Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
JULIETTE
I sit in a corner of the office, watching Hudson work. The girls didn’t exaggerate when they said he was a nail in the side to work with, but there is a side of him I’m seeing now that I’m sure none of them saw. He looks a tad bit desperate and is giving all he can to close this deal. I roll the ring on my finger. Even though the circumstance leading to me having the ring is all a fabrication, it still feels great to have such beauty on my finger.
Hudson is a handsome man, no doubt. His rugged features, chiseled jaw filled with unshaven stubbles, and rough hair all combine to give him a roguish look. Even though I could see he was older, I was surprised when a quick Google search told me he was thirty-two years old. That’s ten years older than I am. That is a significant age disparity between us.
Why am I thinking about his age anyway? It isn’t like anything will happen between us. Hudson’s deal is simple. We keep up the pretenses whenever people are around, but alone, we keep to ourselves. For ten thousand dollars a day, that is more than a fair deal. It’s almost too good to be true even.
Seven days. That is all I have to endure. Seven days of his rudeness, his brash disrespect, and his disregard for others. If I survive that, then I’ll have more than enough money to start my bakery and will be able to implement new menus that I hadn’t even thought I would be able to include in my plan. I won’t have to return to At Your Service Agency to work anymore. It is a good deal. A perfect deal.
But however, I cannot help but feel empty. I truly wonder why because it’s almost as though I feel guilty about something, and I just cannot put my finger on what it is. Suddenly, the sound of the printer draws me out of my thoughts, and I look up to find Hudson walking towards me. He’s about six-two, with a broad chest and muscular arms pressing against the shirt he’s wearing. He has rolled up the sleeves of his shirt for comfort, and I have to admit despite the fact that I absolutely do not want to, that it makes him look sexier. More sexy than I will ever admit even to myself and this is because of who he is.
I am a man with voracious needs.
Those were his words. I still can’t believe it. What a jerk.
Yet… it does make my belly flutter so maybe I am in some sort of a denial? I can’t even dare entertain the possibility of what this denial might imply but the fact that I truly can’t help but feel queasy whenever my eyes meet his. And then they drop to his lips. Those beautiful lips grazed mine a couple of minutes ago, and it took all the restraint within me not to reach up and kiss him back.
It truly baffles me just how one can feel such aversion for a person and a huge rush of attraction?
“I have the documents here ready for you to sign,” he says, handing them to me. He walks back to his desk. I straighten, almost as though scared he can read my thoughts even though now everything between us is more or less mechanical. There had been a spark between us when we stood so close earlier on. There is no denying this. I can’t even help but admit to myself now that I was teasing him to see if he’d break under pressure, but a small part of me, hidden in the dark crevices of my heart that I am not so proud of, had hoped he would kiss me. I also am not proud of how I would have responded had he kissed me. I can imagine the two of us on the floor, and then afterwards trying to get back into our clothes. I can unfortunately imagine much more than that- sweaty backs and hands clawing down skin, harsh breathing, fucking with complete and raw abandon.
I have to pause for a very long moment to catch my breath.
Not him, Juliette, I tell myself. You need to stay away from him. He might seem harmless now, but the fact of the matter is that he is a distraction. However, I do have needs myself just as he does, and so I cannot stop myself from thinking that maybe, just maybe I need to find a way to satisfy those needs when we get to Manhattan.
I read through the documents and find everything that we discussed in detail. He is thorough and I cannot help but admire him for this. He has painstakingly mentioned that the diamond is to be returned to him after the expiration of the seven-day contract.
Nice addition.
“I wasn’t going to go away with your diamond,” I point out.
“It’s just business,” he says, a cold as a viper.
I sign the documents and return them to him so he can sign them as well. Now, I am contractually and falsely engaged to him. It still hasn’t hit yet, and I hope it doesn’t. I hope it feels nothing as a result and means nothing to me until the seven days are over. This is the only way I can be assured that I will be able to keep my head screwed on right. I wonder though how the next couple of days will go for me.
“You should get ready to leave. When we get to Manhattan, I’ll take you shopping,” he tells me. “We’ll meet my project manager, Alison, on the plane. I have a meeting to attend before we leave. You can walk around the area for a while. I’ll come get you when it's time.”
