Fake Marriage (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Ajme Williams

  When he first came up to me, there was a look on his face like maybe he did recognize me, but then it was gone. Not that he treated me any different as Erica as he had when I was Leslie. There was still the disdain. The arrogance. The conceit. It was a relief he didn’t realize who I was, even as it was annoying. Had I been so forgettable? Yes.

  The next morning, I woke in my little motel room to my phone ringing. Looking at the caller ID I saw it was the editor of Nebraska Now magazine, the outlet that was paying to write the piece on Stark.

  “Erica Edmonds,” I answered.

  “Erica, it’s Floria.”

  “Yes, hello. How are you?”

  There was a sigh. “Listen, we’re killing the piece on Stark.”

  I bolted up to sit in the creaky bed. “What?”

  “The article on Stark. We’re killing it. We’ll pay for whatever you’ve done up until today, per the contract, but beyond that, consider the story dead.”

  “You can’t do that.” Of course, they could, but the story was too important to kill.

  “Your contract—”

  “Yes, I know you can kill the story, what I mean is that this is a good story. It will make many who live in rural Nebraska realize they have a voice. Why would you kill it?”

  “Not me. Mr. Himes, the publisher. He’s killing it. Something about not wanting to be sued for stalking or harassment.”

  “That’s part of getting a story.” I rubbed my hand over my face, hoping this was a dream.

  “Is it true you haven’t talked to Stark or interviewed anyone in his camp?”

  “It’s taken time to talk with town members and I’m following this election.”

  “You’ve had months, Erica. I went through the notes you’ve sent and I don’t see any quotes or comments from Stark.”

  “I just wanted to have all the other pieces in place. You know how he is. He’s slippery and wily.”

  “Look, I get that the piece won’t be flattering, but there’s something more to this. Like you have a personal investment in it. Mr. Himes doesn’t want to be a part of some sort of vendetta.”

  My back stiffened. “I’m a professional.”

  “Then why haven’t you talked to Stark yet?”

  There was silence because I didn’t have an answer that would be acceptable.

  “I’m sorry Erica. I know you’ve worked hard. Maybe you can sell it somewhere else when it’s done, although I’d be careful. I don’t think Stark wants this story printed.”

  I gave myself a mental facepalm for not seeing it sooner. He had to have unleashed his lawyers on the publisher of the magazine and of course, under the threat of being sued, especially since I hadn’t yet interviewed him, I could see why they backed out. God, I should have known he’d do something like this.

  I could argue that Stark shouldn’t be able to intimidate the press, but this was a magazine, and it wouldn’t want to go up against a billionaire, especially since they didn’t have my complete story.

  When I hung up, I wanted to throw my phone across the room and scream. What a bastard Stark was. Of course, he’d use his influence to kill the story. That was the type of man he was. I was a professional journalist, but the truth was, I wanted the world to know the kind of man that he was. He wasn’t a golden boy. After what he’d done to me five years ago, I wanted people to see him for what he really was. A self-absorbed, conceited, vindictive man.

  I closed my eyes, and couldn’t stop the memory of his cruelty from flooding back.

  I wanted to believe it was a dream. That the last six weeks with Simon was an illusion because I couldn’t believe it was true. I’d thought for sure after that first night together, I’d never see him again. But I did. He called to make sure I got home alright and asked me out again the next day. That Saturday, we spent the entire day together, and the night. This time I didn’t go home. It was a dream come true.

  Six months in, I was at work looking at my calendar, and realized I was late on my period. Scared and at the same time excited, I ran out to get a pregnancy test. Positive. To make sure it was true, I made a doctor’s appointment.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  I was grinning at the doctor even as I worried how Simon would take it. How would my mother? Simon and I weren’t married, and while I loved him, I didn’t know how he felt about me. It was still too early to know if we’d last.

  Even so, I had to hold onto the fact that he acted like he loved me. He’d told me many times that I was different. That he could trust me. That smile of his that hid something of him, was dissipating. We’d be okay, right?

  Afraid yet hopeful, I gathered my courage to tell him about the baby as we snuggled on the couch after a lovely dinner.

  “Simon.”

  “Yes, love.” He kissed me on the temple, a sweet gesture that always made my insides melt.

  “I’m pregnant.” I rushed on. “I know we haven’t been together long, but I care for you and this child.”

  His body went rigid. He stood and walked to the bar, and my stomach dropped. He hadn’t said anything, but I could tell, he wasn’t happy about this news.

  He poured a finger of bourbon and gulped it down. Then he looked at me with those dark eyes. “You have one chance to tell me the truth, Leslie.”

  I wanted to hide from his glare. “I found out today. Well, for sure today. I saw a doctor. I’m pregnant.”

  He shook his head and then threw his glass against the wall, making me flinch. “Get out!”

  What? “Simon—”

  “Get out!” he roared again.

  I stood on wobbly legs and managed to leave his penthouse. Maybe he needed time to absorb the news? So, I tried again. I called, leaving him messages that I loved him and his child. I texted and emailed. I even wrote him a letter and mailed it. He didn’t reply to any of them.

