Meet My Part-Time Husband

Chapter 1 - The Gala

Elle Whitfield has confirmed every detail of her father's thirtieth-anniversary gala twice. Still an hour before the doors opened, she was walking the ballroom floor, going through everything for a third time. "The centerpieces seem two inches taller than expected," she said to no one particularly. "Some people are going to complain that they can't see across the table."

"They're exactly the heights stated in the approved mock-up, Ms. Whitfield", a man wearing a dark suit with a tablet in hand showed up beside her. He was completely not intimidated by her tone.

"But if you'd like them lowered, I can have it done in six minutes, just say the word," he said.

Elle turned and looked at him properly for the first time.

He wasn't one of the usual planners from the agency her assistant used. He appeared younger, calmer, and entirely too at ease standing this close to a woman who was one floral arrangement away from firing someone.

"You are who?" Elle asked.

"Marcus Hale. I'm running the room tonight." He didn't put forth his hand, only gave her a small nod before turning his attention back to the ballroom.

"Your usual coordinator called in sick this morning. I received the account two hours ago."

"Two hours?" Elle folded her arms. "For my father's thirtieth anniversary as CEO. Four hundred guests, a press table, and a seating chart specifically designed to keep three board members who are in a state of long-standing mutual hostility, from sitting anywhere near each other."

"Tables twelve, fourteen, and twenty-one have already been flagged by me."

Marcus finally looked directly at her, "I read the notes. All of them."

Elle said nothing for a moment. People rarely surprised her anymore, especially not vendors trying to keep an account.

"Lower the centerpieces," she said. "Two inches."

"Done."

As he was taking some steps away from her, he spoke into an earpiece she hadn't noticed all this while. The directions given by him were calm and well detailed, unlike the frantic rambling she usually heard from event staff when something went wrong.

Elle watched him go for longer than she intended. The ballroom was already filled to the brim by eight o'clock. Her father was working the room like the legend he was, and Elle had almost not remembered the man from earlier. Then a champagne tower nearly toppled near the east entrance. She caught the movement from the corner of her eye – the tray tipping, the server's face turning white.

Marcus appeared before she could move. With one hand, he got hold of the edge of the tray and steadied it with every single glass intact. In not more than ten seconds, he had a server whose composure had been disrupted, laughing as though the near-disaster had been part of the plan all along that evening.

"Impressive," Elle said as she approached once the crisis had clearly passed.

"That's not impressive," he said.

Marcus laughed gently, adjusted the tray another inch before handing it back to the server while giving quiet instructions. Elle was struggling to hear them.

"Something's always about to go wrong at these things. The trick is making it look like it isn't."

"And if it does go wrong?"

"Then you make sure the only person who noticed was you."

For the first time that evening, Marcus gave her his full attention.

"You've been on guard in the room all night instead of having fun."

"Someone has to make sure my father's night is perfect."

"It is perfect."

He paused.

"You should let yourself see that."

The muscles on Elle's mouth almost made a chuckling sound, but her throat seized the sound before it could escape.

"You barely know me so you can't be giving opinions."

"No," Marcus agreed easily. "But, I am aware of rooms, and when it is easily seen that the person who built them is constantly checking the exits."

Elle was about to respond, but her father's voice rose over the microphone at the front of the ballroom, calling everyone's attention for a toast. The crowd's focus changed instantly. Elle turned toward the stage out of habit and duty. When she looked back, Marcus had already moved three tables away, murmuring something into his earpiece as though their conversation had never taken place.

The toasts ran long, as they always did, and while they did, Elle found her thoughts drifting back to the man who had caught a champagne tower without spilling a drop and, in the same energy, essentially told her she didn't know how to have fun in her own life.

No one has spoken to her like that, neither her board nor her assistant, not even her father anymore – not since the company had become the only language they seemed to share.

She found Marcus again near the coat check as the evening wound down. His jacket was half on, and his tablet was finally dark in his hand, "You're leaving before the after-party."

"I have a seven a.m. call across town."

He slipped his arm fully into his jacket.

"Somebody has to put the room in order before you can walk into it and check it twice."

He was almost showing his front teeth, as though he'd noticed her earlier and hadn't minded at all.

"Later, have your firm's information emailed to me," Elle said.

The words came out with more speed than she'd expected.

"I may need someone for the quarterly shareholders' dinner."

"By morning, you will receive it," he said.

For a second longer than the request required, his look was fixed on her, long enough for her to feel something she didn't yet have a name for. "Have a good night, Ms. Whitfield." He was going away before Elle could decide whether she wanted him to stay.

While still standing alone by the coat check for a moment, her father's laughter covered the ballroom behind her. She told herself that the flutter which was unsettled in her chest was nothing more than the lingering effects of a long night; that lie was something she would think about plenty of times in the months to come.