All of these I have to admit sound incredibly appealing to me. I watch him leave and wonder what his type of woman is. I really don’t want to assume but I can’t help but peg him for the kind to especially go after the blonde and dumb types.
For some reason all of this makes me pissed, and I really can’t understand why. I’m not supposed to be emotionally invested in any of this. You’re here for a simple goal, remember? I admonish myself. Stay focused!
And so, I decide to take his advice and go for a walk. Soon, I find myself back in the parking lot with my phone in my hand, calling Lisa.
“Hey! I have been waiting for your call. How’s the first day at work?” Lisa says immediately the call connects.
Truthfully, I really don’t know where to start from, but I’m soon able to. “You’re not going to believe this,” I say and tell her how my morning went.
“Hudson Sinclair? I know him. My firm represented a client that filed a suit against him a while ago.”
“Did the client win?” I ask.
“Oh, no. Lost woefully. The word around here is that you don’t go up against Sinclair hoping to win. You go up against him to get your name up on the scoreboard.”
“What kind of scoreboard?” I ask.
“The one that says you went up against him,” comes Lisa’s reply.
Hmmm… he is that fearless, huh? But there is fear in him. I saw it when we were talking earlier—fear and desperation.
“But did he really say you aren’t his type?” Lisa asked with a snort.
“Yeah, the snarky bastard. Can you believe him?”
“Wait until he sees you dolled up.”
“I’m not even into him. I just want seven days to be over and to get my money. Easy money, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, quite easy money. But you have to be careful around him.”
“Why? Is he dangerous?”
“From what I’ve heard, he can be very venomous when he doesn’t get his way. I think he was raised quite spoiled, and he’s used to getting his way.”
Now, I feel terrible for giving in to his demands so easily. I should have made him sweat a bit more. I can’t help but note I’m becoming more unusually feisty as well. He seems to bring out this side of me.
Lisa and I talk some more before I return to his office in case he’s finished with his meeting. I’m barely back in the office for ten minutes when he shows up and announces that it’s time to leave with barely a glance at me.
“Up, now,” he says, and I can’t help but blink long and hard.
And so, despite how shaky it makes me feel inside because I do have a lot to lose if this goes south, I remain rooted in my seat. I am indeed his staff, but I also can’t have him making me feel like shit for the foreseeable future. Eventually, he notices I’m not behind him and turns back at the door.
“You didn’t hear me?” he asks.
“You were speaking to me?” I retort, giving him the stink eye he deserves. I don’t miss the fact though that my voice has a light shake to it. Damn it.
He scoffs and turns around to address me. “What is this? Some childish game?”
“No game,” I tell him. “I just … I don’t care where we are, public or private; I just truly hope that you can be cordial to me and not order me around like some maid.”
He looks confounded. “Are you serious?”
I nod and remain in the chair, outrightly staring at him. If he isn’t ready to do the right thing, we’ll be here all day. I know he won’t rescind the offer, or at least I hope so. He needs me.
“Alright,” he says after a moment, a breath of exasperation rushing out of him like a dragon’s breath. I can see the regret in his eyes. If he could go back on the contract we’d signed, I’m sure he would. “Alright, let’s go, shall we? The jet is waiting for us.”
Now, I stand up and follow him out of the office. We get into a waiting SUV, which drives us to the airport and to his private plane. Getting onto the jet, I meet Alison, the project manager, and from the get-go, I can tell she doesn’t like me.
“Who’s she?” she asks when I walk in with Hudson, eyeing me like I’m worth less than the dirt underneath her shoes. They are Louboutin, so I’ll kill for them. But, still, the bitch air around her is so great it stinks up the whole place.
“My new assistant,” Hudson mentions and points at an empty seat for me to sit in. I think about rebelling because I deem that disrespectful, but I know he’ll ignore me. So, I sit anyway. Alison walks with him to his seat.
“What about Aliya?” Alison asks.
“Called in sick this morning. She said she might not be available for the next three days, and I can’t go to Manhattan without an assistant, so I hired her.”
“I told you, you need to get a replacement for Aliya,” Alison says, eyeing me.
