by Vesper Young
What did I do? “I watch the news, mostly. Keep an eye on our clients in the press and online. I also exercise in my private gym. Watch for advertising trends in practice to make sure we stay fresh.”
“So… in your free time, you work. And work out.” The disbelief was evident in her voice.
“You’d rather I play polo, I take it.”
“I mean, if I was set to inherit a company grossing north of 2.6 billion a year, then, yeah, I’d look to do something else in my free time.”
I raised my eyebrows. She knew her stats. “Still, it’s because Blake Enterprises is so successful that I have to stay on top of the industry. My father always wanted to keep the company within our family. It’s hard competing with these massive conglomerates.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point? To be successful.”
“And what does success mean to you, Deacon?” She leaned in, her elbows bent on the table as if she truly was curious about my answer.
I found myself drawn in. “It means a company that breaks records every year. It means working hard and making money and securing my legacy. And if giving up a social life to do it is what it takes, no big loss. We’re the go-to company in our city, and that’s what matters.”
Mindy 4
I tried to stop my jaw from hanging open. “That is the absolute lamest definition of success I’ve ever heard of.”
Our waitress chose that moment to bring over our food. I may not have been able to pronounce it, but it looked mouthwateringly good.
Deacon interrupted me before I could take a bite.
“How would you define success then?”
“Happiness.”
“Succinct. Then how would you define happiness?”
I looked around, gathering my thoughts. Le Cuocuo wasn’t a restaurant for families or business talk; it was for lovers. All around us couples stared at each other, lost in their own happy lives.
“Happiness is being able to trust without being afraid,” I said after a moment.
“Afraid of what?”
“Of anything. Look at that couple.” I gestured discreetly to the side with my fork and Deacon’s eyes followed. “They’re married; they’re trusting the other to look out for them. She won’t stray from him, he won’t lie to her. She won’t open credit cards in his name, he won’t leave without paying the bill if she forgets her wallet. If ones in an accident, they trust the other to stand by their side through treatment.”
He turned back to me, his face contorted as if he couldn’t see what I did. “So success is being married?”
I rolled my eyes. “First of all, not every marriage is like that. Some aren’t built on trust, they’re built on expectations. She does this, he does that, and if they don’t they have a piece of paper that splits their lives back up very nicely.”
“You mean a prenup?”
I nodded. “I mean, what’s the point of getting married if you need an exit strategy?”
“If my—if his father spent his life building a company and then he dedicated his life to it, why should she get half just because they were together a few years?” His tone was slightly heated.
“They weren’t just ‘together.’ They’re married. If you—sorry, he—don’t trust whoever you’re with not to screw you over, don’t marry them. Or do and get a prenup. Maybe you’ll never need it, but you don’t trust that you won’t. You’re afraid they won’t be the person you think they are.”
I could see my response didn’t please him, but too bad. Still, I figured I’d smooth it over. “Besides, it was just a hypothetical. It could also be a relationship with my friend. She trusts me completely; if she called me tonight and said she needed her kid watched, I’d be out of this seat in a jiffy.”
“Even though you had plans?”
“I would trust it was an emergency. I’d be apologetic, but she trusts me to do right by her so I would, even if it meant upsetting my boss.”
To my surprise, he nodded. “I can respect that. Though I still think she should respect your commitments before asking you to play babysitter.”
I rolled my eyes.
“So that’s your definition of happiness, and in turn, success?”
“Yup. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to try my fancy French food.”
The grin that cracked across his face was sudden and seemed unexpected as he tried to tamp down on it. I felt a silly little smile of my own come up and quickly got rid of it with a forkful of food.
I nearly groaned. I didn’t belong here in these clothes or dim lights or around these people but damn if this food wasn’t a match made in heaven for my tongue.
I paused before taking another bite.
“Okay, I’m changing my mind. This is the definition of happiness.”
I took another bite and out of the corner of my eye saw the same, quick smile on Deacon’s face. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
Deacon 5
This evening was a bit less tiresome than expected. The way she acted was different than how my P.I. had painted her, which was different from her distant, irreproachable behavior during business hours. She had a sense of humor, a sharp, cutting way of telling jokes I couldn’t help but smirk at.
By the time dessert came, I found myself having fun. But as we took our last few bites, I remembered the reason I had brought her here. It wasn’t a date. It was business, even if she didn’t know it yet.
“What do you know about my father?” I asked.
I could see her weighing how much to share. His illness wasn’t particularly common knowledge, but there had to be gossip about why the CEO stopped going to work. Here was her chance to get it straight from the horse’s mouth.
“I know he founded Blake Enterprises when he was fresh out of college and dissatisfied with the way the bigger firms handled projects. He made a name in a competitive space on the devotion he showed each client through hard work and long hours. He was the type to be the first one in the office and last one out the door.”
Like father, like son, I thought.
“He has pancreatic cancer.”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t known, then. It seems the truth hadn’t made it down the grapevine yet after all.
“I’m sorry, Deacon. That’s unfair.”