  A week later, I got a call from his lawyer who told me that Simon was prepared to take legal action against me if I didn’t stop harassing him.

  I grew up a lot that day. Oh sure, I could have forced a paternity test and made him provide for the beautiful little boy I had nine months later. But the last thing I needed was my son being raised by a man like Stark. He made it clear he didn’t want a child. And he didn’t want me. So, alright then.

  I thought about calling the perfect being we’d made, my sweet Mason, but I knew I was too upset right now to talk to him. Besides, now that my story was killed, I could go home and see him. It was always hard to leave him when I’d come to Salvation. Although I could drive it in a day, I often stayed overnight. Sometimes several nights, while Mason stayed with my mother.

  I got up and showered, and washing away the sting of Simon’s actions, I realized that Floria was right. While Nebraska Now wasn’t going to run the story, I could sell it elsewhere. Maybe I could find a national magazine that would want it.

  One thing was for sure, I thought as I packed my clothes, Simon hadn’t seen the last of me yet.

  3

  Simon

  There was one thing I was looking for when I moved to Salvation that I actually found and that was peace and quiet, at least at home. I had space and room to be alone. But sometimes, even in the quiet of my home, the peace was broken. Usually it was when I was sleeping and I’d dream of Leslie. The dreams were less frequent now five years later, but one came back with a vengeance last night.

  In my dreams, she was like I remembered before she lied. She was sweet. Kind. Always smiling and happy. She was like the sun radiating a warmth and happiness I’d never felt before. Six weeks into our relationship, I was seriously thinking of asking her to marry me. In my dream, she’d give me that gorgeous wide smile and say yes and for the first time in my life, I felt true joy.

  Of course, when I woke, reality set in. Her disposition had been an act to get me to love and trust her. And for good measure, try to trick me with a pregnancy. I wondered how long it would have taken for her to tell me she lost the baby to hide her deceit if I’d gone
along with her story. Of course, having been snipped, there was no chance she was pregnant, at least not by me.

  The worst part of waking after one of these dreams was the moment in which the yearning was so acute, I didn’t give a fuck if she was lying. I just wanted her here. Fortunately, the bastard part of me would finally wake up and remind me that all her sweetness wasn’t real.

  After waking and shaking the memory of Leslie out of my head, I made my way to the indoor pool that had been the final piece of perfection in buying this house. I swam my laps, letting my head empty of everything. Or I tried. I couldn’t get that damned reporter out of my head which was strange. Once I sent a nuisance packing, I normally forgot them. But there was something about her that stuck in my head in an endless loop. I was tormented by two women, neither of which I could seem to get rid of.

  Done with my swim, I showered and dressed, had breakfast and then drove out to meet with Jay about the last two weeks of the election. There was a debate coming up and I wanted him to be on point. I needed him to look confident and strong.

  I was sure he could be mayor and help me get my foothold into Salvation, but it was going to be a challenge to beat Sinclair Jones. As I left Jay’s house, I wasn’t feeling any better about his chances of winning.

  I put the top down in my car to enjoy the spring air as I made my way back to my place, which was closer to town but still on the outskirts of the east side. I decided to push my luck and pressed the accelerator a little more, loving the whoosh of the air and adrenaline that came with driving fast.

  I was still several miles from my home when I saw a car pulled over on the other side of the road. I was passing it when I realized the lovely hour-glass figure standing by the broken down car was Erica Edmonds.

  Karma’s a bitch, I thought. Even so, I slowed down, and made a U-Turn. I could be an asshole, but not even I would leave a woman stranded on the side of the road by herself. Salvation was a safe town, but this road was well traveled by outsiders. Anyone of them could be a serial killer.

  I pulled up behind her car and parked. The minute she saw me, her eyes went flat.

  “As if my day couldn’t get any worse,” she quipped.

  “Sorry love, it’s me or the serial killers.” Okay, so that was creepy. I took the lug wrench and squatted down next to the tire. She’d gotten most of the lugnuts off. I put the socket of the lug wrench around the lugnut and attempted to loosen it without success. I inspected it and noticed it was rusted tight.

  I looked up at her. She stood with her arms crossed and an amused look on her face. “Trouble?”

  I put the wrench down. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift to my place and you can call a tow truck.”

  I could see the tug of war in her eyes.

  “You can call and wait here,” I said, starting toward my car. “Or you can come with me, have a drink and I’ll arrange for the car to be fixed and brought to you at my home.” I shook my head. What the fuck did I care what she did? And yet, I found myself hoping she took me up on my offer.

  I opened my car door. She made her way to me and got in beside me. I pulled out into the road, making a U-turn again to head back toward my house. As I came into the westbound lane, a sweet scent filled my nostrils. Like a Pavlovian dog, my heart thudded and my blood warmed. I hadn’t inhaled that scent in years. Five years. Not since Leslie. The thought of her filled me with anger and sadness and yearning. God, I thought she’d been different, but she was worse. She wasn’t just a gold digger, lying to me about being pregnant, but she’d been able to get past my defenses. To make me believe in love.

