by Hazel Parker
“Oh yeah, he’s more than a great boss; he’s a great man.”
There was no way in hell I was going to directly ask Nick what his purpose was in hyping Brett up as some sort of angel, but just because I couldn’t ask Nick didn’t mean there wasn’t someone I could ask directly about that.
“Sorry about that,” Brett said as he returned to our little circle. “Just setting up a group tour tomorrow. Everything all good?”
“Yep,” Nick said. “Think you’ve got a winner of an employee here. Was just telling her about how terrible you are.”
Brett and I both laughed, a fact that I think made the other a little uncomfortable with how easily we chuckled at Nick’s sarcasm.
“Well, hopefully, you didn’t say anything to make her run away.”
“Oh, you know, just told her about your terrible taste in food and how your idea of holiday parties is so corny even Dad and grandpa tell you to grow up.”
Brett rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, on that note, it’s time for everyone to go home. So, come on, let’s get out.”
This time, Brett did not come close to touching me as he led me out. This suddenly replanted doubt in my head if Nick actually knew anything about us, though it wasn’t like it totally eliminated it.
And then, just when it felt like things were leaning in one direction, Nick walked much faster ahead of us, saying he had to get to the stadium for a late game and wished us well. Within seconds, it was just the two of us as we walked to the limo.
“So, does he know?” I said.
“Does who know what?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Just because we’re in public halls doesn’t mean you can’t tell me the truth,” I said. “You’re a smart guy. I think you know what I mean.”
Brett smiled.
“I know, and the person who helped arrange things knows. But that’s it.”
“And is that person your brother Nick?”
Brett didn’t say a word as we reached the front doors because of course, the bastard didn’t. Why would he say anything at this point to spoil the fun of me not knowing? I guess he couldn’t let the “mystery” of us get totally solved on day one.
Brett motioned for the limo driver to stay in his seat and then opened the door for me.
“Chelsea Polozzi,” he said, extending his hand. “It has been a pleasure having you as my...employee this first day. I look forward to many more days with you as my employee.”
I looked down at his hand. In some respects, this charade we had going on was one of the dumbest things I think I had ever experienced in my life. I mean, only the limo driver was here, and even he had glass doors up.
But on the other hand...hey, if I was stuck with this outcome, why not have some fun? Why not enjoy the ride, even if I knew it was all some fluffy bullshit for the sake of appearances?
“And I look forward to it as well,” I said, shaking his hand.
When he took mine, he gave me a gentle squeeze and, for the first time all day, a seductive smile. God, I hated how much of an effect that had on me. I hated how I wanted him to come with me in that limo and see what more those hands might be able to do.
And then, just when I thought I might have to ask myself those questions, Brett pulled his hand back and ushered me in.
“See you tomorrow, Chelsea,” he said just before shutting the door.
All in all, the first day at least had ended on a good note. But then again, “a good note” was a bit odd. Nothing was really grounded in normalcy here because there wasn’t a damn thing that was normal for this entire thing.
The only thing I could say was that as far as new jobs went, it was bound to give me some stories. And, worst case, if things really turned out to suck, I only needed to fake it in public before I’d have my own privacy when alone.
At least, that was the hope.
Chapter 15: Brett
“I sure hope you hyped me up some, you fool.”
“What did you want me to do, tell her that you are the perfect man with no flaws and that every woman in the Bay Area should be on her knees begging for your presence?”
I paused for a long time, laughing at that image. They’d be on their knees, all right. And now you can’t ever live out such a fantasy.
“I’m just saying, Nick, it would be nice if this whole deal had at least a little bit of spark and didn’t entirely feel like a business deal.”
Nick, ever the good brother that he was, just started laughing in exaggerated fashion over the phone. Damn good thing too, or I would’ve punched him for being such a jackass.
“You, I assume, went out to Uncle Nick and asked him to find you a girl, and he did, but now you want to have some spark in it? You don’t get to order fried chicken from McDonald’s and ask after the fact that it become organic!”
“I know, I know, but damnit, Nick, we’re not talking about hiring some friend of the family for financial reasons! I just want to think that maybe, just maybe, there’s reason for hope that the next several years won’t be a miserable slog.”
Nick still laughed at me, but what he said next gave me some reassurance.
“It’s not like she’s disinterested in you, you know,” he said. “I doubt she wants to fuck you right now, but she at least has some curiosity for you.”
OK. For where we are right now, I’ll take that.
“But don’t get your hopes up too much. Not like you’re me.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I said. “Nick Ferrari, I hope you strike out every at-bat today.”
Again, Nick started laughing hard.
“And that you trip while running the bases!”
“You fool, there is no game tonight,” Nick said. “You really think I’d be able to show up to the vineyard two hours before opening pitch? I try and get there three hours before every game! It was an off day.”
Now I felt like Nick had justified reasons for laughing at me.
“Anyway, no, look, just treat her like an employee and let the organic thing grow if it can. Not like she’s obligated to do anything for a while, right?”
