The Loophole (Firsts and Forever #12)

1. Embry

1

Embry

I loved hanging out in coffee houses, because they were the perfect place to eavesdrop. Okay, yes, the drinks and pastries were good too, but my fellow customers were more entertaining than most TV shows.

On this particular Tuesday evening, I’d been picking sides in a squabble between siblings, while watching a hipster with an honest-to-god manual typewriter slowly peck out the Great American Novel with one finger.

This was San Francisco, so the typewriter wasn’t even that weird. But this particular hipster was doubly entertaining because every time he finished a sentence, he’d read it out loud. The last one was, “My ennui sat upon me with the crushing weight of infinite dying suns.” Just wow.

Then the holy grail of eavesdropping opportunities presented itself. A blind date began to unfold at the table behind me. It started out pretty lackluster, though.

“Hey, you must be Bryson. I’m Theresa.”

“Yes, hi, thanks for coming. Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine with water.”

“Okay. Um, have you been here before?” To Starbucks? Dude, step up your game.

“I usually go to the one by my office, but they’re all pretty much the same, right?”

“I guess so.” Poor guy, he sounded nervous. He had a nice voice, though. I wanted to turn around and find out what he looked like, but since he was directly behind me, all I’d see was the back of his head. “You work as an administrative assistant, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“How do you like it?”

“It pays the bills, but it’s only temporary.”

“Yeah, your profile mentioned you’re an actress. That’s actually why I decided to reach out to you.” That was a little odd.

“That’s a little odd.” I had to fight back a giggle when she said exactly what I’d been thinking. “Do you have an acting fetish or something?”

“No. The thing is, I’m not exactly looking for a date.” Huh?

“Huh?” This woman and I were definitely on the same page. I wondered if he was cute, at least. I could forgive a lot of quirks if a guy was cute.

“I want to get married.” Dude, too soon!

“That’s nice. I do too, someday. Like, maybe in five years, or?—”

“No, the thing is, I have to get married now. I’m on a deadline.”

“Are you trying to get your U.S. citizenship? Because I can sympathize, but?—”

He cut her off again, this time with, “No, it’s a condition of my inheritance.” Plot twist! “I need to get married this month, or I’ll lose a small fortune. It doesn’t matter who I marry, as long as it happens before December twenty-second.” Just what every girl wanted to hear.

“What the hell?”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said. “I need a one-year commitment because I’ll only get the money after being married for a year. At that point, I’ll pay you a hundred thousand dollars.”

I heard the sharp sound of a chair scraping over the floor as Theresa yelled, “You’re trying to pay me to be with you? What do I look like, a whore? Fuck you, you overprivileged douchebag!”

“No, it’s not like that! I?—”

He never got to finish that sentence, because she threw her drink in his face and stormed off. Fortunately, it was just water, since I was caught by the overspray. I heard heels clicking and turned to see a petite blonde stomping out the door. Good for her.

That bit of coffee house drama attracted the attention of everyone within earshot. Twenty heads swiveled in our direction. But there wasn’t much to see anymore, so they soon returned to whatever they were doing before this guy publicly humiliated himself.

As I used a napkin to dry the back of my head, I heard a soft, defeated sigh behind me. Surprisingly, he was still sitting there.

Then I started thinking. Assuming he’d been telling the truth about all of that, a hundred grand was a hell of a lot of money. It was life changing. I currently had twelve dollars in the bank and seven in my pocket. I’d had no business coming here and buying a small hot chocolate, but I’d been depressed about getting fired from yet another job and really needed a pick-me-up.

It wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions, so I grabbed my cup and moved from my table to his. He was cute, maybe in his mid-thirties with a big build and clunky, black-framed glasses that made him look nerdy. He’d been dabbing at his short, dark hair with a napkin, but he paused when I sat down and asked him, “Can it be a guy?”

“Can what be a guy?” He looked thoroughly confused.