Succinct but sincere. It was unfair. And I was sorry, too. I was sorry and angry and ready to put on a charade for my dad who had pancreatic cancer if it meant easing some of the emotional pain that comes from knowing you’re dying and dissatisfied with your legacy.
I physically waved away the tumult building inside. “It is what it is. As it stands, with his illness, my father has gotten a bit sentimental. In a roundabout way, this brings me to why I asked you to dinner. I have a proposal.”
The sadness at the news gave way to surprise at my abrupt change of subject. Now, she was suspicious.
I continued. “Dear ol’ Dad was lamenting my status as a bachelor. I told him I was seeing someone. I’d like to go with you to see him, say ‘See, I’m in a lovey-dovey committed relationship and will have billions of children.’ And I’d like you to go along with it.”
She didn’t reject it outright from shock, which was a step in the right direction.
“Why me?”
Because you were the first person I thought of. No, I corrected myself. Wrong angle. I dodged the question instead. Mindy wouldn’t like my response, but she didn’t strike me as the type of woman who could be wooed. This way, I’d leave her no choice but to agree.
“Let me tell you what I know about you, Mindy. Working for my company, you make sufficiently above average for the areas cost of living. Yet you live in a run-down building on the far side of the city. Why? Because your credit score is untenably bad, and you’re up into the low six-figures of credit card debt.”
A dark look came over her face. Anger. Surprising, as I’d expected a more abashed reaction. Most people grow meek when confronted with their vices. But her emotions didn’t matter that m
uch. I needed her to say yes, and I would make her an offer that she’d have no choice but to accept.
“Given the interest rate of your debts, even with your current salary, it’ll take decades to pay off. I doubt you have anywhere near that long by the way their threats are escalating.”
She sucked in a breath. My P.I. had dug up a lot about Mindy Killip this afternoon.
“I will pay off five thousand dollars of debt if you play the part of my committed girlfriend tomorrow with me, with the option to continue at that rate if I see fit.”
As predicted, once cash was on the table, I saw interest spark in her eyes. Admittedly, it was behind the embers of anger still present.
Mindy 6
“You had me investigated?”
He nodded. He was smug now. No matter how smooth he was with clients, he always wore the same expression once he felt he’d gotten them to sign on with his company. The air of confidence was nearly choking me.
“I like to be thorough.”
I snorted. Thorough. Sure, he had all the numbers. He thought I was in an astronomical amount of debt because I was a shopaholic, ignoring the fact earlier today he’d given my shabby clothing a sneer. But the numbers backed his story, so he was confident. It grated. Still, five thousand dollars wasn’t money I could afford to turn my nose up at. It would go a long way towards keeping Wilmot and the rest of them off my back.
He seemed to see the decision written on my face. From his jacket pocket, he produced two folded sheets of paper and placed them in front of me. Identical; two copies. Standard for contracts.
I scanned the documents.
“Five thousand directly to the collections agencies?”
It chafed. He was paying me but he was treating me like a child who had to be told how to spend their allowance.
“Although you acquiring more debt provides more leverage in negotiations, it also gives the collections agencies more sway and I really don’t want anything about this getting back to my father. There is a corollary”—he leaned over and pointed to the paragraph below—“that the way the five thousand is distributed among accounts is at your discretion.”
I nodded. I didn’t like it, but the second point meant I still had some control, and, I rationalized, either way I would spend it paying down the massive black hole that was my debt.
I scanned the rest of the document while Deacon spoke.
“Below is a non-disclosure agreement. Outside of private discussion with me pertaining to our arrangement, you will not disclose this document or its contents to anyone.”
I rolled my eyes. “You had to specify I wouldn’t tell people my boss is paying me five thousand dollars for the girlfriend experience?” How little did he think of me?
“I don’t take chances with my father,” he said flatly.
I understood, in a way. Deacon didn’t strike me as the type to trust easily. He was doing a nice thing, in his own way, for his sick father. But I wasn’t the catty type. I didn’t run my mouth at the water cooler. I worked the same morning to night hours he did, and I’d been doing that for the better part of a year. If he didn’t trust me by now, he never would.
I looked up at him. He was appraising me. His gaze was strong and steady, focused on my face instead of the pen next to my hand. He was a shrewd businessman.
He was also a jerk. A jerk who would pay me five thousand dollars to act as his girlfriend for a few hours.
I signed both copies.
Deacon 7
We agreed to meet at ten the next morning. Since getting sick, Dad slept late so we couldn’t really go earlier. Normally, I would’ve tried to go into the office for a couple of hours, but it was a bit too far away to be practical. Instead, I’d stay late tonight and catch up on whatever I missed.
I arrive at nine-thirty. Fifteen minutes later, Mindy showed up.
She wore a flowing skirt with a loose blouse tucked in, covered with a floral sweater. It was an outfit that could only be worn in spring. It looked good on her, though I’d have thought the pieces silly on their own. She had an attitude that pulled it together.
I was wearing the same thing I wore three-hundred days a year: a suit.
