His Dirty Bargain

by Fiona Murphy

  Dom nudges me with his elbow. “Are you going to add anything?”

  “No, I’m done. Che’s right.” Fuck, does it hurt to admit he’s right. “She has too much baggage. She’s beautiful for sure, but no. Better I know now than later. As far as I’m concerned, the whole thing is moot. I’d rather know when that brisket is going to be done.”

  “The brisket is done, out of nowhere Alicia doesn’t want brisket and asked for chicken breasts and hot dogs for Matteo. And my apologies now if Alicia starts crying, she got pissed off at me this morning.”

  “Dude, what did you do? She is due in like two weeks. Aren’t you supposed to not be upsetting her?” Dante’s eyes go wide.

  “I just tried to bring up me getting a vasectomy now before it becomes a scheduling issue when the baby comes.” I wince, then see Dom doing the same. “Yeah, I know, but it’s easier on her if I do it. I love my kids, they are the best thing besides Alicia to ever happen to me, but I feel like three is our limit.”

  “It is a pretty permanent thing to do. Are you sure?” Dante asks.

  “I’m sure. Even with the nanny and a full-time housekeeper, it feels like the kids consume all of our energy. Thank god we have Matteo in preschool for half the day, which Alicia hated but Matteo loves. Three’s good, three is enough. Alicia isn’t sure she thinks she might want one more. She wants us to wait for another year or two before we decide, I’m not sure we won’t end up with another whether we discuss it or not. Alicia hates me wearing a condom and she’s adamant about breastfeeding longer than six weeks, which makes the Pill a no-go. This is for her as much as me, I suggest her taking time for herself to do anything other than read, and she acts like I’m telling her to take a vacation in Bermuda or something. She’s all consumed with me and the kids; I want her to take time for herself. If we have another kid it’s that much more work.”

  “I think you and her need to get into a therapist’s office and have an honest discussion in front of a third party who isn’t invested. I’ll have Bethany talk to Alicia about it. Alicia got Bethany into therapy; it’s time for Bethany to return the favor.”

  I shake my head. Damn, I would never have guessed the problems they were having, even though I’ve heard of exactly this kind of thing happening.

  “Have Bethany call me after she’s talked to Alicia so I can know how she took it. I’m willing to go if it will help.”

  “At this point, you’re going to have to be straight with her and just say she needs to go for the both of you. I wasn’t excited when Bethany wanted me to go, but I’m glad I did in the end, for both of us.”

  Dom and I look at each other, neither of us saying a word, but it’s clear we’re not as envious as we might have been when we first got here.

  11

  Chloe

  It’s ten minutes until ten on Monday, and I’m doing my best not to fidget. I’ve been here for almost an hour. The contractor, Ray, got here five minutes ago and has been doing his best to get on my last damn nerve since he walked through the door. I check my watch for what has to be the twentieth time.

  “So, you want my sister’s number?” Ray asks intently.

  “What?” Gay, he thinks I’m gay? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I’m not gay. What made you think that?”

  His eyes shift away, he shrugs as he mumbles and takes a step back. I think I catch the word “suit.” I look down at my clothes. It took an hour to pick this out. I’m in an Armani tailored suit in matte black teamed with a white button-down blouse. Okay, it’s a little severe, and maybe it would help if my hair was down and not in a slicked-back tight bun low at my nape, but how does it make me gay?

  I’m relieved by the sound of the front door opening. I check my watch; it’s ten on the dot. The sound of Enzo’s voice skims right up my spine, I have not missed the bastard. Then he’s there filling the doorway and fuck, I have missed him.

  His eyes find mine. Instantly they flare hot, bright, and steal the air out of my lungs. He blinks and turns away and I’m cold, empty. I want to scream at him for what he’s doing to me. The high-pitched giggle catches my attention, and it’s only now I see the tiny blonde at his side in sky-high stilettos. Introductions are made all around, and I struggle not to break the tiny hand of Jill Franklin. It doesn’t help when she giggles again; at what, I have no idea.

