11. Chloe
Chapter 11
Chloe
“ W hat ?” Tate and Jason say in unison.
They watch me with a mixture of amusement and confusion. When I fail to laugh or crack a joke—and probably from the determined yet frenzied look in my eyes—their reactions shift.
Tate’s amusement grows. Jason’s confusion deepens.
My awareness of the situation heightens, and my hands begin to shake.
“I’m sorry,” Tate says, his words kissed with a laugh. “I thought you just said you were marrying Jason.”
It’s now or never.
I lift my chin. “Because I am.”
Tate nods, disbelief written all over his face.
“What are you talking about, Chloe?” Jason asks carefully.
“You’re marrying me.”
He’s as surprised as I am to hear those words come from my lips in a sentence about us . But I’ve said them—they’re out in the world. And I can’t deny that, aside from the tightness in my chest from my nerves, this doesn’t feel like a bad idea. It’s a bit of a relief, really.
And that might be the scariest part of all.
Jason narrows his eyes, searching mine for an answer to an unasked question.
“What’s going on here?” Tate asks, picking up on the tension between his brother and me.
“I’d like to know that myself,” Jason says.
I swallow. “I don’t know how much clearer I need to be, but Jason and I are getting married.” I turn to Tate. “Six months, right? From the date of the wedding, I’m assuming.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, Tate is speechless.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I turn back to Jason. “Marry me. I’ll be the best wife ever—even though I’m unsure how to be a wife because I’ve never wanted to be one. But I’ll take a course or read a book or watch a bunch of romantic comedies that I usually stay away from like the plague because those happy endings are bullshit. But I can pretend,” I add quickly. “I will. I’ll do anything. I?—”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” Tate holds his hands up and takes a few steps my way. “Are you fucking serious?”
I gulp, sweat dampening the back of my neck. “Yes.”
He looks at Jason. “You’re marrying her?”
“I … don’t know what’s happening here,” Jason says, eyeing me. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?”
I groan loudly enough to snap them both out of shock. “Tate, if Jason gets married and stays married for six months, you’ll pay him one hundred thousand dollars, which is completely ridiculous, but who am I to judge? Right? Rich people play rich people games, I guess. But that’s the way this bet works?”
“Yeah,” Tate says, nodding slowly. “That’s how it works.”
“Okay. Then we’re getting married,” I say. “We stay married for half a year from the date we say I do , and then you pay me fifty thousand dollars and donate the other half to whatever charity Jason chooses. Deal?”
Tate’s shoulders settle back, and he faces me like he does men in business meetings. If I wasn’t on the verge of losing everything I have and gaining a mental breakdown, I might find it funny.
“This has to be a real marriage,” he says, his voice higher.
“Define that.” I look him in the eye. “What constitutes a real marriage?”
“You can’t just put a ring on your finger and go through the motions. You must actually marry my brother.”
“Who is sitting right here,” Jason says from across the room.
We both ignore him.
“This wager was to prove that Jason can’t …” He throws his head back and laughs. “Hell, I don’t even remember what it was for now, but I want to see this play out.”
“Fine,” I say. “It’ll be a real marriage.”
“You have to live with him,” Tate says, glancing at Jason quickly.
“Fine,” I say again. Not sure how I’ll convince Jason of that, but one battle at a time …
“You have to do things together. Spend time together. Wind your lives together and make a real go at this.”
“What else?” I ask.
Tate’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Then I got nothing. Game on.”
I hold out my hand, and Tate shakes it. His palm is softer and smaller than Jason’s, but I don’t comment. Not when I’m this close to miraculously solving my problems.
“Okay. Great,” Tate says, walking backward toward the door. “I’ll be awaiting my invitation.”
The door swings shut with a crisp smack.
“What the hell just happened?” Jason asks, making me jump.
“I forgot you were here,” I say, turning to him.
He laughs as if he’s in shock. “You forgot I was here as you just made a deal with my brother to marry me? What am I? A piece of meat?”
“You could be, but that’s not the point.” I move to his desk and stand across from him. My gaze levels with his. “You’re marrying me. I already shook on it.”
“I saw that. May I ask why?”
I hold my breath, deciding how much to tell him. But as I war with where to start and what to divulge, I realize I’m too tired to hold back. And I don’t have a lot of time to work with, either.
“The letter I got today during your impromptu visit was a notice that the Pliny Building is condemned. I have forty-eight hours to vacate the property.”
Jason’s brows shoot to the ceiling.
“If I can even find a cheap apartment in two days, I might be able to afford the security deposit and first month’s rent, but my funds are already low thanks to car problems, bills, and loan repayments.” I take a shaky breath. “When my mom died, I got myself in a hole, and I’m still climbing out of it. Interest is a real thing.”
