The Marriage Agenda

by Sarah Ballance

  “I think that might be a slight exaggeration, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want a fake wife. I don’t care how long the line is or how sizable the purported mob. I only want you.”

  She sank onto the chair she’d vacated. “But you don’t love me.”

  He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. Entirely too aware of a vulnerability he couldn’t afford. “I don’t do love.”

  “But you’re okay with sex?”

  He almost laughed. Almost. Because with her sitting there, her hair falling in those long, soft waves and that blue dress a lot more dangerous on her than it had been on the rack, he couldn’t imagine anyone looking at her and not being okay with sex. It had to be a trick question. And, dammit, he was hard anyway.

  He followed her gaze to his groin.

  She didn’t wait for his answer.

  She had it.

  “I want to be respected, Knox. As a reporter. As a woman. And I’m not going to get that with an arranged marriage and a husband who puts me fourth, somewhere after politics and interns and…sex.”

  He shifted, hoping to disguise some of his interest in the sex part. But truth be told, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had come at him so furiously. It set fire to his blood. Her eyes snapped furiously like branches in a storm, and it thrilled him. She thrilled him.

  And she wasn’t walking away, despite what he figured to be a damn good exit line.

  Maybe he had her after all.

  He stood, moved closer. She didn’t retreat. Not even when he thought she should have. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he said. “I wouldn’t do this with anyone else. I mean that.”

  She swallowed. “Considering I’m the last person you should be asking, I kind of believe you.”

  Had she smiled? He watched the corner of her mouth, hoping the brief sign would reappear, but the tilt of her lips remained neutral. “I am not asking for a fake relationship,” he said softly. “I’m not asking for something short-term. And I’m not having sex with the interns.”

  Eyes rolled to the heavens, she said, “Where have we all heard that before?”

  He pressed his lips, trying to avoid a smile. “I will have sex with you and only you. Any and every chance I get. And for the record, I hardly think it’s fair I get blamed for the fact we can’t seem to get near a bed without setting fire to it.”

  She pinned her doubt on him with the harrowing skill of an opposing candidate.

  He forced his voice to soften. “I told you. Only you.”

  “I hope you mean that, because if you run around on me, I’ll cut off your balls.”

  The lilt of humor in her tone suggested she might be kidding. Maybe. Not that it mattered—he didn’t need her warning to know he’d stay faithful. He’d seen what infidelity had done to his mother, but more than that, he respected Chloe. He might not be able to promise her a lifetime of the love she deserved, but he’d honor her—not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Because when it came to this woman, he wanted nothing more.

  “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

  “How long?”

  “For life,” he said softly.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re asking me to give up my entire life for a man who refuses to love me?”

  The inches between them were suddenly far too few. “Look, if you find you can’t deal, then give me a couple years, and you’re free to leave. But if you think falling in love is some kind of end game to a happy life, you need to think again. Hell, look around. How many happily-ever-afters do you see? From where I’m sitting, there are a lot of miserable marriages and quite a few bitter divorces but not a single fairy-tale ending in sight.”

  She frowned. “That’s your world. Not mine.”

  “Unless you’ve packed your bags to move to a cornfield somewhere in Iowa, I beg to differ.”

  She sighed and sank onto the corner of their unmade bed. “What about kids?”

  “Only if you’re in it for life. I will not bring children into a relationship from which you plan to walk away.”

  She seemed to accept that. “You’re asking a lot.”

  “Look, you want to keep your job, and I know your work. You’re good—better than good—and you deserve a chance to prove yourself. You couldn’t ask for a better opportunity to get your hands on a career story, and I need you. When I marry, I want it to be for life, but if you need to walk away, I understand that. Just give me a couple of years, and if you’re not happy, we’ll reevaluate. In the meantime, it’s a business deal, and it benefits us both. It would likely continue to do so for years to come. I know I’m asking a lot, but I’m offering more.” He leaned over and nudged her with his shoulder. “Probably more than Jeff.”

  Her eyes grew round. “That’s why you told him I wanted a consultation. You were planning this.”

  “I was hoping for it.”

  The wide eyes morphed into dubious slits.

  “Yes, I planned it,” he admitted. “I called your office, and someone took pity on me and said you’d mentioned you would be at Off the Record. I didn’t plan on you having plans, but I’ll sort out that little misunderstanding next week when I meet with him. I can’t exactly have Jeff telling everyone he had a date with my fiancée.” He stopped, the contents of her purse coming back to him. “That was an impressive condom stash, by the way.”

  “That was Lila’s idea.”

  “For Jeff?”

  “She told me to live a little.”

  “How about you live a lot?”

  One of her eyebrows lifted. “By marrying you?”

  He grinned. “Actually I was just going to ask if we could use another one of those condoms. Maybe there’s a yellow one in there somewhere.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Yellow?”

  “Banana sex.”

  “If you think that’s a turn on…”

  “Fine. If you can ignore the cucumber, you can ignore the banana.”

  “I don’t think I ignored anything.”

