Chapter 8 – Jenna
JENNA
The following Monday
Ihummed under my breath as I walked down the hall to my office, flipping through the mail stacked in my arms. There was nothing but holiday cards, customer complaints, the usual December clutter.
I nudged my door open with my hip, dropped the mail onto my desk, and flicked on the lights.
“What the—” I dropped my bag at the sight of Nicholas sitting behind my desk.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I asked. “And why were you sitting in the dark?”
“Because I’ve been thinking.”
“Pretty sure you can do that with the lights on.”
“I’m minutes away from offering you a million-dollar bonus.” He smiled. “Say yes.”
Hell yes. Wait, no… “I need to know the terms first.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Not when you’re sneaking into my office like a psychopath.” I walked over to my bookshelf and picked up a green gift box, throwing it to him. “That’s for Laura’s mom. She really likes all things Switzerland, so she’ll love that.”
“I ended things with Laura before the weekend started,” he said.
“Why?”
“If she can’t fool Marshall by even ten percent, she won’t be able to fool anyone else.”
“Oh…” I crossed my arms. “I’m so sorry you have to hold off on your inheritance this way. A five-year wait has to be tough.”
“I don’t plan on holding off on it at all.”
“You have another option in mind?”
“Yes.” His gaze dropped, deliberate. “You.”
I looked over my shoulder, assuming there was someone behind me.
I didn’t see anyone, so I stepped back and peered into the hallway.
“You, Jenna Dawson,” he clarified. “I need you to be my wife—well, fiancée—and I need you to tell your family you’re coming home to see them so we can fake a few memories for the cameras.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” The words rushed out of my mouth. “Better yet, show me exactly where you hit your head this morning so I can have your doctor come check you out.”
“I’m being serious, Jenna.”
“You can’t be,” I said. “My entire family thinks I’m not coming home, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Is that the only issue you have with the scenario?”
“No.” I wanted to shake some sense into him. “There’s also the potential of going to prison for marriage fraud, losing my well-earned reputation among my coworkers here, and most importantly, having to deal with you for more hours than I have to.”
“I said I’d pay you a million dollars.”
“That’s not enough.”
“Name your price, then.”
“You can’t afford the cost of peace, and even if I was interested—and I’m totally not—why can’t we fake the photos and craft memories by visiting your family?”
“My family and I are not on the best of terms at this moment,” he said. “You know that.”
“Well, that sounds like a personal problem.” I held back a sigh. “Whatever issues you have with your family—”
“Issues. Plural.”
“Yes, well, whatever those are, I can guarantee they’re not as bad as you think. Plus, I literally just sent mine an email about how awful you are.”
“That can easily be explained away,” he said. “We don’t have to stay long. We can meet them all at cafés if you like.”
Spoken like someone who totally doesn’t have a family. “What part of ‘no’ aren’t you understanding?”
“The part where I’m asking you very nicely.”
“Well, well, well!” A man in an Easter-blue suit walked into the office. “I was just looking for you, Mr. Saint!”
“Who the hell are you?”
“A man who was told you have impeccable manners, so I’ll let this slight bit of rudeness slide.” He smiled. “I’m Jeremiah Reaves from the firm handling your inheritance payout.”
“My apologies.” Nicholas extended his hand. “We were just having a private conversation.”
“Understandable.” He smiled. “I’ve heard I have a tendency to pop up when I’m least expected, so no harm, no foul. Who is this beautiful woman exactly?”
“My soon-to-be wife,” Nicholas said before I could speak. “Jenna—Almost-Saint.”
“Ahhh. Mr. Marshall mentioned you were more gorgeous in person, and that is true. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Almost-Saint.” He extended his hand, and I hoped he couldn’t feel how hot it was from my boiling blood.
Marshall just assumed I would be okay with this?
“Well, there’s been a scheduling issue,” he said. “So I’m here early to do my due diligence on your marriage.”
“No, no, no.” Nicholas shook his head. “I was told the agent would be someone else—someone blind with a cane.”
“You mean Mr. Harrison.”
“Yes, him. I’d rather work with him.”