His features sober. The vein near his temple pulses, and the sight of his jaw clenching makes my heart pound.
“Why haven’t you asked me for help?” he asks.
My throat constricts as his green eyes shine. “Because this isn’t your problem.”
“What you really mean is that you aren’t my problem, isn’t it?”
The lump grows, nearly sealing off my ability to breathe. I become lightheaded as I watch him fight with his emotions. I hope I didn’t just make a massive mistake.
“It hurts me that you’ve been struggling all this time and have never said a word,” he says.
“I don’t want you to think I’m incompetent, lazy, or needy.”
“But you’d rather me think you’re a fool for not coming to me? I have resources, and I care about you, dammit.”
Tears fill my eyes, and no amount of praying will keep them from falling.
“The last thing I want to do is sully our friendship over money,” I say. “I don’t want to owe you, Jason, because I don’t know if I can ever repay you. And everyone that’s ever tried to help me in the past has used that as an invitation to judge me, direct me—to give me ultimatums. And I’d rather live on the street and have a tarp to cover up Mimi with at night than to send her to a nursing home where no one gives a fuck about her. Where they don’t know the life she’s lived and don’t give a shit about how much respect she deserves. I won’t worry that she’s lying there lonely or cold and no one is there to give her a blanket just so I can live in a better place …”
My voice cracks as the floodgates open. The saltiness of my tears splashes against my lips.
“Come here.” Jason marches around his desk and is at my side before the tears hit my shirt. “My God, Chloe.”
He pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me. My cheek lays against him as my heart bleeds inside me.
I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me like this. And that’s why I finally break .
His chin rests on my head as we sway gently from side to side. My tears stain his shirt, my sobs whispering quietly through the room. It’s the first time I’ve been able to cry freely for as long as I can remember.
I didn’t realize I needed this.
I sniffle as the wave of emotion begins to wane and the haze of feelings lifts. A chuckle slips past my swollen lips from embarrassment, and I pull away.
“My mascara is all over your shirt,” I say, wiping my face with my hands.
“I don’t give a damn about the shirt.” He grabs a couple of tissues from the bookshelf behind his desk and brings them to me. “Do you need anything? A drink?”
“No. I’m good.” I still have the coffee this generous, sweet man brought me on my desk. I blow out a breath and sniffle again. “Thank you for that hug.”
“Want to repay me?”
I nod, unsure where he’s going with this.
He half leans and half sits on the edge of his desk. A small smile dances along his lips. “Then fill me in on this wedding we’re having.”
My laughter comes unexpectedly, and the sound makes Jason’s smile grow wider. I swipe the tissue under my eyes and feel my cheeks flush.
“You know I’ll give you the money, right?” he asks. “You don’t have to marry me, for fuck’s sake.”
“You giving me money is not an option. So if you don’t want to marry me?—”
“I didn’t say that.”
His words are sharp and decisive, and there’s something so ridiculously attractive about it that I nearly lose track of what I’m saying.
“Then I’d rather earn the money somehow,” I say. “And I can justify this ridiculous bet if I know Tate will donate it anyway. While it hurts my pride to consider myself a charity, I’m desperate enough to succumb to the definition. So, for the next six months, I’ll try my best to make this worth it to you since you’re not taking half of the money. I’ll cook. I’ll clean. I’ll do the laundry. If you have a dog, I’ll walk it. Whatever you want.”
He smirks. “So what you’re saying is that you would do anything for me?”
I try not to smile but fail miserably.
He sits quietly, the wheels behind his eyes turning. I’m too nervous, too emotionally spent, to say anything else. Besides, the proverbial ball is in his court.
Finally, after what feels like ages, he licks his lips. A slow smile ghosts his lips.
I hold my breath, uncertain where this is headed.
“I’ll marry you on one condition,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Whatever the condition is, I agree,” I say. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’d rather you agree to this because you want to rather than because it’s a term in an arrangement.”
Oh . “Fair.”
He stands tall and straightens his tie as if he can’t manage to sit still any longer. “I don’t just want to get married. I want to prove Tate and Renn wrong. Those cocky little shits run their mouths, and I want to show them that they aren’t always right.”
“How do we accomplish that?”
“We make it believable.” He stops moving, his eyes finding mine. “We make them question whether we’re going through the motions or if we’ve really fallen in love.”
“Clearly, we aren’t falling in love.”
A shadow filters through his features. “Clearly. But they won’t know that.” He moves around his desk, standing next to his chair. “So you move in with me. We continue working together unless you want to be a housewife.”
“I’d like to stay working with you. I hope that after we get divorced, I can keep my job.”
“Of course.”
I nod, sighing in relief. I hope it’s that easy . “Good.”
