by Fallon Hart
“Anyway, the guy interviewed me and he liked me. Wanted me. Only me. Octavius is over the moon. I do this, his debt is clear and I put a dent in mine. But Rodrigo wasn’t off the hook so we got high and stupidly robbed that fucking gas station for money. Like I said, we were high. We weren’t thinking. Rod was armed and it’s not the first time so I guess he’s probably looking at a lot more time than me.” She didn’t sound that cut up about Rodrigo’s downfall.
“The point, Mel?”
“I’m looking at a year to eighteen months for this shit,” she whispered fiercely. “And Octavius is pissed, Scar. I mean, like, will fucking-kill-me-pissed if this deal with this guy falls through.” Her eyes bored into mine and I knew before she even said the words what was coming. “So I told him about you.”
My heart rate took off. “Mel,” I whispered in disbelief.
“I know, I know. But you won’t have to sleep with the guy or anything. It’s not that kind of deal. You just need to pretend to be me and then pretend to be this guy’s wife. Well first you have to pretend to date him so people will hear and see about it and then you’ll have a ‘whirlwind’ engagement and marry the guy. I’ve signed the contract, Scar. But this guy has only met me twice. He’s not going to know the difference between us. And Octavius, well he checked you out.”
“Checked me out?”
“Looked into you.”
“Followed me?” Suddenly I began to wonder if I hadn’t been imagining those eyes on me after all.
“Yeah, he must have because he told me he really likes the look of you. Even more than me. Said he gives you the right wardrobe you’ll be perfect.”
“No.” I took a step back from the cell. “Absolutely not.”
Mel’s face hardened. “You do this for me and Octavius pays my bail and considers my debt almost paid. You don’t do this for me, I stay in here and then I go to prison, and he either has someone shank me in there or he waits for my sentence to be done and he’ll kill me himself.”
Feeling sick to my stomach I studied her expression for any falsehoods. And saw none. I just saw fear. “You’re telling the truth?”
“Absolutely.”
I raised a trembling hand to my forehead and Mel’s eyes narrowed at the sight of it. “How long? How long would I need to be married to this man?”
“The contract is for five years but we’d switch places when I get out of prison.”
My lips parted in shock. “Mel.”
She shook her head. “It won’t be like a normal marriage. You stick with him for a few months, you jump through the hoops, he gets the inheritance and then he sets you up with your own apartment and you don’t have to deal with each other again. Then I’m out of prison, I take your place, you go back to your life and I deal with the rest until it’s time for the divorce. It’s a sweet fucking deal, Scar.”
“Are you insane?”
“Scar, it’s not like you were ever planning on getting married again. We both know that.”
I flinched and shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
For the first time in years I saw my sister’s face soften. “You think I want to? You think I wish like fuck I didn’t have to ask this of you or put you on Octavius’ radar? But you’re my last hope, sis. And I mean my last. fucking. hope.”
Suddenly the air inside the jail felt thin and I knew I’d gone pale with nausea.
“Scar?” she begged.
My sister never begged.
Fear settled in my stomach like a weight and I let out a shuddering exhalation. “Fine. What do I do?”
Mel slumped against the bars with relief. “You’re going to do it?”
“I’ll do it.” Jesus, my lips suddenly felt numb.
“I’ll make this up to you, Scar.”
No, she wouldn’t. However, she’d stay alive and that’s what mattered. Despite all her shit, I couldn’t lose her like that. “What do I do?”
She nodded, all business. “Octavius is waiting outside in a black escalade. You go up to it, let him know you’re doing it, and he’ll give you a ride back to Boston and set it all up. He won’t hurt you or touch you or anything,” she hurried to say at my wary expression. “He’s only scary to people who have fucked him over and you’re doing him a favor, yeah. He’ll keep you safe.”
“He’ll keep me safe,” I muttered.
Right.
I barely remembered saying goodbye to her. I couldn’t remember our last words to each other that day. All I could focus on when I left the precinct was the shiny black escalade parked outside. And as a huge burly-looking man got out of the driver’s side and opened the back passenger door for me to get in, it took everything within me not to break my promise to my sister and just run like hell.