“Well, he’s no longer available. He’s going sightseeing in Paris.”
“Without eyes?”
“However you want to put it, you’re stuck with me now.” He patted Nicholas’s shoulder.
“Your contract says I’m entitled to take at least four trips with you. I figure one big holiday trip can compensate for all four.”
Nicholas and I exchanged glances.
“You are going somewhere for the holidays, correct?” Mr. Reaves asked.
“Given the fact that Mr. Marshall told me you’re getting married before the end of the year, I’m assuming family will be involved?”
“No, we’re just staying here in New York.”
“Yeah, we’ll just be here.”
We blurted out at the same time.
“That doesn’t make much sense.” He pulled out a folder. “Miss Jenna has a huge family in Washington State. I took a peek at one of her aunt’s Facebook pages.”
“Why are you stalking my relatives on social media?” I asked.
“To make sure this is real, obviously.” He smirked, pulling out a sheet.
I swallowed, feeling like the world was about to open up and devour me whole.
“Right here—your Aunt May,” he read.
“There’s not a peep of excitement in her feed about an engagement, and I went back years.
There is, however, a ‘Please pray that Jenna’s boss gets hit by a bus this year’ post.”
“She’s joking.” I feigned a smile. “It’s just a joke.”
“She seems to have made that same exact joke three years in a row.”
“We’re keeping the engagement a surprise,” Nicholas said.
“We’re going to see her family in Washington for Christmas. We’re staying a few days.”
“Okay. And what about your family, Mr. Saint?”
“That’s not possible.”
“Your mother isn’t available?”
“I said it’s not possible.” His voice went cold. “Drop it.”
“Fair.” He clicked his pen.
“No ring?” He glanced at my hand. “Surely you’ve bought her something by now?”
“She doesn’t wear it at work.”
“Can I see it?”
Silence.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“You can see it eventually,” Nicholas said.
“Right now would be good.”
“Can you get it from my desk?” he asked me. “Bottom right drawer.”
I walked to his office and opened the drawer, finding a black velvet box.
The glittering pink diamonds were cold against my skin as I slid it onto my finger—perfect fit.
Returning to the scene of the lies, I held out my hand.
“Holy wow,” Mr. Reaves said. “How many carats is that thing?”
“Seven,” Nicholas said.
“Any significance to that number or the type of stone you picked?”
“Her birthday’s November seventh, and she has a tendency to always pick ‘seven’ whenever I ask for a random number.”
He looked at me. “She’s also always liked pink diamonds.”
Him knowing that has to be a strange coincidence…
“I’ll be calling a little later about your joint travel itinerary,” Mr. Reaves said.
“And I expect tickets and accommodations of my own for this trip.”
“And if I say no to this?” Nicholas asked.
“If I’d rather just work with another person in your firm?”
“You can totally wait until my blind colleague returns,” he smiled.
“But then I’ll write that you are rejecting your inheritance at this time and electing to wait until you turn fifty.”
“Looking forward to your call,” Nicholas said.
“I thought so.” Mr. Reaves winked before leaving.
The door clicked shut, leaving the office too quiet.
When I was certain he was long gone, I narrowed my eyes at Nicholas.
“I only need your help for the holidays,” he said. “After that, it’ll just be a couple weeks of light appearances and maybe—”
“I want five million dollars,” I interrupted. “Plus an additional bonus, a new car, and a few other obvious conditions.”
“I need to hear these obvious conditions…”
“We will not touch each other outside of photos,” I said. “We will not share a bed, we will not have sex, and this marriage gets annulled the moment the ink dries on your inheritance.”
“You know we have to make it last for a least a few weeks longer than that.”
“You get the gist of what I’m saying. We’ll be over, and I won’t owe you anything else.”
He stared at me for several moments without saying a word. Then he shook my hand, and every nerve in my body went wild.
“I’ll see you Saturday morning,” he said.
I twisted the ring to take it off.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Just keep it on.”
“For once,” he added, “do what I say without a comeback.”
My hand shook as I pushed the door open.
“Only if you stop making demands that hurt me to follow.”
I stormed out, clinging to the final word.