by Roxy Reid
I snatch up the envelope and remove the hefty contract. Of course, I’ve seen it before. I definitely haven’t bothered to read the entire thing cover-to-cover. It’s a million pages long and I have better things to do, after all.
“Page fifty-seven,” Maximilian says, as though reading my mind.
I flip to the page in question and read. And read. All the fine print, all the nitty-gritty details. There, in the middle of the page, is a clause I didn’t know existed. A clause which, had I seen it before, would likely have altered my life quite some time ago.
“This says if I’m not married by the time I’m thirty I won’t inherit Banks Industries.” I look at my father in complete disbelief. “Is this for real?”
“I suggest you keep reading,” Father growls forebodingly.
I do so, though my brain is running a mile a minute and it takes some time for the words to formulate themselves into concrete ideas in my head. After I’ve read about two pages worth, I look back up at my father. “It’s not just the company,” I say quietly.
“No.”
“It’s everything. The family fortune. The estate. I’ll lose everything.”
Father smiles humorlessly. “Unless you are married within the next ten months. Yes.” He stands and goes to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “I will own Banks Industries until I breathe my last breath, at which point your brother will inherit the company. Kevin has made it clear he does not want it, so Banks Industries will be turned over to our trust, assigned a new CEO, and the family name will be discredited and forgotten.”
“You can’t be serious,” I sputter. I feel a sudden wave of nausea come over me that doesn’t involve my hangover. “This is ludicrous. You really think me being married will signify … what? Settling down? Since when can a bachelor not run a successful business? Did you write this fifty years ago?”
“This clause has always been there,” Father snaps. “Since the beginning of the Banks empire. It was in my contract, and in my father’s, and in his father’s before that and so on. Again, if you’d bothered to read it, you would have known that.” I shut my mouth, but the urge to scream is still clawing its way up my throat. “The clause has less to do with you actually being married than it does with you getting your act together.”
“I have been running Banks Industries on my own for five years,” I say insolently. “What more evidence do you need of my act being together?”
“A lot more,” Father snaps. “You really think coasting is enough? And it is coasting, Max, don’t even try to deny it. You’re still partying every weekend, hungover every morning. Sleeping with every girl dumb enough to pay you attention. Embarrassing me and tarnishing the family name with each tabloid that catches you dicking around. This is not the sort of person to whom I will be passing everything I have worked damn hard for my entire life. And why should I?”
It feels as though there’s no longer any air in this room. I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, struggling to hear my father over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
He isn’t finished. “You may be my son, but you are not a true Banks. And until you get married, clean up your act and start acting like a real grown-up, you won’t be. You have less than a year until your thirtieth birthday. I suggest you give everything I’ve said a good, long think.” He turns back to the window, his back to me.
I clench my fists on my knees and take a deep breath. It’s the only thing I can think of. It’s insane, but it just might work. “You’re mistaken, Father.”
He doesn’t move.
“It wasn’t just meaningless sex with Ella. In fact, I’m in love with her.”
This actually manages to astound him. He turns towards me, sunlight winking off the limited-edition Rolex on his wrist. “Is that so? I can’t imagine how that’s possible after knowing her less than twenty-four hours.”
It in fact has been less than twenty-four hours since I met Ella, but that’s not the point. “I’ve actually known her for a few months now,” I lie through my teeth. “We met at a gallery opening in SoHo. It’s serious, with her. I’m sorry you overheard our little spat earlier. Neither of us was aware that you’d hired her as my assistant. So it’s been a little awkward.”
His eyes narrow even further so that they are just gleaming blue sits in his large, ruddy face. He walks back to his desk and sits down heavily in his chair, clasping his hands over his slightly protruding belly. “Why should I believe you? You never mentioned anything about her.”
“We’ve been keeping our relationship on the down low,” I explain. I can feel sweat begin to bead at my hairline, and try to brush it away without making it too obvious. “Her parents are very traditional. They wouldn’t approve of their daughter moving in with someone before she’s married, let alone having sex out of wedlock.”
“Do you mean to tell me she has moved in with you? Now I know you’re lying. We put her up in the Waterford building until she finds somewhere else to live.”
Damn. Forgot about that. “It’s just for show, I’m afraid,” I reply. “She’s been living with me for several weeks now. In fact … we’re engaged.”
My father’s face has gone a peculiar shade of pink, accented by white beard. “This is outrageous.” He stands again, and I’m counting down the seconds until he well and truly explodes. “Get out of my sight. I’ll decide what to do with you later.”
“It’s true, father,” I persist, not budging from my seat. “We were going to tell you soon but then, well, things got complicated.”
“I didn’t see a ring on her finger,” he bellows.
“She took it off when we realized we were working in the same place,” I reply as calmly as I can manage.
“Where is it, then? Let me see it.”
“Father!” I cry, standing up. I have several inches on him and I relish in my ability to stare down at him. “We were just talking about how you want me to settle down, how important it is that I do so. I’m telling you now I’m in love! You said yourself she has a good head on her shoulders. She’s wonderful and everything I didn’t even know I’ve been searching for. Would it kill you to for once be happy for me?”
