’s nice to meet you.” I shake her hand and smile. “But you can call me Laurel. My name isn’t Harding yet.”

“Oh.” She blinks. “Mr. Harding informed me this morning that I was to address you by name. He insisted I call you Mrs. Harding.”

Of course he did.

“No,” I tell her, tightening my grip on the black leather bag I’m carrying. “Lennon may have wanted you to call me that, but I insist. You can just call me Laurel.”

“Sounds good... Laurel.” She breathes a sigh of relief, then gives me a smile that reaches her soft blue eyes.

She’s younger than I expected her to be. Maybe slightly older than me, but not by much. Her long blonde hair cascades waypast her shoulders. A large diamond ring is wrapped around the fourth finger on her left hand.

Mine will look like that in eighteen days.

Olivia holds her arm out, gesturing down the hallway. “The conference room is back this way.”

I follow Olivia down the same hallway that leads to Lennon’s office but makes an abrupt turn down a different hallway. On this side of Harding Holdings, everything changes from pure white walls and floors adorned with the signature gold Harding emblem to brown wooden accents, and floor to ceiling glass walls. From the side of the floor, I can see the entire Boston skyline. Far out in the distance, I see Fenway Park and the Boston Harbor. It’s the same view from my office, only a few levels higher. Three floors to be exact.

I see Lennon before I’ve even made it to the room. His dark blue eyes lock onto me the moment I’m within view. They follow me down the length of the glass wall. I may as well burst into flames right now.

My breath rushes out of my lungs in one gasp. His black suit clings to his muscles as he sits back in his seat, twisting a gold pen between his long fingers. His peppered jaw ticks in concentration. This is all so official and business-like. None of what Lennon and I are doing is traditional as far as engagements go. I remind myself that this is the only world he knows.

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