by Hazel Parker
“Oh, I don’t have to admit that,” I said. “Yes, you’re not some fifty-year-old fat slob. Yay. But now I’m married to the town player, the guy who tried to bed me? You think I feel great about having a fake marriage to someone—”
“Would you keep your voice down?” Brett snapped. “There are ears everywhere.”
I stopped. That was...fair. Fair in an otherwise fucked situation, but I’d already come this far. I had to remember what I could lose if I screwed up and people found out.
“I’m just saying, settling for the guy that probably won’t keep his dick in for one woman isn’t a winning proposition.”
Assuming I even let you get your dick in me. God knows how many women it’s probably been with in all this time.
“Well, I’m not exactly winning here myself, either,” Brett said. “Getting married to the girl who almost slept with the so-called player probably isn’t the greatest thing, ever.”
Oh, I was going to kill Brett.
This was married life, huh? This was what I had to look forward to for the next fucking decade? Constantly belittling and acting? If anything, Brett’s attractive features made him even worse, because I’d have to pretend to my friends that I had gotten such a great catch.
Nope. Fuck this.
“You fucking asshole, you—”
Then Brett walked over to me, put his hand on my mouth, and told me to shush. I heard it too a moment later. The sound of men’s dress shoes approaching the door. Brett took a few steps back toward his desk while I shifted from tricked woman to absolute professional.
“Brett?” an older man said with a knock at the door. “May I meet your new hire?”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
The door opened. A man with wrinkles all over his face, gray hair up top, and an impeccably pressed suit entered. I guessed he was probably in his eighties, but I was less concerned with his age and appearance than I was with just smiling and keeping a pleasant face.
“You must be the new assistant,” he said. “And you are?”
Wait, does not even Brett’s grandfather know about this? Who in the world does, if so?
“I am Chelsea Polozzi, sir,” I said.
“A Polozzi!” he said, smiling and then giving a good laugh. “I know your father. Vincent, correct?”
“Yes!” I said, a mixture of happiness...and then concern. How well did my father actually know the Ferraris?
Did he know, for example, how much of a player and womanizer the guy I was getting married to was?
“What a small world,” he said. “My name is Alf Ferrari. My wife and I founded this place about fifty years ago. Crazy how time flies.”
Alf then proceeded to give a short speech about how he founded the place after moving here from Las Vegas, determined to give his family a happy and relaxing upbringing. If Alf really didn’t know about my reasoning for being here, then he would never know. I could turn on the professional lady in an instant, and it was going to stay that way as long as we were in the company of others.
I had to admit, the more Alf talked, the more I began to see genuine perks of being here. For one, it seemed like a lot more relaxing environment than the furniture shop. It was out in the country, not in the middle of the city, so parking and commuting would be easier. I had always quipped about how I needed an upgrade in life, in fact, once saying I needed a man who enjoyed Ferrari Wine—well, it was harder to hit the affirmative on that note more closely than by actually working at the winery. And Alf made it sound like I would have any benefits I could ever ask for.
There was just one problem.
I was still working for Brett fucking Ferrari.
And if he sucked as a person, chasing ass and smiling and charming his way into bed, what was he going to be like as the boss?
If I had any luck, he’d be so hands-off that I wouldn’t get touched in all of the years I would wind up working there.
“Well, Miss Polozzi, welcome to Ferrari Wines,” Alf said when he wrapped up, offering his hand. I took it, promising myself that I would sooner take Mr. Ferrari’s hand than I would Brett’s. “If you need anything, Brett can tell you where I work. And please don’t be shy. Say hello to your father for me.”
Alf left, albeit while leaving the door open. I turned to Brett, the very sight of him turning me from a grateful woman into an annoyed and enraged one just like that.
“Brett,” I said through overly displayed gritted teeth, the better to get my point across. “Would you be so kind as to take me to my desk?”
“Oh, well, of course, what sort of a boss would I be if I didn’t do that?” Brett said, chuckling to himself.
He was the only one laughing in that room.
He opened the door, let me walk by, put his hand on the small of my back—I hated that it sent chills through my spine—and then cleared his throat when I walked down the hall. I turned and saw why. My desk was already right there.
“This...I’m this close to you?” I said.
“Well, yes, I mean, you are my assistant. Wouldn’t be much of an assistant if I had you three hallways done, would I?”
Great. So now, not only was I working for this guy, I was out in full view of anyone walking these hallways. There would be no moment in which I could breathe; from the time I arrived to the time that I left, I was an actress, and breaking character would have severe consequences.
“Got any work for me to do?”
“Oh, well, uh, there’s a binder there with information; go ahead and read that and then get back to me whenever you’re done.”
At least I’d finally have some freedom, however temporary.
“Thanks, Brett,” I said, putting on a fake, professional smile.
Brett closed the door. I looked down both hallways. For a moment, I had some respite. I slumped into my chair, closed my eyes, and sighed.
