The Convenient Wife

by Wylder, Penny

  What are you thinking, Starla?

  Just say yes, that's all you have to do.

  We both know what it takes to thrive in this business, she wouldn't be here if she didn't. It's an easy deal I'm offering her, a fucking free pass. Who could say no to something so sweet?

  “It's all pretend,” I remind her, slicing my hand through the air. “All of it. We won't really be married, we'll just tell people we are. You can still do the internship here, I don't want to take that from you. This will be the easiest thing you've ever had handed to you, Starla. All you have to do is say yes.”

  “It'll all be fake?” Lifting her fingertips to her mouth, she plucks at her lip.

  “Yes, all of it.”

  “No actual wedding?”

  “Nope, just us telling a little white lie.”

  “That's not a little white lie, Bolt.” She looks down into her glass, then lifts her eyes quickly back to mine. “I'm curious, why—what's the purpose of this?”

  “I have my reasons,” I say, intent on keeping that information to myself.

  She doesn’t need any of the details, all she has to do is agree. Starla is the perfect fit, she’s the exact opposite of what my father expects—or wants—for my wife.

  Starla comes from nothing. A broken home, with a father who was in and out of jail, and a mother who could barely afford to put a meal on the table. She has nothing to offer our family, other than being an embarrassment to my father.

  My father will hate her, then he’ll want us to divorce before word gets out, and his name is somehow tarnished. And I'll agree, telling him he just has to put it in writing, making sure that I will still get the company regardless of marriage or children.

  I’m ready to play his game, I’m just playing a little dirty, is all.

  “Just think about it, I don't need an answer this very second,” I say, drinking the last of the whiskey in my glass and setting it on my desk. “Let me give you a tour.”

  Starla places her glass on my desk, nervously twisting her fingers around each other. “So you'll let me think about it?”

  “For now.” Smirking, I bite my lip and reach down to grab her hand. “You can give me your decision after. I want to show you something first.” Pulling her up from her seat, she's a little hesitant.

  Her hand fits perfectly in mine as our fingers wrap around each other, falling into place. A tingle races up my arm, making my heart speed up as I run the pad of my thumb over the tops of her knuckles.

  Starla glances down at our hands and quickly pulls hers free. Wiping her palms on the side of her pants, she gives me a small smile.

  Smirking, her reaction sparks something inside me. It's a need, a desire, a fixation to take her home and hear her scream my name.

  The expression on her face makes my cock jerk and my stomach clench. There's a softness to her, an innocence that's begging to be shattered.

  And every instinct in my body is telling me to break her.

  But I hold back, not letting her see the desire pooling in my gut. I want her to say yes to my offer, I don't want to send her running. For everything I can offer her in return for her help, I need this too. I need her.

  “Follow me.”

  I take her down the hall, watching her face as she sees the pictures with wide open eyes and awe in her expression. It's refreshing for me to watch her excitement build, to see her almost giddy like a kid on Christmas morning.

  There's a twinkle in her gaze as we approach a giant metal still. “Is that. . .” Her voice trails off as her eyes expand even wider.

  “The still, yeah.” I answer with a grin. “Holds sixty-thousand gallons.”

  “Holy shit.” Starla tips her head back to look up at the top. “Yale was right, the pictures do no justice. Wow, this is amazing.”

  Her excitement is invigorating, it gives me chills to have someone else so amazed by the distillery. Most of the other interns we had over the years were all about the chemical process and doing it more efficiently. They wanted to focus on getting it done quicker—not getting it done right. They were all lost to the history, focused on new methods and machines.

  I enjoy doing it how it's been done since whiskey was created. It isn't fast, but that only enhances the experience.

  Starla appreciates the process, I can see it on her face. And I like that. A lot.

  “You think that's cool, I've got something else that will blow your mind.”

  Leading her through the still room, we move into the room that holds our doubler. This is my favorite room, where the vapor is moved into the condenser, turning from gas back into liquid, into the raw whiskey.

