Chapter 6
6
ADRIAN
I stare at the sleek, paneled ceiling, brain whizzing with a crazy idea taking shape and figuring out the best way to expose it to her. To this mystery woman in the next stall, whose face I haven’t even seen—but who could solve all my problems. I must be out of my mind. Or maybe not—because things like this don’t just happen. It’s almost too good to be true, like the universe is handing me exactly what I need at the precise moment I need it. The timing, the situation—it’s all lining up in a way that’s hard to ignore, like it’s meant to be. And maybe that’s why I should go through with it. It’s not just luck; it’s a door opening, and I’d be a fool not to walk through it.
I only need to convince her.
Okay, I can sell anything to anyone. Just think of this as another pitch.
“I’ve poured my entire life into my career,” I begin. “Sacrificed so much to get to where I am.”
“Tell me about it.” Her melodic voice floats over the divider, tinged with a shared exhaustion. “I learned the hard way today just how fickle a job can be. How meaningless all that effort feels in the end.” Her words are like a silky caress, and I marvel again at how enticing she sounds.
“I agree 100 per cent,” I reply, shifting on the floor. “But I’m not ready to throw in the towel just yet. My boss called me and the other senior VP into his office earlier. Said he’s planning to choose one of us as his replacement.”
“I sense a great injustice is about to take place.” Her tone is laced with mock seriousness.
Despite the gravity of the situation, she pulls a genuine laugh out of me. “You bet. I was already uncorking the champagne, but then I overheard him saying he wouldn’t pick me, even though I’m the best man for the job. All because I don’t have kids and I won’t leave a legacy behind.”
“What? That’s ridiculous!” she exclaims, her tone indignant. “It’s discrimination, you should sue him.”
“I’m not positive suing my boss would help me get the top job.” I shrug, the absurdity of the conversation mirroring the insanity of what I’m about to propose.
“No, you’re right,” she concedes. “But it’s still totally unfair.”
“Exactly. Which is why…” I lean my head back against the icy metal wall, the next words feeling heavier than they should. “I may have invented a pregnant fiancée.”
Silence hangs heavy between the stalls. Shit, I’ve really stepped into it now. She probably thinks I’m a lunatic.
“Wow,” she finally says. “That’s—wow. I take it your fiancée… err… isn’t pregnant?”
Is it my impression or is there a veiled interest in the question?
“I’m not engaged,” I confess, tugging at my sleeve anxiously. “I don’t even have a girlfriend.”
“Ah. Oh, well, what’s your boss going to do?” she muses. “ Come to your house and check your closet to see if you live alone? Demand copies of the ultrasounds?”
“No.” I chuckle despite myself. “But I might’ve told him she’ll be accompanying me to a weekend at his Hamptons mansion in two weeks.”
“Okay, then you’re screwed,” she declares in a matter-of-fact tone that cracks me up.
“Unless…” I offer, trailing off, teasing the scheme I’m about to outline.
“Unless?” she prompts.
I drum my fingers on my knee, working up the courage to give voice to what I’m thinking. The idea that’s been swirling in my mind since she told me she’s pregnant and out of options. “Listen, this is going to sound absolutely insane but… what if we teamed up? You need a break; I need a pregnant wife-to-be. We could help each other out.”
My body is rigid with anticipation as I await her response. Have I just made the craziest proposition of my life to a total stranger in a public restroom?
Yes. Yes, I have.
“Are you asking me to be your fake girlfriend?” Her voice is tinged with incredulity. I don’t think she grasped how serious I am, however bizarre my suggestion must sound.
“Um, yeah. But the thing is, for it to work, the arrangement would need to be a bit more… err, solid.”
“Solid? What do you mean by solid ?” Her tone is a mix of curiosity and worry.
The words tumble out before I can think better of it. “Marry me?” I cringe at how dubious I sound, even to myself.
I’m being impulsive, reckless even, but I can’t ignore the serendipity of it all. How right it feels. It’s like when I hit the green button on a risky trade, spotting patterns no one else can see, feeling the certainty I’m right in my bones. Besides, it’s not like I’m asking her to spend the rest of her life with me. It’s a temporary fix, a means to an end. Once I’ve secured the promotion and built my so-called legacy in Dominic’s eyes, what happens after won’t matter.
Maybe the fake engagement alone will do the trick, and we won’t need to actually get married. But if that’s not the case, I’m ready to walk all the way down the aisle to convince Dominic. And we’re not in the Middle Ages when a marriage was forever. Reversing everything afterward won’t be hard. A divorce would be clean, simple, with no strings attached. She gets her stability; I get my title—everyone wins. If I have to play family man for a little while, so be it. I’ve done crazier things to get ahead.