If I managed to just focus on the working aspects of this job and not the mandated extracurriculars, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
I opened the book and started reading. Actually, this would be beyond not bad; I was getting a small pay bump from my previous gig for work that was likely to be far less demanding than before. I had essentially unlimited health and dental insurance. I had four weeks off per year starting in ninety days, although I laughed at the notion that I would ever try and break free in ninety days or even ninety months; I assumed I was stuck with Brett for the next ten years.
Although, with that said, I did have two weeks where this was nothing but a regular job. And in some ways, since I wasn’t having to wonder what my father was constantly doing, maybe these next two weeks could actually be something of a respite.
Either to his credit or just by sheer luck, Brett did not bother me for the rest of the morning. I managed to read through the entirety of the binder, get my work email set up, and familiarize myself with the rest of Ferrari Wine’s operations. It all seemed pretty straightforward, and, frankly, a little bit beneath my skill level, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain. Not when a very different contract was held over me.
Various employees came up and introduced themselves to me throughout the morning. I saw Layla walking by a few times, and though she did not do anything to give me a reason to panic, I had a healthy fear of her. I didn’t know how many Ferrari siblings there were, but I had to guess that she had control of this generation of Ferraris. There was a certain fierceness to her, and it was evident in dealing with Brett that he would bow to her at a moment’s notice.
About half an hour before noon, though, Layla again walked down our hallway, but unlike before, when she just nodded at me or walked past me, this time, her walk came right toward me. I leaned forward, beamed a smile, and asked her how I could help her.
“So I’m curious,” she said. “When you walked in, you two acted like you knew each other from before. Do you?”
Oh, fuck, what was I supposed to say?
“Kind of.”
That was probably the worst answer of all.
People didn’t exactly say that and then not fill in the gaps more. But on the other hand, what was I supposed to do, lie to my...future...sister-in-law?
This was too ridiculous. It really did feel like I was on a reality show I hadn’t yet discovered. I needed to check the winery for cameras.
“Kind of?” Layla said, arching an eyebrow.
She thinks we’ve hooked up before.
“We’ve crossed paths at the same restaurant before,” I said. “We chatted a little bit. But that’s all there is. Just two acquaintances, more or less.”
I held my smile, hoping that it would sell my point, but I didn’t have a lot of hope. Layla was not some guy that could be passed off with a pretty smile. She looked like she was thinking of a follow-up question before she just shrugged.
“Well, have fun getting to know him,” she said. “He’s a bit of a goof, but you can easily set him straight. Call him out if he gets out of line; if he’s mad about it, tell him Layla said you could.”
And that just confirmed every suspicion I had about the family dynamics.
“I will.”
Layla smiled, wished me well for the rest of my day, and then walked away. So...she’d only come to ask about how the two of us had met before?
We were really going to do a terrible job of keeping this a secret from the world.
Brett walked out a few seconds later.
“Was Layla just here?”
Oh, I had a lot to say about that...but it could wait. I preferred to keep professional as much as I could.
“Yes. But I was able to help her out.”
“Oh, good. Listen, is there anything you need help with?”
He seemed genuine and innocent. And in a moment like this, I could see why women—and, well, me—found him so damn attractive. When he was genuine and low-key, it amplified all of his best qualities; his charm, his smile, his looks, his confident demeanor. If I got this Brett, well, who knew?
Too bad “this Brett” was only here because the real Brett was probably too exhausted to make a real appearance. This was easily going to be the most acted-out marriage anyone in the modern era had ever seen. In some ways, in fact, marrying the fat slob I’d never sleep with might have been better, because at least then, there would be no conflict about how I felt about him.
“I am fine,” I said with a professional smile. “Thank you though.”
“Of course,” he said, sounding slightly disappointed that he couldn’t help me. “Well...OK, when lunch comes, feel free to go wherever—”
“I didn’t drive here today, remember?”
The look on Brett’s face was priceless. I almost wanted to ask, “If you can’t remember the details of this arrangement, then can I get off the hook from them too?”
“Oh, right,” he said. “I’ll have some food ordered for you. You can, uh, hang out in the employee lounge then. Otherwise, uh, I’ll see you around. Just come, uh, get me when you want me to order food.”
I shooed Brett back into his office with a little more force than I would have before Layla had encouraged me to take charge. She was right—Brett was a bit of a pushover.
But from now until death of the grandparents did us part, he was my pushover. He was not just my boss, he was my future...hus…band.
You’ve got two weeks of real, true normal before things get weird.
Better enjoy them while I can.
Chapter 13: Brett
It’s a fucked-up world.
It had been over three hours since Chelsea Polozzi had walked into my office, and it still didn’t make a bit of goddamn sense.
What were the fucking odds? Seriously, what were the goddamn chances that the flighty, confusing woman from the bar was suddenly going to be the girl I was going to marry? One minute, I was thinking that she was going to be the last casual encounter I had for several years; now I was to learn that, nope, sorry, I’d already had that casual encounter weeks ago and I was only going to be with her for the foreseeable future?
