“After.”
He nods again, a muscle pulsing in his cheek, probably from clenching his jaw. Tense and pissed off, if I have to guess. “All right then. This is highly confidential information that must not be revealed to anyone under the very real threat of litigation.” To punctuate the threat, he points his finger toward me. “At the moment, the cash I have on hand is insufficient for me to buy up more stock in my firm—even if I could find sellers. Hard to do when the stock is outperforming all expectations. My grandmother holds a sizeable number of shares, which entitles her to a definite say in everything from acquisitions to executive hiring and compensation. I suspect she’s being difficult because she wants me to marry and have children. She damn well knows that when I marry, fifty percent of her shares automatically shift to me per my grandfather’s will. I tried to get around it other ways, but… no go.
“There’s also a potential pirate out there secretly amassing as many shares as he—or she, I suppose—can get his hands on. I’m trying to head off a possible takeover and maybe even take the firm private again. That’s my ultimate goal.
“But currently we have a slight cash-flow problem. I had intended to resolve it by liquidating some assets, but you helped to screw that up for me…” He holds up his hand before I can protest. “…albeit unknowingly. It doesn’t matter since it’s over and done with. This is another way forward.”
He puffs up his cheeks and then blows out a deep breath. “My grandfather had a sense of humor. Each trust fund account and share transfer comes with a different stipulation. One requires marriage, another a child, still another, reaching the age of forty. I suppose he didn’t want us to squander it all at once on women and recreation.”
He pauses a beat… looks a little ashamed. Does he have a reputation for that kind of thing?
“Still,” he continues, “his stipulations make life difficult.”
“I can only imagine,” I try to say it without sarcasm and only partially succeed. “Your parents have more money than some countries. Why not ask them?”
His eyes narrow to near slits. “How would you know that?”
“Uh, because the name Creed is all over the city of Chicago? Just a wild guess.”
“Well, my grandfather did most of the real estate purchasing in Chicago, but I can’t deny it: my parents are well off. Doesn’t matter, though. I won’t ask for an assist. I maintain financial independence from them now and always.”
I feel the corners of my lips pulling up at the thought of an independently wealthy ten-year-old. “I see. So we get married, live together for two years, I believe you said, and then we divorce. And I get a fat divorce settlement?”
His eyes gleam. “Free room and board and great retirement pension. Good deal, right?”
“And what exactly would be expected of me?”
“You act appropriately, don’t embarrass me in any way, comport yourself with grace, attend family and business functions with me, and in general behave as a loyal spouse would.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“What might I expect of you?”
“In public I’ll be the doting husband. Behind closed doors…” He shrugs and his hand waves in a dismissive motion. “I suppose we can do what we like as long as we are very discreet about it.”
“Will the contractual arrangement we sign supersede the marriage contract? Or will we have to do a prenup or whatever?”
“My attorneys will see to all of that, Marley. You may hire your own attorney to safeguard your interests, but I can assure you it won’t be necessary. I’m fully prepared to generously compensate you for your time and effort in this… enterprise.”
Enterprise?
Insanity is more like it.
He gets a look on that dastardly handsome face that I don’t like. And the next thing he says validates my instinct.
“You look like you’re in good physical shape. Can you stand up and lose the clothes so I can get a better look?”
If my eyes popped out of my skull any more they’d be on the floor. “Are you kidding me?”
“I should see what I’m getting in a wife, don’t you think?”
“This is your proposal, not mine. I’m not applying for this job.”
“Think of it as an audition. You can keep your bra and panties on—although I would like to see it all.”
“I’m not auditioning. Sorry. And I haven’t even accepted your offer yet.” I am so offended that I feel like walking over to him and kicking the bastard in the shin.
“Look, I’m an important public person. People are going to expect my wife to be beautiful. From what I can see of you, you are. I just need to see a little more. I mean, if you got it…”
“I have it,” I say. “I just don’t flaunt it.”
“Hmm. It’s unusual for a young beauty such as yourself not to flaunt it. Don’t you wear bikinis to the beach?”
“No, I do not. Just because I may have good looks, it doesn’t mean I have to show it to the world, now does it?”
“I’m surprised.”
“I went to Catholic school. It’s beaten into you. Not literally. Not anymore anyway. I’ve heard the nuns used to literally beat the kids.”
He sighs. “All right. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. I do expect you to keep yourself in good health and physical shape for the duration of our contract—should you accept it.”
At 10:55 I’m ready to go home—driven by his driver in his car. But before I get in the sedan, he grasps my arms kind of tightly and then maybe realizes he is out of line because he lets go almost as fast.
“I would appreciate a quick decision on your part.”
The crazy idea to stand on my tiptoes and kiss him streaks through my mind. Just as quickly, I dismiss it like the insanity it is. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”
“You have forty-eight hours starting” —He looks at his watch— “…now.”
“Fuck. Him.”
Cilla is red-faced and spitting nails—and wearing out a path in my hardwood floor with her angry pacing. She’s back in Chicago for a cousin’s wedding and then it’s Provence again for her. Maybe she could pack me into her suitcase?
