“Aari’s mum, she hates Gemma and told her so. Gemma is inconsolable. Aari says it’s no big deal. He loves her, he doesn’t care if his mum does or not. Gemma is wondering if she should call the whole thing off. She’ll listen to you, please talk to her.”
“I cannot remember the last time she listened to me,” I correct her as I shoot Aari an email asking what the fuck is going on. Thankfully he is as connected as I am, his response is quick. Before I can answer him back, he follows up with a plea for me to talk to Gemma as well. Rolling my eyes, I assure him I will if for no other reason than to get some peace and quiet.
“Ivan, please,” Hannah pleads.
“I will call her now.”
“Thank you, love you. Chat later.” She ends the call in a rush.
I take the time to respond to a few of my most pressing emails, then give in and call Gemma.
“Ivan?” she answers, with a sniffle.
Swallowing a sigh, I close out of my work to focus on Gemma. “Hannah says you want to call it off. If you want to, the time to do it is now. If money is what you are worried about I will handle it.”
A sob grates in my ear. “No, I’m not worried about the money. I’m not you, Ivan. I don’t care about the money. What I care about is Aari and what all of this means to him. He says it’s no big deal. If she won’t respect my becoming his wife, then she won’t be in our lives. He loves his mum. How can it not be a big deal when she hates me?”
“Hm, you are right, this sounds as if this is an insurmountable issue. I think it best to call it off. If he cannot be bothered to deal with this now, he will not after the wedding. She will believe she has the right to treat you badly. I will be happy to send my jet to you. End it, come stay with me here in Chicago to take some time to get over it.”
Her gasp is loud; it is not easy to swallow my chuckle.
“I already have time planned off for the wedding. I will have the time to show you around the way I have not been able to before.”
“Ivan! How in the fuck can you say something like that? I’m not calling off the bloody wedding, for fuck’s sake. I love Aari and he loves me. His mum can go to hell, we don’t need her approval.
“I’ve gone above and beyond planning two damn weddings to please her because a Western wedding isn’t good enough. A Western wedding means we aren’t married properly. We’re getting married. Fucking hell, Ivan, I can’t believe you.”
Once she hangs up on me, I allow a chuckle. I respond to Aari that the issue has been settled. His own response of many thanks comes quickly. Shaking my head, I shudder at how willing he is to put up with all of Gemma’s drama. I marvel at his patience.
It is exactly because of scenes like today that I have no desire to do more than a few weeks with a woman. The longer things went on the more a woman felt she was owed, felt she could demand more time, more emotion, more than I was ever willing to give.
Those thoughts in mind, I close Christina’s personnel file and toss it into a drawer. Starve the fever, it is for the better, for both of us.
4
Christina
I’m up before my alarm. If I got more than four hours, I would be surprised. Even when I fell asleep my mind wouldn’t shut off, with an anxiety dream of being late to work but not able to find a phone to call in.
I check my cell phone, no missed calls or texts. I sag with relief. Over two hours last night I had received almost twenty texts from Tim on behalf of Ivan with questions and clarifications about the report I had completed.
When Tim came to pick it up yesterday, he sat down and read it, marking it all to hell in front of me. Considering how hard I worked on it, it was hard not to take it personally. Until he made it clear it was to help me, they were things Ivan would do to it.
He wanted to give me time to fix it before Ivan got it. It took a little longer than I would have liked, but once it was done Tim was nodding encouragingly. It was good. After my sixth text last night, despite Tim’s assurance it was good, I had clearly missed something.
My alarm goes off, pulling me out of my depressed thoughts. Dressing quickly in the outfit I laid out last night, I give myself a firm talking-to. I’m going to be calm, cool, and collected. I’ll ignore the crazy things my body’s been doing in reaction to Ivan.
Chemistry, that’s all it was. A chemical reaction to encountering the most stunning man I’ve ever seen in real life. So I discovered I’m not completely dead down there. It didn’t mean I had to go and embarrass the poor man and myself.
Ivan had also confirmed his asshole tendencies. There is no way in hell I’ll be able to put up with him without calling out his dickishness. Before long the chemistry will die. I just have to not make an idiot of myself or get fired before it does.
In front of the mirror, I flinch. My sleepless night is clear on my face. Sighing, I pull out the makeup case I rarely use. It’s not that I don’t know how to apply makeup, it’s that I don’t like to. Once I started going out with Brandon, he hinted that he preferred me to wear makeup.
His little sister was a makeup guru who taught me everything from how to mix my own shade of foundation because no shade was perfect out of the bottle, to how to contour, and even how to use every single color in a twenty-shade eyeshadow palette. At first it was fun but gradually it became a chore until I resented it completely.
Right now, it feels like war paint, to fake that I’ve got myself together. With that thought in mind, I add the makeup case to my suitcase.
Rolling my suitcase behind me, I leave my room wondering if I should lock my door. Not that I don’t trust the nurse; it’s Abuelo I don’t trust. Once, several years ago, he snooped in my room and gave me hell for the romance novels I had hidden in my bedside table.