20. Gideon
20
Gideon
T he moment the emergency call comes in, I know something’s wrong. Jonas never interrupts my personal time unless it’s critical. I excuse myself from Ava and her friend Lucy, stepping into my home office and closing the door behind me.
“What’s happened?” I ask without preamble.
“We have a problem.” Jonas’s voice is tight. “Blackwell’s been digging into your marriage.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Define ‘digging.’”
“He’s hired private investigators. They’ve been asking questions about how you and Ava met, how long you’ve been together. They’re looking for inconsistencies.”
“Fuck.” I pace to the window, staring out at the Manhattan skyline that usually calms me. Not today. “How do you know this?”
“One of his investigators approached Dean Wess at the gallery. Offered him money for information about Ava’s show and your attendance patterns. Dean called me immediately. ”
At least Wess had the loyalty to warn us. I make a mental note to acquire one of his more expensive pieces as thanks.
“There’s more,” Jonas continues. “They’ve been watching your penthouse. Monitoring who comes and goes. They photographed Ava’s friend arriving today.”
My blood runs cold. Lucy. They’re watching us right now.
“How long?”
“Based on what we’ve gathered, at least a week. We’ve identified two of Blackwell’s people, but there could be more.”
A week. Which means they’ve seen Ava and me coming and going separately. Living like roommates rather than newlyweds. Maintaining professional distance even in what should be our most intimate space.
“Have they approached Ava?” The question comes out sharper than intended, an unexpected surge of protectiveness rising in me.
“Not that we know of. But Gideon...” Jonas hesitates. “If Blackwell can prove your marriage is fraudulent, the trust is invalidated. He’ll have everything he needs for the takeover.”
I close my eyes briefly. “I know.”
“We need to move quickly. I’ve set up a meeting for tomorrow morning with Elliott Hayes.”
Hayes. The prominent reputation strategist I had Jonas hire before the wedding.
“Good. We have to get ahead of this.” I check my watch. “And Jonas? Have Ray and James do a sweep of the penthouse for bugs. Today.”
“Already scheduled. ”
I end the call and stand motionless for a moment. If Blackwell wants to invalidate our marriage, we need to make it bulletproof. Which means a more convincing public presence. More intimate displays of affection where people can see us. More photographs. More evidence.
The thought of closer proximity to Ava sends an unwelcome charge through my body. I’ve been careful to maintain boundaries. Too careful, perhaps. And now that caution might cost me everything.
When I return to the living room, I find Ava alone, staring out the window. The soft afternoon light highlights the slight furrow between her brows. She’s worried about something.
“Lucy had to leave,” she says before I can ask. “Some emergency at her father’s company.”
I nod, noticing how she hugs her arms around herself. A defensive posture. Something happened while I was gone.
“We need to talk,” I say, moving closer. “There’s been a development.”
Her posture stiffens. “That sounds serious.”
“It is.” I gesture toward the sofa. “Sit with me.”
We sit, and I’m acutely aware of the careful distance she maintains between us. Just as I’ve trained myself to do. A habit we can no longer afford in public.
“Blackwell is investigating our marriage,” I tell her directly. “He’s hired people to watch us, to look for evidence that this is all a sham.”
Her eyes widen. “What? How do you know?”
“This isn’t entirely unexpected. We knew he’d try something like this. I just didn’t expect him to go so far...” I explain what Jonas told me, watching as the implications register on her face. The color drains from her cheeks.
“They were watching while Lucy was here? Jesus.” She runs a hand through her dark curls, a nervous habit I’ve come to recognize. “Did I screw things up? She was asking so many questions.”
“You handled it perfectly,” I assure her, surprising myself with the gentleness in my voice. “But we need to be more convincing going forward. Much more convincing.”
Ava swallows visibly. “What exactly does that mean?”
I lean forward. “It means we need to look like a real couple in love. Not just in public, but anywhere we might be observed.”
“You think they’re watching the penthouse?” A note of panic edges into her voice.
“I know they are. I’ve ordered a security sweep for listening devices, but we have to assume we’re being observed whenever we’re in common areas with windows or outside.”
She stands abruptly, pacing to the window before remembering and stepping back into the shadows. “So what’s the plan? More public appearances?”
“Yes. Hayes is crafting a strategy, but expect more high-profile events. Charity galas. Restaurant openings. Places where we’ll be photographed together.”
“And here?” she asks, her voice smaller now. “What changes here?”
“Fortunately, our private quarters remain private,” I tell her. “The bedroom wing has enhanced security measures specifically designed for privacy. The windows there have a specialized reflective coating that prevents long-range photography, and the automated blinds are programmed for complete coverage. The main living areas require more caution, but our personal spaces remain secure.”
Relief visibly washes over her. “So we can still have our separate bedrooms?”
I nod. “The sleeping arrangements stay the same. Except for Elena”—my housekeeper—”the staff never enters our private quarters without explicit permission, and they leave well before evening. What matters is how we appear to the outside world and in the shared spaces of the penthouse.”
