by Tasha Fawkes
She actually believed me when I told her she was getting the same payment as she would have if we’d gone through with our arrangement. So long as she doesn’t find out how much I’m paying Charlene, we will be fine. I can just imagine how Charlene will react finding out from a gossip magazine that she’s expected to produce my child.
With the amount of money that I’m paying Shannon, I’m confident of her silence.
About an hour later, Charlene resurfaces. I smile at her as she walks out onto the balcony to join me. She keeps a safe distance between us, and glances over at me every now and then. She thinks that I don’t notice, but I do. I notice everything.
She flushes and quickly looks away when I catch her looking at me the third time. I smirk, because I like that she’s embarrassed. That means there is something there for me to work with. She crosses her arms over her chest and inches closer to me.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask her. She glances at the scotch I hold in my hand and frowns. “I have more than just scotch, Charlene,” I inform her.
“Uh, then water, maybe?” she asks after a moment.
I nod. “I think I can arrange that.”
I walk inside and make my way over to the kitchen and then grab the bottle of water from the fridge. When I turn around, she’s right there, watching me. She gratefully takes the bottle I hand to her, twists off the cap, and takes long mouthful.
I watch her thoughtfully as she drinks, her lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle as the liquid slowly moves down her throat. I start to think things that I probably shouldn't be thinking—at least, not in her presence. I shift and turn slightly, so that she can't see my growing erection.
“I thought we could celebrate our first night of marriage together and go out for dinner?” I suggest, once I’ve regained my composure. “I've booked us a table at Seized if you’d be interested in joining me?”
Her eyes widen. “How on earth did you manage that?” she gasps. “That place books out nine months ahead of time.”
Chuckling, I shrug. Does she not know who I am? She flushes, as if she just had the same thought. I probably have more connections than anyone else in Boston. If I want a table anywhere, it’s only a phone call away. Hell, the number of emails I get daily from venues trying to solicit me would shock even her.
“So, that’s a yes then?” I ask.
“I don't have anything to wear,” she mumbles, her eyes casting downward. I smile as redness creeps over her cheeks.
“Really?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Did you even look inside your closet, Charlene?”
She looks confused, and then shocked. She turns around and walks back toward her room, while I follow. Leaning against the doorframe as she opens her closet, I smirk as she gasps. Her blue eyes widen in shock as she walks inside.
She runs her hands over the array of dresses that I had my personal shopper pick out for her. I smile in approval. Narelle has done well. My only demands were that they be expensive and sexy, and she had definitely achieved that. Charlene mumbles something under her breath as she reaches out to examine a red dress made of expensive imported silk, and then a one of a kind valentine raw silk gown.
“Only the best for my wife,” I murmur.
She ignores my comment and moves deeper into the closet. She squeals when she discovers the shoes. I smile, enjoying seeing her eyes light up.
Wait until she discovers her little makeup room.
She pulls out a long, red chiffon gown that is conservative compared to the other selections, and holds it against her petite frame. Then she hesitates and turns back to me, a frown on her face. I study her expression, trying to figure out what the problem is.
“Do you think I can I get dressed without you standing there, watching me?” she finally asks, raising her eyebrows.
I chuckle and then close the door. As much as I would’ve liked to watch, it was a fair request.
Back in the living room, I pick up my scotch and then carry it back out onto the balcony, and stare out over the skyline as the sun begins to set. It’s my favorite time of day, and a time when I’m usually still sitting in my office. That’s exactly where I’d be if I wasn’t being forced into a marriage I never wanted in the first place. I sigh and swish my drink around in the glass. I like Charlene a lot. More than I have any other woman, and probably more than I should. I just wish we were doing this under any other circumstance than what it is.
I’m still lost in thought when I hear her clear her throat behind me. I turn around, shocked when I see how breathtakingly beautiful she is. I mean, she was always attractive, but with her long, golden brown hair swept off to the side and cascading over her shoulder, she looks beautiful. I lower my gaze down over her body, barely able to contain myself. The way the black dress she’s chosen clings to her curves is enough to make my cock stiffen.
“Wow,” I murmur, my voice catching in my throat.
I see a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, as I try not to focus on the way her dress dips dangerously low down into her well defined cleavage.
“You look incredible.” I mutter. I walk over to her, my heart racing. She smiles, color creeping into her cheeks under my intense stare.
“Thank you,” she says, pressing her lips together. “And thank you for the clothes. I felt like I was five and playing dress-ups in my mother’s closet again.” I smile, wanting to ask her more about her past, but I hold off and decide to wait until over dinner.
“Shall we go?” I ask.
She nods. “Please.”
We exit the elevator on the ground floor and walk outside, where the doorman is waiting with my car. She smiles as I hold the door open while she slides into the passenger seat.
“And here I was thinking you had someone drive you around all the time,” she teases.
