12 JANIE
JANIE
“Janie, WHAT! What is this!” Ellie screeches at me, holding up her phone with the US Weekly photo taking up the screen.
It’s too bright, too cheery and Monday is already Monday-ing too hard for this. But it’s what I signed up for. Literally.
I try to smile but I think it’s more of a grimace because she frowns.
“Sorry, still getting used to the, uh, press,” I fumble. Ugh, I’m going to have to get a lot better at selling this.
“I can imagine!”
It’s been easy so far.
The photo itself has done a lot of the heavy lifting.
Because, of course, Sir Flirty was joking around.
“Now, I’m going to hug you and then dip you for the cameras, try not to say ‘ew,’ okay?…”
Dip me, he did.
The man knows how to put on a show. He bent down deep but held me close. His large hands gripped my thigh and cradled my back like my tall, curvy body weighed next to nothing. It was alarming, how aware of his touch I was, how close we were.
I was shocked and panting again, lips parted, my eyes locked on his hooded gaze.
But then, needing me to smile, he whispered, “Tell me honestly, what in God’s name do you think that poor man ate? You think he’s alright? Should we call the authorities because he cannot be well. I mean, damn, my nose is still burning.”
The more he murmured very non-sexy words in my ear in that sexy pose, the more I laughed.
When I was cackling like a fool, my groom kissed my cheek.
He kissed me again as I cackled, working his lips to my jaw and then my exposed neck and cheers erupted all around.
The cameras ate it right up. The sun is setting on the strip behind us, my white dress glows, I look radiant and giddy and the billionaire looks smitten.
Us Weekly gave us an entire spread. And I didn’t even have to kiss him.
It was genius, really.
I texted Harper the truth before the press posted the news, vowing her to secrecy. Her response to the image after it hit social media was, “Looks pretty real to me!”
Before the now-famous paparazzi shot, we took two more of our own strategic selfies.
We stood outside the chapel and posed, making sure to capture the wedding certificate in case there was any doubt.
We also got one with our left hands held up to show the rings.
That’s the photo we sent to Skye, her family, or, I guess Benedict’s family-in-law, and his other friends.
I didn’t have family to send it to, of course. Jack is unreachable and Gran…I want to somehow explain to her in person on one of her good days, but…maybe I won’t. A sad thought, even if I’m relieved I don’t have to lie to her.
Most of the recipients of our text responded with shock, exclamation points, questions, and a lot of heart emojis. Skye only wrote back a simple, “Congrats.” I don’t think that’s a good sign.
But, as my new husband reminded me, we have until the end of the year to convince everyone. Namely his father. He didn’t respond to our text either.
I don’t feel like we’re off to a great start.
So, I try to lean in with Ellie.
“Yeah, it’s been pretty crazy.”
“What’s pretty crazy is that you’re married to Benedict Clark! I guess you were more than just friends, huh?”
“Ye–”
“But you knew him all this time and you’re working here? Gosh, I love my job but, like, why? ” She looks around in disgust. “You’re one of the richest women in the world now! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on a private jet to Fiji right now?”
Uhhh?
“He’s traveling. I mean, he has to travel a lot for work so I, um, we delayed the honeymoon,” I say but she’s still frowning at me. “I didn’t want to just bail on my contract, so, here I am.”
She almost rolls her eyes at that, clearly thinking I’m insane for continuing to work, then changes gears.
“Gosh, he is just so dreamy! Tell me everything. How long have you known him? How did he propose? Are you going to have a real wedding ceremony later? In London? Please say in London! Spill it! Spill it all!”
I take a deep breath and attempt to smile again.
Ellie and I are not close.
She is not someone I’d gush to about my private life. It’s not private now, though. It’s public. On purpose. The purpose being one point three million dollars! Girl, smile harder!
“So dreamy, right? He, we, we’ve known each other for years.
We, um, were sort of dancing around it all that time and then in Vegas together everything just uh…
jellied.” Shit, I meant gelled. She squeals, though, mercifully picking up the lies I’m putting down, so I go on, “We wanted something that was just us, just ours, so we did the eloping. I think we’ll do a big, uh, shindig, at some point. ”
“Uh huh, and the proposal?”
Ahhhhh!
Ben and I really should have discussed this but, true to his word, he shooed the photographers away, stuffed me with the best steak I’ve ever tasted, and tucked me into my room at 8:59. He actually noted the time, trying to be cute. And, okay, succeeding a little bit.
