by Logan Chance
“Oh, Pollux, you showed up,” Katy’s sultry voice trills from beside me.
I look down at her. “Yeah, of course.” I try my best to smile, but, honestly, my body freezes as I gaze at her.
A small red flower is tucked inside the dark curls on top of her head. It matches the short red dress she’s wearing that hugs her curves.
She grabs my arm, leading me to a less crowded area. “Why are you here?” she whisper-yells at me. “I didn’t think you would really show up.”
I rub the tension in my neck. “Well…”
James is my saving grace when he spots us and rushes over. “Pollux, so glad you could make it.” He shakes my hand. “Let me introduce you to a few people.”
“Uh, sure.” I smile at Katy as I walk away.
He stalks through the crowd, leading me to a table of old guys with thin gray hair and thick glasses.
They exude wealth and old money, wearing designer suits and chatting over bourbon and some fancy leafy shit in a crystal bowl. Fucking perfect. I know who these men are, and the jobs they do, before James even rattles off the next line, “This is the board of directors for Masters,” James says. “Gentlemen, this is Katy Vanderlin’s boyfriend.”
At the perfect moment, Katy slips her arm through mine and plasters on a huge smile.
The men pull their attention from their lunch and all smile, welcoming me.
John Gilmore, the youngest at the table, and that’s an overstatement cause he’s still like eighty or something, speaks, “Katy’s a valued employee. I’m glad to see her settling down so soon after her divorce. We like people we consider for partner to be solid.”
Solid. Divorced. Things click into place. Katy’s not getting this partnership unless she lives up to the family standards on their logo.
“Yes, Pollux is, well, he’s great. He’s really something else.” Katy smiles beside me.
He nods. “That’s very well. Why don’t you join us?” the man asks.
“Oh, thanks. But I need to speak to my wonderful boyfriend here about a few things. Please excuse us,” Katy says, grabbing my arm once again.
“Actually, I’d like to sit and chat with these fine gentlemen.” I wink.
She rolls her eyes and turns away, and I chuckle as I watch her hips sway all the way to the bar set up in the far corner.
I pull out a chair and redirect my attention back to the men at the table.
The server slides a bourbon in front of me, and I wrap my fingers around the glass.
“Pollux, what do you do?” Frank Peters asks. He’s only been on the board for less than five years, but they all worship him like a God. And maybe they should, he did graduate MBA Harvard.
“A little of this, a little of that.” I straighten my grey silk tie.
Their craggy eyebrows pull down in disapproval of my answer, and I smile with the confidence I’ve always exuded in these types of situations.
“Pollux, what’s your last name?” a bow tie clad Harold Porter asks.
I see the game they play. Pedigree. Am I from a well-connected family. Next, they’ll ask about my college and where I vacation in the winters.
I tug at my cufflinks. I’m half-tempted to blurt out who I really am. That would wipe the smug glares off their faces.
“Clark,” I answer. “But not like Superman. Batman is way cooler.”
They chuckle. And holy shit. A hand wearing a platinum band on the ring finger lands on my shoulder. The owner. Craig Kendall. At thirty-five he landed this company by marrying Gabi Masters, daughter of the now retired founder, Phillip Masters.
“I like this guy,” he says, taking a seat in the white wicker chair beside me.
If I play my cards right, I won’t even need Katy.
As we converse over politics, I make mental notes. I’m a hit with the board. I’m not sold on them, though. The more we chat, the more I realize if I want to get inside this company, really get a feel for the character, I need to up my game.
After a few more minutes, Katy returns, tugging at my arm. “Honey, I really need to talk to you.”
I gaze briefly at her, and then back at the men of the table. “Women.” I shrug and rise from my seat. “Nice meeting you.”
We head to the bar. When we’re seated, she orders a Moscow Mule, and I do the same.
After the bartender slides the copper mugs to us, she redirects her focus on me, narrowing her blue eyes. “What are you doing here? Please start answering some questions.”
“Fine,” I say, “ask away.”
“Why were you at the party?”
“Horses. I thought there’d be some for sale. You?”
“Very funny. Do you take anything seriously?” She sips her drink, gazing at me from over her copper cup.
“Sure, I do. Don’t you?”
“Do you answer every question with a question?” The red sole of her Louboutin flashes me as her foot bobs in agitation.
“No.” The urge to ramble off another question is nixed when she re-crosses her legs, and I get a glimpse of her inner thigh.
“To answer your earlier question, I take this job very seriously.”
“Why?” I lean back, getting more comfortable in the high-backed barstool. Why does she? It’s not hard to figure out these guys are in the wrong era. Based on what I’ve learned about her, she should have made partner long ago.
She gazes out at the mingling crowd, then focuses her soft eyes back on me. “It’s my livelihood. I love working here, most days. What about you? Do you work?”
“Yeah. I have a job. What do you do here, Katy?”
“Wait. You’re turning everything around.” She holds her hand up, stopping me from going any further. “You’re supposed to be answering my questions. Why won’t you leave me alone? You kind of put me into a predicament here. Now I’m going to have to explain why you’re not around.”
