Don’t Mind If “I Do” by Everly Ashton

Three

Mazzy

A few days have passed and I’m still not over the shock of my grandfather’s will reading. Though I had nothing to do with the decision, I still feel a profound sense of guilt over the fact that my father was snubbed. So I’ve been hiding from him. Until now—because I’ve been summoned to Pembrooke’s head office so Dad can speak to me.

“Do not feel bad. None of this is your fault. If Gramps wanted your dad to have everything, he would’ve given it to him,” my best friend, Ava, says.

I’m talking to my best friend on the phone while sitting in the back seat of the large black SUV. My driver is navigating downtown traffic toward headquarters.

“I guess, but I can’t help it. You didn’t see my dad’s face. He was blindsided.”

“Still not your fault.”

I’ve always admired Ava’s no-bullshit attitude. I can always count on her to give it to me straight.

“You’re right. I just hope my dad sees it the same way.” I pick some imaginary lint off my blush skirt.

“You’re a daddy’s girl. You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough.” I chuckle.

“Maybe.” Though I can picture her shrugging and tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder like she always does. “Let me know how it goes. Are we still on for dinner on Saturday night?”

“Let me check my social calendar. Oh look, it’s completely blank.”

Her laugh rings in my ear. “We can discuss how to fix that problem over dinner.”

“I told you I don’t want to fix that problem.”

“I’m not saying we need to try to find you Mr. Right. We just need to find Mr. Right ‘There, oh yeah, right there, that’s perfect, I’m going to…’” She does her impression of Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally.

“I’ve been divorced less than a year. I’m not ready.”

“I’m pretty sure your vagina is ready. Maybe you should let her lead the charge for once.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

I laugh. “I do. Okay, I’ll call you demanding margaritas if this goes terribly. Otherwise I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Sounds good. I have to go source some fabric from Italy because Mrs. Tremblay’s little rat she calls a dog shit on her expensive throw pillows and she can’t possibly imagine the room feeling complete without throw pillows.”

I laugh.

Ava works at a high-end design firm. She comes from a wealthy family too, and after graduating, she was expected to marry up and pop out a bunch of kids, then move to a posh area in the suburbs. She stuck up her middle finger at that idea and is working her way up in the design world. I admire her for that.

I still haven’t figured out what my thing is, besides using my smile and connections to generate donations for different charities. It’s not a terrible way to spend my time—I do find it somewhat fulfilling to know I’m helping to raise money that will help people. But I still can’t help but feel as if something is missing.

As I hang up, the SUV pulls to a stop in front of Pembrooke headquarters. I look out the window up, up, up, unable to see the top of the building from this vantage point.

“You want me to wait here?” my driver, Darius, asks.

I shake my head. “I’m going to stop in and check how the charity gala is coming along, then go see my father. I’ll just call you before I’m ready to go.”

“Sure thing. Might pop in and see my niece then. They live about twenty minutes from here, depending on traffic.”

I smile at him. “How is Latisha doing?”

He takes his phone from the console and pulls up a picture of a little girl with umber skin, big brown eyes, and a huge smile showing off three teeth. “She’s such a happy little thing.”

“I see that. She’s adorable.”

He looks at the screen and smiles with pride. It’s clear how much he loves her. I wonder if he wants any children of his own. He’s not dating anyone right now. We spend a lot of time together and I’m inquisitive, so I always ask. But I wonder if he’s like me and family isn’t in the cards for him. He’s a few years younger than my thirty-four, but being a man, he has the luxury of time. I don’t. I’m already in geriatric pregnancy territory. I guarantee some male doctor came up with that term. Why don’t they call erectile dysfunction geriatric dick?

But I push all that from my mind. Dwelling on it will only make me feel less than, and I need to put on a strong front when I head into the Pembrooke building.

“Apple of my eye.” Darius places the phone back in the console.

“I’ll call when I’m ready. Have a good visit with your niece.” I push the door open, grab my purse, and step out onto the street. Darius knows by now not to come around and open the door for me. I’m perfectly capable of getting out myself, and there’s no reason for him to step into traffic just to open my door.

With purposeful strides, I walk toward the entry of the building, doing my best to project confidence. As soon as Al sees me enter, the aging security guard gets up from his desk and walks over.

“How are you, sweetheart?” He smiles big and pulls me into a hug.