Maximilian Banks searches my face for several long, uncomfortable minutes. Then he sits down, evidently as exhausted as I am about the whole thing. I wait a few moments before sitting myself. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You love her?” he asks quietly after several more moments of uncomfortable silence.
“Yes.” I really am sweating.
“Is her happiness more important to you than your own?”
“Yes.”
“And will it be for the rest of your life?”
Deep breath. “Yes,” I say. “Absolutely.”
If looks could kill, my father would have an extensive body count to his name. His eyes pierce me in a way that no other human can. Then he looks away, back to the work on his desk. He picks up his pen. “There’s no way in hell I’m believing this nonsense without concrete proof,” he says. “Leave my sight.”
Taking my cue for dismissal, I stand and walk towards the door. Before I exit I stop and glance at him over my shoulder. “I will marry Ella, Father,” I say quietly. “And I will make you proud of me. That’s a promise.” He doesn’t look up as I leave the office, shutting the door softly behind me.
I pause for a moment outside his office, taking deep breaths to try and calm my raging insides. So I haven’t quite convinced my father, but he will need to see it to believe it. He’s not my main concern right now anyway. Now I have to convince Ella, who I’m pretty sure hates my fucking guts by now and who frankly I’m not too fond of either, to marry me as soon as possible.
As if on cue, Ella comes around the corner carrying my coffee and whisky. She hands it to me and I take a long, grateful swig, enjoying the warm sensation pooling in my stomach as the whisky hits it. Ella looks a bit less angry than she did earlier, but I can tell she is still wary. I fix her with my most dazzling sm
ile and bite the bullet. “See me in my office after lunch, Miss Diaz. I have a proposition for you.”
4
Ella
I think I’ve escaped for now, even if it’s just for lunch hour, to a small cafe a few blocks away from the office. Most people seem to just hit up the small food court on the first floor for lunch, but I figure if I expand my radius I’m less likely to run into Max again, which is priority number one right now.
I honestly don’t know how I am going to stick with this job. I need to stay for at least a year, both to dig myself and my family out of our financial hole, and also for the position to be worth anything on my resume. But at this rate between Max and his father I’m unlikely to get a great reference anyway, and I don’t think having a criminal record from strangling one or both of them will help me much with future job hunts.
I’m not sure if it’s blatant sexism or just plain ignorance on the Banks’ part, but either way their HR department is going to have a hell of a time if they keep this up.
The cafe is semi-crowded, but I manage to find a spot in the corner to sit and eat my lukewarm turkey sandwich and drink my bitter coffee. I’m drafting a formal complaint letter in my head when the bell above the door dings and a familiar whiff of Helmut Lang drifts in. I bury my head in my phone as best as I can, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook but not actually seeing any of it. Please don’t see me. Please don’t—
“There you are.” Crap. He found me, damn it all. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” When I don’t respond, he invites himself to sit at my table and heaves a heavy sigh that for once doesn’t feel sardonic in nature. “I owe you an apology, Ella,” he says.
I finally lift my head and meet his gaze full-on. If he is even capable of looking sincere, this must be as close as it gets. “For what?” I ask innocently.
“For how this entire day has gone. For how I’ve treated you.” He scrubs a hand over the dark stubble decorating his sharp jaw. “I’m really ashamed, actually.”
“Really.” I sit back in my seat and fold my arms across my chest. I am not buying any of this, yet.
He nods. “My father can be … well, you met him. He tends to bring out the worst in me.”
“And this morning, in my apartment? Your father wasn’t around then, and you were still the worst.” I’m not letting him off the hook so easily. If he thinks he can sweet-talk me into forgiving him, he has another thing coming.
He winces, then shoots me an abashed grin. “Not my most tactful moment, either,” he says. “I’ve been … under a lot of stress lately, and … not that that’s an excuse for being a dick, but you know … Anyway. I don’t want to make excuses, I just wanted you to know how sorry I am. And I promise to clean up my act from now on.”
I nod circumspectly and take a long sip of coffee. “Well,” I say, setting the to-go cup down once more, “I guess we will see in the coming days if you really mean that.”
“I do.” The sunlight glints off the Rolex on his wrist. “But I can understand why you wouldn’t take that at face-value, given the day’s events. I need to earn your trust. I get it.”
Eager to talk about literally anything but this anymore, I change the subject. “So what’s this proposition you have for me?” I ask casually, taking another bite of sandwich. I notice he is not eating anything—in fact, he hasn’t even ordered yet. Then I remember the two shots of whiskey he’s had today, and my jaw tightens. I cannot let my guard down for a single second with this guy. Danger, Will Robinson!
He waves this away and sits back in his seat. “We can talk about that after lunch,” he says. “You enjoy your meal. I’ll see you back at the office.” With that, he gets up and exits the cafe, leaving behind only the faint scent of his expensive cologne.
Suddenly no longer hungry, I ball up the rest of my sandwich to save for later. What is Max Banks up to?
