The Billionaire’s Marriage Of Deception

Chapter 8

Michael stepped dangerously close to Amanda. With her desk directly behind her, Amanda was left with only an awkward escape route, which involved a leap over a chair she didn’t think she could manage. Though she longed for closeness to Michael. Craved it. Was disappointed when Michael avoided it. But now there was something different. Something different in Michael’s eyes. A glint, which promised something both mischievous and sincere at the same time.

Amanda started to doubt herself and her role in Michael’s life. All these months of being kept at arm’s length; she wasn’t certain she was the one who could provide comfort to his damaged heart.

Yet here Michael was, with a small smile tugging at his lips and a glint, that damn glint, in his eyes.

He had come to her office with the artifice of bringing her lunch. Her favorite Big Belly order lay untouched on her desk. The smell of her lunch wafted in the air and somehow combined with Michael’s aftershave deliciously; making Amanda hungry, and feeling a different kind of hunger which had nothing to do with food.

With Michael only inches from her, which diverted her attention, Amanda wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. If only she could remember to breathe when he was close to her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Amanda,” Michael said deeply and softly, “I’ve been such an idiot keeping us apart. But I’m done.”

“Done?” Amanda asked, hoping her voice didn’t break as much as she thought it did.

“I know I don’t deserve you. But I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you. In fact, I’m going to woo you.”

*****

“You told her you were going to woo her? You actually said ‘woo?'” Demore asked with a teasing smug grin. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair like he was settling in to watch his favorite TV show. The only thing missing was popcorn and a beer.

“Yes, Demore, I said woo,” Michael replied as he shot a quick glare from the table he was leaning against. This was going to be hard enough without Demore making jokes at Michael’s expense every 30 seconds.

“Thank God you finally got your head out of your ass. Wanting your wife safe is one thing but it can’t be all you think about.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means just because you and her met in circumstances fraught with danger doesn’t mean you have to be on duty twenty four seven. She’s your wife. Go enjoy her as such..”

“I thought I was…”

“Tell that to her; she’s obviously been moping for most of your married life; I know a woman glowing cause her man is showering her with attention. Amanda is the opposite of that.”

“Wow,” Michael said with more gruff in his voice than he knew was strictly necessary. “You’d think someone would have said something earlier if that’s what they thought. And don’t kick me when I’m down when I coming to you for,” Michael looked away and sighed, not wanting to see Demore gloat, “help.”

“What, exactly, is the problem?”

Michael could hear the smirk in Demore’s voice. Maybe this was a bad idea. Demore would never let Michael hear the end of this. As hard as it was for Michael to admit, he needed help. He had been neglecting Amanda for months. He knew that. Making her believe he wanted to have a proper marriage relationship with her was going to take work. In fact, it was probably going to be one of the more difficult things he’d ever do.

But the simple, inescapable fact was Michael loved Amanda. Michael had come to realize he needed Amanda. And, more recently, he realized maybe she needed him as well. Which was an entirely new and overwhelming feeling for him. A feeling he was possibly beginning to like.

Amanda had said Michael needed practice letting people help him. She was usually right. And he always tried to do what she asked of him.

“The problem is I haven’t wooed anyone in a while. And when I was wooing, it mostly consisted of me just smiling at women and saying, ‘Hey.’”

“Ah. The hard-knock life of a super-spy.”

“Anyway, that won’t work with Amanda.”

“Yes, you will definitely need to step up your game. Or, should I say, your lack of game.”

“Thanks,” Michael said, exasperated by Demore, himself, and the whole situation he had caused. “Do you have any suggestions or are you just going to make jokes?”

Demore laughed. “I can do both.”*****

“I’m not sure I can handle more flowers.”

“Sorry, miss,” the floral delivery guy, who couldn’t be more than 19, said as a blush crept up his face. “Um, I was told to get here at exactly four pm and to tell you to make sure to read the card.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said, finally looked at the arrangement and saw a fern in the guy’s hands. Her eyes misted over at the new delivery. She gently took the fern despite not having any more table space for it and he quickly exited her office. She extracted the card from the plant, moved a vase on her desk down to the floor, and put the fern on the desk. She tried to tell herself it was just a plant, but her heart knew better.

Three flower deliveries every day for a week was a bit on the excessive side. Flowers weren’t really Amanda’s thing. They made her office and the house look nice though. And they weren’t too fragrant, which was thoughtful.

The flowers were in addition to having coffee waiting at her bedside each morning. Michael picking her up for lunch; unless she had a meeting and then something was delivered. Gourmet dinners waited for her at home every night.

The weird part of Michael’s wooing technique, if wooing had different techniques, was though she had received the gifts throughout the week, they barely touched. He would wake her with coffee, serve her breakfast, talk to her about anything and everything, wish her a lovely day. Ask her out for lunch…but not so much as a peck on the cheek.  Amanda was surprised to find she missed Michael and would have preferred a more physically involved wooing.

She looked down at the card in her hand and read, ‘Check your email.’

“Really? Is he wooing me or sending me on a scavenger hunt? If this gives me coordinates that lead me to a hot air balloon-I’m out. I don’t do heights if I can help it.”

Amanda sat back down and logged on her to her email. In her inbox, Amanda found an email from Michael sent at four pm on the dot. The subject was: Love Letter.

Dear Amanda,

Demore suggested I write you a love letter. I actually think Phylicia (his wife) suggested it, and it was probably more of a hint for Demore. You know I am, at best, reserved, terrible at expressing my feelings, and I’m not sure I have any hopes to share, so this seemed like a bad idea. Also, you know me better than anyone, so what can I tell you that you don’t already know?

But this is for you, and, as you know, I’d do anything for you, Amanda.