Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Whit
A horrible thought had occurred to me at about six the next morning.
@WhitGranthamOfficial: You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?
I’d heard nothing for hours. Not ’til eight. Then,
@TheRealBenHolder: I wouldn’t have agreed to meet you at my apartment if I did, let alone go with you to the gala last weekend. So no. No girlfriend. Not dating anyone. Coast is clear.
Something about that made me feel… good and bad all at once. Good that Ben was the kind of man that wouldn’t go around meeting with women who weren’t his girlfriend if he’d had one. It also made me feel bad, but I couldn’t pin down why. Maybe because I hadn’t even asked him to begin with before making my proposition.
The rest of that day, my mind went through all he might say when he arrived. He’d seemed shocked, but open to the idea. Exactly what I’d hoped for, but still, the urge to talk him out of it lingered. For some reason, as soon as Nikki had suggested the idea, a horrible swirling of guilt and dread had started in my gut, but I’d ignored it.
As usual, my determination to achieve my goals had outweighed the potential consequences.
Nikki and I reviewed the documents, and she made some suggestions about parameters for the relationship. I had my own running list of questions, plus a few things that should sweeten the deal for him.
Pins and needles , I was nervous. And I hated being nervous. What a tedious feeling. I’d mastered the ability to tamp down on nerves as a teen performing recitals in front of state politicians and whoever else my parents had brought to their compound—because calling it merely a house made it sound even remotely inviting—to woo for one reason or another.
By the time I pulled open the door to find Ben dressed in jeans and a gray jacket zipped halfway up his chest, a T-shirt beneath, my head was pounding, the beginnings of a cold sweat chilling my skin.
“Thank you for coming.” My voice sounded far too somber.
“Thanks for having me,” he said as he looked around the modest entryway.
I was proud of my home—large by any standard, it did not look grotesque like so many celebrity houses. It had a cozy country feel, decorated in natural colors and pale blues.
“Can I take your coat?” I asked, and reached out as he shrugged out of the coat and handed it to me.
“Thank you. ”
He was very polite—good manners, nice demeanor and way of interacting. He’d dealt so well with the event last weekend—hadn’t lost his cool or had any issues with the big personalities there. It’d been impressive, and just one more thing that made me like him. And one more thing that made him perfect for this… situation.
“Come into the kitchen, if you would. We’ll have a drink and… talk.” Awkward about how to proceed, I pulled on my business tone. Keeping it straightforward, instead of trying to act like a new friend and essentially an employer, would help.
We walked down the hallway and into the kitchen.
I loved my kitchen. White cabinets, white and gray marble countertops, but nicely worn wood floors to warm it up. An island with stools people could pull up and chat while dinner was cooking took up the center of the space. I cooked a bit for myself, though it wasn’t my forte when entertaining. I liked to invite friends who could cook and then enjoy the fruits of their labor.
Nikki looked up from her laptop where she sat at one side of the bar. “Hello, Lieutenant Holder.”
“Please call me Ben.”
He stopped next to me as I pulled out a stool for him. We went through the ritual of asking what drinks he wanted (water) and making small talk for a few minutes (yes, it had been a chilly day), when finally, Nikki was ready for business.
She slid a folder across the countertop toward him. He sat on one side of the bar, Nikki and I facing him on the other side, the seats next to him and on either end empty. Something about her sliding that folder made it feel a little sordid.
“This is the confidentiality agreement. What it says is that you will not discuss anything about this contract. You will proceed as though you are really dating Whit, and you will not tell anyone the true nature of your relationship. You will in no way insinuate that you were compensated in any way, nor will you distribute or sell any information to news outlets, photographers, etc. for your own profit.” Nikki paused.
Ben had opened the folder to flip through pages, intermittently looking up to assure her he was listening. When she stopped, he turned his attention back to us.
“At whatever point you and Whit determine to dissolve the relationship, the confidentiality clause will still be in effect.”
Ben nodded as she folded her hands.
“How about you read through all of that, and we’ll answer any questions you have.”
His focus moved over each document, and he stretched his neck from side to side every now and then like it was sore. Nikki received a call and excused herself from the room just as Ben finished his read-through.
“How long are you thinking?” he asked, his voice and face neutral.
“A minimum of six months. It’s October now, and I’d need to make sure the relationship has a duration long enough to make a positive impression. There are several events at which, whether or not you appear with me, I would want to refer to you as my significant other.”
His brow quirked. “Is that how you’ll refer to me?”
“No. Probably not.”
He smiled. Just this unabashed, happy smile. I didn’t know what to do with him.
“What?” It bewildered me how he could be smiling when we were in this awkward situation of trying to work out details of our fake relationship.
“You’re intense. It seems like you feel guilty about this. Is there something I’m missing?” He leaned on his forearms and clasped his hands together.
He was certainly straightforward, and it wasn’t a bad thing. Or, at least, I didn’t think it was. But I fidgeted on the stool, wondering whether I could be as honest with him as he was with me. In the end, I had to be.
“I do. I do feel guilty. It’s a weird thing to ask someone, and ultimately, you’re getting nothing from it.” A breath huffed out—his apparent refusal to take this seriously proved exasperating.
He leaned farther over the counter, bringing him a few inches closer so we were only about two feet apart, separated by a cold slab of marble.
“I thought you said there’d be incentives. Why don’t you tell me about those? Sell me on it—what do I get out of this? Why should I do it?”
My lashes fluttered as I pulled in a breath and resisted the heat racing through me at the way he’d said those words. I cleared my throat, crushing the physical response to what was, at least in one sense, a logical and business-focused question.