  The next hour and a half is excruciating, not just because of the endless giggling, but because Enzo barely looks my way even as he drags me into the conversation, referring to my previous thoughts on how to redo the kitchen. Jill giggles as she tells me my thoughts are cute but won’t work without explaining why they won’t. Turning away, frustrated, I find myself in the odd little nook off the kitchen trying to get my temper under control, wishing I could hide in a restroom and splash some water on my hot face.

  “Why don’t we use this space for a half bath? There’s no bathroom on this floor, visitors will have to go upstairs or downstairs. Enzo, what do you think?”

  For the first time since he walked through the door I have his whole attention. He walks toward me, studying the space, the wall of windows and the oddly configured small seating area. “How the hell did I miss not having a bathroom on the first floor? This makes perfect sense. Ray, how hard would it be?”

  Ray’s been scribbling the whole meeting, not missing a figure or measurement. He pulls out his tape measure and runs it from the center of the room toward the wall where the sink is. “We’ll have to reroute the plumbing over here so it will cost you a couple grand easy, but if we did it then we could give you the dishwasher in the island or even another sink. Considering this would be a bathroom, we’d want to bring the windows up to about here. We could leave them in place and do black glass or even colored glass to match the color of the brick. The main question is about whether or not to leave this storage here. We have all the room we need to drywall over this, but if you took this out you could make this a full bathroom with a basic bath surround.”

  Enzo frowns as he looks to me. “A full bath right off the kitchen. I don’t think we need a full bath down here, do we?”

  I shake my head. “The powder room is enough. There are six other full bathrooms in the house as things stand. I think you can have too many full baths.”

  “A half bath it is. The angles aren’t great in this corner, make it as even as you can get it. While we’re talking about this corner, I hate the damn ceiling and that light.” Enzo moves away with Ray to discuss ways of changing the light fixture going down a hallway.

  I almost jump when I realize Jill is only feet away from me, staring at me. “Your desperation is truly pathetic. You are punching way out of your weight class, sweetheart. Quit while you’re ahead before you embarrass yourself.”

  The words are a hiss, barely audible to my ears, so Enzo and Ray couldn’t possibly have heard them as they are on the other side of the room going over how many men Ray thinks he needs over how many Enzo thinks are needed. Yet as my stomach dips at her ugly words, Enzo’s head comes up and his eyes find me. Without a word to Ray he’s in front of me within seconds.

  “Are you okay?”

  What the fuck? How can he be such a fucker, then act like he cares about me? I shake my head. “I need to get going. It’s almost noon, I have a lunch appointment with a client. I didn’t think we’d go this long.”

  It’s clear he doesn’t believe me, but nods. “Go on, I’ll finish here.”

  Jill bats her lashes, then she puts her hand on his arm to get his attention. “Enzo, I’m not going anywhere. I’m so excited about working with you on this project.”

  Anger goes through me so hot, so shocking it scares me a little. Enzo shrugs off her hand, then steps back. “If you’ll excuse me, Jill. I need to see Chloe out.”

  A hand wraps around my arm as he drags me after him. “What the hell is going on with you?” he thunders once we’re out on the front lawn.

  “Don’t yell at me, damn it! Ar
e you fucking serious? You tell my boss a personal plan in a light meant to shame and embarrass me over brunch, you belittle me, you ignore me, then you want to know what is going on with me?”

  Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath. “Don’t forget I let the tiny blonde close to me.”

  Violence erupts from me and I shove him, hard. “She fucking touched you like she had every right to.” Oh god, I didn’t do that.

  The bastard laughs as he tugs me close. I’m so ashamed I can’t look at him even though I want to push him away from me, pissed that he’s daring to laugh. “Fuck, woman, you are driving me crazy. Why can’t you be normal?”

  With a sigh I give in to resting my head on his chest. All at once, the anger and pain disappears as I inhale his scent, feel his body against mine. “I’m not going to apologize. Normal is boring. If I were normal you wouldn’t look at me twice, you would have already moved on to your next bimbo.”