“The person you’ll marry to get your inheritance. I was sitting right behind you while you were blowing it with Theresa, so I heard the whole thing.”

“Oh. No, it can’t be a guy because I’m straight.”

“Okay, but work with me here,” I said, as I leaned back and swirled the dregs of my hot chocolate in my nearly empty cup. “You’re talking about a fake marriage, right? Like, nobody’s consummating anything.”

“Yes. There would be absolutely no sex. But I’d still have to convince my family it was a real relationship, and they know I’m straight.”

“A lot of people discover their bisexuality later in life. Why not you? Or, you know, the fictitious version of you that’s trying to get people to believe you suddenly met and married the love of your life, right before your December twenty-second deadline. Today’s already the third, by the way, so tick tock.”

He slumped in his chair and muttered, “Fuck, I know. I’m running out of time.”

“Your family’s pretty hardcore to give you less than a month to get married or else.”

“This is my grandfather’s doing, and he actually gave me eight years.”

“Come again?”

“He came up with this ridiculous idea when I turned thirty. I’d never been in a serious relationship, and he thought it would ‘encourage’ me to get out there and start dating.”

“So, he wanted you to get married by thirty-eight? That’s random.”

“He wanted to make it thirty-five, I argued for forty. We split the difference,” he explained. “Really though, I never planned to take him up on it. I expected to be a huge success by now, and in a position to tell him where he could stick his manipulative bullshit. But life didn’t go according to plan, and now I really need that money.”

“So, beggars can’t be choosers, right? Unless you’ve got a few more Theresas cued up, I’d say I’m your best bet.”

“I don’t even know you.”

I stuck my hand out. “Embry Jayne.”

He shook it and said, “Bryson Baudelaire.”

“Now you know me.”

“Do I, though?”

“As much as you knew Theresa, and you were willing to marry her, weren’t you?”

“But this is different.”

“Because I’m a guy?”

“Yes.”

“Are you homophobic?”

“Of course not!” He seemed legitimately offended.

“Just checking. Explain your deadline to me. Why December twenty-second?”

“I’m turning thirty-seven that day. In order to meet the deadline of being married for one year by the time I turn thirty-eight?—”

“It has to happen now.”

“Yes.”

“Way to save it for the last minute.”

“Like I said, I had every intention of telling my grandfather what he could do with his ultimatum. But things changed six months ago, and then it took me three or four months to resign myself to this fate,” he said. “I’ve been scrambling ever since.”

“What happened six months ago?”

“My restaurant closed.” He slumped in his chair and looked utterly defeated. “I put everything I had into making it work. Everything. And it failed anyway.”

“That really sucks.”

“I was sure I could make a go of it. I’d attended an excellent culinary school, staged at world class restaurants in the U.S. and Europe?—”

I asked, “What does that word mean?”

“Which one?”

“ Stahj .”

“It’s an unpaid internship, and a real honor. Basically, a chef allows you into their kitchen to learn their methods, and I learned from some of the best.”

“So, what’s next? What are you going to do if and when you get your inheritance?”

He sat up straighter and knit his brow. “I’m going to try again. It’ll be different this time. I learned from my mistakes, and I know how to make my next restaurant better.”

“We’re talking fine dining here, right?”

“Right.”

“It must cost a fortune to open a place like that.”

Now he looked suspicious. “If you’re wondering about the size of my inheritance, please don’t try to wring more money out of me. The amount is barely going to cover the cost of building a new restaurant from the ground-up. Besides, I think a hundred grand—along with a monthly stipend—is pretty generous.”

“I agree. I’m very happy with that amount.”

“Not that I’m hiring you.”

“I’m perfect, though. I’m cute, and your family will love me. Unless they’re homophobic.”

“They’re not.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“Even if some people discover they’re gay or bisexual later in life, I don’t know why my grandfather would buy it.”

I raised a brow. “So, you don’t think you could sell it? Because I sure as hell could.”