  “I think you’re right, and I think the folks in the adjoining rooms know it.”

  She blushed. Her eyes shone.

  His heart raced, but he ignored the thrill that shot through him. It’s a business deal. Nothing more. He took her hand and slid to the carpet—for good measure, down to both knees. He couldn’t give her love, but he’d give her a proper proposal. “I know this loses some of its luster being a mutually beneficial arrangement, but I don’t want anyone else, and as long as you’re my wife, I never will. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  Silence followed—on his part because he had to catch his breath. The question suddenly felt a little too important, the risk a little too big. And Chloe looked a little too uncertain—perhaps even guilty—but she answered him anyway.

  “Okay.”

  “There’s more.”

  She rolled her eyes. “By all means, continue.”

  “I would also like for you to provide multicolored sex toys for as long as we both shall live.”

  “Sex toys?”

  “Accessories.” He grinned, feeling more sheepish than he cared to admit. “Freudian slip.”

  “Put that in the vows, and we’ll see what happens.”

  His heart sped along. “So, you’ll marry me?”

  She sighed. But she smiled. “Yes.”

  …

  Chloe looked at her three-stone engagement ring for the umpteenth time, still not convinced it was really hers. She wasn’t quite sure of her sanity, but she couldn’t argue with the lure of job security—that alone was worth the plunge. Plus she genuinely liked Knox. Theirs was the only really great relationship she’d ever known. She had no idea how she’d keep herself from falling for him all over again, but she’d be sharing his bed. If she had to pine away for someone who wanted emotional distance, she couldn’t ask for a better position from which to do it.

  “I know it’s not exactly traditional,” he said, “and I do hope you’ll wear it for the rest of your life
, but I figured if you ever married again, you might want your first solitaire to be special.”

  “That’s just…lovely.”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever been called that before.” He shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “You’re not having second thoughts are you?”

  “That depends. Has the press been notified?” She was joking. Sort of. Because no matter how great the appeal of exposing Rex, to do so would hurt Knox. The fact that he didn’t want a real relationship with her didn’t cloud how much she genuinely cared for him, but he’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, even if he didn’t fully understand the reason.

  “Actually, there’s a charity dinner tonight. I thought we could attend. Let the news trickle out without making a grand announcement of it. We can say we were keeping it quiet and waylay some of the rumors.”

  “So, if I understand you correctly, the press has not been notified?”

  The slight twitch of his lips was the only sign he’d heard her. “Been on any dates recently? Other than Jeff, I mean.”

  Like Jeff counted. “Why? Are you worried you’re going to run out of business cards?”

  “Not so much. I’d just like to know when we started dating.”

  Great. So much for her dignity. “Over a year ago. When we actually started dating.”

  He adjusted his tie, his expression neutral. “That makes it easy.”

  Chloe bit her lip but couldn’t stop herself from asking. “What about you?”

  “There was this one girl. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Unbelievably sexy.”

  The thought of him with anyone else nauseated her—and so did that realization. She held up a hand. “I don’t need details.”

  “Incredible in bed.”

  “Enough.”

  He walked toward her, idly fiddling with his cuff. Her fiancé, ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ no more. The predatory gleam in his eye made her squirm, mostly in the G-spot. An honest-to-goodness shudder crawled up her spine, drawing chills over her flesh. The man gave off heat, and she had the sudden urge to bask in it.

  Not so sudden. More like chronic. And she’d just admitted as much.

  “She’s got a vegetable fetish,” he murmured a split second before his mouth closed over hers. His lips were soft and warm. Demanding. Destructive.

  “Me?” she murmured.

  “No one else.” He nudged his body against hers, walking her backward, simultaneously yanking his shirttails out of his pants. When the backs of her legs hit the bed, he crawled over her. Déjà vu all over again. Only this time he wasn’t whispering about cats and sports cars and daiquiris.

  This time she wore his ring.

  And he wore yellow.

  Chapter Six

  “You’re hell on a shirt.”

  Chloe peered over the edge of the bed, surprised to find Knox on his hands and knees. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for buttons.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to have the dry cleaner fix the shirt?”

  “Are you trying to tell me you don’t sew?”

  “I don’t cook much, either. Why are you looking for buttons?”

  “Because you ripped them off my shirt. Again.”

  “You love that. And that doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

  He reached under the bed and came back in triumph, a small white orb between his thumb and forefinger. “Thought you might want to put it in a scrapbook or something.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “A scrapbook?”

  “Take a picture then. Put it on Instagram.”

  “Instagram?”

  “It’s a photo-sharing site,” he said mildly, as if he thought she really hadn’t a clue. “Are you ready for this dinner?”

  “Not really. It’s two-thousand dollars a plate. How does one prepare for that?”

  “Being able to fasten your shirt would be a damn fine start,” he muttered, then softened it with a grin. “Although the trouble is worth it. How good are you with names?”

  “I won’t embarrass you.”

  “I’m not worried about that. You’ll probably know most of the attendees from your work with the paper. Remembering names of folks I’ve only met in passing is my downfall, so maybe you can help me out? People love when you address them personally. It’s one of those dirty tricks politicians use to appear likable.”

