Pretend Honeymoon (Romance)

by Bella Grant

  “Because I’ve no real intention to ever marry, Ms. Snow,” I explained. “None whatsoever, so I’ll explain again. This is simply a business relationship between you and me. Anabelle and Isabelle need more than merely a nanny. You see, they lost their mother and deserve to have one during their childhood. I will provide them with that. I think you’d make a suitable candidate for mother, and you yourself stated you have no interest in a relationship at the moment. I would also hazard a guess that you need the money. With your free time, you can finish the final year of your degree, and I’ll pay for it.”

  “I’m sorry, this is not what I had in my mind when I attended that interview,” she said and pushed back to rise to her feet. “Frankly, I believe if you want your girls to have a mother, you should take the legitimate route and find a woman you can fall in love with and call a wife for real.”

  Before she could get up, I placed my hand desperately over hers on the table. If not her, then who? I needed her to agree to this.

  “Please, Ms. Snow.” Very few things in life would make me assume this pleading tone, but I felt desperate. She was the right person for this. I knew it and needed her to understand that this would be beneficial for both of us. “My kids have been through a lot. I’ve watched you and the way you present yourself, I’ve done the background checks, and I do believe you’d be a great influence on their lives. Ten years of your life, and you’ll never have to worry about money ever again. You’ll be in a comfortable environment. I will not limit your activities as long as you are discreet, and based on the time we spent tonight, I think it’s safe to say we can get along well. Maybe even be friends.”

  She gazed at our hands, and when she tugged, I lifted mine to let her go. She lurched to her feet, her expression troubled. “This is way too much to process,” she admitted. “I-I don’t know what to think. This proposal is too strange.”

  “Take it,” I extended the contract to her. “I want you to read it through again.” I also handed her my card. “My cell number is on this. If you change your mind—which I hope you do—please don’t hesitate to call me.”

  She took the documents reluctantly. “I’m sorry for wasting your time in organizing all this. Have a good night, Mr. Simpson.”

  She took a few steps before I was forced to play dirty by utilizing the last round of ammunition I had. “Ms. Snow, my daughters wanted you.”

  She faltered a bit before she bowed her head and continued out of the restaurant. I watched her leave, waiting with bated breath for her to turn and give me a glance over her shoulder. That glance would have meant she would think about it. She never once looked back, and my hands doubled into fists. Damn. The most important agreement for her to sign and I’d failed at it.

  As a businessman, my pride was stung that I didn’t convince her. Maybe I should have offered her more money, or a house. But instinctively, I didn’t believe more money would have swayed her decision.

  Chapter 9

  Laurel

  Tumbling outside, I mumbled an apology to the couple I’d almost crashed into in my haste to be as far away from the restaurant and from him as possible. My nipples puckered from both the cool night air and the chill running through my body. I hadn’t been sure I could make it outside before what I thought of his proposal became more evident than my gentle outburst that he was crazy.

  And he had to be nuts to come up with a scheme like this. Buying himself a wife and mother for his kids. Just what in the hell was he thinking? And what kind of vibe did I give off that he would think I was the kind of woman he could propose such a crazy idea to? That thought was even more frightening.

  I glanced over my shoulder, hoping he hadn’t followed me out. Relieved he hadn’t, I trudged carefully in my heels for a block to reach my car. The parking fee at the restaurant was way too high, and I’d been glad when I’d seen the free public parking available less than a five-minute walk away.

  When I drove from the parking lot, I had a sense of urgency to get back to the hotel because I was considering his proposal. I couldn’t believe I was thinking about marrying a man I didn’t know. But he did promise it would be a marriage in name only. I’d be in charge of his daughters, really. Was that so awful?

  Back at the hotel room, I filled the tub with warm water and stripped. From the bar in the kitchen, I poured a glass of the complimentary bottle of wine into a glass and strolled naked into the bathroom, snagging the contract on my way. I settled in the large tub, submerged completely except for my head and hands. I took a sip of the wine and placed the glass on the edge of the tub, trying to focus on the contract. But the voices in my head were at war with each other.

  You wouldn’t have to work another day.

  Taking care of two kids is work.

  You’d be able to pay for your mom’s surgery.

  You would be married to a man you don’t know.

  Of all the arguments, the one which stood out was my mother’s surgery. We wouldn’t have to postpone it any longer. I wouldn’t even have to wait a year. We could have the procedure done instantly.

  I skipped the first two sections of the contract, which identified each party to sign and stipulated what the agreement was all about. The second section was where it became interesting.

  During this term of agreement stipulated above [ten years], Party B will assume the responsibilities of mother to two female children, both eight years of age. The contract shall begin when Party A and Party B sign a legally binding contract of marriage.

  I became engrossed in the document, noting the details. I had to reach for the wine to gulp another drink as I read about the non-sexual nature of the contract. He’d made it very clear the marriage would be in name only. I would have no need to worry about that.

  At the end of the contract, I dropped it on the floor and submerged myself completely. Beneath the liquid surface, time seemed suspended. My mind raced with thoughts about how this marriage would work if I went along with it. He appeared to be a decent man, but how could I be sure? He was a businessman first, though, as he’d remined me, and that contract was airtight.

