Brandon’s POV
“Mom, I was drunk!” I respond with an annoyed look on my face. Rebecca Martinez sits gracefully at my desk staring pointedly at me. Because of the time I spent making sure that Natalie was okay, I was late in getting to the office. Truth is, I didn’t even want to come in today, but I needed a form of distraction. Thoughts of Natalie have been intruding in my thoughts lately, and I couldn’t be more surprised. I don’t even like the girl!
When I stepped into my office, my mother was already at my desk waiting for me. I knew that she would want an explanation after yesterday’s drama, but I sure wasn’t expecting to find her waiting for me.
“And since when do you get drunk?” She asks with a calmness that only Rebecca Martinez is capable of exhibiting. I run a hand through my hair and place the other over the lower half of my face. I don’t have a response for her. I can’t possibly tell her that I can’t get Natalie out of my head. Even admitting it to myself, the thought is appalling!
Before that interview at Giancarlo, it had been easy to tolerate Natalie. She had a pretty face, but that was about it. Nothing about her attracted me. Even when we’d been cordial in the few weeks before we got married, not once did I so much as spare her more than a passing glance. When we started to share bed space, however, things became a little different.
I started to see a side to her that intrigued me. She has a wry sense of humor that she thinks no one else gets. When she smiles, her eyes crinkle and a pretty dimple appears on her right cheek. She has a fiery temper that ebbs almost as soon as it begins. It angers me that I know these things about her, but all of that didn’t matter until that kiss.
I’d kissed her with only one intention in mind: to shut that reporter up. Although the purpose of that kiss had been achieved, something else had happened that day. That kiss left me ragged. It left my breathing heavy and my desire aroused. I’d had to feign an air of indignation while I led Natalie away from the cameras, and after that, when she reached for me in the car, I pulled back coldly.
I did not regret the coldness I showed afterward, what bothered me was the way that I was suddenly unable to get the feel of her body under my hands out of my mind. That night, she’d curled up in a far corner of my bed, but I’d felt her presence at my side every second until dawn. My knowledge of her presence at my side angered me that night. Terribly. Natalie was not my type, I constantly reminded myself. By morning, I’d managed to convince myself that whatever I’d felt certainly didn’t mean anything.
When by the end of that week, however, I found that I’d become more aware of her presence, and not less so, I was livid. It was getting difficult to concentrate at work. What’s worse, the girl noticed nothing other than my snoring which of course is nonexistent. She has an interesting dose of pride that amuses me as much as her wry sense of humor.
When Baldwin, the driver assigned to Natalie, returned home saying that Natalie had asked him to go home because her friend would drop her off, it had irked me. From the first time I’d met them at the mall that first day, I’d decided I didn’t like the wiry young man she called her friend. Of course, my outright dislike for the man wasn’t because of jealousy or any such thing. I just do not trust the boy.
Even worse than the realization that she was out there getting cozy with the boy was the sheer joy on her face when she got back. She’d been humming and going about her business with more gaiety than I’d seen her exude in weeks. My threat to have him trashed and out of a job had been on impulse. When she lashed out after I raised the topic of her outing with Robin, I had been about to apologize. It had taken a great deal of will to not do it.
The weakness in the mere thought of an apology appalled me. I would ordinarily never have considered saying sorry for anything I had or hadn’t done, and in that instant, I decided that if I was to maintain the upper hand in this relationship, I would have to create a boundary hence the decision that she go to another room. I regretted it almost immediately, but like my mother, I’ve never been known to take back my words.
When I woke up the next morning to see that she had moved her things to a room downstairs, however, her pride had only left a distasteful taste in my mouth. As expected my mother had noticed the action and questioned me about it. Thankfully, Natalie had told her earlier that we had both decided that we each needed our space, so when I gave the same response, she didn’t press. In truth, it pisses me off that I have to answer to my mother now. If my claim to the Martinez empire wasn’t on the line, even she wouldn’t have this much power over me.
Now, sitting in my office, at my desk, still staring pointedly at me, my mother repeats her question. “Since when do you get drunk, Brandon?”
“Since you got me married to a girl I had no interest whatsoever in.” I half shout.
“Do not use that tone with me, young man. You and Natalie have been married for almost two months. Why is it suddenly a problem now?” She asks in the same level tone.
I count to ten in my head before responding. “Alright, mom. This is enough. I’ve got work to do.”
She pins her gaze on me for a few seconds before rising to her feet and heading towards the door. With her hand on the knob, she turns around and pins her gaze on me again. “Whatever is going on, Brandon, you need to fix up.” When she leaves, I throw an air punch before stalking to the chair my mother just rose from.
I pour all of my anger and frustration into work. After about an hour of futile negotiation with an Italian hotelier, I slam the phone back on its receiver. The man won’t sell! I pride myself an excellent negotiator, and so when this man seems completely oblivious to my persuasive skills, I am justifiably frustrated.
At that exact moment, a familiar figure clad in a skimpy suit sashays into my office with Ellie, my secretary hurrying after her trying to stop her from barging in. Her blond hair- which I now know is fake- falls to her back over her cream suit. She is at least 5’11 tall, and has a slender form that curves slightly at her waist, and gives her a subtle hourglass shape. I wave Ellie away before turning a stony face towards her. “Arlys. To what do I owe this visit?”
“Why, Brandon Martinez. I could have sworn you’d be happier to see me.” She says, casually dropping her stylish grey bag on my desk, and sitting comfortably on a chair across mine. Arlys and I dated for a while, and in that short time, I learned that Arlys is a cold, cunning bitch. She, on the other hand, made it her life’s work to get back into my life- for the money, of course. I do not harbor any misguided notion that she is perhaps in love with me.
“What do you want?” I ask in the same clipped tone with which I greeted her earlier.
Her brows furrow and she frowns slightly before responding, “Well, I was signing a deal close by and I thought I’d drop in and say hello to my favorite person.”
I grit my teeth at her obviously intentional choice of words before forcing a smile. “Well, now you’ve said your hellos. Leave.”
Her face takes on a look of mock surprise. “You’re hurting me, Brandon.”
If there’s anything I learned in my short-lived relationship with Arlys, it’s that she never does anything without reason. “Say what you have to say and get out, Arlys.”
With her face taking on an irritated look, she crosses her legs. “So, it’s true, then. This crappy talk that’s going about.” Her voice becomes mocking before she adds, “I hear you went and fell in love with that waitress girl.”
I glare icily at her. I’m not bothered by the accusation of falling in love with Natalie. That’s not so bad. If Arlys believes that Natalie and I are in a love marriage, it means that the kissing fiasco outside Giancarlo worked. “That waitress girl is my wife, remember. It would do you a world of good to speak respectfully of her around me.” I say in an icy tone. She scoffs haughtily but remains quiet.
“Good thing you know when to shut up. Now, get out.” The look on my face becomes darker when I see that she doesn’t make any effort to leave. “I will not repeat myself, Arlys. Get the fuck out!” This time, she recognizes the venom in my tone and scurries to her feet. She chances an angry look at my face before leaving.
“You can’t toss me away over something so petty and go and fall in love with some plain inexperienced girl, Brandon. I won’t take it.” With the words out, her courage seems to dissipate, and she stalks out the door.