Instead I let him help me into the back of the car and I found myself face to face with a handsome man with dark umber skin. His jet black eyes dragged over me as I settled into the seat. The car immediately pulled into traffic.
The man was dressed in the most beautifully-tailored black three-piece suit. His silk tie was a startling turquoise that looked amazing against his skin. Diamonds glinted in both ears and he smiled a perfect white smile that was almost as dazzling as those earrings.
He held a gentlemanly hand out to me and said in a rumbling, attractive voice, “Octavius Rock. Nice to meet you, Scarlett.”
I wondered if I hid my surprise. He was not at all what I’d expected. In my head he was this grimy, hardened drug kingpin. But this guy was all money and class with a hint of flash. Yet, I knew my sister and I knew her fear was real. This pleasant, gentlemanly façade was just that—a façade. I’d have to be extremely careful around him.
I shook his hand. “I wish I could say the same.”
He quirked an eyebrow and let my hand go. “Yeah, I can imagine this is a shock for you. But your sister owes me.”
“I know. And I’m willing to deceive this man about who I am but I have to reiterate something I said to my sister—I’m not an escort, Mr. Rock. I’m a librarian.”
“Octavius, please.” He studied me a moment and then said, “Griffin Mandeville doesn’t pay for pussy so this isn’t about sex.”
“What?”
“Griffin Mandeville, the guy we have the contract with. He wanted an escort because escorts understand these kind of transactions. But Mandeville thinks he’s too good for paid pussy.” I flushed at his coarse language and Octavius scowled. “Escorts don’t blush, Scarlett. You’ll need to get that shit under control.”
“Right.” I bit my lip. Probably to stop myself from puking all over his leather interior.
“When we get back to Boston you’ll need to give notice at your job.”
“What?” I burst out in anger.
He narrowed his eyes and his expression turned to granite. With just one look, I suddenly met the Octavius who had threatened my sister’s life. “You can’t do what you need to do with a full-time job as a librarian. The deal is you move in with Mandeville for a few months. The inheritance interview is in four months. For a while you get to know this guy as much as he thinks you need to for the interview and vice versa. He’ll pay for your upkeep. You’ll be seen together, let the world know you’re dating, and Mandeville will give you a new background.
“He wanted your sister because no one knew her in Boston. Folks know you… but you aren’t going to tell him that.” His eyes dipped down over my body in lengthy perusal. “We just need to hope no one you know reads the society pages because you and your sister aren’t exactly forgettable. Once Mandeville gets his inheritance he’ll set you up in an apartment and he’ll pay your living expenses for the five years in the contract until your divorce. Of course, once Melanie’s out of prison she’ll take your place so you’re only looking at doing this shit for about eighteen months. Mandeville paid a large upfront fee on top of that but that went into my pocket to cover part of your sister’s substantial debt to me. The eighteen months are up, you’re on your own.
You want to go back to being a librarian, I could give a fuck. But for now, you’re quitting that job and moving out of that old lady’s house.”
He had been following me.
I nodded, twisting my trembling hands together in my lap.
“You gonna be able to do this?”
His tone was so cold and so full of warning, I shivered. My sister was in danger of this man. Knowing that, realizing I really had to do this to save her, I threw my shoulders back and gritted my teeth. When I felt I could speak I bit out, “I can do this.”
Octavius studied me for a long moment and then finally he nodded. “When we get back to Boston you quit, you pack, and we’ll put your shit in storage because you won’t need it where you’re going. Mandeville said part of the deal is a wardrobe befitting a woman of your station. That’s how the fucker put it.”
“Who… Who is this man?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
I shook my head.
“Griffin Mandeville is a stuck up English asshole. Son of an aristocrat. Made his own money and bankrolled an operation known as The Patrician. It’s an exclusive members-only club in the city. It’s set up like one of those Victorian London gambling clubs and people pay a mint to own a membership there. But this inheritance is a whack so he’s going all out to get it.”