“Would you, if you had a car like this?” I grin. I walk around to the driver’s side and get in. My Ferrari almost cost more than my condo, but it was so worth it.
“I’d settle for a car that I wasn’t embarrassed to park out the front of a building like this,” Charlene giggles. It’s a sound that makes me smile. It’s almost comforting to hear, because when she’s happy, it means I’m doing something right.
We arrive at the restaurant well before our booking, but it doesn’t matter, because I know our table will be ready and waiting. They’d have prepared it the moment I called. I pull over to the curb and let the valet take over, not even blinking an eye as I toss him my keys. Though the way he’s smiling at me, I probably should be worried.
I walk around to Charlene’s side and open the door. I take her hand and help her out. She nearly topples over in her heels and into my arms. She smiles and bites her lip as she regains her balance, embarrassed, while I smirk. I’m very happy to learn she struggles in heels, and I’m suddenly glad I requested Narelle buy her the tallest ones she could find. I didn’t expect her to fall into my arms so quickly, but I’ll take it. Next step is my bed.
I lead her inside, where the maître d' is waiting for us by the door.
“Hello, Mr. Harris, it's wonderful to see you again,” he says with a nod. “Can I lead you to your room?”
“Our room?” Charlene whispers to me, her brow furrowed.
I smile and nod. “Private dining room,” I explain, my voice low. “I prefer my own company when I dine. Or the company of whomever I’m with.”
She smiles, as if my words don't surprise her, and allows me to guide her through the restaurant. We’re lead into a small, intimate room on the other side of the room. Soft music plays in the background and the table is perfectly set. We sit down, and Charlene smiles as the maître d' pushes in her chair. I order a bottle of champagne for us, forgoing my usual scotch, then I sit back and study her, trying to figure her out.
Charlene glances around, looking both terrified and excited to be here with me.
“What?” she says with a smile, when she notices my stare.
I shake my head. “I'm just tryin
g to figure out what you're about.”
“What do you mean, what I'm about?” she laughs. I smirk, because when she lets her guard down, she’s so engaging. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen her since our wedding. “You know pretty much everything about me, remember? I mean, you found out what I was keeping from you. I’m sure you discovered my whole life story during that process.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. She still has no idea that I didn't know about her secret, or that she was the one who told me. I’m tempted to tell her, but I don’t. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m capable of lying to her.
“Contrary to what you might believe, I actually know very little about you,” I murmur. “So tell me about Charlene. Let’s start with where you grew up?”
“South Dakota,” she says.
She stares down at the table, not offering anything more than that. The waiter walks back in carrying the champagne I ordered. I nod as he pours two glasses, placing one in front of me and the other in front of Charlene. I watch as she lifts the glass to her mouth and swallows half the glass in one mouthful. I reach over and refill it.
“Okay,” I say. Maybe the alcohol will loosen her up a bit, because as relaxed as she was when we walked in, talking about her past has shut her right down again. “Is that all you have to say about your childhood?”
“I answered your question,” she says defensively.
“Yes, but most people would lead the conversation into something else, or ask me a question in return. You shut the conversation down by giving me a one-worded answer.”
“Two words, actually,” she replies stiffly. She shakes her head. “Fine. I had a wonderful childhood and there are lots of happy memories. I don’t like thinking or talking about it because it makes me realize how alone I am now.”
“What happened to your mother?” I ask softly.
“Cancer.” She stares at me, her expression hard. “She died and my father moved me to Boston, against the wishes of my mother’s family. So their response was to cut me out of their lives. As far as they’re concerned, I don’t exist. Even now that my father is gone too, they don’t want to know me.”
I’m startled by her honesty, and saddened for her loss. There is so much more I want to ask her, but before I can, she redirects the conversation to me.
“What about you?” she asks.
I shrug and lean back, an amused smile on my face.
“I'm an open book,” I say with a smirk. “There’s not much about me that you don't know, or that you haven't seen printed in the papers. My family is very tight knit. My problems are their problems and vice versa. When they want something, they usually get it.”
“Interesting,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I ask you about you, and you tell me about your family.”
I shrug, not sure where she’s going with that. “I’m used to my family being the most interesting thing about me, I guess.”
“Are you kidding? You’re one of the most eligible bachelor’s in Boston,” she laughs.
“Was,” I correct her. She blushes.
“Did you always want to go into the family business?” she asks.
I shook my head. “Actually, there was a time when I was much more interested in being a doctor.”
“Then why didn't you pursue that?” she asks. She smiles. “Doctor Harris. Yes, I can see that.”
I shrug. “Because it wasn't an option. My grandfather was very…” I pause for a moment, trying to think of the right word. “Influential in deciding what would become of me. Going against that wasn't something that was acceptable.”
“Do you like what you do?” she asks.
“I don't hate it,” I say after a moment. “Does that count?”
She chuckles. “Not really. When you consider how much of your life you spend at work, why settle for anything less than something you love?”