Not me. I’m not fit to be his assistant.
“Why is she wearing the ring?” she asks, her face more or less accusing me of theft.
“I gave it to her,” Hudson says. “She’s my fiancée now.”
“What?” she says, flabbergasted. “That is supposed to be for Phillipa. If all things fail, we resort to that. You know that.”
“Well, the plan has changed. I don’t like the lady,” Hudson hisses
“So, you like this one?” asks Alison. I wonder if she actually considers me a piece of chewed gum.
Unable to keep quiet while they both talk like I’m some non-playing character in a video game so I say something.
“I’m sitting right here,” I say.
They both ignore me.
“Alison, I do not feel like arguing now. I want to try to get some sleep before we reach Manhattan.”
“You don’t have anything scheduled when we land,” Alison points out.
“Well, I am taking Juliette shopping.”
“She can do that on her own.”
What is this bitch’s problem?
“Sure. But I just met her today. To give this a chance to work, we need to know a couple of things about each other. It should make the pretense easier. Taking her to get some clothes is one way I see we can get to know each other better. And the faster we get out there so people see, the better for us. Now, let me rest.”
The last bit comes off as a command and Alison takes it as such. She mellows out but continues to fume in silence.
Seeing she’s been defeated and silenced, Alison sits opposite me just as the announcement comes for us to buckle up. She glares at me throughout the takeoff, shifting her focus between the ring and my face. She wants the ring. Maybe she wants more than the ring. Maybe she wants the man, too.
Girl, you can have him.
I want to get some sleep, too, but I have a sick feeling that Alison will stab me should I close my eyes, so I keep watch on her throughout the flight, which lasts two hours. At the hotel, I get a room beside Hudson because he thinks it makes sense logistically and will help continue the ruse, while Alison gets a room on the floor beneath ours. That gets her riled up some more, but I ignore it all. Even when Hudson sends her away to prepare for a meeting, and she offers to postpone it and come with us to shop together, I sit back in silence and watch him chastise her.
“Why aren’t we with a driver?” I ask as we head to a clothing store.
“Sometimes I like to drive myself,” Hudson replies from behind the wheel. “You know I was serious about what I said earlier on the plane. We should get to know each other. At least superficially, so if people ask us questions, we won’t be caught in a bind.”
“The most important question they’ll ask is how we met.”
“That’s easy. We met at work,” he says dismissively.
“I don’t think that will work. It’ll come with too many questions. People will want to know what I do for you and how long I’ve been with you for.”
“You’re right,” he says, and I can barely believe it. “There are people who will wonder why it is they’ve not seen you around before.”
“Yes,” I say, just glad that he’s acknowledged that I was right.
“Okay, so we didn’t meet at work then,” he scoffs, clearly frustrated with the whole arrangement already.
“Where did we meet then?”
“You tell me. Where do you think it is possible for us to meet?”
“At a ranch.”
“A ranch. Do you ride?” he eyes me and takes his eyes off the road for a while.
“Yes,” I answer.
“You do?” he says, clearly not trusting me.
“Yes.”
“You DO?” now he is serious.
“Yes, and I know you do,” I tell him and show him a picture on his Instagram page of him on a horse. “So, we met at a ranch.”
“Okay. Which ranch”
“Melinrad.”
“I don’t know it.”
“Exactly, and neither do your friends.”
He nods.
“You know how it goes. Boy likes girl; girl thinks the boy is a little forward and ignores him. Girl thinks boy should really chill out as he’s being a creep now.”
“Really? That’s the story?” he says.
“It’s a believable story.”
“Not when I’m the boy, it isn’t.”
“Oh, you get all the women you want just by winking, don’t you?”
“Something like that,” he says in all seriousness.
“Well, not this girl. She’s sassy.”
“Yeah, that she is,” he throws back at me.
“So, back to the story. Boy makes the girl laugh a bit, and that breaks the tension. So, girl thinks, maybe boy isn’t so bad after all, and maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt and voila, the rest is history.”
“I don’t like it,” he complains.
“What don’t you like about it?”
“Everything.”
“Well, you come up with your own story then?”
“Will you accept whatever I come up with?”
“I’ll gracefully reject it.”