And once it’s done, Dominic won’t be able to take the job back even if I don’t get married or get divorced. Investors wouldn’t have it. A change in CEO requires a good explanation to be justified. Having me installed and then removed for no apparent reason a few months later would only project uncertainty. The last thing any hedge fund wants.
Her laughs fills the air, bringing me back to the present. “Haha, you’re funny!”
I stay silent, letting the gravity of my impromptu proposal fill the void.
After a long pause, her voice takes on a more somber edge. “Wait… are you being serious right now?”
I exhale. “I know it sounds bonkers. But I’m totally serious. That’s how desperate I am.”
“Yes, but a fake engagement?”
“Look, my boss is no fool. It’ll take time to convince Dominic. I’ll need to fully commit to playing the part of the family man—engaged with a kid on the way.” I fidget with my cufflinks, hoping she’ll see the logic in my admittedly mad plan. “And you’d be taken care of. I’d put you on my medical insurance. It would give you space to get back on your feet financially with no pressure while you figure out your next career move and have the baby.”
The seconds stretch endlessly as I wait for her reply. I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth.
I wait and wait, my mind racing as I strive to imagine what her face might look like and try to guess what she’s thinking. Will she laugh in my face? Call me insane and storm out? Or could she see the twisted brilliance of this plan? My palms are slick with sweat as I wait some more, giving her time to absorb the enormity of what I’ve said.
Finally, she speaks again. “I might be old-fashioned, but shouldn’t you at least ask my name before you propose?”
I grin at her witty comeback. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m Adrian West, and you are?”
“Rowena Taylor.”
“Rowena,” I repeat, letting the lovely name roll off my tongue. “That’s such a beautiful name.”
She chuckles, the sound light and silvery. “Definitely makes me fake wife material?”
“Absolutely.” I grin like an idiot. Her sense of humor is refreshing.
“You’ve never even seen me,” Rowena points out, amusement lacing her tone. “What if I’m hideous?”
“This would be a platonic arrangement.” Trying to be tactful, I let out a soft, hesitant hum, adding, “So it wouldn’t matter how you look.”
“But aren’t investment bankers supposed to have wildly beautiful wives? ”
“An ugly wife-to-be could make me appear less shallow,” I quip back without missing a beat.
Her infectious laugh echoes through the bathroom, and a foreign warmth twists deep in my stomach, knowing I’m the one who made her laugh even on her lowest day.
“Well, that sure takes the pressure off,” Rowena says, still chuckling. There’s a pause and then, “So, how would this arrangement work?” Rowena asks hesitantly.
“Since you said you can’t make rent, and we’d have to pretend anyway, you should move in with me. You’d have your own bedroom and private bathroom, of course.” I picture my spacious penthouse apartment, imagining a faceless woman inhabiting one of the airy guest rooms. “It’s a big place with plenty of space. We wouldn’t step on each other’s toes, and I’m at the office most of the time. We’d just need to put on a bit of a show on public appearances.”
“How many public appearances?”
“Who’s the one worried about me being repulsive now?”
“If we only have to be roommates, I care more about you being kind and… clean . Also, hopefully not into heavy metal.”
I laugh again. “Definitely not into heavy metal. And I have cleaning ladies.”
“But what if we’re not compatible?” she presses me.
“If you’re pregnant, we mustn’t be too far apart in age,” I reason. “And you sound nice.”
“Yeah, you sound nice as well.”
“But, Rowena, we’d still lead completely separate lives.” I hope this sounds as reassuring as I intend it to be.
“Ah,” she jokes dryly, her tone lightly mocking. “That sounds like all my Cinderella dreams coming true.”
A smile tugs at my lips. Her wry humor is contagious, despite the circumstances. “I understand I’m asking a lot. You might not want to do this at all.”
She sighs. “I’ve no idea what I want.”
“You don’t have to answer right away. But if you’re open to considering the proposal, we can iron out the details later.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, broken only by the muffled sounds of the busy lobby beyond the door. When Rowena speaks again, her voice quivers. “Shouldn’t we, um, come out of these stalls first? Meet face to face? This is starting to sound like an episode of Love Is Blind on steroids.” She gasps. “Not that I was implying love is involved; you know what I mean, right?”
My lips pull into a grin. “I do. And you’re right, we should meet.” My pulse quickens at the suggestion, an inexplicable excitement buzzing through my veins.
I rise to my feet, smoothing down my suit and adjusting my sleeves. I push open the stall door, anticipation coiling in my gut as I step out to stand before the woman I’ve just asked to marry.