It was 8:47pm, and work hours were long over when Malachi went to his parents' house.
At once, he knew he wouldn't stay long. It wasn't that he didn't like his family enough to spend time with them— it was actually the opposite— But ever since last week, when Malachi's cousin Benny announced his engagement to the daughter of a Russian fashion mogul heiress, Malachi knew this day was coming.
Hell, he'd been dreading every minute since. But this visit was inevitable, like taxes and death.
So, early this evening, when his mother put out a distress call, it pulled him away from work early and led him down to the front steps of the farmhouse his father and mother bought as their retirement home.
He cursed softly when his shoes sank into the mud immediately he stepped out of the car.
Of all places they could get, they just had to choose this one. He wiped his shoes on the doormat.
Inside the house smelled more homely than his childhood had ever been because both his parents were busy building Henderson Steel Co. from the ground.
"Oh honey, you came." His mother hugged him tight before releasing him. "You just missed dinner, but if you want, I can call up the maid to heat up something for you. Lasagna. Your favorite."
"Lasagna sounds great, Mom, but I can't stay for a full course," he said, checking my watch. "I have a stack of filings to draft. I'm basically on a leash until my client's divorce is finalized."
His mother sighed, the kind of sound that managed to carry thirty years of maternal disappointment. "It's always business with you, Malachi. Can't the law wait for a plate of pasta?"
"The city doesn't sleep, and law doesn't sleep either, and, well, neither do Greer's attorneys," he muttered, stepping further into the warmth of the kitchen. "But you know who sleeps?"
"Cheating spouses," his mother said in a voice that clearly screamed, "You have told this joke a million times already."
"Correct." He gave her a thumbs up like she won a prize.
Malachi pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen already lit up with a notification from his lead paralegal.
He needed to review the prenuptial clause file again. His client's wife was asking for total custody of all three children and the house on the mainland and their Hamptons vacation house too. Basically everything except a part of Malachi's long dead soul.
"I don't understand how you do it." His mother shook her head. "Look at your father and me; aren't we happy? Your siblings? Benny, who's about to get—"
"Where's Dad?" He asked, trying to steer the conversation toward something safe before she could finish her mention of Benny's engagement and in natural progression, mention his singleness. "Your call sounded urgent. Is it something about the estate? Or did you two finally realize that this farm is a logistical nightmare?"
"Your father is fine." She waved away his worries with a flick of her hand. "And the estate's fine too."
They sat at the dining table. The chair Malachi sat on wobbled, and he almost shot out of it. His mother laughed, her eyes drinking at the side.
"Let's see how much you laugh when I fall and crack my skull." He tested my weight more evenly on it. It seemed steadier now.
His complaint just made his mother laugh harder. "Did you know that your father started making furniture last week? One of the farmhands chops the trees, and he makes the most unbalanced furniture from them."
"He made this?" Malachi asked in alarm just as his phone rang. "Sorry." He looked down at the screen.
Although it was just a number, he knew exactly who was calling.
Miss June Henderson.
His Executive Assistant.
In no way related to him with the same last name, but in a stroke of bad luck or cosmic irony, they happened to share the same surname.
As a rule of thumb, Malachi never saved any of his assistants' numbers simply because they never stayed long enough to earn that familiar gesture.
They always quit in two weeks tops.
Initially, he had started a count down for June but she passed the two weeks timeframe and was heading to almost six months now.
He made a mental list of all she could be calling him about, but couldn't think of a valid one. He had specifically told her to clear his schedule for the night and to only text him when half of Manhattan was on fire.
She found a workaround for that rule from too much time fraternizing with lawyers.
Sneaky.
He let his phone ring. Whatever she wanted could wait till after dinner.
"Practice makes perfect," Mom said when she saw him ignore his call. "But I pray he becomes perfect fast enough. There's only so much wobbling my eyes can take."
The lasagna appeared quickly, and after a quick thank you to the maid, he took his first bite and remembered exactly why he loved home-cooked meals.
"You like it?" His mother asked, her eyes twinkling.
He took another bite and another bite after that. It was answer enough because his mother said, "I knew you would like it."
There was something in her tone. A hint of sentimentality that made him pause, and he knew the real reason for her call was coming fast.