“True,” I said. “Our scheduled first date is in two weeks.”
“Jesus, scheduled dates, huh? Must’ve been a hell of a contract. Anyway, yeah. Treat her like an employee, throw in the occasional smile, wink, or touch, and see where things stand in two weeks.”
* * *
Two Weeks Later
Where things stood was...about where they had stood at the conclusion of Chelsea’s first day.
In the two weeks since, I had largely given Chelsea all the space that she needed, although when she had come into my office with the door shut, I turned the heat on just a little. I’d compliment her hair, tell her she looked stunning, or maybe even made a suggestive innuendo.
But I only touched her a couple of times, and if not for the arranged marriage deal, it would have been easy for even one of us to think that this had sort of run its course. The sparks were still there, but I think both of us were waiting for the “two-week dinner date” to happen to see what would go on.
Of course, arranging the dinner date wasn’t difficult. I’d asked Chelsea on the Tuesday morning before, when she had come into my office. She pretended to act surprised before she said she would “love to.” We both had a good laugh about it, pretending that things were budding.
The whole thing still had an air of absurdity to it that nothing else could really match. Even actors on stage knew they were doing something that had an end date of about two or three hours later. In theory, our production could either end in a few years, or…
Well, I tried not to let myself get too carried away with that thought.
I pulled up to the entrance of Voltaire’s Steakhouse, all too aware thanks to Nick that that was the spot where he had first won Izzy over. He cracked jokes to me about how it was now due time for me to make this a thing among the grandkids so that Layla and Leo would have to follow in line. One of those had a chance of
making that happen; the other had a better chance of telling grandpa to fuck off than of getting married.
I looked at my text messages. Chelsea said she would be there in about two minutes, so I lingered outside, making sure that my clothes were properly fit. The funny thing about my job was that I was never going to be better dressed in public than I was for my job, so instead of trying to overdress for the evening, I went in the opposite direction. I wore a t-shirt underneath my sports jacket, faded jeans, and casual sneakers. It wasn’t exactly the most common look at Voltaire’s, but it was a style that said, “casual and fun.”
Ironic, considering you’re not going to be having any casual fun for a long, long time.
“Hey.”
I looked up to the sound of Chelsea’s voice and had my jaw nearly hit the floor in stunned shock.
I had seen Chelsea dressed up in professional, business attire more times than I had just about any other woman not named Layla, but I had never seen her dress for appearances until this moment, and holy hell, she looked fucking great. She had on a low-cut red dress that stopped about halfway down the thigh, revealing all of her curves. She had on a green pearl necklace, golden earrings, and just enough makeup to make her look sexy as all hell.
If she was trying to play the part of dolled-up date, then she was doing it very well. If she was just doing it because she wanted to…
Fuck, that possibility was too good to consider right now.
“Damn,” I said, my voice one of genuine admiration. “You look fucking stunning.”
“Why thank you,” Chelsea said, also wearing a genuine smile. “You look like you couldn’t wait to get out of the suit and tie look.”
“Oh, this? Oh, right, yeah, I like being casual when I’m out.”
“Strange how you weren’t that way when you were just a stranger.”
Aren’t we still, in so many ways?
“I was just coming from work on those days. Here, I’m going out.”
Chelsea snorted in amusement to me before she nodded toward the stairs to Voltaire. I took her hand, feeling her soft and small fingers curl around mine, and led her upstairs. It felt good.
It was all for show, of course, but at least it was a show I was enjoying putting on. I certainly wasn’t going to complain about having a beautiful woman be my date for the night, even if both of us had feelings that could best be described as “uncertain” about the other.
We got up to the front desk, and I notified the waitress there of our reservation. She confirmed our spot and started to lead us to the back corner of the restaurant, a place where we would not have total privacy but would at least have more than someone near the entrance. As we walked there, with me leading the way, I scanned the room.
And then I pursed my lips and forced a smile.
My Uncle Frank and my Aunt Candace were sitting there, about five tables over from where our table would be.
In some sense, if someone was going to see us in public, this was the best bet, as neither Frank nor Candace worked for the winery; instead, they worked for a food and beverage corporation with offices in the area. To them, this was just their nephew taking a beautiful gal out for the evening.
But if there were two things I knew about the Ferrari family, it was that Grandpa’s word was final, and word got around about everyone’s relationship status sooner rather than later. And when everyone at the winery found out that I was “dating” my new assistant…
I mean, I guess this was how it had to go to be on schedule? But now that I was living it...boy, there was nothing quite like reality to make the best-sounding plans suddenly seem so ridiculous.
“Have a seat, sweetie,” I said, kissing Chelsea on the cheek, something I would not have done with Uncle Frank nearby.
“Um, OK…”
“Just go with it,” I whispered into her ear.
“Oh, of course!” Chelsea said, putting her hand on my shoulder and squeezing extra hard—hard enough that her nails dug a bit in.