“Who the hell does he think he is?” She stops only long enough to wag her finger in my face. “You don’t have to marry the bastard, Marley. Let him go to hell. What can he do to you? Seriously, what you did was perfectly legal.”
“He can ruin me.”
“How? How can he ruin you? Tell me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, have someone follow me on my jobs and tell everyone around us that the man hired me, that I’m a prostitute or something.”
Cilla just stares at me, flummoxed, I do believe. It’s always a treat to see perfectly prepared and ready-off-the-cuff Cilla Vasquez taken so off guard.
“All right,” she finally says, “so you change career direction. No biggie.”
“Cilla, I love you, but you just do not understand how hard my life was before I started this faking thing. I had a bus ticket to Albuquerque in my handbag. I’d given up my apartment share and my job. I had failed miserably in Chicago.”
“You can still do it, Marls. You’re a great dancer.”
“I’m not. I have to face the truth.”
“Why do you knock yourself down like that? You’re good, very good.”
“I’m not good enough to stand out from the crowd, and I have no industry connections. Cilla, you come from a different world—you know people everywhere. I don’t. Faking for me was a golden opportunity. If he ruins that, I’ll have to start all over again. From scratch.”
Tara is sitting on the couch with one foot up, knee to chin, watching the drama unfold. When Cilla found out what was happening with Fletcher Creed, she went through the roof like an RPG.
“He is such an asshole, that guy. And to think at one time I wanted to date him more than anything.”
“You did?” I ask, incredulous. “You never tol
d me that.”
She smirks and gives a little shrug. “You never asked. A girl has secrets.”
“So I see. Look, it’s not so terrible. I’ll live in the lap of luxury for two years, then get a divorce, walking away with a big fat check. Most women would kill for such a gig. Besides, I’ve already signed the contract.”
And I did. This morning, when his driver unexpectedly showed up at my door to take me to his office for the express reason of inking the contract. Creed was in a meeting, but he left me a note saying he figured my answer was yes since my time limit was up. Which it wasn’t. The cocky bastard.
Her lips draw into a pinched line. “That check better be fat because you won’t be able to do any more contract faking. Your face will be too well known.”
My eyes widen as I gulp the sip of water I just took. “Shit, I never thought of that.” My mind starts wandering, trying to figure out what kind of money I’d need if I couldn’t do my job anymore.
“Listen to me, Marley. Get the amount in writing. Black and white and all legal. Seriously.”
“Yeah, I will.” Finding it hard to break my stare into space, I mention, “And Tara is getting a free apartment to live in, don’t forget. That’s another perk.”
Tara pipes up at this point. “And I appreciate it, BFF. I will take super great care of the loft for you.”
“You’d better ‘cause you know it’s not mine. Helmut will not be happy if you trash it, that’s for sure.”
Surprised is not the word for it when I find out just how soon all of this is going to go down. A little over a week after I signed his contract to do this thing, he rings my bell, Rick and some new guy named Hugo in tow. I study them from the screen in my loft, trying to decide if I should pretend I’m not home. I don’t. Weakling that I am, I buzz them in. In two minutes, they’re at my front door.
Still in my yoga pants and camisole—a.k.a. pajamas—I crack open the door and peek out.
There he stands, looking positively scrumptious in a black leather jacket, broken-in black jeans, and a gray T-shirt. He gives me no time to even greet him. “Will the Saturday after next be good for you?”
I rest my bare foot on top of my other one that’s between the open door and jamb… and smile slyly. “I hope so, but I’ll have to let you know Sunday. I suck at predictions.”
If I would’ve blinked, I’d have missed it but I see his lips twitch before he pulls it back. “I think you know I was referring—”
Interrupting him, I tease, “Oh, you so wanted to smile just now. Go on, Creed, give it a go. It’ll do you good.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see his bodyguards trying to suppress their own grins. I guess I’m starting to feel more comfortable around this intimidating bastard if I’m able to joke. That’s a huge step in the right direction.
“As I was saying, I was referring to whether or not you’re free on that particular date—two weeks from today.”
I throw my head back. “Ohhhhh. I’m sorry, I misunderstood. I thought you were just concerned about my social life.”
He just goes on, ignoring my commentary. “I thought we might have our wedding ceremony that day if that’s agreeable.”
If I just got him, he got me back for it. I almost choke. “How? How could we pull it all together so fast?”
Patronizing look. “There’s not much to pull together.”
“Don’t we need a license?”
“Yes, and we’ll get one. Illinois doesn’t make people wait, Ms. Jacobs.”
“No? Just so I know, are you going to call me that after we’re married? I mean, I’m obviously not taking your name.”
He doesn’t smile. It’s hard for me to read him. After all, I just met him, and his expressions have been pretty much binary—angry or impassive. I’ve yet to see a genuine smile out of him. Which I figure means one of two things. Either he has no sense of humor whatsoever or he hates me. If I suddenly took up a gambling, I’d go for the hate.
Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous? It makes it very difficult to hold one’s own while staring into the sun like that. “So,” I breathe, “not much to pull together, you say? Are you inviting anyone to attend?”
“Just a few close friends and associates for appearances’ sake.”
“Not your parents?”
His expression turns guarded. More guarded. “By some stroke of good fortune, they’re both out of the country on an extended trip. I told them about the wedding, and they send their best wishes and promise to celebrate with us upon their return. So you see, we’re having basically a small get-together. We can organize it quickly.”
“What about me?”
His face drops a little. “What about you?”
I hitch up my shoulder, leaning my ear into it. “What if I want to invite my family and friends?”
“Do you? Because I just assumed since… I just assumed you wouldn’t want to. Based on the kind of transaction it is.”
“Transaction?” Did he really say that?
“What? It is what it is after all.” He shakes his head, his lips tight. “All right, I’ll rephrase. The kind of situation. Better?”
“Pfft. Maybe your assumption was off the mark. I mean, think about it, Creed. How am I to explain to everyone that I married—and you’re a prominent man, after all—and didn’t tell or invite anyone. That would look suspicious.”
His face clouds. “I suppose you’re right. We can’t postpone it too long, so let’s set the date for the following Saturday so you can invite your friends. But no later please. I’m in a hurry, as you know.” He looks down at his boots and then those piercing light eyes of his shift back to me. “Do you think your parents can make it on such short notice? I’m assuming they’re in New Mexico?”
I sniff. “You’re in luck in that I’m not all that close with my parents, but I should invite some of my friends here in Chicago. I guess everyone else will assume I’m pregnant.”
I may have imagined it, but I think I hear an audible intake of breath from him, and it makes me want to laugh out loud. Men could be so dense sometimes.
He frowns. “I sincerely hope not, but however it’s done, let’s just see it through quickly.” He looks around me. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, sorry. Of course.”
He glances back at Rick and Hugo and holds out two fingers.
“Shouldn’t they come in too? I don’t want to leave them just standing outside.”
“No, they’re fine. I’ll be quick. Nice place,” he adds, his eyes scanning the loft as he steps across the threshold.
I smile apologetically at his bodyguards as I close the door behind him. “I love it here.”
He turns back to look at me. “You said you rent it?”
“Yes. It sold out so fast I would never have gotten a chance. Besides, my line of work and banks don’t work well together.” I smile ruefully. “My income is hard to verify.”
“Pity. Renting is just tossing out money. Will you let it go, or do you want to hold onto it?”
“Would you like to sit,” I ask, leading him farther into the apartment. “Can I get you anything?”
He shakes his head impatiently. “My time is limited. Let’s just see if we could make some quick headway on our plans.”
“In answer to your question,” I begin, curling one leg under me to sit on the club chair, “I’d like to hold onto the place for as long as I can.”
“Is it a direct lease or a sublet?”
“I’m subletting from the unit owner—he’s living in Germany.”
“Do you have someone who you can trust to live here without a lease?”
“My friend Tara is currently unemployed, so I thought I’d let her stay here rent free, at least until she gets back on her feet.”
“Okay, I’ll cover the rent and Tara can stay here indefinitely. That way you can hold onto the place.”
That’s good because I already offered it to her.
He claps his hands together. “Next order of busines
s: can you at least try to make next Saturday work? Since you only plan to invite local friends? I have a place and an officiant—we can get this done.”
“I thought I had until the following week?”
“I’d really rather do it in two weeks if we can pull it off. Just to be clear—I don’t mean this coming Saturday but the next one. That gives you two full weeks.”
I rise to my feet and start to pace, trying to think. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching me closely. He really wants to move fast on this thing. I suppose it really doesn’t matter all that much who attends, and if we do it then, Cilla could come. Otherwise, she won’t be able to since she’ll be back in France by the following Monday.
I stop pacing and shift my gaze to him. “Since you asked me in such a romantic manner, how could I not say yes?”
I have to chuckle at his startled expression. “I’m kidding. Seriously, though, I think we can get it done, as you put it.”
Relief sweeps across his features. “Great. We’ll just keep it short and sweet. Dress casually. A few friends. We’ll do a civil ceremony followed by a reception with dinner. I think thirty people. Fifteen each?”
And with that very brief convo, it was decided.
That night I get a text from him telling me he needs to speak to me ASAP. I respond to the text by calling.
“Creed,” he barks into the phone.
“It’s Marley. What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with my grandmother. She wants to meet you.”
“Oh? Oh,” I add when I realize this turn of events might not be so good. “Okay, when?”
“Is tonight all right?”
“Tonight? Sheesh, you don’t give me much time for anything.” I glance around my loft as if I’ll get answers or excuses from the empty room. “Um… I guess. What time?”
“Can you be ready by seven? She retires early.”
“I’ll be ready. Any style of dress required?”
“Casual but neat. Nothing too sexy.”
I hold the mouthpiece away from my mouth to laugh. This guy… “So ditch my usual prostitute outfits then?”
I hear him scoff through the line.
“That won’t be a problem. Will you pick me up?”
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 9
