Meant to Marry Me

Having a spectacular view of Nashville was distracting at times, especially when Trent Walker had so much on his mind. He had a stack of client folders in front of him that he needed to approve, but instead of working, his eyes kept wandering to the skyline as he thought of Bree and hoped she was doing better today.

She hadn't seemed to be doing well at all lately. He knew she was struggling with getting her hand to cooperate, and it was like a knife in his chest every time he saw her cry. He desperately wished he could take her pain away, could fix everything for her, could go back in time and stop Cat from ever hurting her to begin with.

But he couldn't do that. So he just sat at his desk feeling helpless, staring at the city, not doing his work.

His office door was open, but Celia Devoe knocked on it anyway, probably just to jar him out of his own head. "You okay?" she asked, taking a few steps into his office. She had her hair up in a bun today, and her red lipstick matched her suit. Somehow, she still looked approachable, even in such a bold color.

"I'm fine," he lied, swiveling back around. "Just... checking to see if any birds need an accountant."

She chuckled politely. "You know, you don't have to be here. We can handle the office just fine. If you'd feel better at home with Bree, go home. I can clear those accounts. I do it when you're not here."

"I know you can," he said, meaning it. She had done everything perfectly when he'd been gone, and he absolutely trusted her to continue to do what needed to be done. "I just wanted to give her some time alone. I don't think she appreciates me watching her--fail."

Celia made a pouty face, like she felt sorry for Bree. Or maybe him. Or both of them. She sat down on the corner of his desk, facing the window, but turning to look at him. "I'm so sorry. That has to be frustrating for both of you. Is her hand getting any better?"

He shrugged, noting how close her thigh was to him at this moment and wondering if she was aware her skirt had gotten considerably shorter when she sat. "I think she has, but she doesn't seem to think so." "What does the therapist say?"

Was she leaning in now? Trent scooched back a smidge, not sure. "The therapist says she's coming along, and she shouldn't give up. I don't think she will give up, but she's frustrated."

"I'm so sorry." Celia reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "If you ever want to go grab a drink and chat, let me know." She squeezed him and then popped off of the desk, as if she knew what she was doing was questionable but didn't want to be accused of anything. Heading back toward the door, she paused and suggested, "Why don't you go grab some lunch? Get out of here for a little bit--clear your head."

Trent checked the time. It was past his normal lunchtime. His stomach rumbled as if to say it agreed. Not wanting her to decide to come along with him, he said, "Maybe in a few," and picked up a file. Celia left, and Trent stopped pretending to read the information in the file. What had just happened?

There'd been a few times since he'd hired Celia when he thought maybe she was flirting with him, but this had been the most blatant episode. Or maybe she was just trying to be nice, and he was jumping to conclusions. He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts aside and decided her idea was a good one. Lunch would give him a chance to get away from the office. Maybe when he came back, he'd be better able to focus.

Making sure he had his wallet, he slipped his phone into his pocket and put his computer into sleep mode. Then, he headed out, telling his secretary he'd be back in about an hour.

The street he'd been absently staring at all morning was even busier at ground level. It was almost 2:00, so it wasn't as busy as it would've been closer to noon when most people were getting lunch, but it was still bustling with people, cars driving by, honking at one another, and the hum of the city in the background.

He decided to head to a sandwich shop a few blocks over. That would be quick, and he didn't really feel like a sit down restaurant. His mind wandered back to Bree. What had she eaten for lunch? Was she practicing guitar now? So lost in his thoughts was he that he almost didn't recognize the woman who was staring at him from just outside the sandwich shop door.

Trent stopped walking, fighting the urge to let his mouth drop open. He blinked a few times, hoping she'd go away, or morph into someone who just looked similar. But she was walking now, fast, and he was certain. It was her. She came to a halt in front of him, her arms crossed and that look on her face he knew oh too well, the one that meant she wasn't happy to see him--wasn't happy at all.

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"Hello, Monica," Trent said, shaking his head.

"Trent Walker," she said, leaning back to take him in. "I thought Nashville was big enough that I'd never have to see you again. Guess I was wrong."

Ignoring the dig, Trent regained his composure long enough to ask, "What are you doing here?"

With that same smug look on her face, as if he'd been the bad guy in the relationship, she said, "I live here now. I started working for a local agency. Believe me, I wish it hadn't included living in the same town as you, but it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up."

Trent was having a hard time believing his ears. She'd always dreamt of going off to the big city to pursue her dreams of becoming a supermodel. She'd had him convinced he'd have to move to New York City or Paris so that she could become an internationally renowned model. Now, she was in Nashville? He wasn't even aware that there was a modeling scene in Nashville. "Well, congratulations. I guess." He didn't know what else to say and really didn't want to say anything at all. Monica Edge was the last person on earth he ever wanted to see. The fact that she was standing in front of him now was yet another kick in the gut he didn't need.

"Thank you," she said, her expression not changing to show any gratitude at all. "And I hear you've got quite the new firm established here already. Good for you."Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

He shrugged, not sure if established was the right word yet. "It's coming together." Trent glanced around, seeing all the people bustling by and wishing he could engage one of them in an attempt to get him out of this conversation. But he knew none of them. At the moment he was still above throwing himself at the mercy of strangers. Maybe she'd move on soon.

"How's Bree?" she asked, her tone softening only slightly. "I heard she burned her hand, and some maniac tried to kill her?"

Running a hand through his hair, he studied his shoes for a moment. Going over what had happened with Bree was getting tiresome. The last person he wanted to discuss it with was the woman standing in front of him. Besides, it had been in all of the papers. She had to have read it. "Yes, all of that happened. She's recovering."

"That's really too bad," Monica said, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Just when she was starting to increase her popularity."

"Well, she'll be starting her tour again soon. Record sales haven't slowed."

"Oh, good. I'm glad she was able to take advantage of the sympathy of others."

The blow was a low one. Trent knew what she was doing, trying to drag him into an argument. He was above that and didn't have time to engage with her anyway. Yet, how could he let her insult the woman he loved that way? "That's not what happened. People just heard about her music because of the news and are buying it because they enjoy it."

Monica pursed her lips, looking for a counterargument, but Trent was ready to go. He took a few steps toward the sandwich shop, angling around her. "Well, maybe the situation will turn around," she said. "Although, in my experience, people usually get what they deserve."

"If that's the case, Bree will have a long and prosperous career, Monica. If you're implying she did something wrong in telling me that you were cheating on me, then you better reconsider your words." He hadn't intended to get into that particular argument with her, but clearly, she wanted to go there.

She stared at him, wide eyed, stunned, as if she couldn't comprehend he would dare to allege the way their relationship had ended was her fault at all. "I guess I just don't appreciate it when people meddle in other people's relationships." A sigh escaped his lips, and he was suddenly sucked back in time to exactly how he'd felt when he was dating her. She had a way of manipulating every conversation, twisting his words, doing whatever she could to seem to be the innocent party. "Monica, good luck with your modeling. I have a lot to do. Maybe I'll see you around. Or maybe we'll both get lucky, and we'll never see each other again."

"Fine, Trent. Be that way. Same to you." She shook her head and headed on her way, stepping quickly, but as she passed him, he swore he saw that hint of a devious smile on her lips again, and he couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't fallen right into her hands--again. Had she been waiting for him here? Surely not. He didn't even know he was coming here until he left his office. It had to have been a coincidence.

Deciding he'd already wasted too much time on Monica, he headed into the sandwich shop. Telling Bree about this would only upset her, so he decided not to mention it to her at all. If she knew Monica had moved to Nashville, it could set her recovery back, and that was the last thing Trent wanted--that and to ever see Monica again.