I walk over to Zima and tell her to put me on the books for Monday. Looking like she’s chewing on lemons, she types something into her computer and tries to act as if the world bores you when you are Zima, goddess of the reception desk. As I turn to leave she says, “Hope you last longer than the last one. Or not.”
What the hell did that mean? As if I’m going to ask her.
“I’m sure I’ll do fine. Hey, are you going to be my receptionist as well?”
Zima ignores me with a storm of keystrokes. I show myself out and text my best friend, Angela, who, just as I knew she would, insists that we meet immediately for drinks and gossip. Ten minutes later I sit down at a café down the street and wait for her. After telling the waiter that I’ll be ordering soon, I Google Conrad to see if there are any updates about him and the cop.
Nope. Just more of the same.
“Oh my God I was going to ask you about that!” says Angela, who has just appeared and has apparently been looking over my shoulder. She pulls back her chair and sits. “What did he say about it?”
“Angela. It was a job interview, not a chat. Why would he bring that up?”
“I assumed you would bring it up. I assumed you would want to know.”
“Again, how many job interviews have you had where you walked in and started asking questions about the gorgeous man who was interviewing you?”
“Now you’re talking,” she says. “So he’s gorgeous? I knew it.” Of course, she knew it. We all know it. We’ve all seen his picture. I wonder how many of his pictures are serving as screen savers this very minute.
“Yes. But the pictures don’t do it justice. He’s got a…” I picture him in that office, his gray suit contrasting with the white carpet. His dark tie contrasting with his light blue eyes. The dark stubble on his jaw contrasting with his blond hair. “…a presence. Yeah. That’s it.”
“So what did he ask you? Did he flirt? Did he ask you to join a harem?”
“You know, there wasn’t really any of that. I wound up…I guess I wound up describing what I thought was his ideal type of woman.”
“Whoa! How did that happen?”
That’s when it hits me. I’m not sure how it happened. Worse, I still have no idea what I agreed to. “Oh shit,” I say. “Angela. He hired me and I didn’t even ask what the job was.”
The waiter appears. “She wants two mimosas,” said Angela. “She works for Conrad Storm now and it’s taking a terrible toll on her.”
The waiter is impressed. “Wow. What are you going to be doing for him?” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously as if I just got back from the casting couch. Oh hell, for all I know, that’s what I did. Who the hell takes a job without the faintest idea of what it is? Yours truly. Not only that, I don’t know what the salary is.
“She’s going to be his executive assistant,” says Angela. “It’s got to be something like that, right? I just know it.” Glad someone knows what’s going on with my life. But she’s probably right. The waiter leaves and I tell Angela that he knew about my dress. That he had seen it on me before in my debate video.
“Oh my God! I bet he’s some insane stalker! But why was he watching your debate video?”
I’m proud to say that a lot of people watch that video. It gets taught in classes. That video led to hundreds more. I really nailed that one, but you’ve got to be careful when you show people what you’re good at. Otherwise, they want more. “I’m not sure,” I say. “But he said he likes…”
Games. He said he liked games. My debate had been about various experiments involving game theory, and how they could be used to exploit others. My point had been that game theory gets misused when people are pursuing romantic relationships. My opponent had said that not every interaction has an incentive. I had disagreed and mopped the floor with him. Was that what Conrad wanted from me? Someone to butt heads with? That video made such a splash that I released a follow up on Youtube, where I talked about how one of my relationships had gone wrong. It got shared. A lot. So did the others. A lot. It didn’t pay much, but it was crazy how people--mostly women--were suddenly listening to what I had to say.
“Likes what? I bet he’s going to like everything about you. Do you think you’ll have to, like pick up his dry cleaning for him? Do you think you’ll get to see his house?”
“I don’t know, Angela. I don’t know anything.”
I carry her questions for another 30 minutes before I head home. When I get to my apartment building, the elevator’s broken. I bet the elevator at Conrad’s office never breaks. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a teleporter on site. He could step into it and appear anywhere he wanted. He could be in my bedroom right now, waiting for me. Mmm. There’s a moment when I open my bedroom door that I almost convince myself that he’s in there. But no. It’s just my four walls, my bed—unused for too long for anything but sleep—and a stack of books on a night table. The drinks are kicking in and I’m tired. I fling myself down on the bed, expecting to fall asleep quickly, just short nap. But then I start to dream, and the feeling of Conrad’s hands makes me squirm. I get myself off. It’s been a while. Hmm...what would it be like to have his weight on me, pushing me down into the soft white carpet? What would his back feel like if I was lucky enough to get my hands under that shirt? What would he sound like when he slipped himself between my legs and we started to move together?
After, I take a shower. This weekend is my last chance to back out. Am I getting myself into something crazy? No, no, not at all. He’s just a guy with a lot of money. Sex? No. Of course, that won’t happen. I’m not for sale and he certainly wouldn’t have to pay anyone for sex.
I just want to see what he’s like. I want to see what he means when he talks about games. So I’m not a billionaire, okay, but I know how to play.
And I’m not going to be a piece on anyone’s chess board.