  I glanced at Erica. Was she related to Leslie? She had a similar body, curvy just like I liked. But her hair was straight and she didn’t wear glasses. Still, there was something to the curve of her neck. The slight upturn of her nose.

  She turned to look at me. Her brow arched as if she was saying, “what are you looking at?”

  I couldn’t stop myself. “Leslie?”

  She flinched and turned away. “I go by Erica now.”

  Holy fucking shit. It was Leslie. How had I not seen it before? The mixture of need and hate grew stronger.

  “You were writing a story about me? Still trying to profit from me.” I let the anger take control. “Were you going to write about how I used to fuck you? Or how you were a gold digger?” I gripped the steering wheel as we blasted along the highway. “Thank goodness I got the story killed.”

  “Pull over.” Her eyes were hot as she seethed next to me. “I don’t want to be here with you. And for your information, I wasn’t going to say anything about our past relationship.”

  I let out a derisive laugh. “Yeah, because everyone then would know what a conniving…woman you are.”

  “Because I’m a professional.”

  “You’re nothing of the sort.”

  Her jaw tightened and I could tell she was wishing the worst sort of pain on me. “I was going to tell the world about your petty, vindictiveness in business and how the town of Salvation beat you. I’m a journalist, not a gossip columnist.”

  Jesus, I should just pull over and let her out. “You have some nerve after what you did. And you’re still trying to make money off me. Talk about vindictive. You’re not a professional. This is personal for you. I found out about you and got rid of you and this is your revenge.”

  “You don't know anything about anything.”

  “Why are you even still here? The story is dead.”

  “Nebraska Now killed it, but it’s not dead. As we speak, I have queries out to several magazines. Some of them are national.”

  I looked at her wondering how a woman could act so loving and yet be so deceitful and dishonest. Yes, I was an asshole, but I never hid that. I could be polite and charming, but it wasn’t a ruse. It wasn’t like Leslie’s black widow behavior luring someone into a web. I was angry, but at that moment, I felt like I had that night when I realized all the hopes and dreams that I’d had for loving life with her were all an illusion.

  I flipped on the blinker even though no cars were coming. I turned to my drive, the gate of my home automatically opening as my car was equipped with an automatic opener.

  “Leave me out here.”

  I drove through the gate. “I’ll get your car fixed and you can get out of town. The sooner the better.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “It’s no bother.” I skidded to a halt in front of my home. I turned her to her, hating that seeing her face could conjure up such emotion in me. “Don’t kid yourself Leslie or Erica or whatever you go by now. You’re not professional. You’re out to get me because you weren’t able to dupe me into marriage.”

  Her eyes flashed with confusion but quickly morphed back into anger. “This is about stopping your terrorizing of a town.”

  I shook my head. “If you’re a professional, then you should have interviewed me or people who know me. This is your chance, love—”

  “Stop calling me that.” It was the first sign of emotion other than anger I saw in her. Like the word brought back something bittersweet for her, just like she did to me. But she was an actress and I couldn’t trust her behavior.

  “You have until your car is fixed and delivered to ask me questions.”

  “Like you’d tell me the truth.”

  “First off, I don’t lie. Second, I’m pretty sure professional journalists always talk to all parties whether they think they’re going to be lied to or not.”

  She let out a frustrated grunt. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” I got out and would have gone around to open her door. I did have manners, but she got out on her own and stalked up my front steps.

  I watched her for a moment feeling like this was a bad idea. Not that she’d print something bad. I knew that was her goal. No this was a bad idea because despite everything, I wanted her. I desperately wanted that dream I concocted for us and even though my head told me it was all a sham, my heart yearned for it to be real.

 
4

  Erica

  What the hell was I thinking? I should have never gotten in the car with him. I definitely shouldn’t have been walking into his house. And yet, he was guiding me to his office while he told a man named Marvin to call for a tow truck and to get my car serviced and brought here.

  I replayed our conversation in the car. He had some nerve making me out to be the bad guy. He still thought I’d lied about the baby. That I was just duping him to get money. I decided to let him think that for now. The last thing I needed was for a bastard like him to be a part of my son’s life. A part of me felt that was wrong, and yet, I’d done my part. I’d told him about the baby and he was the one who chose not to be involved.

  I was holding onto my anger pretty well until a moment that he looked at me like I’d ruined his life. Like I’d killed his dream. He was a man that kept his thoughts and feelings well-guarded, but in that moment, I thought I saw him. The man I’d fallen in love with.

  Of course, that was probably wishful thinking. The truth was, while I knew that my time with him was clouded by my fairy tale dreams that weren’t real, I still wanted that. Even now, I had dreams of him where he was sweet and kind. Where he was a loving father to Mason. But dreams weren’t real. I had to remind myself of that. This was the man who did rotten things to mess up people’s lives, including killing my story.

  In his office, he went to a bar and poured a drink. I walked over to the bay window and looked out although I didn’t really notice what was there.

  “Why are you letting me interview you when we both know you’ll work to kill the story,” I finally asked. My voice was dull. Like I’d lost all my steam.