“Alright, we’ve been dating seven months, but kept it quiet because you were new and it would be a cliché.”
She wrinkled her nose in a cute half-snort. “Yes, Mr. Bond.”
“Look, my dad may be in a hospital bed but he’s still the man that built Blake Enterprises. We need to stick to a story.”
“Seven months, got it. You invited me for coffee, tulips are my favorite flowers, my favorite color is orange, and I’ve never had a cavity. Is that sufficient?”
I heaved a sigh. In retrospect, this was an insultingly stupid idea. But this was the hole I dug myself twenty-four hours ago.
“Just seem like you adore me and love being around me for two hours. Can you handle that?”
Mindy batted her eyelashes and grasped her hands together dramatically. “Oh, yes, sugarbear, I will be a wonderfully docile girlfriend fitting of the great Deacon Blake. How did I ever get so lucky?”
I stared at her for a moment. Then I laughed in spite of myself. Her eyes turned flinty; it seemed her sarcasm hadn’t been as cutting as she’d hoped.
“Sugarbear?”
She smirked back. “If you don’t like that, I can do doll, boo, or sweetpea.”
I laughed again. “Seriously though, no pet names necessary.”
Mindy made a face of mock surprise. “You don’t like them, Pooky? Too bad you spent your time stipulating how I could spend my money instead of terms of endearment.”
She spun on her heel and headed towards the building.
Pooky. She was ridiculous.
I caught up to her in the foyer. It wasn’t hard since she had no way of knowing where my father’s room was.
“Wait up, babe.”
Her brows furrowed.
“Don’t call me babe.”
“Don’t call me Pooky.”
“Fine, sweetpea.”
“Good morning, Mr. Blake,” a voice called, interrupting our quips.
“Hey, Marsha.” I turned to the receptionist. Marsha ran a tight ship behind her fortress of a desk. Papers were numerous but kept neat, and she allowed no form of disorder in her hallway. I liked Marsha. She was effective at her job, but usually in a subtle enough way people didn’t realize she ran the place. “We’re here to see my father.”
“Of course.” She handed me the logbook. There were no exceptions for executives here. “And you are?”
“This is my girlfriend, Mindy Killip,” I offered.
“Nice to meet you, Marsha.”
They shook hands. I signed us in, exchanged the log for two visitors’ passes. All too soon, we were a few dozen footsteps from the room.
I froze.
I wasn’t the type to freeze, usually. Put me in a room full of the sharks that made up our board of investors and I could have them feeding out of the palm of my hand in a few hours. But this was my father I was selling to. I was selling him a phony relationship.
A soft touch at my palm took me out of the haze. I looked down. Mindy’s delectate fingers grazed my hand.
I shook my head and grasped her hand.
Fifteen steps.
Ten steps.
Five steps.
Showtime.
Knock, knock. “Hi, Dad.”
He’d been looking out the window. Abruptly, he turned towards us and I saw the wince of pain before he hid it. He wasn’t the severe man who was only home for a few scant hours while I was awake anymore. He was lonely and in pain, waiting for his son to show up with his girlfriend.
I stepped into the room, Mindy at my side.
“Hello, Deacon. And you must be Mindy?”
“That’s me, sir.”
She took her hand out of mine and offered it to my father. I hadn’t realized I was still holding her, but I was acutely aware her warmth was gone.
Whatever.<
br />
“Don’t call me sir, Mindy. Fred will do just fine.”
“Good to meet you, Fred.”
“Oh, the pleasure’s mine. I’d get up to greet you, but if I do the orderlies get in a funk.” His voice was warm and paternal. It wasn’t a tone he’d often taken in the past.
“Dad, you really shouldn’t be overexerting yourself,” I chastised.
He snorted. “Hardly. Between the repetitive news cycle and daytime soaps, I’m about as under-exerted as you can get. Deacon, Mindy, have a seat, won’t you?” My father’s eyes practically glowed with excitement.
I pulled two leather chairs next to the hospital bed, allowing Mindy to slide in first.
I plastered a grin on my face and glanced at Mindy to try and gauge her thoughts. She looked about as uneasy as I felt, though she tried to hide it. She kept glancing around at the features of the room, then at my father. They flickered to me. Catching my gaze seemed to snap her stupor and she turned back to my father.
“So, who are the flowers from?”
Dad chuckled a bit, probably remembering I’d used the same conversation cast-about yesterday.
“Donna Moretti. She worked for our family for several decades. You could say she’s the only woman in either of our lives. Or she was, until you, it seems.”
Mindy laughed. It was sudden and whole-hearted. “Oh, I think Deacon has had women in his life before me.”
My dad looked aghast. “If he has, it’s news to me! You know you’re the first woman he’s ever introduced me to? I thought I hallucinated yesterday when he told me he was seeing someone, but now that I’ve met you I know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Dad!”
He glanced at me, still cheerful. “I guess some metaphors are in poor taste. Tell me, how did you two get together?”
“Seven months ago,” I recited. I wanted to shove the words back in, they were so mechanical.