  “Hmm...” His hand runs up and down my back soothingly. “I won’t lie, you’re right. Bimbos are boring, you could never be called boring. So I’ve been thinking...” He pulls out something shiny from his pocket. No, it can’t be. Holy fuck, it is. “I have another deal to offer you. Marry me and we’ll fill this place with laughter and memories. Help me turn it from a house into a home. I want at least two kids, any more is up to you, and in return I’ll buy you the multifamily property you want, and this place is yours free and clear as long as we hit ten years. We give it at least ten years and you’ll think you’ve won the lottery. If you want out any sooner, I’ll make you regret ever meeting me.”

  I stumble back from him on shaky legs, staring at the enormous ring in horror. “What kind of marriage proposal was that? It was a marriage proposal, right?” How could he say such awful things at the same time as asking me to marry him? “Have you lost your mind?”

  At least he has the decency to blush. “What? It’s an honest deal between two people, a hell of a lot more honest than ninety percent of the proposals happening any given day. I get it, you have a hard time trusting men are going to stick around, treat you well, and be faithful. The ring gives you the first one, and I don’t have a problem with either the second or third thing. I bought this house for you, you can make it anything you want. If we divorce you’ll get it in the settlement on top of the multifamily and more than generous alimony, as long as I get custody of the kids.”

  This is a dream, a nightmare, a crazy Klonopin-induced nightmare because who the hell would believe this is real? I’m shaking my head, trying to clear it, trying to figure out what is happening. The ring is thrust in my face again. It’s enormous, an odd pinkish peach color. “What is it?”

  “It’s a padparadscha, a kind of sapphire. Normally, I wouldn’t have gotten something so big at twenty-eight carats, but the only other one they had was only four carats and that didn’t seem right at all. A diamond didn’t seem unique enough for you. I’m also willing to admit I didn’t want any man thinking you were available.” He shrugs.

  And it’s the sweetest thing I think he’s ever said. How could he say that while also saying all the other crap? “We’ve known each other a week, less than a week. I can’t marry you, it’s crazy.”

  “How is it crazy? We both know what we want, we both want the same thing, and we both want each other. When something’s right, it’s right. When you know, you know. What difference does it make from one week to one year?”

  “Because, I don’t know how you like your coffee. I don’t know your favorite food, color, or book. I don’t know if you sleep naked or in pajamas. I don’t know anything about you other than you have way too much money, an enormous ego, and okay, yes, I want to have sex with you, but that doesn’t make a marriage, not even one for just ten years.”

  “We couldn’t make a marriage without the sex.”

  “I don’t want to breastfeed. I’ll do everything I can to make sure I have a C-section up to and including bribing my doctor. Even if I didn’t have to work, I want to after my maternity leave is over. I want six kids, not two, not four, six. I want private school but not religious schools. I don’t want to take my kids to church on Sundays, I want them to choose what they believe in. I don’t want to do the Santa myth thing or the tooth fairy. I want my kids to know they’re important, but I refuse to let them believe the world revolves around them. Those are important, those things could break up a marriage. Those are the things you learn over the course of dating and having an actual relationship instead of just jumping into a marriage.”

  “So you’re saying, no?”

  Oh god, he actually looks sad, then he blinks and it’s gone. Deep down I want to scream yes, fuck caution, fuck that it’s too soon, he wants me, bought a house for me, he bought a ring, except he’s saying things like ten years and threatening me with horrors unknown if I dare to want a divorce before ten years. Fear outweighs everything. “I’m saying, not yet.”

  “I should have known.” He flicks the ring at me. I can’t catch it, it falls at my feet. “Keep it, I sure as fuck don’t want it. Use it to go toward your sperm donor.” I can’t believe he’s just walking away.

  I’m frozen where I stand. It was real. Enzo Sabatini just asked me to marry him. No, he offered me a deal, a bargain, one with a whole lot of strings he would use to tie me up. The insane ring glints up at me. I bend down; it’s heavy. Don’t do it, Chloe. A sick curiosity has me slipping it on my left ring finger. My stomach flips a dozen times—it fits perfectly.

