Meet My Part-Time Husband

Chapter 2: A Man Who Doesn't Flinch

Marcus's information arrived in Elle's inbox at six the next morning, exactly as promised. There was no apology for the early hour nor a flattering note about the gala, just a company profile, a rate sheet, and one line at the bottom: Available for the shareholders' dinner, let me know the date.

Before Ellen could realize she was smiling at her screen, her eyes had already run over it twice.

Sophie showed up in the doorway with two coffees in hand, and without waiting to be told, she set one on the desk, then quickly voiced out, "You're so early, and rarely smile at emails."

"I was not smiling."

"You were smiling." Sophie glanced at the screen, upside down, and caught the sender's name before Elle could turn the monitor. "Marcus Hale. The gala coordinator. Should I be worried?"

"You should be scheduling the shareholders' dinner. Two weeks out. I want him to run it."

"I'll call the agency." Sophie quickly interrupted.

"Call him directly." The words left Elle's mouth in a hurry before she could stop herself. She busied herself with the report on her desk to avoid being distracted by whatever Sophie's face was doing,

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Marcus appeared for the walkthrough in a plain gray suit, no earpiece this time nor tablet glowing in his hand, just him. He was ten minutes early, standing in the empty private dining room at the Carlyle like he already knew exactly where the head table would go.

"You're early," Elle said, echoing Sophie without any intention to.

"People who fire a vendor for being late look very much like you." Marcus set his bag down and looked around the room once, slowly, the way she'd watched him scan the ballroom two weeks earlier. "Again, I didn't want you to stand over my shoulder, telling me what's wrong with the space while looking through the space."

"I don't do that," Elle defended.

"You did it three times at the gala." He held up three fingers, unbothered, like he was reciting facts rather than criticizing her. "The centerpieces. The champagne tower. And you re-checked the seating chart after I'd already fixed it."

Elle crossed her arms. "Someone has to make sure things are right."

"Things were right. You just don't believe anyone else to make them right without watching." Marcus cast his eyes on Elle rather than on the room, and there was no apology in his expression, except for a kind of steady interest that most people didn't come close to aiming at her. "It's not an insult, I am only stating the fact."

"The truth about me can't be said by you since you don't really know me."

"Then correct me." The words quickly escaped his mouth with arms loose at his sides, the edge in her voice didn't bother him. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Elle's mouth was moving to do exactly that, and she found, for the first time in longer than she could remember, that she didn't have an already made answer. Most people she had worked with backed down the moment she raised her voice even slightly, but Marcus just stood there, waiting, like her sharpness was something he found interesting rather than something to survive.

"The head table goes there," she said instead, pointing toward the window. "Not where you've marked it."

"Why?", he asked.

"Because my father likes to see the room, not the wall."

"Then we move it." Marcus made a note without protest, without the wounded pride she was used to from vendors who hated being corrected. "Anything else, or was that a test?"

"Was it?" Ellen wondered why he had such insolent boldness.

“With you, everything seems like a test, Ms. Whitfield." As he let the words out with warmth and in a light manner, it suddenly dawned on Elle that she couldn't tell if she was being flattered or read completely.

The next one hour had them working through the layout and, somewhere in the heat of arguments about flower arrangements, it dawned on Elle that she'd stopped bracing for the meeting to end. He disagreed with her twice more, both times calmly, and with a reason that actually held up. Before she knew it, she gave way to the points instead of digging in the way she usually did with staff who were too afraid to push back.

"Flinching doesn't come easy to you," she finally said as she watched him adjust a floor plan on his tablet.

"Really?"

"Most people flinch. Eventually," she didn't intend to say it loudly, but immediately it was out, she felt strangely exposed by it, like she just freely handed him something she didn't give away to people most times.

"The sign has always been visible to the blind. Being scared doesn't come easy to me." Marcus looked up from the tablet, and for a moment the easy professionalism dropped just slightly, and was replaced by something quieter. "And for what it's worth, I don't perceive you're trying to scare anyone, I think you're trying to make sure nothing is falling apart on your watch. There's a difference."

Elle said nothing since she didn't know what to say to that, a huge silence sat between them longer than either of them tried to fill it.

"I should let you get back to your day," Marcus said eventually, closing the tablet. "The dinner will be ready, you have my word."

"I have noted that," Elle said, and meant it, which amazed her more than anything else that morning.

When he was standing face to face with the door with one hand on the frame, he paused and looked back at her the way he had at the coat check two weeks earlier, like he was deciding whether to say something he hadn't planned to.

"Dinner sometime. Not the shareholders' kind." He said it plainly, without the practiced ease of everything before it, like the question had cost him something to ask. "Just you and me, whenever you're not checking exits."

There was no leisure time for Elle to inspect the feeling her pulse gave carefully.

"Give me some time to think about it," she said, “I will let you know when I have an answer."

The muscles on both ends of his mouth flexed sharply, and it made it seem like he already knew the response she would give, so he left without delay, before she got to take back her words.