by Holly Rayner
I glance into the fountain as I walk past, expecting to see pennies—who can resist throwing pennies into a fountain—but to my surprise, there aren’t any. Is this building so new that no one has even tossed a penny into its fountain yet? Feeling slightly mutinous, I dig a hand into my purse and come away with, not a penny, but a quarter. I drop it in with a satisfying plunk and a quiet wish that, whatever this is about, Magnus will be sorry for his actions.
I walk up to the reception desk. The girl sitting there can’t be more than twenty, and as soon as she speaks, I know she isn’t the one who answered my call last night. That voice was rounded and mature, but the girl’s tone is high, musical, childish.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Magnus Johansen,” I tell her, feeling awkward. She looks taken aback at this, and I hasten to clarify, “I have an appointment. My name is Leah Simmonds. He should be expecting me.”
“I have to ask,” she says hesitantly. “I’m not supposed to let anyone up to see Mr. Johansen without approval. Can you sit over there?” She points to a row of comfortable-looking chairs. “I’ll check with his secretary and let you know.”
“That’s fine,” I say, giving her a smile, then I make my way over to the waiting area and sit down.
Internally, I’m kicking myself. It seems so obvious now that Magnus is a massively successful businessman. Not only that, his business is headquartered in my very own hometown. How could I have failed to know about this? Even if it hadn’t been for our bizarre shared history, I should have known. Aimi knows all about him, and so does Robert. The only reason I don’t, I realize, is that I’ve buried my head in the sand for the past five years, avoiding information from the tech world. But now it’s sought me out again.
My wait, it transpires, is brief. I’m expecting Magnus to be far too busy and important to get to me right away, but it’s been less than five minutes when the girl at the reception desk calls my name.
“Miss Simmonds?”
I stand and return to the desk, where she reaches into a drawer and passes me a visitor’s pass on a lanyard.
“You’ll need to wear this while you’re in the building,” she says, “and you’ll need to scan it inside the elevator to operate it. Mr. Johansen’s office is on the fifteenth floor. His secretary is expecting you now so you can go on up.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a bit bewildered, and the girl nods.
I slip the lanyard around my neck and make my way to the elevator bank. The elevator door opens just as I step up to it, without my having to push a button, and after a moment I realize there is no button on the wall. The receptionist must have summoned it for me.
Fancy.
Inside, I swipe my pass against a card reader and press the number fifteen. The elevator dings its acceptance of my credentials and rises swiftly and smoothly, depositing me on the fifteenth floor far earlier than I would have thought possible. I step out, shaken, wishing this encounter were already over. It could not be more obvious that I don’t belong here.
The fifteenth floor is spacious, airy, with clean white walls and wood floors and a huge bank of windows that offer a marvelous view. I think of the soul-crushing cubicle where I spend my days and feel another twist of resentment.
A middle-aged woman with a kind smile appears before me.
“Leah Simmonds? My name is Evelyn. Please come with me.”
She turns and walks away from the elevator, around a corner, and I hurry to follow her. She’s assuming I’m behind her, not looking back, and I realize that most people who come to this place do as they’re told without questioning because of the importance of the man they’re meeting.
And then I see him. Magnus Johansen, in the flesh.
It’s been five years, but I’d recognize him anywhere. His features are a bit older, more finely chiseled, but his eyes are the same startling shade of blue. His hair is shorter, tidier. He no longer looks as if his muscles are about to rip their way out of his suit, but I’m pretty sure that has more to do with the suit itself being better fitted, more expensive. The muscles are still there.
He hasn’t gotten to his feet. He’s sitting behind a huge teak desk, much too big for any one man’s needs. I could sleep on that desk. I think of my little cubicle, and of the fact that this man can’t even show enough respect to get to his feet, and suddenly I’m enraged. Who does he think he is, calling me here like this? What does he possibly want from me after all this time?
“Leah,” he says, looking up from his computer and smiling at me. “It’s so good to see you again.”
I can’t honestly return this sentiment, so I don’t say anything. I stand in the doorway and watch him, waiting for understanding to come. Is he going to explain what this is all about, or is he going to force me into the undignified position of having to ask?
He gestures to a chair across from him. “Won’t you sit down?” he asks. “You haven’t had a long journey, have you?”
“I live in town,” I say, forgetting momentarily that he knows that. He must know that because he knows where I work.
Magnus doesn’t comment on my mistake. “I want to thank you for taking the time to come in,” he says. “You and I haven’t seen each other in a long time, of course, and I wondered whether you would even remember who I was. I hoped, of course.”
He points to a photograph on his desk. I look at it, my eyes immediately drawn to my own face, and I know immediately what it must be even though I’ve never seen it before.
“The Vipers’ Nest contestants,” Magnus confirms. “What a talented group. And what a lovely experience, don’t you think? We were so lucky to be included.”
I stare at him. Is he deranged? Could he possibly believe that this is how I feel about Vipers’ Nest? That we were lucky, and that it was a lovely experience? I know this is my chance to tell him the truth, to vent my anger and storm out of his office, but I’m so taken aback by his perspective on the situation that I can’t find words.