  In the moment I was positive I did the right thing, but now...I’m not sure anymore.

  12

  Chloe

  I’m late to the lunch meeting Enzo didn’t believe I had because I sat in my car for too long wondering what the fuck happened. The prospective client who sought me out to sell her home is annoyed by my tardiness, and it doesn’t go well. I can’t focus, and she goes from annoyed to pissed. By the time lunch is over, what had been a sure thing ends on a sour note as she tells me she’ll think it over. Which means I’ll hear from her when pigs fly.

  In my office, I find there’s already a proposal complete with budget from Ray. I gasp at the bottom number; holy shit. This doesn’t even include the materials, it’s all labor. I’m still taking it in when my email pings. Enzo cc’d me on his response with an acceptance of the proposal for the work to begin today. The only change Enzo made to the contract was to add a bonus of five thousand per worker if the project was finished in under eight weeks.

  Ray accepts immediately, within his email he requests I get the finishes to him before the end of the day on Wednesday. The demo should be done by tomorrow, and they’ll start to lay the floors on Wednesday. Confirming I’ll get it to him, I hesitate at the idea of contacting Enzo. I send him an email asking when he would like to meet to go over the finishes.

  His response is abrupt. He doesn’t care, this is what I was hired to handle, earn the money he’s paying me. At least he hasn’t fired me, yet.

  An email comes through with a list of everything Ray needs from me: backsplash tile, flooring, countertops, cabinets, do I want to change out the window in the kitchen above the sink? Another email, a suggestion of a private retailor where I could shop for everything, to let him know and he’ll call to give me entrance. Intrigued, eager for any help, I text him I’m on my way. A quick response comes back that he’ll let them know.

  The address isn’t one I can place, so I key it into my navigation before I leave. It’s a huge brick building off the main street; the windows on the street have been boarded up. The only doors open to the rear alley, where there are huge bay doors but only one door off to the side. At the door I have to press a button. A gruff woman, or man, answers, “Yeah?”

  “Chloe Hutchins, Ray said he’d give you a call.”

  There’s no answer, just the buzzing letting me know the lock has released. I open the door and my eyes go wide as my jaw drops. Wow, it’s the kind of showroom where nothing is basic.

  “Hello, welcome to Fine Fi
nishes. I’m Tabatha. How can I help you today?” She’s an older woman with fine, silky brown hair down to her waist. Her big brown eyes are kind, and her smile is welcoming. Although she’s at least five inches taller than me she doesn’t intimidate, even in her black Prada silk sheath dress.

  “I’m in definite need of help. I have a kitchen to shop for.” I offer up the list from Ray because he included dimensions for the flooring and countertops. “I also will eventually need to do several bathrooms, but this is needed this week.”

  She takes the list. “Let’s start with the floors. Do you have some ideas?”

  I nod. “It’s a historic home, built in 1902, and I want to capture that feeling. No stainless steel anywhere, clean, simple lines. We discussed that for the countertops butcher block then marble on the island.”

  “Hmm, butcher block.” It’s a murmur. Swallowing a smile, I have a feeling Tabatha will talk me into something else. “For the flooring in the kitchen, are you thinking wood or some other material?”

  “Wood to match the floors.” I show her some pictures.

  “We have this or we have some reclaimed from other homes.”

  “I love the idea of reclaimed, but Enzo is such a snob I know he’ll hate the idea, so this in the kitchen, half bath, and basement.”

  Nodding, she makes a note. “So you don’t want this for the sunroom?”

  “No, I’m looking for something different for the sunroom.” I show her more pictures.

  “We got this in recently, these are tiles that look like hardwood.”

  “This is great. I like this one though, over that one. This color is darker but I like it. What is this material?”

  “It’s limestone.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect, the house is gray limestone. I want this to go into the sunroom.”