02

I especially didn’t know that he would be reeking of self-importance, with him looking like he knew he could be somewhere else doing something a lot more pleasant than sitting there and being scrutinized by a waitress at Marlow’s.

« Macy said Mr. Maxfield specifically asked for me, » I explained impatiently. « I’m looking at you and you’re definitely not him. »

A frown started between his brows and never left. « I am definitely Mr. Maxfield—Brandon Christopher Maxfield, to be precise. »

Based on the tailoring and materials of his dark blue sports jacket and white shirt, he was definitely rich and showed it well—nothing less than I expected of him. But there was nothing about him at all that reminded me of Martin who had silver hair, happy blue eyes and a kind smile—maybe except for the stubborn chin which he tipped up at me rudely in indignation.

I have a suspicion that today will be the day I stop scribbling his name with flowers and hearts in my journal. Nothing like meeting the person in reality to ruin your dream version of him.

I mentally shook my dreamy, distracted thoughts of him away and focused on his hazel eyes which were gleaming with obvious distaste.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. « Ah, yes. The younger, more ambitious, less charming Mr. Maxfield. Nice to meet you. »

Oh yes, I knew of Brandon Maxfield, alright. He was splattered all over the media since he was the heir apparent to Maxfield Industries and its current president. He was ruthless in business, well in demand at social functions, and easy on the eye to top it all off.

Since I was friends with Martin, I’ve heard enough about him—both good and bad—but he just always seemed like a character in a book that I’ve read over and over again and who always stayed confined to the pages.

Okay, so he was a little more than just a character—he was the prince who loved Charlotte, I mean, Cinderella—but these were fantasies I had when I was sixteen, when Martin started telling me about him and I started paying attention to everything about him that the media dished out.

In the last year or so, I haven’t had the time or the heart to fantasize about my own fairy tales again. I’ve grown jaded enough to know that I probably never will.

He looked at the hand I extended, as if it were a snake about to spring forward and coil around his neck, before he briefly shook it.

« Sarcasm isn’t the most polite of greetings, Ms. Samuels, » he answered in a tone brittle with annoyance as he quickly released my hand. « You aren’t so charming yourself. »

I ignored the traces of heat his hand left on my palm and shrugged. « And you just made a hypocrite of yourself with that sarcastic comment. Now we’re even. »

Anger flared in his gold-flecked, brown-green eyes. « Not even close. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll discuss business. »

I shook my head. « I don’t believe we have any business together, Mr. Maxfield. And I have work to do. Macy will come by and take your order when you’re ready. Good day—« 

I had just turned when his arm shot out and grabbed my elbow in an iron grip.

I glanced at it and narrowed my eyes at him. « I would let go if I were you. No one would blink an eye here if I break your nose for touching me. »

His gaze darkened, his grip not loosening one bit. « I wouldn’t threaten men who are twice your size if I were you, Ms. Samuels. Others here may let you get away with playing tease like old Bruce back there, but some of us have a little more self-respect than that. I’m certainly a lot more discerning where I get my kicks from. Even a well-oiled bike breaks down after so many men have ridden it. »

Red flashed in my vision and before I knew it, I threw a punch.

My fist grazed his jaw before punching into air and before I could react, he was on his feet, grabbing me by the shoulders, propelling me into the booth, and settling himself in front of me so I was trapped between him and the table.

He was much larger and stronger than I thought, and he looked downright furious.

« Let go of me, you ass ! » I yelled at him as I struggled to push him off the seat, but he was pure muscle under the shirt and jacket that he didn’t budge an inch. « You’re an arrogant, offensive cockhead and I’m not wasting my time on you. »

« Stop swearing ! » he hissed at me, aware that heads popped up at my raised voice. « I don’t want to talk with you any more than you want to talk with me, but we’re in a mess that you created and I want you to fix it. »

That got my attention.

I stopped struggling and stared at him as if he sprouted a horn—make that two horns since he was probably the devil.

« What the hell are you talking about ? »

He rolled his eyes, releasing me. « Oh, you very well know what I’m talking about, Ms. Samuels. Didn’t you plan all of this out ? Play my father right into your hands so he would do anything you asked, including blackmailing his own son so you can get what you want ? »

I frowned. « I’ll give you exactly ten seconds to explain yourself before I scream murder. My friends down at the Dalhousie precinct aren’t very fond of pervs and bullies like you. »

Watching his jaw clench, a muscle ticking under his left eye, I realized just how angry Brandon Maxfield was. There was no humor for him in all of this, and he was barely restraining himself from reaching over and wringing my neck. As to why he was mad at me, I didn’t know.

Be the adult, Charlotte. Attempt a civil conversation even if the man is a total ape.

« Let’s try this again, » I said in a calmer tone. « What are you here for ? Tell me as if I’m hearing this for the first time because I bet I am. Please and thanks. »

I was proud of my perfectly pleasant statement but it seemed to infuriate him further because he dragged in a deep, loud breath as if fighting for control.

« I’m here to propose marriage, Ms. Samuels, » he said in a grave voice as if he just announced a death sentence—for whom, that I wasn’t sure about.

I blinked a few times before I grinned and lost it, throwing my head back laughing.

« What exactly is so hilarious about the situation, Ms. Samuels ? » he demanded.

Clutching my stomach, I shook my head as I tried to stem the flow of my laughter. I brushed a few tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand and looked at him.

Well, the man looked serious—or had an excellent poker face.

« I’m sorry, » I said. « I thought I just heard you say you were here to propose marriage to me. Who put you up to this ? Martin ? Where’s that sly old man so I can give him his payback for this ? »

« My father is in Amsterdam right now, » he answered, still without any humor. « He left two days ago with a warning that if we’re not engaged yet by the time he arrived in a week, he would put forward my cousin, Francis Pelletier, as the new CEO of Maxfield Industries when he retires later this year. »

The smile vanished from my mouth as it hung open while his statement replayed in my head. It took a moment before I finally understood what he said.

My brows shot up. « Why the hell would Martin do that ? »

He raised one brow himself. « You call him Martin like that and you wonder why ? Obviously my father is smitten with a teenage gold-digger like you, but instead of marrying you himself, he throws you at me because you probably prefer younger meat. »

« If by younger meat you mean yourself, no, thank you, » I said acidly, now seething at his insults. « You’re obviously made of vile, unpleasant stuff and would be most likely hard to chew on, considering how much of a stiff-ass you are. I would marry Martin over you any time, except that I don’t marry men who are like a father to me because that’s just wrong in so many levels. And if you knew your father really well, you’d know that he will never marry anyone else. He can’t lose a heart he’d already lost to Evelyn a long time ago. »