Well, we can’t have that. I grab the silverware from the bar, clanking it against the hard copper of the mug.
“Can I have everyone’s attention,” I say, rising from my stool. The drone of chatter stops, and all eyes land on me.
I smile and capture Katy’s hand. The place is silent, waiting. “Katy, my dear. I’m the luckiest man in the room. No, world.” I get down on one knee. “My shooting star in a sky full of constellations, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Her jaw hits the makeshift marble floor. Figuratively, not literally. Hope that comes later, because I could think of a few ways to give her jaw a workout.
Chapter 3
Katy
Katy
Gasps, including mine, fill the tent. He can’t be serious. Eager eyes stare at me, waiting for my answer. Mr. Kendall smiles, and, dammit, Pollux has really put me in a bad spot. Horrendous. He doesn’t realize how family oriented this stodgy board is. This is a company where marital status and being “solid” is in direct correlation to my making partner. I already have one failed marriage I need to redeem myself from. How will it look if I say no?
Unsure of what to do, I do the only thing I can think of. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” I answer, and he pulls me in for a kiss. I hate him.
“You’ve made me the happiest man,” his deep voice gushes.
My cheeks flame as he twirls me around, hugging me and planting me back on my shaky legs.
A few girls from HR head over, smiling and giddy.
“Congratulations, Katy,” Debra beams, giving Pollux a once-over. “We didn’t even know you had a boyfriend. But, we know how private you are.”
She’s right. I am. I don’t fraternize with my employees anymore. After my divorce, I learned that cut-throat gossip follows and ends up in the ears of the board of directors.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
I smile as Pollux boasts about our bright future with the men who hold my future with the company in their hands.
Frank and Robert love him, which is good for me. They were the biggest champions of my ex-husband, Travis Vanderli
n—the jackass who assured me I wasn’t qualified to break the glass ceiling in this company, nor would I ever achieve his level of success. Here or anywhere.
Now, I’m determined to prove to my friends and family I can stand on my own. More so, I want to prove it to myself I don’t need anyone. I don’t want to be anyone’s workhorse; I want to be their equal.
But, at what cost am I willing to go for it? Yes, I want to be a partner, but am I willing to pretend? Sure, I could go to another company, but the pay here is astronomical, and the benefits are even better.
And, what’s his angle, anyways? What does he have to gain?
Why can’t I have one night of being reckless and careless without it blowing up in my face? Now I can’t get him to vanish.
“I don’t have a ring,” I say to Pollux when the excitement has fizzled and everyone’s congratulatory ten minutes are up.
He grabs a baby’s breath from one of the centerpieces on the table. Twisting it in his fingers, he bends it and ties it into a circle. He slips it on my finger, and his dark eyes gleam. “This can work for now.”
For the next few hours, we play the part. He charms the suspendered pants off the partners, even James, and I let him. Why not? Everyone loves him.
I’ll wait until after the party to figure out what his deal is. For now, I need to play the game.
After lunch is served and cleared away, James waddles up. “Hey, my favorite couple. Pollux, we have another gala event on Friday. I assume you’ll be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Pollux says, coolly.
An idea forms, one that I hate more than anything. One that feels a little like giving in. But, in this corporate world where everything is determined on family values—I need him. The holiday season is filled with charity events and high society functions. Sometimes two in a week. I’m going to need Pollux for all of them. This is the time of year when Masters pats themselves on the back for a job well done and lobbies to keep their top clients for the next year. After the parties, after the New Year, I’ll be announced partner, and we can end our facade of a relationship.
When only a few people linger, Pollux and I slip on our coats and step out into the winter air of New York City.
“Well, Miss Fiancée, where to now? Your place?”
I peer at him, catching the twinkle in his dark eyes. “I have a proposition for you.”
Sliding his hands in his pockets, he blows out a breath that wisps in the frigid air. “Sounds interesting. Lead the way.”
We walk a few blocks and slip inside a small diner filled with Frank Sinatra pictures on the walls and red, vinyl booths. We take one in the back and order coffee from the overtired waitress.
He rests his arm along the back of the booth, studying me. His sexy is distracting. Masculine jaw, straight nose. His bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top and perfect for grabbing with your teeth. But it’s the slight dimple in his left cheek that is the killer. The fluorescent spotlights overhead catch the gleam in his dark hair and my fingers itch to run through it. He’s exactly the type of man I go for. Businessman, suit and tie. A man who orders a black cup of coffee instead of some frilly Frappuccino like me. A man who is caught up in current affairs and votes every election day. I’ve always found myself attracted to these types of men, because I play in their world.
But, even though he seems perfect for me, there’s still a hint of mystery to him. A dirtier, filthy side. No man I’ve ever met would fuck me with reckless abandon in the bathroom.
He raises his brows, signaling me to get on with it. Where do I even begin? “First, why did you propose? Why did you do all of that?”
“Seemed like fun, sweetface.”
“Can you call me Katy, please?”
He leans in and smiles as he takes a sip of his coffee. His eyes roam over the battered interior of the diner and then land back at me. “So, seemed like everyone liked me at the picnic…Katy.”