“But we’ll tell everyone we’re married. We’ll go to dinners, functions, and family events. We’ll move Mimi in with us.”
My heart stops. Eyes go wide. My jaw hangs slack.
I didn’t dream he’d offer that. I hoped I could get a small advance to cover the housing, but does he want Mimi to move in with him, too?
What the heck ?
“I have a guesthouse if she’d prefer her privacy,” he says. “We can do whatever makes you two happy.”
“But me? I’d live with you?” I ask, each word measured.
A slow, seductive smile dances along his lips. My gaze is glued to his mouth as I try not to squirm.
If he wants this to be believable, that means our marriage will include things like … sex .
My stomach clenches at the thought. And by the way he looks at me, I think he’s thinking the same thing.
“Are we consummating this marriage, Mr. Brewer?” I ask, hoping I’m reading the situation correctly. If not …
“That’s up to you.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “But I hope so.”
My gaze flips to his, and I try not to melt from the heat in them.
“Remember,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’m happy just to give you the money. There are no strings unless you want them.”
I swallow to wet my throat. I’m afraid my words will stick otherwise.
“So my options are to take the money and run …” My cheeks flush as I meet his gaze. “Or take the money, have a place to stay, and have sex with you for six months?”
He pins me to the spot with only a look. If this intensity is a promise of things to come, I’m in. I’m so fucking in.
“Option B, please,” I say.
A flicker of a smile kisses his lips.
I’ve made my choice, and it’s truly the one I want to make. It’s the decision I’m certain he was hoping I’d make, too. But these sinful rewards have risks, and I’m not too turned on not to consider them.
What if this ruins us?
My stomach flips upside down.
“Just promise me that we’ll still be friends when this is over,” I say. “Tell me I’m not delusional, and this will work out.”
“I promise. You have my word. I would never do anything to compromise that, Chloe.”
“But you can see why I’m questioning it, right?”
He lifts a brow. “And you understand that if you didn’t trust me down deep, you never would’ve suggested this in the first place.”
That’s very true.
“So are we doing this?” he asks.
I give myself a moment to reconsider.
I want to do this. I need the help he’s more than willing to give me, and I can help him win a bet in the process. And I’ll also have the excuse to do something I’ve wanted to do for years—sleep with my boss. He obviously wants that, too. And this allows us to do that without violating every rule in the employee handbook.
My mind is made up. This feels like a gift, and I’m not one to turn down a present from above.
“We’re doing this,” I say.
Relief washes over his features. “What happens in our marriage stays in our marriage.”
The ridiculousness of that statement makes me laugh.
He clicks around on his computer and types a few things in, then he looks up at me. “How fast do you want to become my wife?”
My wife . Chills zip across my heated skin. Those two words do something to me—and I didn’t expect that.
“I need to be out of my apartment by Sunday morning, I think,” I say.
“I can get a truck to your house this evening to move you out. Does that work?”
Wow . “Um, yes. I can get our stuff together in a few hours if I can find some boxes.”
“I’ll put an order in and have some delivered.” He clicks around a few more times. “Should I reserve a church?”
“It kind of feels wrong to get married for money in front of God, don’t you think?” I ask, laughing.
He laughs, too. “I’m going to Vegas tomorrow. Want to get married there? We could take Mimi and make a weekend trip of it.”
All I can do is stare at him. Why is he this wonderful to me ?
Even in my most hopeful moments, I didn’t imagine he’d go to these lengths to make this okay for me … and Mimi. He has immense responsibilities on his plate between Brewer Air and his family—not to mention the enormous mess of his dad’s atrocities—and so many people are counting on him. He doesn’t need my mess, yet here he is, asking to help me hold my load.
I don’t know how I managed this or if I’m dreaming, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t regret it.
Tears fill my eyes again. “You’ll really do all of this for me?”
There’s something on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he shakes his head and grins a shy smile. “You’d be surprised what people will do for you if you let them. Now go home and start packing. I have a few calls to make.”
I stay rooted in place. Should I hug him? Kiss him? Shake his hand like I did Tate’s?
But the idea of touching him sends a bolt of energy through me that makes my knees weak. Brushing against him before today made me tingle. But now, knowing what his arms feel like, the sturdiness of his chest, the feeling of him holding me tight, I can’t risk touching him again.
Not now.
Not here.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You can thank me later.” His lips twitch as he sits behind his desk. “And, trust me, you will.”
My insides burn, and it takes everything I have not to drop to my knees and thank him properly right here. But I have stuff to pack and a move to make.
Then I can make the other, more pleasurable moves.
“Looking forward to it, Mr. Brewer,” I say.
Before he can respond, I pivot on my heel and leave him sitting there.