10
Bolt
“Are you ready?” Yale stands in the doorway of my office, hands tucked under his arms. “Because I'm excited for this. So if I'm this excited, you must be ecstatic.”
I don’t want to talk about anything. Ecstatic is the last thing I feel. My mind is so fucked up I don't even know how to explain what I'm feeling, and I don't really want to. There’s no advice that he can give me, because he doesn’t have a damn clue. This girl has somehow twisted herself around my brain, making it so I can't think straight.
When I close my eyes, she's there.
When I dream, she's there.
When I think about what I want, she's there. But she's not supposed to be. She was never supposed to be.
And now I can't get her out.
“Not now, Yale.”
“Come on, Bolt, you should be smiling from ear to ear. Everything here is all set for when you're gone, I made sure of it. They all know what to do. You can relax, get ready for the big day.” He takes a few steps inside, relaxing his shoulders back as if this is going to be just another business trip. “Tomorrow your father gets to meet his daughter-in-law.” Making big, exaggerated, air quotes with his fingers, he curls his lips up happily. “I honestly can't wait to see his face once he does. This is brilliant, Bolt, seriously brilliant.”
“Yale, enough!” Balling my fists, I slam them down on the desk. Yale's body goes stiff as he stares at me. “Not right now, all right? I have a lot on my mind. This whole thing is just fucking crazy. I'm not sure what the hell it is I'm doing.”
“Sir, if I can—” Walking the rest of the way to my desk, he sets his hands on the back of the chair and digs his fingers in. “Your father had no right to put you in this position. But your idea, it's the ultimate work of a puppet master. You're pulling all the strings. You, not him. You're the one in charge. This is the right thing to do, we both know that.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What other choice did you have? He put you in an impossible situation. He deserves this, anyone would tell you that.”
Hanging my head, I rest my face against my fingertips and rub my forehead. “But is it right?”
“Is it right?” Yale's mouth parts as he rolls his eyes. “Bolt, is what he's doing right? Are his threats to take everything out from under you right? He isn't giving you a choice, he gave you no option. This place is yours, and you need to do whatever it takes in order to keep it that way. Do you really want him handing it over to some asshole cousin you see once every ten years?”
Shaking my head, I close my eyes. “It's not that, Yale.” Folding my hands together, I drop my chin into my chest. I don't look up at him, keeping my eyes on my hands as I twirl my thumbs over each other. “It goes deeper than that. I'm just not sure what I want anymore.”
It isn’t my father, or this place that’s getting to me. It’s Starla. All things Starla. The scent of her hair, the feel of her in my arms, the way her lips feel against mine. Her smile. Her laugh—her everything.
I'm falling for her, and I'm falling hard.
The idea of my father not liking her, of him actually demanding me to end it, makes my chest hurt. I'm not even sure I'll be able to find the right words for her. The ones that tell her it's my decision, the ones that let her know it's out of my control.
The ones that don't hurt.
Do those words even exist?
It's not supposed to be like this. I'm not supposed to feel anything for my fake wife.
But I do. . . This isn't real. None of this is real. So how the hell do I stop it?
“Look,” Yale says, circling the chair and sitting down. “Your father is a difficult man, he likes to have control, so this, this is going to make him flip when he meets her. You know what he thinks about people like her. And that girl—” Throwing out his hand and pointing at the empty air behind him, he keeps his eyes on me. “She checks off every box. He's going to hate her.” Relaxing back into the chair, a smug grin fills his face. “I'd put money on it that he'll be on his knees, begging you to divorce her before she even steps into the venue.”
Grunting, I stand and walk to the bar, pouring a shot of liquor and downing it before the liquid even has time to settle in the glass. Tapping the rim of the glass, I fold my arms over my chest and lean back.
My eyes stay on the floor, even though I know Yale is looking at me, waiting for a response. He wants me to agree, he expects me to feel the same excitement he does.
I just don't.
Frowning, I hold out the glass as I ask, “What if you're wrong?”
“Wrong?” His voice starts to shake as he laughs when he says, “There's no way I'm wrong. She swears like a sailor, her clothes are second hand twice over, she doesn't know the first thing about class. And—she was born poor.” Cocking his head into his shoulder, his brows crawl across his forehead. “What about her would he actually like?”
Her smile.
Her laugh.
She's smart.
She's funny.
She knows her shit when it comes to whiskey.
She doesn't live for things, she lives for life. . . For pleasure. For herself.
How could anyone not love that woman?
I can't say that out loud, not to him, not to anyone. Because this wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to fall for someone who would never last in my world.
Starla would never be able to handle the constant scrutiny of eyes always watching her, of expectations, and unrealistic rules. And I couldn't babysit her every second of every day, making sure she doesn't do something that will smear our name across the tabloids.
At least where she comes from, no one cares about what she drives, or what she wears. There's no one hanging over her shoulder, reminding her which fork to use first and how to hold her teacup. She doesn't need to have fancy shit to show where she stands in the pyramid. Starla is happy just being happy, that's enough for her.
I want that.
I want that freedom.