At least Uncle Nick had gotten me someone attractive, but it almost seemed like that didn’t matter. Uncle Nick would not have sent me someone that didn’t look good on my arm, so that wasn’t really a win. This whole thing…
Well, I guess it sort of felt like a deal with the devil, huh? I now was going to get my share of the inheritance, but in return, I was going to spend it with a woman that, at best, I had a confusing beginning with. Maybe things could get better in time, but that was going to entail several awkward steps along the way.
I didn’t get a damn thing done that morning. I was supposed to reach out to some groups taking a tour later in the afternoon, but every time I opened my email, I found myself feeling flustered that my life had actually come to this. I checked my calendar a few times before eventually just deciding I was going to give myself something of an easy day. I couldn’t hold myself to my standards on a day as fucking wild as this.
Oh, and Chelsea just walked into my office without knocking. I guess she had that right as my personal assistant, but damn. She was taking after Layla just a little too well here.
“I’m going to go take my lunch break now,” she said. “I have an hour, right?”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “And I’ll get you...hold on...Italian or Mexican?”
“Do I have a choice?”
I swore, either I was reading way too much into everything that got said or she was layering everything she said with some sweet, heavy double entendre. No, I’m not sure any of us have a choice right now.
“I suppose it would look a bit odd if you had Mexican food at an Italian winery on your first day, wouldn’t it?” I said, cracking an exhausted smile. “I’ll get you some Italian. Chicken parm and pasta good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“OK. You can run to the employee lounge. Go right, right, and then straight about fifty feet, and you’ll see it. Lots of tables, some black couches, some books, you can’t miss it. I’ll bring you your food when it arrives.”
“Oh, so you’re the assistant on my lunch break,” she said. “Sounds good.”
She’s really taking after Layla a bit too much.
Still, seeing this side of Chelsea was kind of nice and sweet. I felt like part of why I had never gotten serious was because it was hard to find someone who was willing to push back a bit, someone who was willing to give shit as much as take it. By no means did Chelsea’s snark suddenly mean everything would be perfect, but it was reassuring.
Or, maybe, I was just taking any sign that wasn’t completely fucked up as reassuring, given how fucking crazy the situation was.
Chelsea left, but five minutes later, I heard heels and a knock on the door.
“You know you can—”
“Enter without asking? I know. I was just making sure you weren’t training your new hire the Brett Ferrari way.”
I rolled my eyes as Layla entered the room, shutting the door behind me.
“You say that like I sleep with all my hires,” I said.
“I say it like I know you’ve slept with some of your hires,” she said. “I know you remember Rochelle.”
“Who could forget that one?” I said, snorting at the memory of the girl who had all but tried to make her own deal with me. “But no. And also, ew. I have never slept with anyone at the office. Can you imagine Grandpa discovering that?”
Layla’s shudder said it all.
“Anyway, I didn’t come in here to learn about how horny you are for Chelsea,” she said. “Although, well, actually, I kind of did.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Who is she? And don’t give me some flippant answer, Brett. I saw how you two interacted this morning. There’s some history there. Chelsea was polite enough to cover for you and give some sort of a vague answer, but I can’t hold her under questioning like I can you.”
“I don’t know—”
“Brett,” Layla said. “Cut through the bullshit. Who the hell is she?”
Had this conversatio
n happened even an hour before, I might have had the strength and willpower to lie. But now? I didn’t give a fuck.
“Sit down, this is gonna take a minute.”
Brother Nick already knew. He was the one who had suggested the whole damn thing in the first place. Leo would...well, Leo didn’t even know the name of all but a handful of my dates. I didn’t even know if he knew about Layla’s love tragedy; that’s how detached he was from the family.
“I had a feeling,” Layla said. “Let me guess. You hooked up with her once, she asked you for more, you refused, and now it’s time to pay the pied piper.”
“What? Am I that predictable?”
Layla answered that with a look rather than words.
“No, we have never hooked up. Not yet, at least.”
“Oh, this is getting better—”
“No, Layla, actually, it’s not better,” I said.
Credit Layla. She knew when to stop picking on me. She shut up, folded her arms, and gave me the space to speak.
“I reached out to Uncle Nick to fucking set up a contract with someone so they could pretend to be my wife so I could get the inheritance from grandma and grandpa when they pass.”
I let the silence settle in. I waited to see Layla’s reaction. She had none. I closed my eyes and collected my breath. It felt oddly relieving to release that, and it felt even better to see that Layla wasn’t reacting with judgment or ridicule. She actually seemed empathetic.
“I got so fucking sick of hearing how I needed to find a wife, I needed to find a woman, or I’d never get my share of the inheritance, but I couldn’t find a way out of it. You’ve seen me after my encounters with grandpa, it never goes well.”
I shook my head.
“I...I guess you could say I got desperate. So I reached out to Uncle Nick. He said he’d ask around. I guess this is what he produced. Chelsea and I did talk a couple of times at a bar in downtown Sacramento, but there seriously was nothing more to it. We haven’t even kissed, let alone gone any further.”
And now, this is the woman I’m going to marry.