“And you, of course.” Magnus shakes his head. “You were probably the most talented of them all, Leah. I was so impressed with you. That night we spent together, you said things that changed the way I saw the world. I’m sure you would have impressed the Vipers as much as you did me, if things had gone differently.” He says this with no trace of shame in his voice, as if he has no idea of his own responsibility for what happened.
“But I’m sure,” he continues, “with your talent and ambition, that your life has included many great moments. Tell me, what have you been doing since we last met? Are you working on anything new and exciting? I’m so eager to hear all about it.”
My anger drains away, suddenly and unexpectedly, and is replaced by shame and panic. What am I supposed to say? The version of me that Magnus Johansen remembers is young, on the verge of success, at the high point of her life. She’s confident and self-assured.
It feels wrong, now, to hear myself described as the most talented of any group, but as I think back on the person I was five years ago, it occurs to me that that might actually have been true. Certainly, I earned my place on Vipers’ Nest, and that was no small feat. I haven’t done anything remotely impressive since then, but that was a real accomplishment. And Magnus still thinks of me as that person.
Abruptly, I find that I don’t want to tell him the truth. It feels good that there’s still someone in the world who thinks of me in this way, especially someone so wealthy and successful, so powerful. It puts us on a more even footing. I walked into this room feeling like a failure coming to confront the person who had destroyed my life. But Magnus doesn’t know my life is a shambles. He doesn’t know I’ve spent the last five years trying not to think of him, desperate to avoid the pain that came with any memory of the night we spent together or the sound of a drone passing by. For all he knows, I returned home after Vipers’ Nest, woke up the next day, and started building my own empire.
Besides, he’s handsome, mesmerizingly so.
I won’t lie to Magnus—it would be too humiliating if I were to get caught—but I’ll let him make his own assumptions, and I won’t correct him.
“I’ve been working in big data for the past few years,” I say casually, emphasizing the big just a little bit. “The company I work for is seeing a lot of growth right now, and that’s really exciting.” I realize that Magnus probably knows all that already, since he sent a drone to my office, but that will prime him to believe I’m doing well. “And I’m still developing, of course.”
This is technically true. He doesn’t need to know that I haven’t completed a project in years.
“Wonderful!” he says. “It’s so good to catch up.”
“Magnus, what am I doing here?” I ask him. “I don’t think you brought me to your office on a Saturday morning just to catch up. We haven’t spoken in what, five years?”
I’m impressed by my own boldness. I worried that once I got here I would lose my nerve, and I’m pleased to see that hasn’t happened.
Magnus sighs. “Can I get you some coffee, Leah?” he asks. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Chapter 8
Leah
Magnus opens a cabinet revealing a high-end espresso machine. He presses a button, and soon the delicious aroma of expensive coffee permeates the air.
He waves me out of the chair I’ve been occupying since I arrived and toward two armchairs upholstered in dark leather. I’m so taken aback by all this that I go without question. A moment later, Magnus joins me, handing me a cup. It smells strong, but good, the perfect remedy for my hangover.
“You’re right, of course,” Magnus says, settling back into his own chair and pausing for a drink from his own cup. “You and I haven’t seen each other since we left Los Angeles. And it isn’t as if we knew each other well then. I’m sure you must be very surprised to hear from me now. I wonder if you’ve even thought of me in the intervening years?”
I don’t answer that and pretend it isn’t a question. I don’t want to talk to Magnus about this. Why should I let him know how often my thoughts have strayed in his direction?
“Of course you haven’t,” Magnus answers himself when I don’t speak. “Why would you? A woman like you…why would you spare a thought for a man you met once?”
This is humble to the point of being ludicrous, of course. He’s more than “a man I met once.” He’s probably the most successful person in my field to be living here in Seattle. It’s much more telling that I haven’t spared him more of my attention. But again, I remain quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Magnus says. “I haven’t answered your question, have I? You wanted to know why I asked you to come here. And I’m eager to tell you, of course, but…well, it’s difficult to know where to begin. The truth of the matter is, I need a favor.”
“A favor,” I repeat.
It takes me a minute to process the phrase, to really absorb the fact that he brought me here to ask me for something. What could I possibly have that he would need? And more to the point, how dare he ask me for a favor after what he did to me all those years ago? Haven’t I given up enough in the service of Magnus Johansen’s happiness? Can he really need more from me now?
“What…favor do you need?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, and then hesitates. He looks truly nervous now. “The truth is, Leah—you know, don’t you, that I’m not an American citizen?”
“How would I know that?”
I suspected he was foreign, of course, by his accent, which is as pronounced as it ever was despite his having lived the past five years in the United States, but foreign doesn’t mean noncitizen.
“I’m Norwegian by birth,” Magnus clarifies. “I came here to compete in Vipers’ Nest, and stayed when the Vipers decided to invest in me. After my company took off, I’m afraid I never got around to getting my citizenship. And now my visa is about to expire, which has left me in rather a tight situation, as I’m sure you can see.”
