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"Well, what crawled up your ass and died? Where's the smile?" I asked.
He grunted, rubbing his hands over his face. "Aoife is refusing to plan the wedding. She says she has no interest in planning something she doesn't want, and there's no need for a grand ceremony. She told me to just sign the check I write to her father, and the deal will be done."
"Ouch," I muttered. "I know nothing about these kinds of marriages before you go biting my head off, but are you actually writing her father a check for the right to marry her?"
"No!" Yavin said in exasperation. "Yes, it's arranged. I know I stand to gain from it since I'll be taking over for Liam after he retires. I don't care about any of that. I don't even want it."
"So why did you agree to marry her?" I asked, tilting my head to the side and encouraging him to admit the truth to himself through me. I didn't know Aoife, but I knew if I'd been in that situation, I'd have probably given Yavin shit until the day I died.
Unless he actually wanted me.
"She's far from a burden," Yavin said hesitantly. At my raised eyebrow and discerning look, he chuckled and finally continued on. "Okay, okay. I saw her. I wanted her. I didn't even want a fucking wife, but I volunteered before my brain caught up to what I was doing."
"So you regret it?" I asked, hoping to hell the answer wasn't a yes. I'd probably kill him if he went through with the marriage when he regretted it before it even happened.
"No," he admitted. "I don't. It just makes no sense. Let's be real here."
I shrugged and stood, walking around the office to examine the lack of personal effects. It was like he'd never really settled into his job at Tease, even though he'd managed it for nearly a decade. "You should put her picture on your desk. Maybe the shelf. Not a sexy picture or anything like that, but something sweet. Go to the effort, so that when she comes to your office for the first time, she can see that she's been here all along. Don't tell her about it or point it out, because that just reeks of looking for brownie points. Let her notice it organically," I murmured.
"I don't have any pictures of her. She refuses to spend time with me in her ‘last few months of freedom’," he groaned.
"So ask her father, stalk her on social media. Put in some fucking effort, Romeo. All she wants is to feel like you actually want her and not what she can give you. You work in a strip club. That is automatically going to work against you. She'll assume you're sleeping around. You proudly displaying her photo for all the girls to see will help that a bit, but not enough. If you haven't already done this, I highly suggest you take a vow of celibacy until she's ready to give it up. The last thing you need is one of the girls talking about how good you dicked them down last week when Aoife starts coming in."
He stared at me like I'd lost my damn mind, and I thought for a moment I'd have to smack some sense into him. "You think I'd agree to an engagement and still sleep around? Fuck, Sandman. Your opinion of me is flattering." He pulled out his phone, tapping away as, I assumed, he brought up Aoife's social media accounts.
"I can't believe I just encouraged you to stalk her." I shook my head, pacing around the room some more. "Keep texting her regularly, but not about the wedding. For her, the wedding is a symbol of your control over her life and a reminder about the arrangement. Ask her questions about herself. Tell her about yourself within moderation. Nobody likes a man who talks about himself constantly. Ask her opinion on disputes with work or what the fuck ever. For advice on your sister if you need to buy Samara a gift. Anything that involves her as a person and not just a contract."
"So treat her like I'm trying to date her even though we're engaged? And do all this through text messages?"
"Does she take your phone calls?" I asked.
"That would be a no," he laughed.
"Then yes, through text. Go to the house and ask to see her. If she won't see you leave flowers or something inexpensive but sweet. Just show her you're trying, but not buying her affection. It may not help much before the wedding, but hopefully it will ease the transition once you're married."
He nodded, spinning the phone to show me her social media. I scrolled through the photos, examining them one by one to find the perfect matches for what Yavin needed. "This one on your desk," I said, pointing to a picture of her smiling at the camera in what seemed to be a candid moment. "And this on your shelf." The photo was more posed, her doing some kind of dance leap on the edge of a fountain with the water splashing behind her. With her strawberry blonde hair like a halo and her long legs perfectly displayed by pointed toes, jealousy struck me. I wanted legs like that.
Life wasn't fair.
I dropped the phone on his desk, moving to the door. "I have to pee. Can I do that alone since it's two doors down, my jailer?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. He smiled at me finally as his printer whirred to life on the other side of the room.
"Sure. If you aren't back in five minutes though, I'll tell Enzo you beat me up before you ran."
"Asshole," I laughed, tripping as Rebel ran out the door in front of me. "I guess Rebel is coming to the bathroom with me."
"Okay," he responded, already turning his attention back to his phone as he typed furiously. Hopefully, he'd take my advice and work to nurture his relationship with Aoife, otherwise I didn't see it going anywhere fast.
"Oh, tell Aoife she should come to our next girls' night!" I shouted as I made my way down the hall. The bathroom was small with only two stalls inside it. Neither of them was handicap accessible, so when Rebel insisted on cramming herself inside with me, it was less than convenient. "What's up with you, baby?" I asked, reaching down to scratch behind her ears before I went about my business.
Public bathrooms were the bane of my existence, but I managed not to touch anything in a move worthy of a contortionist. Rebel stuck her nose underneath the stall, sniffing in deep breaths of air. It was a clean bathroom, with none of the lingering stench that came in public restrooms.
Quite the drama queen, my dog was.
When I pulled open the stall door, she moved out first. Her bark was the first warning as I stepped out, a forearm locking around my throat was the second.
"Shut her up before I shoot her." The man's voice was deep, unfamiliar as the pressure of a gun pressed into the back of my head. I raised my hands up, locking eyes with Rebel.
"Quiet, Rebel," I said sternly, willing her to listen. She stopped immediately, staring at the unseen attacker behind me as her mouth twitched and she bared her teeth in the first sign of real aggression I'd ever seen from her. When the man's body relaxed slightly, I spoke. "I don't have any money on me." Locking my left hand over the hand on the front of my shoulder, I threw my head forward at the same time I raised my right elbow into the hand holding his weapon. Ducking and spinning my body quickly as the force of it shoved him to the side and fucked up his aim, I locked his gun arm between my bicep and my torso to control his reaction. Both hands surrounded the gun, fighting for control as I jabbed an elbow into his face. Blood sprayed from his nose, and I stomped down onto his foot with all my strength.
