13. Fake Wife vs Lousy Assistant
13
FAKE WIFE VS LOUSY ASSISTANT
CHARLES
“I’m in, Charles. If your proposal is still open, I’m ready to be your wife.”
The same kind of relief washes over me as I’d feel after a good Aikido session with my trainer, but it goes away immediately when she jerks her head toward my office door.
“You probably want me to sign some papers.”
I drop the menus on her desk and lead her into my office. Instead of going for the envelope that’s been sitting on my desk since the minute I first made her the proposal, I ask, “What changed your mind?”
Daisy takes a seat across from me. “Yesterday, you asked me what I really needed, and this is all I need right now.”
“And what about wanting love?” I should be feeling ecstatic that I’m finally closing this deal, but why does happiness feel like remorse today?
“If love is made of people like Jax, I think I’m better without it.” A dry laugh slips out of her mouth.
“And what about having a marriage like your parents?”
She pauses until a painful smile tugs on her lips. It’s uncomfortable to watch for some reason.
“I think one has to have wished on a dozen shooting stars to have that kind of love in their lives. Not all dreams come true, Charles, and I’m okay with that. There’s a reason they’re called dreams and not reality.”
Those words hit a foreign nerve in my chest. In making my own dream come true, I’m ripping her away from any chance of finding her own.
I slide a paper across the desk and place my Hawthorne crest pen on top. “Since love is off the table, I want you to make a list of things I can give you. A lifetime supply of colorful sticky notes. Fur slippers in every imaginable animal.”
“Don’t tempt me, boss. You might end up regretting telling me that.” She snorts, and I realize the absence of her smile affects me more than I thought.
“Do you have a minute? Because I’d like to seal this deal fast.”
“A minute? How can I write all my wishes down in one minute?” Daisy lets out a whoosh of air.
“Chop, chop, Cinderella. You already lost a few seconds.” I tap my wristwatch.
“Asshole!” she mumbles.
Since she’s so busy scribbling, I don’t have to worry about her catching my grin.
As the sixty seconds pass, I look up from my watch. “Time’s up.”
Daisy raises her head but then goes back to finishing whatever she was writing.
“Hey.” I get up from my chair and circle around the desk until I’m standing above her. “That’s not fair play.”
“What can I say? I learned how to bend the rules from you, future husband.”
The word husband rolls off her lips and hits me in the chest like a Cupid’s arrow. I can’t help but smile as I lean forward and her eyes widen.
“Good, but it’s us against the world, future wife. Let’s not forget that.” My nose brushes against hers for a fraction before I pull back, the tiny contact registering in every cell of my body. “Now tell me how we can drop the word ‘future’ from our titles.” I nod toward the paper.
She clears her throat and sits straight. “So, first, I’d like to leave at six every evening.”
I return to my seat as she raises a second finger.
“And I’d like to not come to work any time before ten. From now on, I’ll only work forty hours a week, as written in my contract. I’ll also not work on the weekends, and definitely not on holidays. Do you agree?”
“Why don’t I hear you out completely before I comment?” I fold my hands together, pressing my fingers against my lips.
“I need an hour lunch break, uninterrupted, and not one where I’m chewing and taking notes for your next meeting while sitting on that couch.”
“That only happened once or twice.”
“Twenty times in the last six months!” She throws up her hands, only bringing them down when I nod.
“You also can’t ruin my plans with my friends because, just as I’m leaving, you remember something else for me to do. I won’t leave movies in the middle just because you had an amazing idea and would like to get started right that second. I won’t eat dinners in the office because you want to work late. I won’t consult with any of your home staff. You have an excellent housekeeper for that. Lastly, I would like you to arrange for me and my friends to meet Minnie King, the Dreamcatcher. We’re all big fans of her music, and I know you’re close to the Kings.” She finally takes a deep breath and looks at me. “I’m done. So, do you agree with everything?”
“Not at all. I’m not trading a fake wife for a lousy assistant. You’ll do everything exactly as you do today. But I’ll see what I can do for the last request.”
When she sits there looking smug, I lean back in my chair. “You knew I wasn’t going to agree to anything, right?”
“But it was so worth trying.”
My emotions are in a much calmer place when I finally slide the white envelope toward her. Her secret talent to calm down my nerves with just a smile is both scary and unexpected.
“Now let’s get to business. All the monetary stipulations I mentioned earlier are in here. In addition, I’ll pay for your dad’s medical bills. Anything that will ease his life and reduce your worry, we’ll do it. The marriage has no official end date, but after me becoming the CEO and with the media’s attention possibly elsewhere, let’s talk. You’ll always have a job with Hawthorne Holdings, even after we split up.”
It feels strange to talk about splitting up before we’ve even started our married life. But this isn’t a traditional setup, and ours is possibly the most imperfect match of the century.
“Charles, it’s too much.” She gnaws on her bottom lip. “You paying for Dad’s healthcare is more than enough for me. I don’t need anything else.”
“In business, you squeeze the maximum out of a great opportunity, Daisy. You don’t let your racehorse sit for seasons when it’s in the best shape. Build a safety net for your future.”
Her head hangs in embarrassment, but I’m certainly not letting her get into such a delicate situation ever again. She might not realize it, but the moment she signs the papers, everything between us will change. She’ll be carrying my name. Like everything else that’s mine, I’ll protect my wife from all present and future problems.
“Charles—”
“Daisy.” I lean forward. “This is nonnegotiable. There’s an NDA. The fewer people who know the truth, the lesser chance it’ll ever get out.”
“But your cousins know, don’t they?” Her words are flat, not meant to be accusatory, but they still hit me right in the chest. I’m being a hypocrite.
She doesn’t need to say it out loud.
“But I trust them.” I nod. “Is there someone with whom you want to share the truth?”
What the hell, Hawthorne? How can you even think of letting strangers in on this?
“My friends. They know you made a marriage proposal, but I don’t want them to know the rest.” She motions toward the contract papers. “I’d rather they think this is some sort of a fairy tale than constantly worrying if I made a deal with a handsome devil. Anyway, they believe you have a secret crush on me.”
Secret crush?
I have something for my assistant.
I’ve been calling it momentary insanity, which hits me more than a few times every day when she’s either making one of her hilarious remarks or just making me crazy by simply existing in my world.
Secret crush is a very simple description for it.
“I didn’t know I was infamous as a devil.”
“A handsome devil who would look amazing in a tux.” Her brows wiggle, taking away some of the bite.
“So where am I standing while wearing this tux? City hall, a private garden with a small group of family and friends, or the wedding hall of a luxury resort?”
“I don’t care as long as it’s not city hall. My Dad would love to walk me down an aisle, even though he’ll possibly not remember the moment for long.” A sad smile brushes her lips, and I make a vow right then to make it the most fucking memorable wedding of the century.
“Noted. I’m sure Jimmy will have a blast in the next few days.”
True to my words, within the next thirty minutes, my PR team has released the media packet with a story of how I fell for my assistant at first sight. It’s complete with photos taken over the years, innocent when placed individually, but together with the story, they could convince anyone of our fairy-tale romance.