She certainly didn't make him come all the way just for lasagna.
"Malachi," she started. looking down at her lap, where she twisted her fingers together. "You and your siblings are all workaholics. And I blame myself for that. You father blames himself too. Says it's in the Henderson genes."
The pasta lodged like a brick in his throat.
She laughed, but it was a bit sad and down. Although he knew she sounded that way because of him. He didn't like it. His fork clattered on the plate.
"I—"
A buzz from his phone cut his mother off.
The same number.
June.
Now it dawned on him that her reason for calling him might be important.
His mother glanced at it. "You should answer that. The caller is quite persistent."
"It"s not as important as you," he was quick to say. Partly because it was true and partly because he couldn't wait for her to spill out her desire for him to get married and give her grandkids.
Not like she didn't already have six of those shared evenly between his older brother and sister.
"I know you; you're itching to take that call." She nodded her permission. "You can take it; I don't mind."
The phone had stopped vibrating and to placate his mom, he said, "I will pick up if she calls again."
Malachi only realized his mistake when glee sparked in his mother's eyes.
Fuck. He dug this hole for himself. His mother was like a dog with a bone, and she never let anything go. Old business grudges and the bully who stepped on him when he was seven. That's what made her a cutthroat businesswoman.
"She?" She asked, her eyebrows shooting up with immediate interest. "Who is this she? And why haven't I ever met her?"
The kitchen became suddenly hot, and Malachi fought the urge to tug on his collar. He drank some water to buy time, but eventually, he had to respond.
"Just someone I know," he said, devoid of emotion. He couldn't let my mom know the 'she' she was asking about hated my guts. He had caught her– more than once– staring at him with daggers in her eyes while sharpening her pencils with the electric sharpener on her desk. One time, an entire pencil almost became chaff.
So it was safe to say she wouldn't be the daughter-in-law his mother wanted so badly.
And the fact Malachi doesn't date within his law firm was another thing to consider. His no-work-romance rule was ironclad; it even extended to opposing counsel.
No touching. No kissing. No fucking. No anything.
"Oh," she murmured, her voice dropping an octave. He could tell she was disappointed with his lack of enthusiasm. "That shouldn't be a problem; In fact, I actually have someone I would like you to meet. The daughter of one of my closest friends. She's a lawyer like you but not in divorce. Corporate, I think?"
"No," he said, my voice coming out sharper than he intended.
Her expression shifted, looking genuinely hurt. "Why?"
"Because," he glanced around looking for a logical escape route. Something that wouldn't make her sadder and would, at the same time, permanently quash any matchmaking ideas from her. "Well, I'm actually seeing someone."
That was vague but served its purpose.
Her eyes narrowed. "Seriously? Or one of those girls I see you with in those gossip magazines."
Being a semi-popular figure and voted one of the most eligible bachelors in NYC by Paper Magazine felt great and all, but it was still a little embarrassing that my mother reads all those articles.
"Nope." He let the P pop. "It's serious. We've been together for what? Six months?"
Her mouth dropped open. Malachi would have called an ambulance for possible heart attack if she wasn't just blinking at him.
"Six months?" she echoed, her shock quickly morphing into a terrifying kind of delight. "And you haven't said a word? Malachi Henderson, your cousin's wedding is in three weeks. You are bringing this girl. No excuses."
His heart did a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. He had just traded a blind date for a nonexistent girlfriend.
"I must warn you," he said. "She's extremely shy."
"I don't care. Bring her. I love her already."
Right on cue, his phone rang again.
It was frustrating how June always had the worst timing.
"Is that her?" Mom whispered, leaning in as if the caller could hear her. He hasn't even picked the phone. "Is that your mystery woman?"
Malachi looked at the phone. Then at his mother's expectant, joyful face. If he said no and told the truth, he would have to endure a lecture on honesty and suffer through a blind date with a stranger. But if he leaned harder into the lie...
"Yes," he said, the word feeling like ash in his mouth. "That's her."
"Well, answer it! Don't keep the poor girl waiting."
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest.
"What's her name?"
His mother was practically vibrating with happiness at the prospect of her remaining single child getting hitched.
As if him dating someone for that long
was equivalent to a marriage.
"June," he said and watched her smile get brighter.