But then he was gone, on a jet to some appointment across the country, promising to touch base sometime today.
Today’s technically been today for thirteen hours and twenty three minutes so far.
Not that I expected a morning text but a game plan after my early flight this morning and before I walked into work would have been smart.
“It was, uh, less of a proposal and more of a we should get married and then baddabingbaddaboom we were in a jewelry store.” Baddabingbaddaboom? What’s happening to me?!
“Oh my gosh, just like Sweet Home Alabama!”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“So, you’re really just going to keep working here?”
I nod, “That’s the plan. Until I’ve fulfilled my contract.”
“Huh. You do you, I guess,” she murmurs.
Maybe I should let Benedict change my contract after all.
As if he can sense my panic, he calls.
“Oh, this is him now,” I say, trying to back away from Ellie and toward my desk.
“Tell him to buy you some fall flair!” she yells, gesturing to my blank cubicle.
I can hear the smile in his voice when I bring the phone up to my ear and tuck myself down into the innermost corner of my cube. “I need to buy you what?”
“Nothing, we have a problem.”
“What’sit, love?”
“What’sit? What it is, is that I am not good under pressure! We should have made a plan for questions about the proposal and the honeymoon. Ellie just grilled me and I failed miserably.”
“Come now, it couldn't have been that bad.”
“I said…” I wince, “I said, Baddabingbaddaboom.” He makes a disturbed sound. “Exactly.”
“What else did you tell her?” he asks with a chuckle.
I recap the conversation quickly and at a whisper, looking around for snoopy co-workers. He laughs and then encourages me. Now my answers are our official answers. It’s nice how easygoing he is. Except that relaxed nature of his is why I was flailing in that conversation to begin with.
“What’s our plan? Are you headed here? Have you picked our first outing or whatever? We need to get our stories straight.”
“Okay, darling, okay,” he exhales. “Mitch found me a house so I can come out by the end of the week.”
“A house?!”
He goes on casually, because yes, a house. He said that was his plan. I must’ve blocked it out because it’s a whole house he just bought for this little ruse, like he was buying a cup of coffee. “What’s your little town got going on Friday?”
“Ugh, probably fifty things.”
“Brilliant.” I sigh and fight the urge to groan but he ignores me, “You text me more questions people will ask, we can work on the answers.”
“Okay.” I start to relax a tiny bit.
“How was your commercial flight with your co-workers this morning?”
“Perfectly fine,” I huff.
He laughs. “Still glad you didn’t take me up on my offer?”
“I didn’t need the company jet to come all the way back just for me. But…” I falter, thinking of what Ellie would say and pause.
“But what? I’m on the edge of the Clark jet’s very comfortable, extra-wide, ultra-plush seat.”
“Well, maybe I’ll take you up on your offer about my job.”
“Buying you out? Lovely, we can bang around New York and—”
“No, no,” I say firmly, “I am committed to this job. I am. But Ellie seemed to think I was crazy for coming in to work. So maybe you should do the thing you said about getting me and my team remote status?”
“Done. What else?”
“No, no, nothing else.”
He sighs, “Not very billionaire’s wife of you.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, we should have thought this through beforehand.”
“Text me everything you can think of, okay? We’ll get it sorted.”
“Right, okay. And I’ll figure out the town events, make a plan,” I nod, “I’ll see you Friday then.”
“Okay. And Janelle?”
“Janie. What?”
“If you don’t tell me what fall flair means I’ll just ask Ellie.”
“You have Ellie’s number?” I hear myself say, “I mean—”
“Feeling jealous, wifey?”
My eyes go wide, “No, Sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize, it’s very hot.”
“Listen, Bossman, could you—”
“Ben.”
“Benedict.”
“Or husband, hubby, handsome, those will all do as well. And I only have her number in a work capacity, darling. Though I do believe she was a bit disappointed about that,” he smiles, sounding unbearably smug about how much Ellie wanted to bang him.
“Okay. I’m hanging up now! Bye!”
I hear him laughing when I hit end.
Why the hell did I ask about him and Ellie? I don’t care who he’s been with. Or maybe it would just be weird, my fake husband having had a real hookup with my coworker? Yeah. That’s it.
Anyway!
So, he’s coming Friday.
Until then, anytime I start to spiral about answers and backstories and this insane web of lies we’re weaving, I’ll text him.
Okay.
I can do this.