Even with that, I didn’t know anything about this man.
A man who was about to become my husband.
CHAPTER THREE
The green dress I wore felt too tight, the stilettos too high, and I had to curb the urge to find some bobby pins and pile my hair up on my head off my neck. Instead it fell down my back in loose waves.
“Stop fidgeting, baby,” Octavius commanded gently.
It took everything within me not to shoot him a baleful look.
For the last two days the man had barely left my side. The only time he physically unstuck from me was when he allowed me to go into the library by myself to quit. He waited outside in the Escalade.
Angela was not at all happy with me and also concerned. When I told him how involved and nosy my boss was, Octavius told me to tell her I was quitting because I’d met someone.
“You’ve met someone? When?” Angela had snapped.
“A while ago. We’ve been keeping it on the down low.”
She’d narrowed her eyes because I never used the phrase ‘the down low’. “Oh really? Who is this guy?”
“Whatever you do, don’t go into detail.”
“Look, I’ll tell you about it all later but I have so much to do and he’s waiting for me. Here’s my resignation letter.” I’d dropped it on her desk.
“You owe me a month’s notice.”
“I can’t.” I’d felt like crying because this was irresponsible and so not me.
“You in trouble, Scar? You can tell me if you’re in trouble.”
“I’m not.”
Angela had shaken her head in disappointment. “Girl, I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”
“Angela, honestly I’m fine. I just… I’m so sorry I’m leaving you in the lurch, but one day I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
Her expression had veered between furious and worried. “I can’t give you a reference if you don’t work your notice.”
That had hurt but I’d known before I quit that she wouldn’t be able to.
It was really hard walking out of the building without bursting into tears. When Octavius’s driver, Shawn, had opened the door for me, I’d looked back up at the library that had been my life for the last eighteen months and seen Angela standing at the top of the steps. I’d tensed, watching her expression darken with concern, and then I’d hurried into the Escalade.
Mrs. Donovan had not been any easier. In fact, when she saw the black Escalade I had to work really hard to convince her not to call the cops.
“Jesus, woman,” Octavius had grumbled because it had taken so long for me and Shawn to collect all my stuff and convince Mrs. Donovan I was okay. “Watching how fucking quiet your life is I thought this shit would be easy.”
“Some people actually care about other people,” I’d dared to say.
To my surprise, he’d grinned at me appreciatively. “I did hear that somewhere.”
After we were done dispensing with what had been my life, Octavius set us up with rooms at XV Beacon, a luxury boutique hotel on Beacon Street in the heart of the city and a few minutes’ walk from the Commons. The next two days were a whirlwind of appointments. First, my sister’s pimp (because that’s what he was, right?) took me to an upscale beauty salon where I was waxed (and holy wow did that hurt!), filed, primped and glossed up until I was shiny and new but exhausted. I got a manicure, a pedicure, my eyebrows waxed, too, and I reluctantly let them put layers in my long hair. They also showed me how to create soft, beachy waves with a flat iron. Since I didn’t own a flat iron, Octavius purchased one from the salon. The whole time he was waited on hand and foot in the salon reception while he conducted business from his phone.
He forced me to join him for dinner that night and I reluctantly admitted to myself that as scary as he could be Octavius could also be incredibly charming. Now that he knew I was definitely signed up to take on my sister’s job, he had relaxed with me. I still hated him for putting me in this position and I think he knew that, but I also got the strangest impression that he enjoyed my annoyed quips and scowls when he used crude language. He also got on at me like a mother hen when I played with my food.
“Baby, eat something. You’re gonna lose weight and those fucking gorgeous curves.”
He’d also taken to calling me “baby” which was odd.
“It’s hard to eat when I’m this nervous,” I’d snapped.
He’d just grinned at me and tapped a hand near my plate. “Eat.”
The day after the primping session Octavius told me I was meeting with a stylist that Griffin Mandeville had hired. Everything we bought would be on Mandeville’s tab.