  Taking a small cup, I twist a valve on top and fill it an inch. “Here, try this.”

  Starla smells the liquid, then takes it all in one gulp. “Woo!” she calls out, her eyes snapping closed as her mouth forms a cute little O. “That's strong shit.”

  “That's White Dog, eighty percent proof right there.” Filling the cup another inch, I drink it myself and smile. “Fucking delicious, that's what it is.”

  “That tastes like pure gasoline.” Giggling, she opens her mouth wide and shakes her head. “Wow, talk about raw form.”

  “I've got an idea, let's play a little game. What do you think?” I ask, a playful tone in my voice.

  “Game, what kind of game?”

  “A taste test.”

  She nods eagerly, sniffling as the heat of the raw whiskey makes her nose run. “Alright, I'm down for that. I've been told I can taste a single sour grape in a full bottle of juice.” Wiping the back of her wrist against her face, she smiles. “I might surprise you.”

  “We'll see about that.”

  Bringing her into our quality control room, I sit her down at the table. Starla is grinning, and I can see the excitement in her face.

  “Bring it on,” she says, flapping her fingers.

  “I was going to go easy on you, but seeing how you're taunting me, let's up the ante a little bit, see how good you really are.” Walking to the huge wooden hutch against the back wall, I open the draw and dig around. Finding the red blindfold, I hold it up and wiggle it in the air. “How are you without your eyes?”

  “It's all about the flavor, isn't it? I don't need my eyes, all I need is my mouth.” Starla drags her tongue across her bottom lip, her gaze flirting with mine.

  My cock throbs with her comment as she nibbles the inside of her cheek. Instantly, I picture her full lips wrapped around my cock, and her cheeks hollowing as she sucks me off. The image is clear, my dick disappearing into her mouth as she flattens her tongue and licks under my shaft.

  Stepping up behind her, I wrap the blindfold around her head and tie it tight. Curling my fingers over her shoulders, I lean forward and whisper into her ear. “I can't wait to see what your mouth can do.”

  I feel her shiver, watching goosebumps jump across her skin as the heat off my breath hits her skin. Releasing my grip from her shoulders, I walk away, leaving her with no sight, and a tingle in her belly.

  Pouring several small glasses of different flavored whiskey, I set them on the table in front of her. Taking a moment, I watch her quietly, unable to grasp just how beautiful she really is.

  I'm not usually taken back like this with a woman, but something about her just hits me differently, and it bothers me that I can't place it. It's not normal for me to feel this out of control, but since she walked in my door, I can't focus on anything but her.

  I'm right next her, but I slow my breathing, reaching my hand out and letting it hover right in front of her face. The urge to touch her, to run my fingertips across the curve of her jaw and hold her face in my palm comes over me.

  Taking a step back, I pull out the chair to her right and sit down. “Alright,” I say, taking her hand and wrapping her fingers around the first glass. “Tell me what you taste?”

  Starla lifts the glass to her face and smells it like I've already seen her do. She's smart, she knows not to go right for it. You want
to smell it first, it gives you a chance to sense things you might miss if you just drink it right down.

  My eyes scan her lips as she lifts the cup to her mouth and takes a sip. Swirling the liquor around in her cheeks, she swallows slowly.

  Fuck, I want to kiss those lips. I want to taste my liquor on her tongue and see how the flavors change in her mouth.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “It's sharp, almost bitter.” She smacks her lips together. “My mouth is dry. It's a dry whiskey.”

  “Good, but that one was easy. Here,” I say, passing her a second glass.

  She sniffs it again, repeating her pattern. “This one is peaty, phenolic, almost has a tarry flavor. It's a firm whiskey.”

  “Right again.”

  We go back and forth, her sipping, and me trying to trip her up. It doesn’t work, Starla is able to tell me all the under tones, all the fruity flavors or smoky tang of the liquors I give her. I, of course, have tested all the same ones she has, just to make sure a bottle hadn't been misplaced or labeled wrong.

