Page 40 of Runaway Bride’s Husband

“What if I’m never ready?”

She shrugged, not missing a single beat. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” When her phone started ringing on the elaborate desk, she winced. “I should get that.”

“I’ll go.” I hugged her again on my way out, definitely feeling better now than I had before I’d spoken to her.

Cathy was masterful at reassurance. I just had to hope all her promises held up, but I was certain they would. She really did control the gossip grapevine to a large extent and she had an impressive network of reporters in her pocket.

Feeling like I could breathe at least a little bit now, I decided that the next step was to see if my father had blocked my access to money after all. For all I knew, he’d changed his mind or allowed at least one of my cards to work again once I’d gotten back to the city.

Unfortunately, my predictions had been right. Marcus had given me my wallet back when he’d visited Ryan’s, so I pulled out a card and tried to take out some cash, but no luck. I tried another card and then another, but all of them were declined.

My stomach dropped when I glanced back down at my wallet and realized I didn’t have another one to try. Ryan and Marcus had both warned me this would happen, and while I’d believed them, part of me had clung onto the hope that my father wouldn’t have gone quite this far, but it looked like that part of me was an idiot.

On the walk back to Ryan’s apartment, the reality of what I’d done properly sank in. I was wearing the sweater of a man I hadn’t seen since my debutante ball without his knowledge or permission. I was also living in his home despite all the many obvious signs that he didn’t want women there.

My parents weren’t bluffing. The money was gone and the cards had been cut off.

When I stared back at myself in the reflection of the elevator in Ryan’s building, I realized that despite Cathy’s reassurances, I still needed to figure this out.

Even if it meant I had to give my parents what they wanted.

CHAPTER 17

RYAN

If I hated being the messenger, I absolutely fucking detested being stuck in the middle. Marcus wanted updates all the damn time. Daniel kept asking for answers. Maggie wanted everyone to leave her alone—and somehow, I’d become the human bridge between them.

For some inexplicable reason, no one wanted to just pick up the damn phone and solve their own problems. Direct communication had run its course.

So now, instead of continuing to bounce around between three people who were doing the bidding of someone else, I’d come to the source.

Ha, I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.

Cliff Pembroke’s office sat in a high-rise far above Manhattan, the people on the streets below so small from up here that they looked like ants. I watched them through the glass while I waited to be seen, wondering if those people down there were having normal days.

Because I was not.

My last totally normal day had been three weeks before the wedding, when I’d arrived in Chicago and hadn’t been to my mother’s house yet. Fuck, has it really been that long?

The conference room door opened and Cliff walked in, immediately extending a hand toward me. “Ryan, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I was just wrapping up a call.”

“It’s not a problem.” I took his hand in a firm grip. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

“Of course.” He smoothed out his tie and sat down across from me, leaning back in the chair, but not looking relaxed at all. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“Yes, sir.” I folded my hands on the table and looked him right in the eyes, jumping straight into it. “What exactly am I doing, Cliff? Everyone seems to think I can convince Maggie to get married, but it seems to me her complaints about the first wedding were valid. Surely, the family should be sitting down together to work it all out instead running everything through me.”

His expression remained impassive. “From what I’ve been told, she listens to you and you’re here because you want to help her. Is that not true?”

“With all due respect, she doesn’t listen to me. All I did was lay out the facts for her. She did the rest. She agreed to come back because of the facts. None of the arguments I made during those two days even swayed her in the slightest.”

“Ah, I see,” he said after a beat, his gaze skimming across my face. “You’re here to verbalize your grievances.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“It doesn’t matter how you put it. That is a fact. You came to me because you’re tired of being accosted from all sides and you’re hoping I can put the matter to rest.”

Holy shit. He’s either the most intelligent guy in the city or the most observant. Or maybe he’s just the most logical, but whatever it is, he’s good. Real good.