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Chapter Sixteen
Because of her morning romp with Henry, Bre went to work in the previous day’s clothing, effectively squashing any plans she devised to deny her relationship. Her clothes were wrinkled, and her usually straightened hair was curling around the edges due to sweat. She looked a mess.
“So it’s true?” Matthew asked, taking in her appearance as she entered the office. He looked utterly frazzled, and from the bags under his eyes, Bre could tell he’d been in the office earlier than usual. It amplified her already guilty expression. “Bloody-hell Breanne,” Matthew groaned, taking her silence as an affirmation. “I thought you were smarter than this?”
“Apparently, not,” she told him as she made her way to her desk. Sure, Bre felt terrible, but she refused to apologize for her actions. “The situation isn’t entirely what you think it is,” she told Matthew, refusing to apologize for having the best sexual encounter of her life.
“Enlighten me,” he told her, his tone annoyed. “Last night, you went on a date with Thomas Marlborough and today, you are romping around with the Duke of Rochester, who is dating Priscilla Marlborough, your date’s sister. I understand I’m not quite as youthful as I once was, and perhaps this is some sort of progressive sex I’m unaware of, but for goodness sakes Bre, this looks terrible,” Matthew said.
Bre felt her frustration grow as she considered why she was out with Thomas Marlborough in the first place. “I know how it looks, but let me remind you,” she snapped, “I avoided Thomas Marlborough, and you sent him here to take me out. I did not pursue him, and told you I wasn’t interested.” Generally, Bre hated making people feel bad, but this morning proved to be too much for her, and her usual calm demeanor was out the window. The look on Matthew’s face made Bre feel terrible, but she stuck to her guns unwilling to let him make her feel like a whore.
“Anyway, “she told him. “Henry and I did nothing wrong. He’s not dating Sienna, and I’m not dating Thomas. We are two unattached adults who spent the night together, and I wish everyone would get off my back about it,” she puffed out.
“That’s not what the tabloids, social media, and frankly the world are saying,” Matthew said, gesturing to the clutter of magazines on his desk. Bre didn’t look. She’d seen enough on her quick jaunt from Henry’s room to her office to know she was being lambasted as the whore of Rochester. ‘Cleverly unoriginal,’ she thought to herself. She found it especially horrendous that she was being made out to be some sort of American whore, and Henry was getting exactly zero hate.
“Matthew, you and I both know that tabloids want to sell copies, so they come up with the most salacious stories imaginable. I can assure you, Henry and I are quite boring,” she said. ‘The first lie,’ she thought to herself. Sex with Henry was the most exciting thing Bre had ever encountered in her life. They might be a lot of things, but boring definitely was not one of them.
Matthew glanced at her harder as if seeing through her lies. Bre did her best to cover up Henry’s love bites across her skin, but she worried some might be peeking out. The idea made her flush with embarrassment and pull her cardigan tighter.
“Okay,” Matthew told her. “Explain to me how all of this happened,” he asked.
Before Bre could open her mouth, another, unexpected voice chimed in to answer for her.
“That answer is simple,” Priscilla Rochester said as she walked into the PR office still dressed in her outfit from this morning. Bre marveled at the way she managed to enter a room as quietly as a ninja despite her four-inch heeled pumps. “Apparently, Ms. Reynolds and my son are engaged.”
* * *
Desperate. Bre never felt so desperate in her entire life. Even at her lowest, she managed to regain control and execute some sort of plan. But, right now, Bre felt like her world was melting down. She needed to talk to Henry. She’d tried discretely messaging him all morning, but her messages remained unanswered.
You could have knocked Bre over with a feather after Priscilla Rochester’s abrupt announcement, and ever since, Matthew refused to speak to her angry at her for withholding vital information. Bre did not know what to say. For some odd reason, she could not seem to say that the engagement was fake.
The entire U.K., potentially the entire world thought she was a home-wrecker, and because of that, some small part of Bre felt the need to remain quiet about the actual facts of her relationship with Henry. That did not stop her from freaking out, which is how she ended up writing the press release for her supposed engagement, flabbergasted and desperately trying to get Henry on the phone.
“We should have photos to release with the announcement,” Matthew said curtly from behind his desk. “I’ll call a photographer we’ve utilized in the past,” he told her. “And I supposed I’ll need to begin hiring your replacement.”
Bre felt her moth drop at his words, “You’re firing me?” she asked her voice trembling as she felt her eyes fill with tears. Sure, she didn’t necessarily make the best choice in sleeping with their boss, but she wasn’t sure she needed to lose her job over it, especially considering she wasn’t actually engaged to anyone.
Taking in the look on her face, Matthew softened his tone, “Breanne, it won’t be appropriate for you to work here when you are married to the Duke. You’ll be the new Duchess and tasked with running this household,” he explained.
Bre felt nauseous at his words. She wanted to scream aloud that she and Henry weren’t engaged, but she still remained unsure of what the actual fuck was going on, and so, the words stuck in her mouth. It hurt her that Matthew seemed able to throw away their partnership so easily.
“You can’t fire me until the wedding,” Bre blurted out, desperate to maintain her job, especially considering she’d never been the Duchess of anything and needed to keep her livelihood after this mix-up came to an end.
Matthew contemplated what she said. “Alright,” he sighed in defeat, clearly wanting to begin the process of severing ties. “But, you won’t be in charge of anything relating to yourself and Henry. Perhaps, we need to restructure the workload, and you can manage things more related to the general household and charity organizations. In fact, that’s probably a grand idea considering your next job will be to run those things separately of the PR department.”
Matthew knew next to nothing about social media, which was what Bre took care of, and Bre knew nothing of Rochester house outside of Henry, but neither of them voiced their opinion, instead content to pretend that everything would be fine.
“I need the restroom,” Bre said before storming out of her office. She needed Henry, but she didn’t want to add fuel to the fire by telling Matthew that. Instead, she made an excuse while she stormed into the interior of the house and Henry’s office.
As suspected, he was nowhere to be found. Apparently, taking the day off from his duties, to do god-knows-what, as her world exploded. She looked for him in his suites but found only an embarrassed looking maid who straightened the room of the remains of their passion. Bre thanked all of the gods that Henry had the sense to discard the condoms on the floor before he left. She’d have died of disgust if she thought some poor girl would be taking care of that for them.
Frustrated Bre returned to her office, having no choice but to resume work, this time, thankfully with Matthew chatting on about dividing duties, while she waited for the man of her dreams and nightmares to show up and explain why her life seemed to be going to hell.
Chapter Seventeen
Henry always kept his mobile ringer off, and he rarely checked it, content to allow people to wait for him. He believed in giving life his full attention and felt as though stuffing one’s mobile in one’s face consistently detracted from your ability to live life. This explained why he did not notice the multitude of calls from Bre he received throughout the day.
Henry breathed out a sigh of frustration. He planned to discuss his talk with his mother with Bre this evening, preferably with her naked and pliable in his arms. His mother, it appeared, had alternative ideas, and as angry as he wished to be with her, he knew he’d set his entire situation in motion on his own.
