Page 82 of Conflagration
Instead of just trusting that I was the best man for the job, the one who’s put in his dues and worked his ass off for the position, they made her a factor in their approval.
It took everything in me not to pound my fist on the table and remind them that I’m the one taking the job, not her. This isn’t what she signed up for. It’s not why I want her. And it’s not how I want to get this job, no matter how much I’ve been working towards it. But like a coward, I grinned and fucking took it, barely paying attention to the dates they started throwing out to make the big announcement.
Dad slapped me on the back, the board members shook my hand, and someone—I have no idea—who popped the champagne, toasting me. Branson Wellington, imminent CEO. Fortunately, I was able to slip out, citing a business call, not wanting to be a part of any celebration.
So here I am, sitting in my office, seething. My fucking dreams are coming true, and as I wipe my face with my hands, I wonder if thisiseven my dream anymore. It sure doesn’t feel like it. Or at least how I thought it would feel. I’ve wanted this based on my own merit, not because of who I’m marrying.
She’s the only person who could possibly make me feel better right now, yet she’s the person I want to avoid. Not because I blame her for this. I don’t. But I don’t think I’d be any good company no matter who I’m around, and I don’t want to subject her to my foul mood, so I decide to try and get some work done, hoping the anger settles before I go home for the day.
Glancing at my phone, I see the voicemail button flashing red. I pick up my phone and press the button, surprised when Shane’s voice fills my ear. Instead of straight and to the point like he usually is, he sounds cautious, and I wish this were a real conversation so I could just tell him to spit it fucking out.
“Anyway, man, we need to talk, so call me fucking back. It’s urgent, so don’t be a dick.”
Rolling my eyes, I decide to call him back when I’m not so pissed. Just as I start going over a new financial report that Caroline must’ve placed on my desk, a knock sounds at my door. Yeah, I’ve definitely gone too soft. Before Ariana, no interruptions meant no fucking interruptions.
I try to ignore it and return my attention to the file. I frown as I see the names Covington and Cunningham as a new acquisition from the Atlanta division. It has to be a coincidence, right? As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I know there’s no way. I’m about to pick up the phone to call Shane when the door bursts open.
“Ms. Caldwell!” Caroline’s exasperated tone breaks my concentration.
I groan when I see my ex-wife and secretary filling the doorway, and I wonder how this day could get any worse.
Megan smooths out her hair, glaring at Caroline. “It’s Mrs. Wellington,” she huffs. A dull ache forms in my head, and I rub my temples, not wanting to deal with this right now but knowing full well that Megan’s not going anywhere.
“It’s fine, Caroline,” I tell her, to which Megan gives her a triumphant look. “Let her in.” It’ll be easier to deal with her rather than use my usual avoidance tactics. The sooner I get her out of here, the better. “To what do I owe this displeasure?” I ask, sitting back in my chair, mentally chastising myself for not having fled the premises when I could have.
She crosses the room and lowers herself into a chair opposite me. “Really, Branson, do you have to be so rude? I’m here to help you.”
Frowning, I scoff in disbelief. “Really? Enlighten me, Megan. How canyouhelpme?”
She leans forward and pushes a file onto my desk. “I know we split up, Branson, but I do still care about you. When that…woman told me you were engaged, I knew I had to do something.”
Ignoring the file, I train my eyes on her, my lips twitching at the memory of her one-on-one with Ariana. “You’re right. We split up. What goes on between Ariana and me is none of your business. I love her. I’m marrying her. End of story.”
“Just look at the file. I don’t want to hurt you,” she says, biting her lower lip and looking nervous. “It’s just… She’s a predator, Branson.”
Rolling my eyes, I pick up the file, ready to toss it back at her. “Oh that’s rich coming from you.” Even though I say the words, something in me decides to flip the file open, wanting to appease her so she’ll get the hell out of here.
As I open it, I see a wedding announcement for Ariana and one Benjamin Cunningham—the same name on the financial reports from earlier. Again, just a fucking coincidence, right? My interest is piqued as more financial reports are in the file. Flipping through them, I see that they’re dated from earlier this summer. Then, at the very back, I find the same ones that were sitting on my desk. Confusion washes over me, wondering how the two are connected and what the hell this has to do with Ariana.
“Once I found out her name, it was pretty easy to dig up her dirt.”
I look up, expecting to see a smug expression on her face, but instead, I find pity. It unnerves me. “There’s nothing to dig up, Megan. I knew about her engagement.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did. But do you know why it ended?”
“Yes,” I say a little too quickly, causing her to raise her eyebrows. The memory of asking her what she overhead fills my mind, and I realize she never answered the question.
“What I heard doesn’t matter.”
All of a sudden, it matters more than anything.
“So you don’t mind that she left her former fiancé because his company was going under?”
Uhhh, what?“That’s bullshit, Megan.”
“I knew you’d say that, and I get you. I’ve heard through the grapevine how happy and in love you are. It pains me to do this, but if I couldn’t have been a good wife, well, I can at least help you from making a second big mistake.” She leans forward, grabbing a pencil and pointing at first the wedding date before moving to the first sheet on the financial report and circling both numbers. “Two days apart. It wasn’t a coincidence that his father filed for bankruptcy and then she mysteriously ran away from the wedding. Her cash cow was gone. It didn’t take her long to latch on to you, though, did it? Think about it, Branson. You never would have been this impulsive in the past, but nearly three months after your accident, you’re already planning a wedding? I have to admit she’s good.”
I can’t deny that the correlation of the dates is interesting, but I refuse to believe what Megan’s saying. The woman she’s describing isn’t Ariana. It can’t be.
