Marrying the Manhattan Millionaire

“Yes, but only because he wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him. He jumped to the conclusion that I was staying in Manhattan and taking the job at Bradford to please Dad and gain his favor. Is it my fault that he got it wrong?”

“Did he?” Joy asked.

They talked about other things then, the dress Sam had worn to the awards dinner and the style she’d gone with for her hair. Hours after they hung up, though, Joy’s words had memories churning.

I need you, Samantha.

Both Michael and Randolph had said so. In her father’s case, though, it was the first time he’d used that exact combination of words. As Sam stalked about the quiet apartment that should have been Sonya’s, she remembered the occasion quite clearly.

One month prior to her wedding to Michael and three months to the day after Sonya’s car accident, he’d called Sam at the apartment she shared with Michael to ask her to meet him for lunch at Tavern on the Green. The invitation itself was unusual and should have given her an inkling that something unprecedented was about to take place. Still, the conversation that occurred in the time between their salads and their entrees had her wishing she’d followed her father’s lead and ordered a vodka martini.

Randolph wanted her to stay in Manhattan and join him at the Bradford Agency. It was the first time he’d voiced any sort of objection to her moving to California. Indeed, it was the first time he’d voiced his desire to have her work with him, though she’d majored in advertising with just that intention. After earning her degree, Sonya had become an account executive at Bradford. As for Sam, even two years after graduating from New York University, her father had claimed that no account executive positions were available. He suggested she continue as an office assistant until something opened up. Michael had been the one to mop up Sam’s tears and suggest not only a clean break from her father but a cross-country move.

“He doesn’t appreciate you, Sam. He doesn’t deserve you.” Michael’s words had been a balm to her wounded spirit.

So when Randolph had made his offer, Sam wanted to refuse it as too little too late. Her lips had even begun to form the words when he’d trumped every last one of her objections with his wild card.

I need you, Samantha.

There had been more to his argument than those four words, of course, as potent and ultimately persuasive as Sam found them to be. Actually, he’d laid out his case with surprising emotion for a man who rarely displayed much. He feared it would be months before Sonya was capable of returning to Bradford in any capacity. At that point she wasn’t capable of independent living much less being groomed to take over the agency as he’d long intended.

Absent the heir, he’d turned to the spare.

That had been Michael’s unflattering assessment when she discussed it with him later in the day. Randolph had asked Sam to take Sonya’s place. Temporarily. She’d agreed. She’d already asked Michael to postpone their wedding. She wanted Sonya to be her maid of honor. Despite their father’s obvious favoritism, the two had always been close.

The argument that ensued hadn’t been pleasant. Recalling it now made Sam ache all over again:

Michael had been incredulous at first.

“I’ve given my word to my new employer that I’ll start in six weeks. So have you.”

They’d both landed positions at the same agency, one of the biggest and most respected in Los Angeles.

“I know. You can go ahead without me. I’ll just have to hope that when I make the move, the opening will still be there.”

He had run his hands through his hair. In Michael’s expression she’d seen frustration, anger and, worst of all, hurt. “He’s using you, just like he’s used you as a glorified gopher for the past couple of years. Can’t you see that?”

“He needs me,” she told him.

“I need you, too. Don’t stay, Sam.”

She closed her eyes, holding back tears. Torn. That’s how she felt. She still wanted, needed to believe that her father would someday love her as unconditionally as he did Sonya. “I can’t leave right now. I’m sorry.”

“You can,” Michael insisted. For him, this issue had always been black-and-white. “Randolph doesn’t deserve your loyalty, Sam. He won’t return it.”

She ignored the comment, ignored the little voice that told her Michael was right. “It’s only for a little while, at most six months. The doctors say Sonya is making terrific progress.”

He snorted in disgust. “And once she’s as good as new, then what? He’ll have no need for you and you’ll be broken up into pieces again.”

“It’s not like that.”

Michael’s voice rose. “It’s exactly like that, and you know it.”

“Sonya needs me, too.”

“I like Sonya and I know it’s not her fault that she’s your father’s favorite, but when are you going to step out of her shadow and start living your own life?” he asked. When Sam said nothing, he reminded her unnecessarily, “You’re being naive if you think the job in California is going to wait six months while you work at another firm in New York.”

“I know.” The bigger question was, “Will you wait, Michael?”

He swallowed, looking pained. “That’s unfair.”

“Just answer me, please.”

“Your father has made you jump through hoops your entire life for the scraps of his affection. I thought you were finally finished with that.”

“This is different.” It was. It had to be.

But Michael shook his head. “No, it isn’t, Sam. It’s just a bigger hoop with better scraps. I love you and I want to marry you more than anything in the world. But if you stay here now, I have a bad feeling that isn’t going to happen.”

She hurried to Michael, wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly, maybe because part of her already knew she was losing him. “Don’t say that!”

He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “Believe me. I don’t want to say it. But I need to be honest.”

She appreciated his honesty, but she also wanted his support. “It’s just till Sonya is on her feet again and able to return to work, I promise.”

She broke that promise, though not intentionally. After Sonya suffered a major setback, she called Michael in tears.

“I have bad news,” she began and started to cry.

“You’re staying in Manhattan, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I have to. Sonya—”

“I knew it, Sam,” Michael said before she could tell him about the unexpected aneurism that had burst in Sonya’s brain and the doctors’ subsequent grim prognosis.

“Please, listen,” she cried. “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand what? That you’ve decided our wedding isn’t going to happen after all. I think I figured that out on my own.”

“No. I love you, Michael. I was hoping you would come back to New York,” she said. “You’ll have no trouble finding a job here. We can still get married.”

“Why would I move back, Sam? You’ve made it pretty clear where I fall on your list of priorities. You’ve picked trying to please your father over having a life with me.”

She sank down on the bed they hadn’t shared since his last trip to Manhattan more than a month earlier. Even then, things had been strained. “That isn’t fair.”

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