Chapter Four - Conrad
“You’re late,” I tell her on Monday morning when she walks into the lobby. Seriously, this intercom is one of the best things in my life. Maya and Zima look up when my voice comes through the speakers. I never get sick of seeing the surprise, the masked delight. But I don’t like the look Zima is giving her. It may be time for her to move on. We’ve had a lot of disagreements over the years and have been through a lot together. We’ll see.
Maya is shaking her head. She points her finger at the ceiling, at whatever camera she imagines I’m watching from. She taps her watch and shakes it at me. I know damned well that she’s 15 minutes early. But this is where you learn. In the reaction. Zima’s clenched jaw and inability to relax, combined with her insistence on looking rapturously at me whenever I’m around—there’s no challenge there. Even when she acts miffed she’s too eager to please. Uncertainty is what gives life its exhilarations. There’s no uncertainty there. Not like with Maya, who has now marched over to the wall and is waiting for the elevator to open.
“I’ll bring you up in a few minutes,” I say. “You’re fifteen minutes early. I can’t just drop everything because you’re here.” I turn off the video feed and lean back in my chair. It’s more fun to imagine their reaction, sight unseen than to watch it. But I’m not feeling as good as I’d hoped. I can do the devil may care thing all day, but the truth is that I care deeply about some things. You don’t get to be a billionaire by not caring.
“Okay, come on up,” I say, turning the video feedback on. The elevator slides open and Maya steps in. 10 seconds later she’s stepping into my office, prepared to be defiant. But that falls from her face when she sees the new arrangement. I brought in a big desk that we’ll work at. There are two black couches. Who knows what will happen on those? The possibilities are endless.
“Redecorating?” she says, looking at the art that now hangs on the walls.
“When you were here before I was having the walls treated,” he said. “Had to take the paintings down. They’re pricey.”
“Oh, I bet. What were you doing to the walls?”
I grin. “Sound proofing them. If these walls could talk, you know. That sort of thing.” Apparently, she doesn’t find this roguish or charming. She just looks annoyed with me. It’s like a drug. She’s trying so hard to show me that she can take this or leave it, but she’s dying to know what’s going on. Soon enough, Maya, soon enough.
“What exactly do you consult for?” she says. Another unexpected turn.
“Huh?”
“You’re a consulting firm. You and your associates, although it looks like it’s just you up here. What do people want to know from you?”
“Oh. They want to know how to do what I do. I pretend they can, but while teaching them that they can’t, they make more money than before, so they leave happy.”
She takes off her purse and sets it on the floor. “Am I working for you, or the associates also?”
“After a manner of speaking. I don’t know how to say this, but…well, there really aren’t any associates. In my position, I’ve had to make certain legal moves to protect myself.”
“From what? International assassins?”
“You might be surprised. But no. I have plenty of enemies here. Plenty of things to protect me from right here at home. Including protecting me from myself, as it happens. And that’s where you come in, assuming you still need the job.”
“I never said I needed it. But I’m here. The first thing I have to say is that I’m no intern and I’m not going to be some bullshit assistant fetching coffee for you.”
“No. That’s Zima’s job. But I hired you to be an assistant, so that’s what you will do. You will assist me.” Before she can say anything else I gesture to one of the couches. “Please sit. We need to have a talk before we go any further.”
Her eyes dart to the couch. “I’m--”
“If I was trying to seduce I would take you somewhere else,” I said. “Just sit. Quit worrying.”
“I’m not wor--”
“Yes, you are. You don’t have the hold on your body language that you think you do, but that’s something I’ll be able to help you with. If you like.”
For an answer, she sits. “Okay,” she says. “What are we doing?”
“I’m in an odd position,” I say. “I’m a bit of a scientist and I’ve hit the wall with a new experiment. It’s something I need help with, and I think that you are in a unique position to help me learn some things.”
“About?”
“About myself. The world. Life. I’m not joking and I’m not understating how important this is to me. I think I’m in a position to bring about something that matters.”
Is it possible that she doesn’t know how good she looks? My God, the way she fills out that dress. I can tell she tried to downplay it. To look understated and professional. Suddenly it feels like I made a huge mistake saying that I had no intentions of seducing her here on this couch. But that might not be the only mistake I’m making. I’m nervous. I want this to work. One way or another, I’ve got to prove myself wrong. Or right. I can admit that I want her, I just can’t show it to her yet, and I can’t let it get in the way of my goals.
“First I need you to answer a question for me,” she says.
“Sure.”
“Zima said that she hopes I last longer than the girl before me. What did she mean?”
Oh brother. “The assistant I had before you didn’t care about a damn thing I wanted to do. All she wanted to do was fuck me. That’s as honest as I can be about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’ve done your research on me. There aren’t many things I enjoy more than a willing woman, but she couldn’t focus on anything else. That sounds like the sort of problem any guy would love to have, but I actually have shit to do. Believe it or not, you’re here to keep me from getting distracted. Zima’s protective, that’s all. She wants what’s best for me.”
She bites her lip and raises one eyebrow. I obviously made the wrong choice. She’s distracting as hell.
“So here’s what I want to do,” I say.