“I’m good. How is Lois these days?” His wife of thirty-plus years had a mild heart attack earlier this year.

“Real good. She’s back to her old self. Except now she can’t eat chips or drink pop.” He sets his hands on his belt and grins.

“I’ll bet that’s tough, but that trade-off’s worth it, right?”

“You know it. She has every intention of seeing those grandkids of ours have kids of their own.”

“I’m glad to hear she’s doing well. I’m headed up to see my father and see how things are going with the gala preparation. Will we see you two there this year?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. When else do I get to dance with a young thing like you?”

“Oh, Al, compliments will get you everywhere.” I wink and walk toward the elevator, calling behind me, “See you soon.”

“Have a good day,” he says and returns to his desk.

Al has worked here for as long as I can remember. I’m not too sure what he could do physically if he ever had to confront someone while performing his job, but he’s a definite asset to the company.

The elevator travels to the fiftieth floor, and I step off and make my way across the human resources department to Sally’s office. Sally’s been with the company a long time, and we co-chair the annual fundraiser gala. It’s not for another six months, but the amount of preparation that goes into something so large and involved takes that long to put together.

On my way to her office, I stop to say hello and chat with some of the people I recognize. Many of them have seen me morph from a little girl who idolized her father and grandfather, to an awkward teenager, to a divorced socialite.

Sally’s door is closed when I approach, so I knock lightly and hear her call, “Come in.”

“Hey, I’m here visiting my dad, so I thought I’d pop in and see where we’re at with the contract with the hotel.”

“Mazzy, hi. Come in. Have a seat.” She gestures to one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. “I was going to call you today, so this is perfect.”

“Good news, I hope?” I sit.

“Afraid not. The hotel won’t budge on their pricing. This new manager is a real hard-ass.”

I lean back and cross my legs, setting my bag on the chair beside me. “Forward the contact information to me and I’ll see if I can make any headway. They know it’s for charity, right? That every cent we spend is money we can’t use to put toward the programs?”

She nods with her lips pressed together. “Doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

“Okay, leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.”

The Pembrooke Charitable Foundation is responsible for funding many of the smaller charities in the surrounding states. Rather than implementing the programs ourselves, we get donors and spread the funding out to local, grassroots-level programs that will make a bigger impact in citizens’ day-to-day lives.

“Thanks, Mazzy. I’m sure you can charm him into submission.”

I chuckle. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll do my best. Now, what else is new with you? Still seeing that same guy as the last time we spoke?”

Sally got divorced a few years ago, so she always brings me up to speed on her dating adventures. Apparently, the guy I was referring to is long gone—he liked to eat in bed after they were intimate and that was a deal-breaker for her.

Once I’m thoroughly caught up with her, I head back to the elevator and make my way to my father’s office on the top floor. The entire ride up, my hand is pressed against my belly in an effort to stop my rolling stomach. It’s been a few days since the will reading, and now that the news has settled in, I don’t know what my father will think of my grandfather’s decision.

The elevator dings and the shiny doors open, revealing a spacious reception area and the same woman who’s been giving me Dum Dums and candy since I was toddler.

“Hi, Mallory. Is my dad available? He’s expecting me.” I smile, exuding a confidence I don’t feel, as my heels click across the marble floor.

“Sure is, kiddo. You can head right in.” The passage of time has been good to her. Either that or her Botox doctor is a pro because she barely has any wrinkles on her aging face.

“Thanks!”

Normally I would stop to have a quick chat with her, but I’m too nervous today. I head straight into my dad’s office and shut the door.

He’s at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at the city below with his hands in his pockets and his jacket undone. He appears weary and distressed, a look I’m not used to seeing on him. My dad took over for my grandfather once he retired and he’s always had a lot of responsibility and pressure on his shoulders, but he’s never seemed to let it get to him.

He’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t seem to have even heard me come in.

“Dad?”

He blinks a few times and turns to look at me. A smile transforms his face. “Sweetheart.”

He opens his arms as he walks over to me, and I fall into him to give him a hug. When he pulls away, he gives me the customary kiss on the cheek and looks me over.

“How are you?” Dad asks.

“Good, I’m good. But how are you? You looked like you were working out a math equation for NASA right now.”

He chuckles and leads me to the Italian leather couch and chairs on the one side of his office. “I’m better now that you’re here.”