  It is quality control at its finest.

  My stomach is hot, pushing the warmth around my body. Starla is flush and giggly, and I find myself laughing beside her.

  We're both buzzed, but hey, it comes with the job.

  “Can I take this thing off now?” she asks, gently touching the tie.

  “Yeah, you win, I fold.”

  “Told ya. Not to brag, but I know my shit.” She smiles easily, and her shoulders relax back as she slouches into her chair.

  Picking up the closest bottle at my side, I pour us both another drink. Pushing her cup closer, I hold mine in my hands.

  “So, how did you get into whiskey anyway?” Taking a sip, I can't take my eyes off her.

  She gives me another smile. “My dad had a thing for making his own liquor. When I was a kid, he used to let me help make moonshine. I always thought it was amazing how you could take something so simple as corn and barley, and make it into something else. It was fascinating.”

  “He let you help as a kid? My dad didn't let me in the alcohol room until I was eighteen.”

  “Yeah, well, my father wasn't really a man who like—or followed—rules. He shouldn't have let me taste it either, but he did. He also shouldn't have tried to sell it, but—” Cutting herself off, she shakes her head. “But that's in the past now. Tell me, Bolt Sheckler, what makes whiskey different for you than other alcohol?”

  “Well, I don't know. I guess it's because it's been in my family forever really, I just kind of fell into it. But I do love it, I love everything about making it. My favorite part, though, is watching the barrels as they get charred. I don't know what it is, but it’s exciting.”

  Starla licks her lips and angles her head a hair as she speaks. “What else gets you excited?” Her voice is sultry and smooth, making my cock throb.

  “There's a few things I can think of.” Sipping my drink, I lean forward, unable to keep the space between us. Lowering my cup, I reach out my free hand and stroke the side of her face.

  Starla doesn't move, she freezes. I'm not even sure she's breathing. Her chest isn't moving, her stomach is still, her lips are parted but static. She looks like a living picture.

  Pressing in further, I ignore any thoughts in my head and just go for it.

  I kiss her.

  Her lips are lush, full, and she tastes like sunflowers and sugar. Slipping my tongue inside her mouth, her eyes close briefly, and she tips her head back to give me more access.

  My dick is hard, pulsing, and ready to drive deep inside her hot pussy. I feel her arch her back, but as quickly as her body allows me to kiss her, her hand is on my chest, pushing me away.

  “Bolt,” she says, my name nothing but air as she scoots her chair away, putting the space back between us.

  “It's alright, no one's coming in here,” I say, ready to kiss her again.

  Leaning forward, she stops me by turning her face away. “Bolt, we just met, we shouldn't be doing this.”

  Raking my hand through my hair, I drag it down my neck. “You're right, I'm sorry, it's probably just the alcohol, that's all.”

  I lie. I enjoyed that kiss. I want more of that kiss. I need more of that kiss.

  But I let her think I made a mistake. It had nothing to do with the liquor or being drunk. It had everything to do with her, and how she made my body come alive.

  I don't tell her that because she obviously doesn't feel the same.

  Swallowing hard, she forces a smile. “Besides, I'm agreeing to be a fake wife, not a real one.”

  “Wait, you're saying you'll do it?”

  Nodding, she bites her bottom lip. “Fuck, I'm not sure how— but you're right, this could work in both our favor. I mean, I don't know what you're getting out of this, but for me, it's everything I've wanted.”

  “That's perfect!” I blurt out, wiping the sweat off my forehead. Tugging my shirt away from my chest, the room feels way hotter than it did when we came in. “This is going to work beautifully, it really is, you'll see.”

  I don’t have any doubt in my mind, it’s an easy plan. I found a temporary wife, it’s the perfect solution to my problem.

  What could go wrong?

  5

  Starla

  “Where did you say he was taking you?” Em's voice is in my ear as I balance the phone on my shoulder to finish packing my bag. She sounds more like an older sister than a best friend.