  “And all this time I just thought it was good manners.”

  He exaggerated clearing his throat. “Speaking of manners, I only have two shirts in my possession with their buttons intact.”

  “I might be doing you a favor. You’d probably win a lot of votes with those abs.”

  He stopped and cocked his head. “You know, you could be right. If there’s a demographic put off by my father’s affair, it’ll be—”

  “Women?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “And I’m sure there’s a man or two out there who thinks he’s a jackass. Maybe even one from our side of the aisle.”

  Politics reminded Chloe too much of the high school cafeteria—cliques, gossip, and taking sides, which had nothing to do with principle. She sighed. Knox wasn’t like that, but how long would that last? Maintaining alliances within opposing parties could pay off big…or it could bury him. Either way, the chances of coming out unscathed were minimal. Knox had grown up in the arena—he knew the odds. Unfortunately, after a few years on staff at the Tribune, so did she. If he didn’t win the election, what would become of their marriage?

  And why the hell did she care?

  Her gaze touched on the prenup he’d had his attorney drop off. She’d had exactly two minutes to look at it before Knox had hauled her back to bed. Since he was currently preoccupied with having shirts with buttons, now seemed a safe enough time to dig in.

  He barely glanced up when she dragged on his latest wrecked shirt and crossed the suite to pick up the document. “Two years,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You’re locked in for two years.”

  In the warmth of sexual afterglow, two years didn’t seem nearly long enough. So what if he didn’t love her? He was gainfully employed, and the sex was incredible. There were worse things. Besides, she hadn’t exactly turned down any prospects to accept his proposal. Except Jeff.

  Knox adjusted his tie in a mirror, watching her reflection. “If you choose to leave thereafter, you’ll get alimony. The numbers are all in there.”

  She flipped through a couple pages, not really seeing anything. “And the fate of your balls if you cheat on me?”

  She hoped the notion ridiculous enough to draw a smile, but he didn’t flinch. “You get four times the alimony if I admit to an affair or you otherwise have proof of one.”

  Just peachy. She dropped the papers on the table, where they landed with a loud smack. “Take it out.”

  Now he froze. “Take what out?”

  “Heaven forbid you abstain from bending your secretary over your shiny desk just so you can avoid paying quadruple.”

  “The only way anyone will be bent over my desk is if you show up at the office naked under a trench coat.”

  “Fine. Take out the clause.”

  He turned from the mirror. And stared.

  “I don’t want to wonder if the reason I haven’t caught you having an affair is because you don’t want to pay the price,” she explained. “In fact, I don’t want your alimony at all.”

  “That clause is there to protect you,” he said. Only it sounded a lot more like “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Then rewrite it. Ditch the two years. Alimony effective immediately but only if you ask me to leave.” Which was a probability if she nailed Rex to the wall. Maybe he’s not guilty. The thought gave her an inkling of relief, but wasn’t that what she wanted? A chance to prove wrongdoing and derail the sale of her grandma’s farm?

  He frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “I get that this is never going to be a real relationship,” she said, enjo
ying a little too much the way her words made him wince, even though she was also torn. “But I don’t need to extort fidelity via a prenup.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I’ll call my attorney. Is there anything else I need to address?”

  “As soon as I have an attorney review it,” she said sweetly, “I’ll let you know.”

  …

  For a two-thousand-dollar plate, it was surprisingly empty. Chloe looked at Knox, who was watching her with a hint of a goofy grin. Playing lovesick for the press? She didn’t know and didn’t much care. She was too busy remembering to keep her left hand under the table. She was far enough out of her element without flashing that gargantuan trio of diamonds.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. He leaned so close, his lips grazed her ear when he spoke.

  “There are eight green beans on this plate,” she murmured so only he could hear.

  “And tenderloin,” he pointed out.

  Sure. The long beans were artfully arranged teepee style so as to almost entirely cover the beef. “That’s your argument?”

  “And potatoes.”

  Three of them, bite-size. Seasoned with parsley, or something that looked like it. She glanced up. Their tablemates—two senators, a gazillionaire benefactor, and their respective wives—were lost in their own conversation and not paying her and Knox any mind. “We’re going out for tacos after this,” she murmured to Knox. “Cheap ones.”

  He looked down at his tux and back to the elegant blue evening gown she wore. “Like this?”

  “Use the drive-through.”

  “Like this?”

  He looked so stricken she almost laughed. “Okay, order in if you want. But if you pay more than five dollars for my taco, you’ll be wearing it.”

  Across the table, one of the senators mentioned Rex’s name, putting an end to whatever argument Knox might have prepared. All heads swiveled in their direction.

  “Where is Rex?” the other senator asked. “I heard he was on the list.”

  Chloe looked expectantly at Knox, curious how he’d handle what had no doubt become a tired subject.

  “He’s laying low,” Knox said with an affable grin.

  Honesty. The road less taken, to put it mildly.