I smile and sit on the couch beside him. At least he doesn’t seem angry with me. “That’s good. I’d worried that maybe you were mad at me.”

He tilts his head and his forehead wrinkles. “Why would I be mad?”

I shrug and stare at my hands clasped in my lap because I can’t bring myself to look at him. “Because of what happened at the reading of Grandfather’s will.”

His finger pushes my chin up so that I’m forced to make eye contact with him. “I’ll admit I was surprised. Your grandfather never mentioned anything about changing his will. But I don’t blame you, sweetheart.”

Relief pours through me as if someone sent adrenaline through my veins with an IV. “Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure how you were going to react. I was nervous to come here today.”

He frowns and draws me into a hug. “You should know you don’t need to ever worry about me being angry with you. No matter what, you’re my daughter. I love you.”

After my hasty marriage and even hastier divorce, I believe it. Unlike my mom, Dad has never once urged me to think about how my life might look from the outside in. His main concern is my happiness.

I squeeze him tighter before drawing back. “I love you too.”

There’s a funny expression on his face. I can’t quite read it, but I get the sense that there’s something more he wants to tell me.

“Is everything okay?” I ask tentatively.

He sighs, walking back over to his desk and sitting.

This must be serious. I follow and sit in the chair across from him.

“I didn’t want to have to mention this to you, but I have no choice.” He steeples his hands in front of him. “Pembrooke Financial is in trouble.”

It takes me a minute to understand his words—almost like when you have bad Wi-Fi and you type something into your browser, but that little circle thing keeps going.

“What does that mean, in trouble?” I ask.

“I won’t get into the particulars but suffice to say that if the company doesn’t see a large influx of cash in the next year, there’s a chance it won’t survive.”

My hand flies to my mouth. I had no idea the company was having financial problems. Since we’re not publicly owned, we don’t have to report our earnings to anyone, but the IRS and I always assumed things were fine.

“You can’t speak a word of this to anyone. Not even your mother. I don’t want to worry her. And if anyone who works here finds out, they might jump ship and leave us in an even worse situation than the one we’re in now.”

My hand drops as I think of all the people who fill this building. I picture their spouses and children and everyone else who depends on them to bring home a paycheck each week, who count on them for medical and dental benefits and their retirement contributions.

I nod. “I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”

“The only reason I’m telling you is because I need your help.” He reaches across the table and holds out his hand.

I stretch to place my hand in his. “You need money from Grandpa’s estate.”

“I do. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t shocked when Harold laid out the terms of the will. I’d expected to get everything you did, and that would’ve allowed me to get this company back where it should be. But now…”

“Now it’s all gone to me.”

“Normally I wouldn’t dream of asking this of you. Your mother and you shouldn’t have to worry about these things. That money is yours to do what you want with and we can certainly draw up terms for it to be a loan. But I can’t stand the idea of all these people here losing their livelihoods. We’d be fine, but a lot of them wouldn’t.”

I nod like a bobblehead. Al, Sally, Mallory all come to my mind. People who rely on this company. “Agreed. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I think you know what it takes.” He looks at me from under his eyebrows.

The terms of the will. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.

“I have to get married,” I whisper.

“And soon.” He nods as I open my eyes.

My mind swirls. It’s not like you can go to the grocery store and pick out a husband. There’s no number dispenser like at the meat counter, or someone to ask if I’d prefer a leaner cut like chicken or do I like my men a little meatier, like a steak?

“I don’t know how, but I’ll figure something out.”

He squeezes my hand again. “I hate that I have to ask this of you, sweetheart.”

“Dad, I can do this. I promise.” Though I have no idea how. I’m not even dating anyone. Since my divorce, I’ve kept my love life as barren as the desert.

He smiles and releases my hand. “I knew I could count on you.”

I stand. I need to get out of here. I’m more shell-shocked than when the paper printed pictures of my ex-husband and his plaything making out at a restaurant.

“I better go.” I don’t wait for my dad to see me out, rushing toward the door instead.

I can do this. I can step out of his office and act as if everything is exactly the same as when I walked in. No one will be the wiser.

“You got it, kid. Let me know if you need me to help in any way.”

I turn away from his encouraging smile and step out of his office.

Now I just have to figure out exactly how the hell I’m gonna do this. I cannot let my father or all the Pembrooke employees down. Too bad there’s not a 1-800-GROOM number for me to call.