Chapter Five - Maya
I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d said he wanted to become a ballet dancer.
“A book?” I say. “What do you mean a book?”
“You know. It’s a rectangle made of paper, usually. There are words in it. You read them.”
“No, I know what a book is, but what does that have to do with me? Are you looking for a ghostwriter?” Of all the things I might have guessed at, this was far down the list. I’m not sure why it surprises me, though. Everyone with money is always looking for more, and a book that promises other people they can also be billionaires is a new income stream, especially when you can just throw money at a writer. “Because that’s not really what I do.”
“Are you kidding? You think I would let someone else write for me? I’ve got some self-respect, Maya, believe it or not. I have ideas. If they don’t come out in exactly the way I mean for them to come out, they’re not my ideas anymore. No one gets to think for me. But you might be able to think with me in a way that helps.”
I’m not ready to believe that this is a man of unsounded depths. Maybe this is all part of the game. You know, like a higher stakes version of “You’re fifteen minutes late even though you’re actually fifteen minutes early.” But I’d be lying if I said this isn’t getting a lot more interesting.
“So am I going to be a research assistant? A proofreader? What do you actually want me to do?”
He stops pacing and sits on the couch next to me. I can’t help but think about what his weight would feel like, pressing me down into the cushions. “I want you to argue with me,” he says. “I want to see how I might be wrong about my ideas. You wrecked that guy in your debate and that’s what I need. See if you can take my arguments apart and I’ll write accordingly. If you can show me that I’m wrong, then there doesn’t need to be a book. There just needs to be more thinking on my part. And I’ll tell you this if I’m right about you, and I am, then you and I are going to reach a very interesting conclusion together.”
He looks at me and holds my gaze. I’m determined not to look away first, but I can’t help it. In this moment there’s no posturing or bravado. He cares about…something. “What’s the book about?” I say, wondering what could make him this passionate.
“It’s about love and trust,” he says. “And don’t you laugh. Do you want to know why the other girl didn’t last? I wasn’t lying when I said all she wanted to do was fuck, but she wasn’t able to think at all. I’d start talking through ideas with her and her eyes would just glaze over. Have you ever heard about playing down to the competition?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t quite there with her, but she certainly didn’t keep me sharp or challenge me.”
Am I supposed to be his competitor?
He leans forward and puts a hand on my knee. Oh shit, here we go. But he doesn’t seem to know he has done it, and it doesn’t seem a pushy gesture. He’s just connecting. Connecting his hand to my leg. “You’ll able to compete with me.”
I swallow hard. I want to grab his hand and put it between my legs. Nothing like turning yourself into an instant cliché, right? “What’s the other thing?” I say. “You said you need something else.”
Conrad blinks. Then the awareness returns. “Oh shit. Right. Look, I’m going to be honest with you about consulting. I can’t say too much, but I’ve made my name and my fortune as a personality expert. Types and archetypes. I’ve devised a system that has allowed me to work on everything from dating websites to counter-terrorism. I know people and I know how to match them with each other, or turn them into enemies.”
He gets to his feet and looks out the window. It seems like I should do the same so I go and stand shoulder to shoulder with him. Well, it’s more like head to shoulder. I can’t believe how tall he is. They say that tall men earn something like an extra $10,000 per year per inch of height. Conrad, with his bank account, projects like he’s about 20 feet tall. I want to look up at him but I’v
e got to keep my cool.
“I think your videos demonstrate that you have an innate understanding of human nature,” he says. “And I think that will make you invaluable to the experiment. And that’s what the book will be about, ultimately. The success of the experiment. But I don’t know if this is the best place for us to start. Any chance that we can get out of here and talk over some food?”
I remember him saying that if he wanted to seduce me he would take me somewhere else. But this doesn’t feel like that. “Do I need to bring anything?” I say.
“Just your brain.”
Even if she can’t admit it, that’s one of the things that every woman wants to hear.
“And something to take notes with.”
Okay. Nice and practical. Nothing wrong with that.
“And don’t change a thing about how you look right now. It’s really working for you.” He winks. “And for me.” Now we’re back in familiar territory as far as the dance between powerful, irresistible men, and the women who try to keep them at arm’s length. But who am I kidding? It’s been less than five minutes since I wanted to put his hands up my dress. He can flatter my mind all he wants, I’m smart and I’ve earned it. I’ve still got a body though, and right now it wants to do all sorts of things to him.
I spare him this internal monolog and roll my eyes. But can I tell you that when he and I step out of the elevator together, the look on Zima’s face is something I wish I could put in a bottle? She was practically vibrating with hatred.
“If you have clients,” she says, “Should I tell them you’ll be back?”
“It’s hard to say, Zima,” he says. “That’s all going to depend on how Maya responds to our date.”
There’s a town car waiting for us outside. A date? Is that what I heard? Remember, I tell myself, this is the man who says he treats life like a game. What better con could there be than for him to tell me he wants to write about love? Especially if he’s going to use me for research. Maybe his plan is to turn me into the cautionary tale.
Fake Bride: A Billionaire Boss Fake Marriage Romance Page 8