He scoffs. “Let’s go with yours then.”
I won this time, and it makes me glad.
“What other questions are there?” I ask him, and he passes his phone to me.
“Google gave me a list of right questions to ask one’s girlfriend.”
“Come on, we are not going to be that boring couple that is so mechanic. Let’s be organic. We can think up our own questions.”
“Like, what’s your favorite color?” he scoffs
“Purple. More of lilac, really,” I tell him. “What’s yours?”
“I don’t have one,” he says as he turns the corner. We’re driving down a road with shops selling luxury items on both sides.
“That’s a lie. Everyone does,” I say as we drive past a Gucci shop.
“I’m serious; I’ve always thought it silly to pick a color and make it your favorite. Colors are non-essential. I have my favorite liquor, my favorite horse, my favorite chess opening, but colors… that’s silly.”
I frown at that. It is sad to hear him speak like that. “Must life really be so rigid for you?”
“It isn’t rigid for me,” he says.
“You know what, let’s play a game. Close your eyes.”
“I’m driving,” he says.
“Nonsense. Imagine your eyes closed. Have you done that?”
“This is silly. How does one imagine their eyes closed?”
“Just do it alright,” I say, already frustrated with him.
“Alright, done.”
“You walk to your closet, open the door, and reach for a linen shirt. What’s the color of the shirt?”
“White,” he says.
“God, you can’t be saved,” I mutter.
“Why, white is a good color.”
“It’s not,” I counter and roll my eyes. “You can’t say white or black is your favorite color. It’s silly. They aren’t even real colors. You know what, enough about colors.”
“Thank you,” he says.
We sit in the car in silence for a long time. It’s awkward for a while, but then I start to feel comfortable in it.
“Do you think we should go back to the question Google suggests? It isn’t like we want to actually get to know each other. We need a peripheral knowledge about each other, enough so our ruse won’t be exposed.”
“This is turning out to be more work than I imagined.”
“Seventy thousand dollars.”
“You’ll squeeze every penny out of me, won’t you?”
“You know that’s not true.”
“How much is the deal you’re looking to broker with Frank worth?”
“About a billion dollars,” he answered.
“Are you worried about it?”
He turns and gives me a look that tells me he finds my question ludicrous.
“What’s this? You’re trying to make me think you care about me?”
“Never crossed my mind. I’m just making conversations.” I say.
“Well, conversation over then,” he says with such caustic intensity that I instinctively move away from him.
Something about the deal made him get so defensive suddenly. I am right to think he is worried about it; he is so worried he’s willing to make silly decisions like marrying Phillipa. Good thing he talked himself out of it. He talked himself out of it only to talk himself into me.
I decide to carry out a little research of my own on Frank Dubois. I do what I think will be a quick Google search on him, but soon, I find myself running down the rabbit hole.
He’s a French American middle-aged man who amassed his wealth from electronic sales before pivoting to finance. He made himself a mogul after heading the purchase of two big American banks, one of which was acquired by a hostile takeover. Frank managed a hostile takeover while he himself was nothing but a millionaire with a big dream and a covetous heart. He’s a ruthless businessman, so Business Insider described him. Wall Street Journal 500 called him The Burning Star, Which Turned Out to Be The Sun . After he bought over the two banks, a journey of ruthless takeovers and buyouts began. Once Frank has his eyes set on your company, consider it gone. He was a terrifying man.
Digging deeper into the man, I soon find something that catches my eye. It’s a headline about six months old.
A savior meddling in the affairs of devils. The Sinclair fortune at risk of liquidation.
I barely read beyond the first line of the article when the story became clear to me. Frank got wind of the success that Sinclair has made with his company, and now, he wants it for himself. They’ve entered into a battle that has lasted over four months now, longer than any other hostile takeover battle that Frank Dubois has been involved in. Hudson isn’t going out without a fight, but unfortunately for him, the fight is hurting his company terribly.
I take a look at the man with the set jaw, his eyes firmly on the road, his hands gripping the wheel so hard that I fear he’ll pull it off. There is more to him than meets the eye. Maybe I have judged him too harshly. He is a fighter, apparently, and he’s fighting tooth and nail for something he loves.