It would feel amazing to not have to walk on eggshells. To be able to just be me and not have to think about how anything I do will reflect on my father, our family, or our business.
Our business.
My business—just focus on that, focus on the business.
I’m not doing this fake marriage to defy my father, I’m doing it to save my position in this company. That's what I need to keep in mind. This isn't just to prove some point or go against the grain, this is to keep what's already mine.
If I wanted to be a real asshole, I'd say fuck it all and walk away. I'd let my father take his company and gift it to the first name he draws from a hat. But I want this, I've wanted this my whole life.
And I'll be damned if I'm going to let whatever the hell it is I'm feeling screw it all up. I didn't come this far to lose it all. I didn't work this hard to let him gift it to some jackass who's never been around liquor like this.
Pouring two glasses of whiskey, I attempt to hand Yale a shot. He tries to decline the glass, but I don't let him. “Take it,” I say, veering my stare. “Or you might not have a job when we get back from Hawaii.”
“You'd fire me for not drinking this?”
“No, I'd fire you for not following orders. This isn't a democracy, Yale, I make the rules here. I'm telling you to drink the shot. We have a long weekend ahead of us, I'm not drinking alone, so bottoms up.” Forcing it into his hand, I lift mine towards the ceiling. The alcohol burns the back of my throat as it goes down quickly.
I feel lost, for the first time in my life, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I always thought I'd keep going like I was. In my head, I'd be a successful single man, with disposable money, and a name to carry it.
Now I feel different. I want something else, something I'm not supposed to have. Something I thought didn't exist. Something that has an expiration date.
And that date is coming, it is right here, only a few hours away.
My father is go
ing to meet my wife for the first time and hate her. I don't want him to hate her, and a part of me also wants to say fuck the distillery. Because this is just a building with four walls and a roof. It isn’t life, it isn’t what I should be living for.
“Are you alright, Bolt?” Yale's face tightens up as he rocks his jaw side to side from the alcohol. “You don't seem like yourself.” Coughing lightly, he runs his mouth across his sleeve.
“I'm fine, I just want this weekend to be over. The sooner, the better. One more, let's do one more.” Pouring two more shots, I hold mine high and salute the air. “To breaking the rules.”
Letting out a heavy breath, I close my eyes and all I can see is Starla.
I have one goal for this weekend. One.
I just have to keep my head screwed on straight.
“Fuck it, let's finish the bottle.”
* * *
The alarm buzzes, rousing me awake. My brain feels like it's trying to dig through my skull. The buzzing slices through my head like a serrated blade, taking the headache to a new level.
Everything hurts. My eyes are throbbing, my stomach is crampy, my muscles are tense and sore. I'm pretty sure I threw up at one point last night, but I'll have to check with Yale to be sure. My memory is a little foggy, and not all of last night’s events are clear.
Groaning, I roll over and slap snooze on the alarm. Letting my arm fall off the bed, I lay with my face half off the mattress. I don't have the energy to move, and I don't care to.
“Bolt, it's time to get up, our flight is in a few hours.” Starla's voice slips easily into my ear as her fingers brush through my hair. “Come on, we don't want to miss the plane.”
“Five more minutes.” Burying my head under the pillow, I press the edges down around my ears.
Yanking the blankets off me, she climbs onto my back and starts to rub my shoulders. “How much did you drink last night?” she asks, pushing the pads of her thumbs into my shoulder blades. “It had to be a lot.”
“Why's that?” Uncovering my face, I moan as she massages deep into the muscle. “Mm, that feels good.”
“Because I've drank with you before, we actually drank quite a bit, and you didn't get this wasted. I didn't even know you could get that drunk. I thought it would take a horse tranquilizer to knock your ass out.”
“Blame Yale, he kept pouring them.”
I lie. I don't want to talk about the conversation I had with Yale, or what forced me to drink an entire bottle of seventy proof bourbon.
Yes, Starla knows everything about us was fake. But somewhere inside, I’m having difficulty separating what's real and what isn't.
Everything is a giant pool swirling around inside me. I'm trying like hell to pick the poison apart, but the concoction is too much to wade through.
The only thing that I know for certain about any of this is the fact that I'm going to lose everything if I don't do what my father wants.
His demands are set in stone. Period.
“Shame on him for giving you a hangover right before a ten hour flight.” Slapping my ass, she jumps off onto the floor. “All right, the cab will be here in twenty minutes, time to get up.”
Pushing myself up, I grunt, rubbing my face. “I'm up.” With sluggish feet, I walk to the dresser, take out some clothes, and pull them on. Going into the bathroom, I turn on the water and splash my face.
“You hungry?”
“No.” Wiping my face off, I dry my hands and stare in the mirror. “I look like shit.”
My eyes are blood shot, my hair is all over the place, and my skin is clammy and flushed. I swear, I can still feel the alcohol in my veins.
“Yeah, you do,” she says with a wink. Her smile makes my heart stop for a moment before returning to its normal beat. “Want some coffee?”
“Nah, I'm good.” Walking back into the bedroom, I grab my bag, setting it on the bed and opening it up.