“What about you,” I ask, firing her own question back at her. “Do you enjoy what you're doing?”
“Working for you?” she says, sounding surprised that I would ask her that. “I do. I love it. It's what I wanted to do all along, but before, it wasn’t an option. When I got the internship at your company, I finally felt like I was getting somewhere.”
Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of our meals. After that, she shuts herself off again. I try to engage her, but when I get nowhere, I decide not to push her.
We eat in silence, barely managing small talk. But I’m okay with that, because I feel like I’ve learned a lot about her tonight. There is still so much more to her, so many more layers I need to peel back, but at least I’m heading in the right direction in getting her to trust me.
After dinner, we go back to our condo. The moment we walk inside, she excuses herself to her room. I watch her walk down the hallway, my cock twitching at the sight of her glorious ass in that dress. Just when I’m starting to doubt how much progress I’ve really made with her tonight, she turns back to smile at me. I smile back and watch her disappear into her room.
Tonight, had almost felt like a date. I think I could’ve even kissed her by the end of it, but I didn’t want to risk it. Not yet. Not until I’m a hundred percent sure that she wants me.
Maybe this is going to be easier than I thought.
Eleven
Charlene
“So?” Margie asks me, her eyes wide. “How is everything going?”
It's lunchtime and I'm celebrating getting through my first half day of work as a married woman in style with Margie at one of the hottest restaurants in town. Matt did tell me to knock myself out when he handed me his black platinum credit card.
Who was I to argue?
“Fine,” I say, with a grin, staring at my friend. I knew she’d want all the juicy details, but I’m trying to play it cool, because things are going along so much better than just fine.
Margie shakes her head in disbelief.
“I still can't believe he gave you his credit card.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Come on, that’s small change to him. He might as well have handed me a twenty-dollar bill.”
“I know, but still,” Margie says. “I'm so jealous.”
“Don’t be,” I say, making a face. “At least you’re not tied into a sham marriage for a year. Sure, I get his credit card, but look at what I’ve lost.”
“A shitty apartment and a whole lot of debt?” Margie jokes. I narrow my eyes at her, and she laughs. “I’m kidding. So how is work, anyway? Do people look at you differently now that you’re married to the CEO? Has he moved you into the corner office yet?” she teases.
I shake my head and force a smile, because she’s hit a sore spot. I’ve been worrying a lot about what people at work were going to think of me when they found out. I barely slept last night, thinking about it, and today, walking in there, it was no different.
“I’m not even sure they know yet. If they do, then nobody has said anything.”
“Well, that’s good, right?” Margie offers.
“I guess it is.”
The only person who I was pretty sure did know was his assistant. Every time I walk into his office, which has already happened twice today, I'm sure his assistant is looking at me funny. It's how I expect everyone to be looking at me when they find out about Matt and me.
“I don't know, I feel like I’m just waiting for everything to blow up. Maybe Matt’s right. Maybe I should take leave until this marriage is over,” I mumble, more to myself than to Margie.
“Why though?” Margie asks, creasing her brow. “You love your job and you’re good at it. Why leave? Because a few people might talk? So what? Who cares? They’ll gossip until the next bit of juice comes along.”
She’s right. Taking leave would be taking the easy way out, and I’ve already done that once by agreeing to this marriage in the first place. I'm not giving up my career as well as my dignity.
After lunch, I walk back to work,
feeling a new sense of entitlement. I deserve to be here, as much as anyone else. Marrying Matt hasn’t changed anything. My resolve only slightly falters when I see a message on my desk, calling me back into his office. This would be a whole lot easier if he didn’t call me in there every five seconds. How am I supposed to keep a low profile when I’m in there all the time?
Sighing, I toss my bag under my desk and head down to his office. I exit the elevator and walk past his assistant, who gives me at same look over her glasses as she has every other time I’ve walked in there today. I knock on Matt’s door and wait until he calls me inside.
“I'm sure your assistant looks at me funny every time I walk in here,” I say to Matt as soon as I sit down.
“So? I’ll get a new assistant if it bothers you that much.” He shrugs simply, as if it’s the only answer. I stare at him wide-eyed.
“No,” I protest. I didn’t want to get the woman fired. I just wanted her to stop judging me. “That would just make things worse.”
He walks over to me and sits on the edge of his desk, a frown on his face.
“So leave then,” he suggests. “It's not permanent. It's just until this marriage is over and then you can come back to your position.”
“I told you before, I don't want to do that,” I snap. “The only reason I agreed to this marriage is because you promised not to push me into leaving.”
“Okay,” he says, putting his hands up in defense. “Calm down. I'll back off. On one condition.”
“And what would that be?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“That you accept a permanent position here. Forget about your internship and take a proper, permanent ongoing role.”
“You’ve gone from wanting me to leave, to wanting me to be here ongoing?” I say. I frown at him, because that makes absolutely no sense.