  My lungs burning, I surfaced, gasping for air. The best way to think about this was by considering both sides of the spectrum. What was hindering me from this business deal? I didn’t have a boyfriend nor was I looking to fall in love with a guy. But what if I met someone and was trapped in a marriage based on that contract? Maybe we could work potential future spouses somewhere into the contract as a clause. The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was really not much to lose going into this so-called marriage.

  The positive far outweighed the negatives. I’d be the wife of a very powerful man, although in name only. I’d be able to pay for my mom’s surgery. I would be occupied taking care of his girls, who seemed sweet though shy. Finishing my degree would be a goal I would be able to attain with more ease. I could even start my own business with all the money he offered me. This contract seemed tailored to my specific needs at the moment. I was twenty-four. The contract would end when I turned thirty-four. Not too late for me to have a family of my own afterwards.

  I decided to sleep on it when I started yawning. I drained the tub and dried myself with a soft towel. Not bothering to put anything on, I climbed into bed exhausted. I fell asleep, my head wrapped around the contract. Could I be Jarrod Simpson’s wife?

  The next morning, I woke late. A glance at the bedside clock revealed it was almost noon. With a groan, I took care of my morning routine, slipped into the complimentary robe, and ordered room service. I didn’t particularly want to be in anyone’s company today and I had to eat before I acknowledged what my brain had established while I slept.

  I would accept Jarrod’s offer. Damn, he’d even become Jarrod overnight instead of Mr. Simpson.

  While eating a slice of grapefruit, I scribbled down my thoughts of the contract on a notepad, highlighting the areas of concern that would need to be amended. When I was finally satisfied, I took a deep breath and
punched in his cellphone number on the card he had given me. I noticed how hard my hand was shaking. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

  On the second ring, the phone was answered. A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of his voice. “Hello, Simpson here.” I hesitated a fraction too long to respond and so he continued. “Is anyone there?”

  “Mr. Simpson, it’s me, Laurel Snow,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Ms. Snow.” His voice became alert.

  “I think it’s fitting you call me Laurel,” I said softly.

  Silence came from his end of the line. I would have given back a quarter of the million dollars for this deal just to see his reaction. “This means you’ve reconsidered my proposal?” he asked for clarity.

  “It means it’s a possibility, but there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you first. Some modifications to the contract.”

  “Great,” he replied with urgency. “You can stop by the office today. You’re still at the hotel, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Good. My office is less than ten minutes away,” he informed me. “It’s located in the Deep Ellum District. The name is SimTech. You can’t miss it.”

  “What time should I be there?” I queried. “Check-out is at two.”

  “Can you be here at one-thirty?”

  I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. I’d have forty-five minutes to shower, dress, and pack away everything. “I’ll be there,” I told him.

  “The security at front desk will be apprised of your arrival,” he stated. “He’ll direct you to my office.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you shortly.”

  “Very good.” He went silent for a few seconds before he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him, “Laurel, thank you for this.”

  “Let’s actually do the thanking later.”

  With nothing left to say—at least over the phone—I hung up and hit the bathroom. Much time was wasted detangling my hair from getting it wet the night before. I left it down and groaned as I pulled on the outfit I’d brought with me to wear home. I had nothing else since I hadn’t planned on meeting with Mr. Simpson again so soon after our meeting last night.

  Completely dressed, I examined myself dubiously, but what could I do? I couldn’t wear the dress from last night to his office today. Damn, maybe when he saw me today, he would decide I wasn’t a fit mother for his girls. The light-blue, high-waisted skinny jeans flattered the curves of my hips and hugged my generous butt. The top I’d paired it with was a light, breezy, sleeveless top with different shades of blue and pink. I was relieved I’d decided at the last minute not to wear my high-tops yesterday, but a pair of espadrilles.

  Since I didn’t have much of an option, I shrugged and packed my overnight bag. Looking over the room once more to ensure I wasn’t leaving anything, I spotted the contract on the kitchen table and stuffed it into my bag. I’d need that.

  I dropped the key off at the front desk on my way to the office building on Sixth Street. I located the building. Centrally situated, it wasn’t hard to find at all. The metallic letters on the building SimTech could be seen from a distance. I scouted for a parking area close by, finding one across the street that charged two dollars per hour. I prayed my legs weren’t visibly as shaky as they felt to me as I crossed the street and hurried into the building.

  The security guard at the post inside the building expected me, but I also had to show him my ID to be allowed further into the building. He directed me to the two receptionists at the front desk, one of whom immediately rose to her feet to escort me to the CEO’s office.

  “I’m sure I can find my way,” I tried to reassure her, but she would have none of it. I wished Jarrod hadn’t made a big issue out of me coming here. Now it really felt like something huge was about to go down.

  We took the elevator to the top floor, and she escorted me directly to his office.

  “Suzanne, what’s going on here? Why have you abandoned your desk?”

  I groaned at the high-pitched female voice. I would never forget the iciness of that tone as long as I lived. Suzanne, the receptionist, and I turned, and I eyed Pearl suspiciously as she approached us. I didn’t trust her.