I flinched. Chelsea smirked. I looked over at Frank and Candace, who nodded to me shortly. Frank was somewhere in the middle between my father and Uncle Nick—he was more button-up and traditional than Nick, but he still had his moments where he’d ask me if I’d “scored a good one” or the like.
I turned to Chelsea and smiled.
“Don’t act like you didn’t like the kiss.”
“Only if you don’t act like you didn’t like me putting my nails into you.”
“So, you did do that on purpose?”
Chelsea folded her arms on the table and leaned forward.
“I know what the deal is, but just because we have a contract doesn’t mean that I’m going to be your slave,” she said. “I want these next few years to be as enjoyable as possible, but if you’re going to treat me as a doll to be shown around town, then I can make things just as miserable for you as they are for me.”
Miserable?
I knew things were awkward, sure. I knew that this was about as far from “normal” as you could get. But…
“Really? Miserable?”
Chelsea dropped the smartass expression.
“How would you feel if you left your job with your father for the promise of riches, wound up in the office of some guy that you think is more player than polite, and then be reminded every day that you will marry this guy for lots and lots of money?”
I mean...she’s not wrong to think that. Not really.
“How would you feel if you kept telling yourself, ‘there’s more out there. You can do better.’ And then you get word that you can take a gamble. Someone’s willing to pay you millions of dollars to date and marry them. And then you realize why no one says to ever take a deal like that.”
I knew Chelsea wasn’t necessarily having the greatest of times, but wasn’t she feeling great just seconds ago? When we walked up to the restaurant?
“Maybe there’s hope for us if we can somehow build this right,” she said. “But we have to do it right. We have to.”
“I know,” I said. “And I know that we can each make each other miserable, and no one wins in that spot. I know that there’s no value in making you feel like that and me feeling like that. I’m not looking to get into a spot where we try and see who can out-misery the other. It’s just…”
I leaned forward, hopeful that my size would block Uncle Frank and Aunt Candace from seeing anything.
“I’ve got my aunt and uncle right there, about five tables down,” I said. “And to be frank, I hate public performances as much as you do. I was successful because I was so honest, not because I was theatrical.”
I ignored the judgmental, questioning look on Chelsea’s face.
“I felt like I had to kiss you to make them realize there was the appearance of romance.”
“Who cares?” Chelsea said. “It’s two weeks, not two months in. You already got what you wanted.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but the waiter came to introduce himself. I felt a little disappointed the honesty had gotten disrupted, but I saw it then as a chance to ponder what she’d said.
I’d gotten what I already wanted.
But Chelsea was making me realize something. I actually liked her.
Not in an “oh, she’ll work” sense of someone I had to marry. But in a real, genuine, “I’d take her out without the contract” like.
Chelsea, though, at least did not so far.
Maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward in this in which we actually developed real interest in each other. Who knew? It probably wouldn’t reach the level of true love that Nick and Izzy had, but I still wasn’t sure I could achieve that.
“Just...treat me like a woman and not as a toy,” Chelsea said.
As if life itself decided to test me, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw Uncle Frank standing there.
“Fancy seeing you here, Brett,” he said, extending his hand out.
“I would say the same to you, Uncle Frank.”<
br />
“Bah, I earned my spot in this restaurant,” he cracked. “And who’s the lovely lady.”
“This is Chelsea Polozzi,” I said.
Do I tell him she’s my assistant at work?
“She’s like us. From a crazy Italian family.”
Uncle Frank cracked up.
“You don’t know the half of it!” he said as he extended his hand to Chelsea.
“You’d be surprised.”
What does that mean?
“Well, in any case, any friend of Brett here is a friend of ours, so it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Uncle Frank said. “If you need anything, let us know. Brett—be a gentleman for once in your life.”
“Oh, stop,” I said playfully, but Chelsea’s expression suggested she agreed with it.
Damn. I guess I really had created quite the image for myself in those two bar visits. And all the other times that you flirted and chatted with women like so…
Maybe it is time to retire charming, wooing, playing Brett. Maybe it is time to introduce...I don’t know, a calm Brett?
Maybe.
“What did you mean by that?” I asked. “By ‘you’d be surprised?’”
Chelsea shrugged.
“Seems to me you didn’t reveal this whole secret the first time we met about how your fate was sealed,” she said. “I think you can wait some.”
But, strangely enough, she said it with a smile. Maybe I had done right in how I spoke about her to Uncle Frank.
Well, regardless, I was about to have steak and wine. I wasn’t going to ruin that by having an endless internal monologue about if I was doing things right or not.
For the rest of the evening, Chelsea and I settled into an easy conversation that, under normal circumstances, could probably be called a normal date. We laughed, we traded jokes, we told stories, we made quips about people near us and crazy sights. We never mentioned work; we didn’t mention the contract or anything about it again; and aside from once more when Uncle Nick and Aunt Candace came over to wish us well for the evening, I never again thought about how we looked in public.
In a way, it was the best thing we could have asked for. It was just two young adults attracted to each other—or, at least, me attracted to her, but I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual—sharing some great times together.