I procrastinate going back to the office as long as possible, but the hour winds down quicker than I would like. I loiter at my desk, setting up my picture frames and getting things organized. I can hear Max in his office, talking on the phone. Good. The longer I can put off being alone with him, the better.
It’s another half hour before Max emerges from his office. He casually strolls over to my desk and leans on the cubicle wall, watching me sort office supplies into a desk organizer. He glances at the photos I’ve placed on the shelves above my desk and picks one up. “Is this your mom?” he asks.
I barely glance at him. “Yes.”
“She’s beautiful,” he says.
I give him a withering look. The photo is of my mother shortly after a bout of chemo-related sickness, with an air cannula under her nose and a scarf wrapped around her bald head. Not that she isn’t beautiful, but it’s not quite the word I would have chosen for that particular photo. “She had lung cancer,” I explain stiffly. “She’s in remission now, but …” I trail off, not wanting to get further into personal details with Max Banks.
“She seems like a tough broad,” he says graciously. He puts the frame back and peers at the others. “You got a military man in the family?” he asks, pointing to another photo.
I clench my jaw. “My brother.” He doesn’t need to know any more than that, really. This morning I debated bringing that photo to work with me. Maybe I will bring it home after all.
“My brother served as well,” Max says, smiling down at me. “Three tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq.”
This captures my attention. “Really?”
“He’s been back for a few years now, but … well, he hasn’t really been the same, you know. He doesn’t like to talk about what he saw over there.” Max picks up the photo of my brother and looks at it more closely. “Handsome fella. You look alike,” he adds with a glance towards me.
I bite my lip. “We’re twins, actually,” I tell him softly. “I’m three minutes older, though, so I always say he’s my baby brother.”
Max laughs. “Yeah, Kevin’s my little bro as well. Being in the military kind of exempt him from any familial expectations regarding the company. Lucky bastard.”
I smile despite myself. “Is he married?”
The smile fades from Max’s face. “He was,” he says quietly, putting the photo of my brother back. “Like I said, after he got back from touring he wasn’t the same. I think his wife tried, but …” There’s an awkward silence before Max finally says, “Anyway, why don’t you come into my office? I still want to talk to you about that thing I mentioned earlier.”
“Yes, sir.” I follow him into his office, leaving the door open behind me. He doesn’t protest, just gestures to the chair on the other side of his desk. I sit, trying to relax.
“So,” he says, getting comfortable in his own chair. “Like I said, I have a proposition to make.”
“Shoot,” I say, opening my notebook and positioning my pen to start writing.
He smiles at me. “You won’t be needing that.” When I don’t move, he takes a deep breath and presses on. “When my father brought me into his office earlier today, he uh … made some very serious threats regarding my current standing in Banks Industries.”
“He threatened to fire you?” I ask. “Is it because of our … conversation earlier?”
“Well, that was kind of the match that lit the looooooong fuse,” he explains with a rueful smile. A dimple jumps out of his left cheek. God, why do the hottest guys have to be such jerks? “I managed to persuade him to keep me on, though, on one condition.”
“What condition is that?”
He taps his pencil on the surface of his desk. “I have to get married before I turn thirty,” he says.
I bite back a laugh. Maximilian Banks Senior seems like just the type of father to inflict such a ridiculous requirement on his son. “When do you turn thirty?” I ask.
“In ten months.” Max is actually starting to look somewhat uncomfortable. “But there’s a bunch of other stuff that has to happen, too. A so-called cleaning up of my act, you know. F
ather doesn’t approve of … some of my extra-curricular activities.”
“Right.” This time I do laugh. He has the good grace to laugh too. “So, what would you like me to do, boss?” I ask. “Find you a wife? I can set you up on Tinder, though I think Bumble may have better wife material.”
“Not quite,” he says. “You see, uh … back in Father’s office, when he dropped this bomb, I kind of panicked? And, well … I may have told him that I’m already engaged.” He pauses. “To you.”
I drop my pen. “I’m sorry, what now?”
“I know it was stupid, god knows I know it was the stupidest thing I could have said.” He looks at me pleadingly. “The thing is now it could be the only thing that saves my position within the company.”
“I don’t understand,” I sputter. “What does your being married have to do with your place with Banks Industries? Did we time travel back fifty years?”
Max suddenly bursts out laughing. “That’s exactly what I said,” he chokes out. “I know it’s crazy. But it would only have to be for less than a year. Once I’ve turned thirty I’ll inherit the company, and Robert’s your uncle.”
I blink several times, my brain racing to process what this man is actually saying. “Hold up. You can’t actually be serious. You’re not seriously asking me to marry you.”
Max reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a tiny, black velvet box. “In fact, I am.” He opens the box, revealing a giant rock on a silver band. “I’m desperate, Ella. Please. Just for a year.”
I look from him to the ring and back again. It’s the gaudiest thing I’ve ever seen, and likely cost him a small fortune. Something inside me snaps, and suddenly I’m laughing hysterically. A few people stop to glance into his office, drawn by the sound of me completely losing it. Tears are starting to run down my face before I get a hold of myself, clutching my aching gut.
Max hasn’t moved. “I deserve that,” he mutters, eyes on his desk.