“You should have gotten your citizenship,” I say.
“Yes, I should have,” he says. “But I’m sure you understand how crippling to my life and my business it would be if I were forced to leave now. If I were sent back to Norway, the business would have to operate in my absence, and I don’t know how long it would be before I made my way back. Years, maybe. It would disrupt the course of my whole life.”
“That happens,” I say, unable to modulate the harshness in my voice. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“I’m applying for a green card,” Magnus says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, “on the grounds that I’ll be getting married. To make this claim, I’ll need a fiancée. A fake fiancée, that is. And I came across these pictures”—he pulls two photos out of his breast pocket and passes them to me—“and realized that there is a woman with whom I have years of history. Someone who might pass as my fiancée.”
I look at the pictures. One is a close-up of my face from the Vipers’ Nest group photo—the night we met, I imagine he’ll tell the authorities.
The other picture features Magnus and me kissing.
We’re standing in front of the Hollywood sign. I remember the reckless kiss now, a moment I’d put from my mind. Of course, this is the perfect evidence. It’s exactly what he would need to show that our relationship is real. We’re clearly much younger here. There’s obviously something between us. I stare at it numbly. What is my moment of impetuousness going to cost me?
I look up at him. His face is hopeful, expectant.
“You’re asking me to marry you,” I say. I try to keep my voice flat, neutral, but my incredulity seeps through. How can he ask this insane thing of me?
“You wouldn’t have to do much,” Magnus says earnestly. “There’s some paperwork to sign. Then, you’d need to come before immigration for an interview and explain that our relationship is real—”
“Which it isn’t, by the way,” I point out. “This isn’t legal, is it?”
“It’s sort of a gray area,” Magnus admits. “Technically we aren’t supposed to do it. But if we were in love… And why should love be the only reason people marry? You know, back in pre-industrial times, marriages were always undertaken for practical reasons.”
“Charming,” I say. “This is the proposal of my dreams.”
“I know it isn’t romantic,” Magnus agrees. “I’m sorry about that. Truly. And I know there’s no reason for you to want to help me, but…it will cost you so little, Leah, and I wouldn’t ask if my need wasn’t so great. You’d only have to come to this interview, and when it was over, we’d sign the documents. We’ll do it quietly, at a courthouse. We won’t need to put on a big wedding or anything. No one will need to know. And after our marriage has lasted a year, long enough for me to validate my standing as an American citizen, we’ll quietly get divorced and go our separate ways, and no more need ever be said about it.”
He pauses for effect before his closing statement. “I understand that it’s a big thing to ask, Leah. I really do. But you would be changing the course of my life.”
Changing the course of my life.
How many times have I thought of Magnus in exactly those terms? How can he come to me with this now? How could he possibly expect that I would help him? Even if his request were an easy one, even if all he wanted from me was a toothpick, I would be disinclined to help. Who does Magnus Johansen think he is?
He must see the look on my face because his own anxiety seems to heighten.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he urges. “I know you weren’t expecting anything like this, Leah, but please talk to me. Whatever you might be worrying about, let me put your mind at ease.”
I’m not worrying. I’m boiling, my nervousness at the prospect of facing him again simmering over into hot fury. I can’t believe that after half a decade of not a word between us, he would dare to contact me with such a ludicrous request. It’s offensive, and not least because he seems to have taken for granted the fact that I woul
dn’t be married or in a relationship with someone else.
The fact that I’m not in a relationship—that he was right—is not the point. He didn’t even ask!
Magnus seems edgy now, as though he knows I’m upset. “I’m prepared to offer financial compensation for your time, of course,” he says quickly. “I don’t expect you to do this for nothing.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re going to pay me to marry you?” This is so outrageous that I can’t even find it in me to be angry. “Do you think I’m that…that cheap?”
“I’m not looking for cheap,” Magnus says. “And no, I don’t want to pay you to marry me. I want you to agree to do it, or not do it, for your own reasons. Either you want to help me or you don’t. But I know you aren’t in love with me—”
“You’ve got that right.”
“And I know I’m asking you to devote a year of your life to something that offers no personal gain for you. I’m merely offering to compensate you, as an expression of my gratitude. You can certainly say no if the idea offends you.”
I think of my terrible job, of the hours spent wilting in my cubicle under fluorescent lighting, the days slipping through my fingers like water. I think of my certainty, as recently as this morning, that nothing would ever change. “What kind of compensation are we talking about?”
Magnus names a sum, and I’m floored. It’s more money than I’ve ever had at once, more than I’ve ever dreamed of having.
I look at the man sitting across from me, swirling his expensive whiskey in one hand, tracing his fingers over the crease in the pant leg of his suit as if by nervous habit. He can give me this, I realize. He has that money to give away. He won’t miss it. It will change my life entirely, but for him it’s a drop in the bucket.
But can I accept it?
“You’re hesitating,” Magnus says. “Why?”
