Meant to Marry Me

A few weeks passed without another mention of Monica, the award ceremony, or even Hank, which Trent was thankful for. After he and Bree had made up, he decided to be completely honest with her from now on, even if he thought he'd be doing her a favor by not telling her the whole truth. She had several tours booked for the next few months; even some of the bigger venues across the country wanted to book her. The stories Trent was reading online about Bree's miraculous recovery seemed more than a little blown out of proportion, but it was helping fuel her popularity, and since Cat still hadn't decided to just admit defeat and plead guilty, Bree had time to go to as many venues as possible. Even some of the more popular talk show hosts across the country wanted to book her.

Trent wanted to go with her as much as possible. The award had trumped up a ton of new business for the firm, and he'd had to hire several new staff members. Celia was doing an incredible job of training them. She was more valuable than two or three other employees, so he'd given her a huge raise, and insisted she take the best office space, even though she'd already turned down the offer a dozen times. Trent was perfectly content in the small office with the lesser view if it meant Celia was happy. She would be running the place in his absence, and with a longer series of tours booked in a few weeks, Trent would be gone quite a bit.

He was sitting behind his desk, going through a stack of new accounts when he heard a bit of a ruckus outside of his office. Normally, he was able to tune just about anything out, but this time, the voice he heard squawking at the secretary sounded oddly familiar. He braced himself, hoping he just couldn't trust his own ears, but when he heard the woman shout, "I insist you let me see him right now!" he knew he could no longer sit behind the desk and let the poor older woman, Brenda, or Mrs. Carson, as he usually called her, take the abuse.

Trent popped up and headed to his open door. Sure enough, it was exactly who he'd feared it would be. His stomach turned over, and he drew in a deep breath. "Monica? What are you doing here?" he asked as he forced his feet to move in her direction.

Her eyes widened in surprise at first as she looked up at him, and then a smile spread across her face. He knew that smile far too well; it was the one she beamed when she felt as if she'd gotten her way. "Trent, there you are," she said, headed toward him. "I just wanted to speak to you for a few moments. I was in the area, and decided to drop by. I didn't realize you had a bodyguard working at your front desk."

Trent glanced in the direction of the middle aged woman whose brown hair had streaks of gray. She was wearing her "office sweater," a tattered pink garment she kept on the back of her chair just in case the air conditioning got a little chilly, and her fibromyalgia started to flare up. He returned his gaze to the stunning model in front of him, who was wearing a tight red dress and heels, her makeup perfect, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. He couldn't imagine Monica actually thinking Mrs. Carson could manhandle her and thought the implication was beyond ridiculous. "What can I help you with, Monica?"

She looked around the office, nervously. He imagined she was looking for someone who really could put her in her place--Celia. Since her space was in the far corner of the office, it wasn't likely she'd heard what was going on, nor was she likely to wander this far to the front. Still, Monica was checking her surroundings for predators, like a gazelle on the savanna. "Could we talk in your office for a few minutes? I won't keep you long."

Trent tried not to roll his eyes. She was the last person in the world he wanted to take into his office or to speak to, except for maybe Cat, but he found himself nodding and walking back the way he'd come. The click of Monica's heels reverberated off of the floor. She was using her long, confident strides, trying to keep up with him, reminding him that she was strong and powerful.

Once inside of the office, the door left open, Trent motioned for her to have a seat across from his desk. It was sparsely decorated because he'd only moved in a few days ago. Only a picture of himself and Bree sat on his desk, nothing on the walls. A plant one of the women had brought in for him sat on top of his filing cabinet. She'd said it needed some life and promised to water it when he was away.

"Wow. This isn't what I was expecting," she murmured, sinking onto the edge of the chair and crossing her long legs, her skirt shrinking in the process.

Trent ignored her remark and straightened the bottom of his tie as he sat down. "How can I help you, Monica?"

She blew out a hot breath and crossed her arms over her leg. "Well, I've been thinking about what happened at the award ceremony a lot in the past few weeks. Honestly, I've been thinking a lot about what happened between us, Trent. I feel just terrible about all of it."

He studied her face for a moment, wondering what her angle was. He'd known Monica for a long time, and it simply wasn't like her to feel bad about anything she'd done, especially not something she'd clearly spent so much time justifying in her own mind. "What's done is done, Monica," he finally said with a shrug. "I think it would be best if we just let it go. If we just forgot about it, stayed away from each other, tried not to be in the same place at the same time. If we do find ourselves in a situation similar to the one we were in at the award's ceremony, we can always just pretend we don't know each other."

"We could." Despite her statement sounding like an agreement, he knew it wouldn't be that simple. Monica fidgeted with one diamond stud earring as she contemplated what to say next. "It's just... I wish I could make it up to you--to Bree. It really wasn't fair, what I did to you, and she's been through so much. Have you heard yet if that terrible woman, Cat what's-her-name, is going to plead guilty?" Her eyes were wide, as if she were waiting for an answer, but before he could respond, she continued. "I mean, I was just reading all about it yesterday. I guess I didn't realize just how terrible it all was, how close to dying Bree truly was. I can't imagine anyone would do something so awful, but I feel just terrible for you and Bree. Is she doing all right?"

Again, Trent found himself studying her expression. She did seem to appear sincere with her inquiry, as astonishing as that would be. Perhaps she'd been taking acting lessons. But then, she had fooled him into thinking she cared about him for the longest time when, in fact, she was cheating on him. "She's fine now, Monica. Thanks for asking. We're doing just fine."

"Good, good. That's so wonderful to hear. But listen, I have a proposition. You've probably never heard of Nashville Nights, have you?" Trent shook his head, wondering if he should nip this proposition in the bud or just let her talk. His gut told him he was wasting his time because whatever Monica was about to suggest, there was no way in hell he was actually going to think it was a good idea, but he decided to let her talk. If she didn't get to say her piece now, she might try to come back later and give it another go. "I'm sure Bree has heard of it. Every year, the modeling industry and the country music industry get together and put on a fashion show slash concert. It's sort of like that show that famous lingerie company does, with the rock bands, around Christmas. The one that's on TV."

He knew what lingerie company she was talking about and nodded as he said, "What about Nashville Nights, Monica?" He hadn't heard of the Nashville version of the more popular, nationwide show, but if it involved country music, he had to assume Bree had.

"Well, this year, George is the lead photographer for the show, so I have a bit of sway when it comes to the bands. They are just finalizing the lineup for the show, which is in two months, end of June, and I would love to suggest Bree's band for one of the spots. What do you think? Wouldn't she love that? It would really get her some publicity. The show isn't broadcast on one of the major television networks like that other show, but it's always picked up by a cable network. Who doesn't want to see a bunch of gorgeous models in their underwear, after all? So... will you ask her for me? Assuming you don't want me to call her myself."

Trent wasn't sure what to say. If Monica was legitimately trying to be kind, it was a nice gesture. Trusting her, however, was another matter altogether. Remembering the conversation he'd had with Bree about honesty, he realized he'd have to tell her about Monica coming by, so he may as well tell her why. "I will run it by her and see what she has to say," Trent concluded, hoping that would satisfy her.