  Her tone is flat, and I know she's on the other end pursing her lips and flaring her nostrils. She doesn’t like what I’m doing.

  “I'm not sure, he hasn't told me yet.” Folding a pair of sweatpants, I drop them into my suitcase and start rolling up socks.

  “Let me get this straight; you just met this guy a week ago, he's supposed to be your boss—but instead, he's inviting you on some weekend getaway—and you're going?”

  “Yup, sounds about right,” I say with a giggle. I'm trying to act normal, like this isn’t strange or weird or out of character for me. But Emily knows me better.

  “What the hell has gotten into you, Star? Does any of this really sound like a good idea? Have you ever watched Forensic Files before?” Her voice is panicked and fearful. “Please, tell me why you would run off with some guy you don't even know? I mean Jesus, Star, remember the swipe right guy—”

  Ugh, Jake Lauder.

  “Can we not bring that guy up? That was just a horrible mistake.”

  About nine months back I decided to try a dating app. I saw this cute guy, with dark brown hair and a strong jaw. So I swiped right on his pic.

  What a mistake that was. After several text message exchanges and a few phone calls, we met for dinner. The man I thought I was meeting, and the man who showed up, were two different people.

  The guy I expected had a head full of brown hair, the guy I met had the worst comb-over ever. He had literally pulled it from the top of his right ear and raked it over to his left. He claimed to be six foot one, his real height was just over five foot six.

  He hated the outdoors, he hated any music that involved actual talent. He hadn't read a book since high school, except for the Daily Ranger, and that was only because it was next to the toilet in his mother's home. Yes, his mother's house.

  And to top it all off, he paid for most of our meal with coupons and gift cards he collected. Needless to say, I should have swiped left.

  “It's Bolt Sheckler, Em. If Bolt Sheckler asks you to go away for a weekend, you say yes. Besides, at least I've met him face to face already, I have a much better idea of what I'm getting into than with the swipe guy.”

  I haven't told my friend anything about our arrangement, not a word. And I won't. I promised Bolt that it would stay between us, even if it killed me a little inside to not tell my best friend.

  Emily knows everything about me—everything. Right down to my most embarrassing moment and the first time I had sex. I'm not going to go into detail with either, but I will say one involv
ed a lubed up cucumber, and the other was an underwhelming five minutes in high school. Both ended messy and with me screaming and running in the other direction.

  This is different. This is an arrangement built off trust. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize this opportunity or my future. Even if that means keeping Emily in the dark.

  Layering a few shirts, I stuff my sneakers into the side pocket and zip it shut. My eyes are checking everything, moving across my dresser to make sure I didn't forget anything.

  Hairbrush, check.

  Deodorant, check.

  My phone buzzes against my cheek, so I pull it away to see a text floating on the screen.

  I'm downstairs. Need any help bringing down your bags?

  It's Bolt, so I quickly swipe and text back. I got it, coming down now.

  “Em, sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go, he's here.”

  “Star, tell me you'll be careful, tell me you won't do anything stupid?”

  Hesitating, I let out a soft breath. “I won't.”

  I won't get fake married this weekend. I won't pretend to be in love with a stranger. I won't use this man to make my dreams come true.

  “Promise me,” she demands.

  “I promise,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. “I'll call you soon.” Hanging up, I feel slightly guilty. Guilty that I'm not telling her the truth, and guilty that I'm using this man for my own gain.

  He's using you too, don't forget that.

  I’m still curious about what he’s getting out of this whole fake relationship, but whatever it is, it doesn’t really matter because we’re using each other. That makes it even, neither of us are on the dark side of this thing, we’re in it together.

  I'm not really doing anything wrong. None of it is real, it's all fake. Who are we hurting? No one.

  I'm doing my hardest to convince myself that this all okay, and I'll walk away with everything I ever wanted.

  Money.

  An amazing recommendation.

  And hopefully a long future in whiskey.