  “Ms. Goodwin,” Suzanne said nervously. “Uh, Ms. Snow is here to see Mr. Simpson. I was given orders to take her to him directly.”

  “Who gave you those orders?” Pearl pressed, frowning so hard at me it was a wonder her face wasn’t permanently fixed that way.

  “Mr. Simpson,” Suzanne replied.

  Everything went still for a few minutes before Pearl grudgingly accepted the situation and that she could do nothing about it. “I was heading to Jarrod’s office,” she claimed. “Ms. Snow and I are already acquainted, so I’ll do the honors. Thank you, Suzanne. You may go back to your post now.”

  “Yes, Ms. Goodwin.”

  I wished the girl would tell Ms. Goodwin to find something to do and stop harassing her, but it was obvious the woman worked closely with Jarrod. Yes, it didn’t escape my attention that she called him by his first name. I wondered uneasily if they were a couple or had one of those office romance flings where the boss slept with his secretary. It would explain the frosty look I received as she eyed me from head to toe. If I wasn’t confident about myself, she would have made me feel like a piece of gum that had been over-chewed, spat out, and stepped on.

  “What are you doing here?” she inquired.

  “I’m here to see Jarrod,” I replied, deliberately taunting her by using his first name. Lest she thought she was the only one who could speak bitch. Her whole attitude stunk.

  “What about?” she pried.

  “I guess that’s a question you will have to ask your boss.”

  It probably wasn’t wise to get on the bad side of my soon-to-be husband’s mistress. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure if being here was a good idea at all.

  “I intend to do just that,” she stated, tilting her head so she could look down her nose at me from her impressive height. “Next time you’re visiting this office building—if there is a next time—you may want to dress a bit more conservatively. This is a business setting. Follow me this way.”

  I was tempted to make a U-turn for the elevator, but I had a purpose. My mother’s surgery. Getting my degree. Never having to worry about job security. I would not let her deter me from this course.

  Chapter 10

  Jarrod

  I glanced at my wristwatch. She should arrive soon. I could scarcely believe she’d changed her mind, and so soon, too. Whatever influenced her to do so, I was thankful. I tempered my exuberance in victory by reminding myself she had said she wanted modifications made to the contract. I wondered what exactly in the contract she wanted to change. Was it more money? Because a million dollars was a whole lot for the job she would be required to do. Besides, she didn’t have to touch that money at all because she would be provided for while living in my household.

  Earlier, I had cancelled a meeting with a potential client from China. An important meeting, too, but I couldn’t allow for her to have more time to think about this and change her mind again. Better to capitalize on whatever madness had caused her to agree to my crazy scheme.

  A knock sounded on my door. It had to be her. “Come in,” I said and stood to greet her.

  I was disappointed as Pearl walked into the room but relieved when Laurel entered behind her. Then I was confused at what the two were doing together. She hadn’t forgotten the NDA and let it slip to Pearl what she was really doing here, did she? The last thing I wanted was for Pearl to get a whiff of the marriage contract.

  “Jarrod, I found Ms. Snow out in the hall,” she remarked, approaching the desk. “She says she’s here to see you, but I don’t remember seeing her name on your calendar.”

  I groaned. “Yes, we do have a meeting, Pearl,” I told her. “A private meeting. So, if you could give us a few minutes…” I let the rest hang for her to get the drift.

&nb
sp; “What about the meeting with the Chinese Ambassador representing Hiaromi?”

  “I’ve rescheduled.”

  “Jarrod—”

  Skirting around the desk, I moved past the two women to hold the door open. “Pearl, I’m about to have a private meeting. We can continue this discussion afterwards.”

  I hated embarrassing her, but she had become difficult the last few days. The challenges in our work relationship started when I’d invited her to help conduct the interviews with me for caregiver. In retrospect, I wished I could take back that invitation now. She didn’t seem to realize her role had ended with the interviews. I chalked it up as her enthusiasm for her job and her concern for doing well. I could even appreciate her assessment that Laurel may not be the right person to be a nanny, but she was the right person for what I wanted—an uncomplicated wife, loving mother for the girls, and a companion when I had to make social rounds. None of the drama of having a sexual relationship with a woman and feeling the emptiness that usually resulted after the act itself.

  “I’ll see you after,” Pearl sulked and exited the office. I closed the door behind her and sighed deeply.

  “Is it going to be a problem, me working with you?” Laurel asked when we were alone. “She doesn’t like me much.”

  “Don’t take it personally,” I advised her, gesturing for her to take a seat. “She’s a businesswoman foremost and thinks I am making a bad decision since there were better qualified women with experience.”

  She sat and crossed her legs at the ankles. Since meeting her the first time, I’d acknowledged she was a beautiful woman, and today was no exception. For a minute, my mind strayed, thinking of her draped in an expensive Jovani evening gown with diamonds dripping from her ears and neck. She would look nothing if not perfect beside me at those events, and she wasn’t likely to bore me to tears either.

  “I have a few things to clarify,” she remarked, drawing me from the distraction of my mind.