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Outrageous. Warren clamped down against the flow of obscene words on the tip of his tongue. He’d hired the best consulting firm on the planet precisely so that “issues” with visas did not impede his progress. “That’s a breach of contract. I need an Australian expert who has been immersed in the culture for the whole of her life, not an American who’s read some things on the internet.”
“I’m afraid I can’t speak to the specifics,” she intoned, as if the entire project wasn’t now in complete jeopardy. “My superiors seem to believe replacing me is well within their contractual rights. I do apologize for the short notice.”
Warren ran a hand through his hair as he contemplated contingencies that didn’t exist. This project needed Tilda. Period. “How short?”
“I’m to wrap up with you today and be on a plane by Friday.”
“Friday? As in the day after tomorrow?”
This was a disaster. And only in being presented with a looming deadline could Warren admit that he needed Tilda, as well. He couldn’t work with another consultant who didn’t get his style the way she did. He could be gruff, short and to the point, and she took it all with grace.
Plus, he liked listening to her talk. Sometimes, when they worked through dinner, she relaxed enough to laugh and he could indulge in a very harmless fantasy about what her chestnut hair might look like when it was down around her shoulders. He’d undone enough hairstyles in his day to know that hers likely hit her midback and would be shiny and smooth under his fingers.
Warren was as adept with a well-shaped fantasy as he was with running Flying Squirrel.
Harmless fantasies fueled a man who was still at the office during the hours other men might indulge in all things female. Harmless fantasies worked for him on so many levels because he’d never act on them. Tilda’s expertise on this project was too important to add her to the list of women who would eventually gift him with an unoriginal text message.
Tilda folded her hands together in that no-nonsense way he’d always secretly appreciated. Her slender fingers locked in place with strength of purpose. No stray movements, as if she never accidentally got into an uncomfortable position worth correcting. Lack of mistakes was as much a part of her personality as her incredible efficiency.
“Yes, this Friday,” she said. “I have about four hours to get my things in order. My replacement should be here in the morning to pick up where I left off.”
“That’s not happening.” As if Tilda could be replaced. It was ridiculous to assume even for a moment that this was a done deal. “Who do I need to speak with at your firm about this? If nothing else, I’ll sponsor your visa.”
Surely that was doable. Tilda gave him the name and number of her superior and strode from the room to update the project plan in the event his call didn’t go as planned.
It didn’t. The contact at the consulting firm cited a mix-up in renewing Tilda’s visa and then informed Warren that Tilda had to leave the country before her immigration papers expired on Saturday, or she wouldn’t be permitted to return once the renewal had been sorted out. He cited several clauses in immigration law that the firm couldn’t in good conscience violate, which was entirely too much legal jargon for one o’clock in the afternoon.
Warren ended the call and immediately consulted an immigration lawyer. What was the point of having a lot of money if you couldn’t spend it where you needed to most? Two hours later, he was out of time and out of options. Save one. A green-card marriage.
The lawyer cautioned Warren about the dangers of fake marriages for residency but allowed that the immigration department was overrun with work, so likely wouldn’t be examining things too closely.
Warren was just desperate enough to pitch the option to Tilda. Odds were good she’d say no so fast his head would spin. But he had to try.
She had an all-business persona that lent itself to an in-name-only relationship. She’d definitely welcome the continued distance and reserve he would insist upon. He didn’t do deep dives beneath the surface. Not anymore. He worked like a fiend for a reason—his relationship skills left a lot to be desired. The more he worked, the easier it was to forget he’d been responsible for his college roommate’s death.
Marriage was the last thing he should be contemplating. Not given the pact he’d made after Marcus died; Warren had sworn to never fall in love. Jonas and Hendrix, who’d also been friends with Marcus, had vowed, too, but they’d broken the pact by falling for their wives. Warren refused to dishonor Marcus’s memory that way.