“And what does that look like?” she asks, her posture relaxing slightly.
“More physical closeness when we’re in view of the windows. Meals together. Arriving and leaving together when possible. You can still go to Parsons, and your warehouse, alone of course, but everything else...” I maintain eye contact, wanting her to understand the seriousness. “Also, when staff is present, we need to behave as though we’re genuinely in love.”
She’s quiet for a long moment.
“I can do that,” she finally says, lifting her chin slightly. Always with that defiant streak of hers.
So irritating. Yet... strangely fascinating.
“There’s something else.” I stand and move toward her, closing the distance between us before seating myself again. “We need to start now. This minute. In case they’re watching.”
Confusion flashes across her face. “Start what now?”
I reach for her hand, bringing it to my lips in a gesture that feels both performative and strangely intimate. “Being convincingly in love.”
Her pulse jumps under my touch. I can feel it in her wrist. Her breath catches audibly, and a flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks. The reaction is genuine, at least. Helpful for our charade.
“I don’t know how to fake being in love,” she admits quietly, her eyes fixed on where my thumb traces circles on her palm.
“Then don’t fake it.” The words come out. “Just react naturally. Like you did at the gallery when we first met. Before you knew who I was.”
She pulls her hand away, that defiant spark returning. “You mean before I knew this was all a business arrangement with an expiration date?”
“Yes.” I step closer, crowding her space slightly. Testing boundaries. “Before all of that. When it was just chemistry between two people.”
“You’re asking a lot.” Her voice wavers slightly.
“I know.” And I do know. I’m asking her to blur the lines we’ve carefully established. To risk the emotional entanglement we’ve both sworn to avoid. I’m asking her to pretend to want me, when the last thing I need is to remember how much I want her.
But Blackwell has forced my hand. And perhaps hers as well.
“I need you to trust me,” I tell her, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice. “This isn’t just about the business anymore. Blackwell plays dirty. If he exposes our arrangement, there could be legal consequences for both of us.”
Fear flashes in her eyes. “You mean—”
“I mean I won’t let that happen,” I interrupt firmly. “But I need your help.”
Something shifts in her expression then. A softening. A decision.
“What do we do first?” she asks.
Relief washes through me, followed by something more complicated. I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile.
“First, we have dinner together. Visibly, near the windows. We talk. We laugh. We touch.” I tuck a stray curl behind her ear, noting how she shivers slightly at the contact. “And tomorrow, we meet with Hayes to plan our public strategy.”
She nods, taking a deep breath as if steadying herself. “I can do that.”
“I know you can.” In the weeks I’ve known her, Ava has consistently surprised me with her resilience, her quick adaptability. It’s one of the reasons I chose her for this arrangement.
One of many reasons, a voice in my head clarifies. I silence it ruthlessly.
“There’s something else you should know,” I add, deciding full disclosure is necessary now. “There may be a leak in my organization. Someone feeding Blackwell information.”
Her eyes widen. “Who?”
“I don’t know yet. But until I do, be careful what you say around anyone. Even the staff.”
She nods, processing this new complication. Then, with a determined set to her jaw, she leans closer to me.
“If we’re being watched,” she says quietly, “shouldn’t you be kissing me right now? Real husbands kiss their wives when they’re this close.”
The unexpected challenge in her voice sends heat coursing through me. For a strategic business arrangement, this woman has an uncanny ability to unbalance me.
“You’re right,” I murmur, cupping her face in my hands.
I kiss her with careful restraint, mindful of the boundaries we’ve established. But when her hands come up to grip my shirt, and her lips push against mine to deepen the contact, something shifts. The kiss transforms from performance to something dangerously authentic.
When we finally part, both slightly breathless, I find myself fighting an unexpected urge to pull her closer again. To forget why we’re doing this.
“Was that convincing enough?” she asks, a slight tremor in her voice belying her attempt at nonchalance.
I tuck away the unwelcome desire her kiss has awakened.
This is still business, an internal voice growls . Complicated now, but still business.
“It’s a start,” I tell her, offering a smile I hope appears more confident than I feel. “We’ll convince them, Ava. Together.”
And as she smiles back, tentative but determined, I realize we’ve crossed some invisible line. This arrangement has evolved beyond the clean, contractual boundaries I’d envisioned.
I just hope I can remember where those boundaries were supposed to be.
The kitchen door swings open, and Marianne appears carrying a steaming dish that fills the room with the rich aroma of saffron and seafood.
“Your lobster risotto, Mr. King,” she announces.
I glance at Ava, whose expression suggests food is the furthest thing from her mind at this moment. I recognize the feeling.
“Thank you, Marianne,” I say, standing. “But I’m going to postpone lunch. Feel free to stay and eat with my wife.”
Food seems remarkably unimportant compared to the situation with Blackwell. Not to mention the lingering sensation of Ava’s lips against mine.
Fuck.
The business at hand has become considerably more complicated, and not just because of Blackwell’s investigation.