“Yeah, maybe a little too much. So, I was thinking…” I pause. Am I really about to do this?
“Uh oh. Sounds dangerous.”
I twist the flower band on my ring finger. “I want to hire you to play my fiancé through the holiday season. A few more events and company parties.” Rip it off like a band-aid. “I can compensate you.”
His dark eyes sweep over my face. “Let me get this straight. Be your man, and you compensate me.”
“Well, no. You won’t technically be my man.” I lean over the table, whispering the next phrase, “What happened in the bathroom was a onetime deal.”
Kills me to say that, because this man exudes sexuality.
“Pity.” The way he runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, has me wondering what the restrooms are like in here. No. Stop.
I sit up straighter. “Pollux, this is a business deal,” I emphasize. “You’ll pretend like you did today at the picnic, and we can break up after I make partner.”
“How long is that?”
“Right after the holiday season. It can work.”
“And the compensation?” he asks, running his hand over the light stubble on his chin.
What do you offer someone who has everything? I can tell by his designer clothes and DaVinci watch he doesn’t need money. “I don’t know. What do you want?”
He glances up to the ceiling and then his eyes land back on me. “How many events?”
“Six or seven.”
And then he asks for the one thing I least expect, “How about sex?”
Chapter 4
Pollux
Well fuck. Today turned out to be a pretty decent day. I’d probably accept her deal for nothing, but I can’t stop thinking about ripping her dress off to see what she’s wearing underneath.
She fidgets. “No, there will be no sex.”
“No, that’s my compensation. I’ll do it for sex.”
She shifts in her seat, her brows pulling together. “Uh, no.”
“Well, that’s my offer. Take it or leave it. Hot, wild sex. Kinky sex.” I move closer. “Downright dirty fucking.”
She swallows. Speechless.
This works out perfectly.
I want to infiltrate this company, and Katy is the ticket.
First-class ticket.
She’s thinking about it. She wants it. Oh damn, I know she does. Something is stopping her.
“Katy,” I say. “Just live a little.”
Her eyes catch the fading light of the sun, softening them to a light shade of summer blue. “I uh…”
“You want it. You know you do. I know you do. Stop fighting it, and let’s make you a fucking partner of Masters.”
Her answer is tiny. I barely hear it. “Ok.”
Fuck yeah. “Ok,” I mimic her words.
Her cheeks blush, and she’s unable to meet my eyes. “Here, write your email on the back of this card, and I’ll email you an itinerary.” She slides a card to me quickly. “I need to go shopping,” she says, rising from the booth.
I scribble off an old personal email address with no real name or info behind it. For some reason, I’m not ready to let her go yet. “Care for an honest opinion to tag along?”
“Honest opinion?” She slides her sweet ass back in the seat.
“Yeah, you know,” I lean forward, “to tell you if you look horrible and such.” As if she ever could. I hold the card containing my email address between two fingers.
Her eyes widen, and she snatches the card. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, that depends. Are you wanting me to be honest or lie?”
She swats my bicep with her hand. “I don’t like you very much, but,” she lifts her button nose, squaring her shoulders, “it appears I need you.”
“So, you want me to lie. Got it. Let’s go.”
“No, I don’t want you to lie. Just lie about being my fiancé.” She’s flustered, and I crack a smile.
“Sure, of course,” I say, sarcastically.
“And if you ever lie to me about an
ything else, I’ll shove my fist where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Fuck. She’ll never find out why I’m really here. And when she does, it’ll be too late.
I lean forward. “Just as long as I get to do the same.”
Her mouth snaps shut. I like shocking her.
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can’t handle the silence.
“Calm down, princess. Let’s go shop for pretty things.”
“I don’t want you to come.” She folds her arms.
“Really?” I lower my voice, “Because I sure want to make you come.”
“Okay, if you stop that,” her blush deepens, “you can come with me.” She gives a tiny shake of her head. “Not like that. I meant you can ride me.” She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ride with me.”
I laugh, throwing a fifty on the table. “Let’s do it.”
I’m not sure why the fuck I thought this was a good idea. For hours, I’ve been dragged around every department store in Manhattan. It’s getting late, and we stop by Bloomingdale’s to grab a few more items.
Watching her try on fancy dresses is like torture. Worse than any torture anyone could ever imagine. Chinese water torture? Chair of torture? Uh, nope. Iron Maiden has nothing on Katy trying on clothes. She can’t make up her mind. About anything. She’s tried on everything and found fault with all of them.
I park my ass in an overstuffed armchair at Bloomingdale’s as Katy tries on a few more evening gowns.
The blonde sales associate, helping her with a row of pearl buttons down the back, delivers the line she’s probably said millions of times, “This dress is gorgeous on you.”
It is. After she walks away, and Katy is ready to head back into the fitting room, I stand.
“Tell me, Katy. Do you only fuck strange men in bathrooms or are dressing rooms allowed?” I walk into the small room with her, catching her off guard.
Her eyes widen. “Are you calling yourself strange?”