“Sure. Yes. Okay. Good.” I pulled out my planner and flipped to a page in the back where I’d made the list. “First, you’d get to tour with me if that works out with your schedule. I’m framing that as a positive because I’d pay for all your expenses, and we’re going to some major cities. You wouldn’t be obligated to stay with me all the time, so you could explore a bit. Obviously, if you hate traveling, then that’s a drawback?—”
“I don’t. Next? ”
“Okay. Um, next, again schedule permitting, you’d escort me to the Oscars. I realize that also may not be something you’d want to do. But that one would be a big one for me, so it’s kind of non-negotiable unless you really can’t miss work.”
The nerves fluttered through me. I’d be singing with Jamie if our song got nominated, which it almost certainly would be. The singing would be easy—the whispers of the audience would not.
“I have no idea, but that’s something that, if you have the dates well in advance, I can request sooner than later, and that always helps.”
His voice calmed me. Was he staying so reasonable and unflustered to counteract my raging nervous energy?
The cool stone helped soothe my burning palms as my fingers spread out on the countertop. “There’s one other thing, but I’m still in talks about it, and it only applies if you like football.”
He perked up then, his eyes asking the question for him.
“I may be performing at pretty big football half-time show this year.”
He froze, then his face brightened, and he laughed. “Pretty big—no kidding?”
“No kidding. They’re trying to do a big Country roundup or something. It won’t just be me, so it’s not?—”
“That’s a really big deal.” His lips spread into a smile that showcased straight white teeth and, inevitably, dimples in his lean cheeks.
Goodness, he’s cute.
“Thanks. Yeah, it is, kind of. But I don’t know for sure if it’ll go through. If it does, you’d get to go with me, if you wanted.”
“I would want,” he assured quickly .
I nodded. “Okay, then. So… those are the things you get out of all this. Plus any events or dates or appearances we go on, I would pay for any travel and expense, including the activity or food associated with the interaction.”
“You’re forgetting something,” he said, catching my eye.
“I am?”
“Yes. By doing this, I also get to spend time with you ,” he added, a completely genuine look on his face.
Giddiness and embarrassment crashed against each other in my mind.
“I—that’s true. Yeah, you get to spend time with fancy old me.” A little laugh escaped me.
“I’m inclined to do it, Whit. But your hesitation makes me hesitate. So tell me what you’re most worried about.” He leaned on his elbows now, his arms crossed on the counter.
Again, no beating around the bush. He had this knack for putting his finger on the most disconcerting details, which made me squirm. This was going to come out fast, direct, a little disorganized.
“I’m concerned you’ll feel exploited. I’m doing everything shy of paying you an hourly wage, which we could talk about, if you wanted, but that seems a little bit more toward the escort range of things. And I wouldn’t expect anything—you know, not anything like that . I just don’t want you to feel used, which is messed up because you are getting used.”
I swallowed, then grabbed my glass and took a drink of the cool liquid to help chase away the sudden overheating caused by that last thought, my light sweater and jeans now sweltering as heat crept up my chest and neck.
Ben took a moment, watching me fiddle with my planner, click my pen open and closed, take another drink.
“I appreciate that—both that you don’t want me to feel like you’re exploiting, and that you acknowledge you are using me.”
I blinked at his words, about to defend the proposition, but he continued.
“We should probably talk about how this would actually work. I work long hours, and I can only imagine what your schedule is like. I assume we need to be seen out and about in order for this to be worth the effort, so tell me what you’re thinking in that regard.”
Ben had a curious mix of easygoing calm and business-like practicality. It soothed just as it had me fighting the urge to fidget.
“I’d like us to try to get together once a weekend. There will be times I’m traveling, so that won’t happen, and times you will be, so the same. Then, if you can, I’d like you to come on the winter tour. At that point, we will have been seen together a few times over the months prior, and it’ll seem like we’re taking our relationship to the next level or whatever. From there, we’ll be in the serious phase, and if you can come to the big awards shows, that’d be great. Again, I’ll pay for?—”
“I’m not worried about the money portion of this, okay? I believe that I won’t be forced to fly myself around just to catch up with you.” His bright blue eyes pressed into mine to emphasize his veracity.
“Okay. Good.”
“Okay.”
I waited for him to say something more, but he just sat there, looking at me, all calm and self-assured and comfortable.
“Okay? What do you mean?”
“I mean, okay , I’ll do it. As long as you’re sure you want me for this job. ”
His eyes narrowed just a bit, and I detected a flash of doubt.
“I’m sure.” My voice came out steady.
I was sure. I felt comfortable with him. He’d done nothing but be friendly and polite in every interaction we’d had. We had Reese in common, and my cousin was persnickety about people, to say the least, so I knew he couldn’t be a bad guy. So far, everything I’d learned about him proved appealing.
“You should know, I’ve had a rough couple of years. If the press goes digging, I’m sure they can find people who’d want to paint me in a bad light.” A muscle in his jaw jumped, and he leaned harder onto the counter top.
“No one’s perfect.”
“Least of all me. But I can promise you that going forward, you have nothing to worry about.” His face was as serious as I’d ever seen it.
Most of what Ben projected was that easy calm, the laid-back guy who could laugh with or chat with you and didn’t have a lot going on. It was one of the things that made me feel so comfortable with him. Not that he seemed shallow, but if a person bought him at face value, they could easily think he was simple. My very first interaction with him over a year ago had told me how wrong that assumption would be, though the two versions of Ben were hard to reconcile.
“Okay. Yes. And I can’t have you dating anyone else while we’re together, that would totally defeat the purpose.” I brushed an invisible something from the page of my planner.
“Of course. I understand.”