The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(2)

Settling in the empty chair, Katherine placed her journal on her lap and tapped the cover with her fingers. Once this meeting was done, she had a hundred tasks awaiting her in regard to the wedding. Hopefully, she and Preston could come to an agreement on most of the bigger decisions today.

A loud conversation began drifting through the closed door. Katherine wasn’t typically an eavesdropper, but she could hardly prevent herself from overhearing it.

“You don’t understand, Mr. Clarke. I . . . I cannot lose my home. Where will we go?”

“That is not my problem,” another man, clearly Preston, snapped. “You gambled away all your money, took out a loan and used the deed as collateral. When you couldn’t pay the bank back, I bought the deed, fair and square. If you have an issue with any of that, take it up with Gotham First National Savings and Loan.”

“The bank told me to talk to you!”

“I am not running a charity, Mr. Harris. This is a business.”

A heavy feeling settled in Katherine’s stomach. Mrs. Cohen continued working, while the man in the chair next to her focused on a stack of papers, both seemingly unbothered by the conversation. Was this sort of thing a usual occurrence around here?

“My family has nowhere else to go,” Mr. Harris was saying. “Does that even matter to you?”

Katherine held her breath. Dear God. This was terrible. Did Preston not feel even a tiny bit of compassion for this man and his family?

She couldn’t hear her fiancé’s response, but the door quickly opened to reveal an older man in an ill-fitting brown suit. He shouted, “I hope all that money keeps you warm at night,” over his shoulder just before slamming the door shut and storming out.

Mrs. Cohen rose and nodded at Katherine. “I’ll see if he’s ready for you, Miss Delafield.”

Katherine tried to calm her racing heart and forget what she’d overheard. Preston had a reputation as a ruthless businessman, but perhaps she could soften those rough edges over time.

“Miss Delafield,” Mrs. Cohen said a minute later from the open office doorway. “Mr. Clarke will see you now.”

Katherine stood and smoothed her skirts, then bit her lips for color. Her friend Nellie claimed this made one’s smile appear brighter. Pushing her shoulders back, Katherine walked into Preston’s office.

A man rose from behind the desk. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. More so, actually.

“Miss Delafield.”

Lord, he was even bigger up close. He made her, a woman taller than most, feel tiny. Her chest fluttered as she shook his hand. “Hello, Mr. Clarke.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cohen,” he said to the secretary, who nodded and closed the door. Then to Katherine: “Won’t you have a seat?”

She gracefully lowered herself into a chair, while at the same time taking a peek at the room, curious about her future husband’s domain. The office was sparse, with a walnut desk and chairs, bare walls and a giant safe in the corner. He needed some decorations in here, some artwork at the very least. She put it on her mental list to hang some paintings in his office after the wedding. Something serene and soft, like a Manet, perhaps.

Meeting his gaze, she said, “I apologize for coming unannounced like this.”

“I admit, my curiosity is piqued.” He leaned back in his chair. “What may I do for you?”

She took the list from her journal and handed it to him. “Here are the items on which we must decide. I’ve been pestering my father with these questions and he suggested I just come to see you. So, here I am.” She gave a small laugh, the kind that came out whenever she was nervous.

He accepted the paper without looking at it. “What questions would those be?”

Edging forward, she found her pencil and began reading off her notes in the journal. “First, I’d like to discuss the time of year. Most people prefer the spring, but I quite like the idea of the fall. September, perhaps. We’ll decorate with orange blossoms, of course.”

He glanced at the paper, his lips parting slightly as he read her list. “Wait, what?”

“You’re right,” she hurried to say. “Spring might be better. Let’s set that aside and return to it later. Now, let’s discuss food. I would prefer to hire Louis Sherry over Delmonico’s.”

He grimaced and placed the piece of paper on his desk carefully. A muscle moved in his jaw as he held up a hand. “Please, we should talk about this.”

“Would you rather decide on the music? It’s unconventional, but I like the idea of a single harpist for the ceremony.”

“You must stop.”

Uneasiness compounded in her stomach. Men typically didn’t participate in wedding preparations, but she hoped to arrange everything to his liking. She wanted to be the perfect wife. “I know, it seems trivial. Silly little things women like me worry about.” She lifted a shoulder. “But I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot by ignoring your input. That is, unless you prefer for me to make all the decisions—”

“I’m not referring to the plans, per se. I’m referring to the wedding. We’re not getting married. Not in the spring, not in the fall. Despite what you have been told, this is not happening.”

A shiver of fear and embarrassment slid through her. “I don’t understand.”