Meant to Marry Me

"Wonderful!" Monica clapped her hands together, but she wasn't getting up just yet, unfortunately. "That's perfect. Here, let me give you my new phone number. That way, if she wants to do it, she can have her people call me. No need to worry her with having to call me herself. I'm sure she has an agent or something by now, she's doing so well." She was already reaching for a sticky pad and pen on his desk before he even commented. Monica scrawled her phone number down and handed it to him. "There you go. I'll need to know by Friday, so be sure to talk to her about it right away, all right? And Trent... remember, keeping secrets from the people we love is never a good idea, so if you're thinking to just placate me by saying you'll tell her, but you don't actually intend to do so, you might want to think twice."

Her arched eyebrows and disapproving look made him want to launch out of his chair and give her a piece of his mind, but the fact that she was standing now and seemed to be heading toward the door made him bite his tongue. As long as she was leaving, he didn't care what ridiculous warnings she gave him. "Goodbye, Monica."

"Goodbye, Trent." She gave him a small wave and a cheerful smile before she scooted out the door, pulling her sunglasses out of her handbag before she even left his office.

Once the sound of her heels had disappeared out the door, Trent blew out a hot breath and then pulled a can of air freshener out of his desk. The last thing he needed was to have Monica's perfume lingering in his office. He'd scarcely gotten the room sprayed down when Celia showed up at his door. Her mouth hung open as she braced herself on either side of the doorway. "Was that... who I think it was?"

"Yeah," Trent muttered, dropping the air freshener in his drawer and settling into his chair.

"What the actual hell?" Celia asked as she came through the door, folding her arms and stopping a few feet behind the chairs.

"Who knows? She said she was sorry about everything and wants Bree to play at some modeling event--Nashville Nights." He shrugged, not wanting to talk about it to Celia or anyone. He just wanted to get back to work. "Nashville Nights?" Celia echoed. "Wow--that would be amazing if Bree's band could play that." A wave of realization washed over her, and she shook her head. "But wait--you don't actually trust Monica, do you? Surely, this is some sort of trick."

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." Trent shrugged, picking up an ink pen and tapping it on the desk as he thought. "I'll tell Bree what she said. I doubt Bree will be willing to accept a favor from Monica, but I have to tell her." "Why?" Celia took a few steps closer. "You don't have to tell her. In fact, I don't think you should tell her at all. What's the point? Just forget about it. If you see Monica again, and she asks, tell her Bree didn't trust her, so she said no thanks." Shaking his head, Trent said, "It's not that simple. I didn't tell Bree that Monica was at the ceremony. She found out, and when she did, she wasn't happy. I promised her I'd tell her anything else that happens."

It was Celia's turn to shake her head. "You may have promised that, Trent, but that doesn't mean you have to actually do it. There are some things she is better off not knowing. This is one of them. If you tell her that Monica came by the office today, she's going to get upset and ask a million questions. I wouldn't even bother to let her know. You don't have to tell her... everything that happens here." Celia was standing next to his desk now, her hand dropping onto the wood surface in a way that made him think they weren't just talking about Monica anymore.

Desperately wanting to end this conversation and get back to work, Trent said, "Thanks for your input, Celia. I'll think it over." He wouldn't, though. It was bad advice. He knew his fiancée well enough to comprehend how upset she'd be if she did find out he was withholding information from her again, especially when it pertained to Monica.

She didn't like that answer. It was clear from her offended expression. She lingered at his desk for a moment before she shrugged and pivoted on her black heel. "Fine. Do what you want to, but I'm guessing I know women a lot better than you do, and I think it's a bad idea to even tell her. Whatever happens. Don't let her do it." She made the entire statement without turning around to face him and then disappeared down the hallway.

Deciding he couldn't trust either one of the women who'd just left his office, Trent snatched Monica's number off of his desk, shoved it into his pocket, and then got back to work, making a mental reminder not to forget to tell Bree. If she found the number before he got a chance to tell her, that could be really, really bad.