“You think you want this because you’re seeing dollar signs, but you haven’t thought it through,” he said. “It’s a year of your life we’re talking about. You’d have to move in with me and attend several family events. Plus, you couldn’t date anyone, because I’d be worried about it getting back to my grandfather.”

“I’d be sad about moving out of where I’m living. But if the ‘stipend’ part of this deal is enough to cover my rent, I can hold on to my room and go back when the year was up.”

“I was thinking a thousand dollars a month in cash to cover expenses for the duration of the agreement, if we were actually going to do this. Which we’re not.”

“That would cover it with plenty left over for me to live on. One thing—I have a dog and there’s no way I’m leaving him behind when I move in with you. Is that a problem?”

“I like dogs, but you’re not moving in.”

“Because I’m a guy?”

“Yes.”

“What if I dress up in drag? I’d make a very convincing girl.”

Bryson tossed his glasses onto the table and scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is all complicated enough without turning it into an I Love Lucy-style scheme.”

“Good point. Does the idea of kissing me gross you out?”

“What?”

“I know we won’t be boinking,” I said, “but we’d probably have to kiss and cuddle in front of your family to sell the newlyweds in love thing. Is that super gross to you?”

“I think it would seem strange.”

“But not gross?”

“I really don’t know why we’re still having this discussion. I have to marry a woman.”

“Does it use those words in your inheritance agreement? That you need to marry a woman, specifically?”

“No. It just says I have to get married.”

I tossed up my hands triumphantly. “So, there’s your loophole! It doesn’t have to be a woman. And really, wouldn’t that get complicated, two straight people pretending to be married? What if your fake wife caught feelings? Or what if you did, and she didn’t? Yikes!”

He put his glasses back on and met my gaze. “But you’re gay, right? So hypothetically, you could ‘catch feelings,’ as you put it.”

“Dude, I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m not some dewy-eyed little baby gay who falls in love at the drop of a hat.”

Bryson looked surprised. “Are you? I would have guessed you were twenty.”

“I hear that all the time. I think I’m destined to get carded until I’m fifty.”

“There are worse things.”

“For the record, you don’t look thirty-six.”

“I know. I look like I’m well over forty.”

“You look younger, but we’re getting off topic. What I started to say is that two guys living together is uncomplicated. More than that, it’d be fun. We could hang out as roommates, watch sports, whatever.”

“I don’t like sports.”

“Me, neither.”

He rubbed his forehead, as if a headache was brewing. “I guess this isn’t the absolute worst idea in the world, but I definitely have to think about it.”

“Me, too. Just because I’m pitching this like a used car salesman doesn’t mean I’m a hundred percent sold on it, either. Why don’t we both sleep on it?”

“Alright.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket and asked, “What’s your number?” He recited the digits, and I fired off a text that said, Marry me. Then I smiled at him and got up from the table. “Now you have my number, too. Text me tomorrow, okay?”

“I will, but it’ll probably just be to say thanks but no thanks.”

“Or maybe you’ll surprise both of us. Take care, Bryson.” I flashed him a friendly smile before picking up my cup and heading for the door. On the way out, I tripped over the threshold, but I didn’t fall on my face, so I counted that as a win.

Then I paused on the sidewalk and looked through the window. He was sitting right where I’d left him, and he seemed to be deep in thought.

This was a truly strange idea, but we were talking about a lot of money here. Even just the thousand dollars a month would be great, let alone that pot of gold a year from now.

Plus, Bryson seemed nice enough, so being his roommate and fake husband wouldn’t be a hardship. If he’d been a jerk, forget about it. I wouldn’t have done that to myself.

I knew I shouldn’t get my hopes up, though. He probably thought I was unhinged, or maybe some kind of con artist, after approaching him like that.

Still, I was proud of myself. I’d taken a chance, one with the potential to turn my life around. I’d been brave and bold, two words that didn’t usually apply to me.

Now I needed to think about whether I could really go through with this, on the off chance he actually said yes.