“All right… she says reluctantly. I can feel her watching me, trying to figure out why I'm so short with her. “Well you should at least eat something, let me make you breakfast.”
“I'm not hungry.” Keeping my eyes on my bag, I move the clothes around making sure I didn't forget anything.
“Okay.” Starla stands behind me and slips her hands around me to my stomach. She starts to squeeze, and fuck, I want to hug her back.
Only I don't. I can't. It's not fair to her.
Pulling her arms off, I close my suitcase and zip it up quickly. “Come on, get dressed, the cab will be here any minute.”
Her arms are dangling at her sides and she looks stunned that I pulled her off. “Sure, yeah, you're right.”
I hear the disappointment in her voice first, and then I watch it as it seeps over her body. Her lips fold down, her eyes gloss over, and she sinks into herself.
My heart splits in half as I see her, as I watch the way my words have stung her. I want to hug her and kiss her and tell her she's beautiful. But I don't.
Because I'm not supposed to have feelings for this girl. That was our arrangement. That was an agreement between us. We are nothing more than a business transaction.
And somehow we ended up here. Having sex all the damn time, spending every moment together, living like husband and wife.
We gather our things in silence. I have nothing else to say, and I don't think she knows how to react.
Quiet and reserved, I don't touch her at all. It takes everything in my power to not grab this girl and kiss her, run my hands over her body, and hold her close.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out and see it's the cab. “They're outside.” Taking both our bags, I walk ahead of her.
Starla tries to stay with me, attempting to slip her hand into my arm, but I pull away quickly. I can see it on her face that she knows something isn't right. But she doesn't ask, she simply folds her arms across her chest and follows me to the car.
We sit in silence all the way to the airport, through the check in, and in the terminal. I'm just trying to distance myself a little. I'm trying to separate these feelings that are starting to take over. I want to control them, but it feels like they're controlling me.
It burns me to not have any control over what I'm feeling. I've always been in charge, knowing exactly what I'm doing. Not now. Starla is in charge and she doesn’t even know it.
Settling into our seats, her eyes keep darting to my face and then away. She bites her bottom lip, gnawing on the skin softly. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don't know, you just seem off. Are you nervous about this weekend? Is that it?”
Turning to look at her, I shake my head. “No. Should I be?”
Opening her eyes wide, she shrugs her shoulders. “I don't know, maybe, but I don't know your family like you do. I know I'm a little nervous, though.”
“I'm fine, it's not a big deal.”
“Do you think they'll like me?”
Damn it. Why do you need to ask me that?”
“I don't know, Starla.” Twisting away, I look out the window. I can't look her in the eyes. I know exactly what my family will think, and I can't bring myself to tell her.
“Well, at least the batch of Ivory Gold is ready, that shit's delicious too. I bet that will impress your father.” She has hope in her voice, but that hope won't do a damn thing to save her from my father and his judgment.
The gavel will fall, his ruling will be heard, and her soul will be shattered.
You can't impress him. He'll never see you as equal.
“Maybe. He's a hard man to please.”
The air between us is tense, and I know she can sense it. I just don't want to get any deeper in this shit than I already am. Pulling away is the only thing I can do. We're acting, and actors don't practice off screen on their own time.
When she meets my father, I'll turn on the charm, but that will be the only time we need to play pretend. I don't know why I let it go on for this long. We took it too far.
/>
“Well, I'm a hard woman to break. I'm going to make him love me.”
No you're not. Keeping the thought to myself, I take a second to look at her. “Good luck.” Something hard hits my foot, causing me to look down. Starla follows my eyes and leans over, coming back up with a toy plane. “Where did that come from?” I ask.
“A child, I'm guessing.” She looks around the seats, until she finds a small boy on his hands and knees, tears running down his face as his mother tries to comfort him.
“Think I found the owner.” Starla stands up and starts making airplane noises. “Nyeeeeeeerm.” Her hand is moving, flying the plane through the cabin towards the child. “Nyeeeeerm.” Her voice deepens as she dips the plane drastically and brings it back up high.
The boy, who looks to be about three, perches himself up on his knees, wiping the tears away from his eyes. And when he sees his plane being flown to him, a huge smile explodes across his face.
Starla is vrooming and roaring, her voice loud and sharp, causing the people around us to stare at her. A few of the women have small smiles, but other passengers are shaking their heads like they think she’s crazy.
But what I see is different.
I see a woman who doesn’t care about anyone else right now, except making that little boy happy. I see a woman who finds happiness doing things for others.
My heart swells as she hands the plane to the boy and ruffles his hair. She says something to his mother, and the boy is playing with his toy with a huge smile on his face.
That's when it hits me. All this time I’ve been focused on the wrong things.
What I thought I wanted, and what I truly need, are two different things.
I want to own our family business, but I need Starla too. I need her in my life.
I want the real thing. I want it all with Starla Bishop.
11
Starla
The plane hits the runway, and I want to feel the adrenaline of this trip. I’m in Hawaii, not some boring city filled with suits and briefcases—Ha. Freakin. Waii.
The Convenient Wife Page 10
