Mrs. Matched | Complete

Chapter Twenty-Two

When I finally pulled myself together enough to unwrap his protective embrace, most of the heat had left my hands and ice cream no longer seemed like a good idea. But before I could tell Christopher some kind of lie about wanting to go to bed, he had dished up two heaping bowls of ice cream and stabbed a spoon into the top of each one.

"Ladies' Choice on the movie?" he offered, sweeping his hand toward the hallway and the living room.

"How about we just watch some food competitions or something. I have some work emails to send later that I really should get done." My stomach knotted at the deception. I'll have to think of an actual email to send for work just to get rid of this twisting.

He had a cooking competition on within seconds and was aggressively cheering for someone named Joan before I was even sitting down. It was nice to have a distraction and, just to be contrary, I started cheering for everyone but Joan.

"Get her!" I shouted at the television when Harry poured his ice cream mixture into the machine while Joan's was still on the stove. "Classic," I said, digging into my own melty ice cream.

"I can't believe you!" Chris shouted, ice cream dripping off his spoon back into his bowl. "You would really applaud that betrayal? What's next? Stealing the fryer at the last second?"

"No need." I pointed at the television. "She's gonna sink herself with attempting a cake in twenty minutes."

"Very judgemental, Aubrey."

"Isn't that the point of watching other people compete?" If it weren't for the twinge in my stomach, I might have completely forgotten about my past crying or my future email plans.

"I still can't believe you. Cheering for cheaters. Who are you?"

"Your wife, apparently," I responded before thinking, pausing my spoon just above the ice cream and waiting for his response. That was an awful thing to say. What am I doing?

"Indeed you are," he replied without pause. "And it seems like I married quite the competitive girl."

"You don't know the half of it."

"That's true," he admitted. "One day, though. Remind me to take you down in Monopoly. It'll be a real bonding experience for everyone."

I had to chase him to the kitchen, where he was placing his dishes in the sink, before I could respond. "Oh, you are on. Tomorrow, after we complete our report for Match Made, I am taking you down."

"I would like to see you try."

"It's a date." I should not have said that.

"It's a date." He took my bowl and added it to the pile. "Now, weren't you supposed to be sending a work email? Sure you don't want to use the time to brush up on Monopoly?"

"And miss the chance to see Joan's liquid cake meet the judges? Never."

As expected, I was right, and Joan's accidental lava cakes did not impress. Unfortunately, we'd missed the first half of the episode so predicting the winner was nearly impossible.

Just before they announced the winner, Chris picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

"Hey!" I leapt over him and turned the power back on. "I was watching that."

"Yes, but this way we both won. I guess you'll have to wait for tomorrow to beat me at something."

The television clearly showed the winner of the program, but his idea sounded more fun, so I turned it off again and stood up off the couch. "Okay, but I'm going to do my work emails now. See you tomorrow."

And with that, I turned my back on him and took the stairs two at a time, practically running down the hall until the office door was closed and locked behind me. Why do I feel so guilty?

The computer mocked me, taking its time to turn on and boot up. My arms were shaking involuntarily by the time the little cursor sat blinking in the password box. The force of my fingers pressing the keys kept them steady enough to type the password, but barely.

More waiting. What am I doing here? What am I going to tell work?

Finally my email opened up and there, in very obvious bold, was a message saying it was from Gerard Mattieu. It was obviously his assistant who had sent it, but it still said it was from him. I didn't even get a chance to open it, though, before I saw an email from HR at my company.

Hello, Mrs. Scott.

First, please allow us to extend our congratulations on your recent wedding. The entire team would like to pass along a card with our best wishes for your future.

Why does it sound like they're never going to see me again? I skimmed the rest of the surprisingly short email and came face to face with the reason: they thought I wouldn't be coming back. I'm a senior lead at twenty-five and you think I want to quit?

My thoughts came in small spurts like the last bits of ketchup in the bottle: disorganized and messy. Finally, I read the last lines of the email again and discovered the real reason they thought I was quitting was because my parents put a flipping clause in the marriage contract that triggered my resignation!

Fortunately for me, there is no law actually allowing them to make that decision for me.

I was in the middle of a phone call with HR, during which I was on hold while I was 'connected' to another department, when Chris knocked lightly at the door.

"Mind if I come in? I just brought you some tea?" The mint and orange danced through the air and I nodded, patting the desk beside me where he could bring the tea.

"Is it work?" he asked, noticing I wasn't speaking and had a phone pressed to my face.

I nodded and rolled my eyes. "Apparently, my parents quit on my behalf."

"Can they do that?"

I shook my head, trying to keep track of what Christopher was saying while the off-key elevator music played in my right ear. "No, but I guess they tried anyway."

"Well, they can't do that, right? I mean there has to be something we can do. I'll take you down there and stare them down until they give you a job or, hey, I have a friend who works at your competitor. I bet they'd love to steal you away. You are one of their better financial advisor types."

"Financial analyst, Chris," I said. "And I'm sure I'll get it cleared up once they take me off hold." I said the last bit a little too forcefully and, unfortunately, after they had taken me off hold.

"Sorry for the wait, Mrs. Scott. What can I do for you?"

At least it was my boss and not some stuck up high-heel-wearing intern again.

"I just wanted to inform you that there's been a misunderstanding. I will be continuing with my job once the traditional honeymoon period is over. I think my parents must have forwarded you information without speaking to me first."

There was a fair bit of back and forth and yet another hold before he returned to the line. "Aubrey?"

"Yes. I'm here."

"We have the paperwork and it appears it does not contain your signature so we can revoke it with your written consent."

"I'm sending the email to you now. See you next week." And then I hung up without giving him a chance to contradict. I need a snack after that.