It occurred to me that this mysterious man who was to be my husband had a surname that broke down to “Man De Ville” (Man Devil!) and I really hoped he didn’t live up to his name.
Octavius wasn’t allowed at this appointment because the stylist had been led to believe I really was Griffin’s girlfriend. It was my first test at deception.
The stylist had met me at Dolce & Gabbana on Newbury Street. She was a slender Asian beauty with wide-set, large dark eyes and round full lips. She wore her long hair in a sleek ponytail. The red dress she wore was conservative but stylish, fitting the lines of her long body perfectly. Dark red pumps finished the look. A delicate rose-gold watch and bracelet were the only adornments she wore, the bracelet tinkling against the watch as she shook my hand.
Her name was Anna and I’d tried not to be intimidated by her modelesque beauty. I’d also wondered how Griffin Mandeville knew her. Griffin was still a complete mystery, and would remain so because one of the first things Octavius did was confiscate my phone. That meant I couldn’t google my future husband.
Anna’s gaze had dragged down my body and back up again. She’d beamed. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“What’s our objective?” I’d asked.
She’d frowned. “Mr. Mandeville didn’t discuss it with you?”
I’d tried not to flush. “No, he just told me to trust you.”
Anna’s grin widened. “And you can. Did Mr. Mandeville discuss anything with you?”
“Um…” I’d hedged. “He’s not really a man who likes explaining himself.”
“I got that impression. Alright.” She’d gestured to the store beyond us with its designer clothing. “We’re here to create a new wardrobe that will be suitable for life in Boston Society. Our objective is sexy-conservative, classy, elegance.” She’d studied the shirt and pencil skirt I wore. “You’re almost there actually. Is this how you normally dress?”
I’d nodded. “Except I usually pin my hair up.”
“No, your hair
is divine, keep it as it is. The pencil skirts are good. We’ll definitely add more of those to your wardrobe but the shirt is a little too ‘librarian’.”
I’d had to stifle a smile at that.
As lovely as Anna was, the day was the most exhausting by far. She dragged me all over Newbury Street and in and out of boutiques on Charles Street. Everything but the outfit I’d be wearing to meet Mandeville in was sent to his penthouse which happened to be on the top floor of his club The Patrician.
Where I currently was with Octavius.
The Patrician was an imposing building on Commonwealth Avenue. Octavius told me it was built in the late 1800s as a gentleman’s club and was heavily influenced by the Greco-Roman revival movement with its tiered columned balconies. It transformed to a private social club for men and women in the 1970s, but had lost popularity. Mandeville bought it, and with a gambling license turned it into a private members-only gambling house. He employed one of the best chefs in the world to cater to his members, served the best champagne, scotch, gin—whatever they wanted— and it flowed freely. And, Octavius warned me, there were private rooms available for members to do with each whatever the hell they liked.
It was a club of decadence and pleasure-seeking.
And extremely popular. There were over two thousand members, not all of them living in Boston, and I’d nearly passed out when Octavius told me the annual cost of membership.
“How do you know so much about the place?” I asked as I waited nervously for my husband-to-be to make an appearance.
Octavius lounged on a comfortable leather sofa and shrugged. “I like history.”
Another surprise.
The club was tastefully decorated from the little I’d seen of it. We’d been allowed entrance into the building by two huge doormen, and met by a man dressed like a butler. The main foyer of the club was epic because every level (I’d soon learn except for the top level) looked down onto the foyer so it had epic height made even more dramatic by the presence of an astonishing crystal chandelier. The foyer floor was a pale blonde marble with Aubusson rugs down the center. Although there were several doors leading to other rooms off the center to be curious about, I was transfixed by the seating area in the middle. A wide staircase on the left led up to the other levels, but down the middle of the foyer on top of the Aubusson rugs were two different seating areas. One had four beautifully-crafted champagne velvet button-back armchairs seated around two black glass coffee tables. Beyond those at the far end of the room was a large fireplace with two champagne velvet throne chairs with decorative feet and arms. It was too warm for the fire to be lit but I imagined how cozy it would be when it was.
