Chapter Seven
Roxy
N ot sure how my reality became more interesting than fiction, but I am not here for it. In fact, I think I might actually be sick. I’m lying on my back in bed, staring at the ceiling, teetering between wondering if Christian is a genius or a con artist.
Except whenever I convince myself he’s the latter, I come up with very little he could scam me out of. He doesn’t need money, not that I have much to begin with. He can’t possibly be lacking female attention with as handsome and charming as he is. And there’s no possible way he’s catphishing me just to get me alone or something because we only met yesterday. Not only that, but his gaze never strayed past my face. He was the perfect picture of gentlemanly behavior in the supply room, where he had every opportunity to check me out and corner me.
There goes my stalker theory.
Aside from the fact that in person, he appears totally level-headed and likable, the internet also insists that he’s philanthropic and caring. It seems no one has a bad word to say about Christian Price. If I tied myself to a well-known billionaire like him, I might actually look better than Marcus in the judge’s eyes. The Prices are well-respected people. Affluent and generous. Even if Christian’s dad put him in an impossible situation. To everyone else, he’s the picture of success.
I glance at the fully lined bookshelves I set up the day after moving into this apartment and wish I could lose myself in a story right now instead of mentally circling the same crazy idea for hours on end. But Christian planted it there, and it’s not shaking loose.
I’ve gone over every possibility, every potential snag in this scheme, but the only one I come up with is Axel. He’s the variable I can’t control. He’s smart and independent, always has been, and the idea of trying to pull the wool over his eyes doesn’t sit right. But I’m afraid that if I explain the plan to him, he’ll lose all respect for me. What respectable woman marries a billionaire just because she’s desperate? Lying to him, though...lying feels worse than exposing my weaknesses as his caregiver.
I can’t say anything to him until I list out my terms for Christian to approve first. If he insists that I go against my conscience and lie to Axel about all this, then he’s not the kind of guy I want around Axel anyway. No, it would be better to make sure he knows what the terms are before I talk to Axel. That way there will be no surprises. For anyone.
Three hard knocks on my bedroom door have me jolting upright. “Come in.”
Axel cracks the door, barely peeking his head through. “You told me to tell you when I finished my homework. It’s done.”
“Great,” I say with false cheer in my voice. “Make sure you take a shower before bed. Lights out at ten.”
“Yes, Mother.” His sarcastic quip has me shaking my head as he closes the door. Man, I love that kid. Even the rebellious parts. He reminds me so much of myself at that age. Coping, but not really coping, pretending he’s invincible when we both know he’s not. Sarcastic and funny, but serious too.
It’s thinking of him and how much I care about his success in life that ultimately leads me to do what I do next. Grabbing a notebook and pen from my bedside table drawer, I flop back onto my bed, belly first, and begin writing out my non-negotiable terms for what could be the most disastrous marriage of convenience of all time.
Walking to Christian’s office the next day feels a little like walking into a jail cell. Only, the bars are of my own making and the warden is a rich, attractive man who claims he’s here to help. I’ll believe it when I see it. Experience has taught me to keep most men at arm’s length. Even those with the best intentions always seem to fall short. At least in this scenario, I’ll have a binding contract that safeguards me, physically. And let's not forget the invisible walls I constructed to protect my emotions.
No matter what, Christian won’t be able to hurt me or Axel. I’ve made sure of it.
When I reach the door to his office, I pause just outside and take a deep breath. “This is it,” I mutter to myself. “The moment before your entire life changes.” I give the door three swift knocks, then step back.
Christian’s secretary immediately opens the door. “Hi, there. Can I help you?”
“Um. Yes. I think so.” I shift on my feet. “I’m looking for Mr. Christian Price.”
The tall blonde gives me a quick once-over before gesturing me forward. “Come on in and have a seat. Do you have an appointment with him, Miss...?” Lowering into a rolling chair behind a small, sleek desk, she picks up a landline.
“Dia. Roxy Dia.” I glance around the small office and see the giant door to the left with a label that reads Christian Price. “And no. I don’t have an official appointment, but he may be expecting me.” I give her a smile laced with implications, hoping to drive home the point that he and I are familiar with each other. How can this farce work if we don’t successfully fool those around us?
She blinks at me, clearly confused, but doesn’t bother to ask questions. Instead, she punches a button and holds the phone to her ear. “Yes, Mr. Price? There’s a woman named Roxy here to see you. Says you may be expecting her.”
The secretary meets my eyes. “All right. I’ll send her in.” She hangs up, then motions toward the large door. “Mr. Price says to go on in.”
I stand and pull the edges of my skirt down, suddenly overcome with nerves. It doesn’t help that his watchdog secretary eyes me like she’s checking me for hidden weapons as I walk past.
When I step through the door, Christian stands at attention, a warm smile lighting up his face. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I parrot back. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not at all.” He gestures to the plush chair in front of his desk. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
I nod and slip into the chair as he closes the door behind me. Guess I should’ve thought to do that myself. Whoops .
“I take it by the fact that you’re here so soon you’ve already come to a conclusion about my offer,” he says with a tight expression as he lowers himself into the seat across from me.
“I have.” Swallowing the last of my trepidation, I force out an even breath. “And I have a list of terms.”
Christian raises one eyebrow in apparent surprise as he folds his hands on his desk. “You do?”
Reaching for the piece of notebook paper in my bag, I spread it out before him. It’s a short list with only a few major qualifiers on it, but it should give Axel and me the protection we both need. “I know it doesn’t look very official. I just wrote it up last night. We can print a new one once you set your terms as well.”
The tilt of his mouth hints at a smile, but he’s doing a valiant effort at keeping it restrained. “I see.” His blue eyes flit across the paper, his mouth moving as he reads. It’s a boyish gesture I wish I didn’t find adorable, but I do. Maybe it’s because he seems so put together and powerful; something as small as his lips moving while he reads makes him more human somehow.
“You want to tell your nephew the truth,” he says, flicking his gaze up to meet mine.
I worry my lower lip. “I do. It feels wrong to keep it from him. Besides, I think he could help us sell it to others. That is...if he’s on board with the plan.”
Christian watches me. “Do you think he would be?”
I hike one shoulder. “I honestly don’t know. Won’t until I talk to him about it.”
He goes back to reading the paper, then stops. Smiles. “I’m afraid I can’t sign off on number four.”
Number four? Scrambling through my memory, I try and think of which one he’s referring to. Number four. Number four...
“No physical contact?” he supplies for me. “It might be a little hard to convince people we’re a couple if we can’t touch each other in public.”
Dang it, he’s right. But with my attraction to him already pulling on the threads of my heart, I’m not sure touching is such a good idea.
“How about we amend that one,” he continues, “to say something like we won’t touch each other without the other person’s permission? Or only public displays of affection? Something to that effect.”
Considering he’s right, I concede. “Okay. We can adjust that one.” I’ll just have to also adjust the way I see him. From now on, he’s ugly. The opposite of beautifully bookish. My worst nightmare come to life.
“Roxy.” Christian’s expression softens as his attention falls to my now fidgeting hands. “I promise not to take things too far. This arrangement will be mutual and beneficial for us both, just like any physical relationship you and I might ever share.”
My stomach clenches with something I don’t want to wonder about right now. Not while I’m staring into indigo eyes that are so not ugly I can’t bring myself to look away. “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.” Clearing my throat, I add, “I think I can live with that.”
Christian’s shoulders relax as he leans back in his chair. “Speaking of the living situation, I probably assumed too much yesterday. If you two aren’t comfortable leaving your home, I could move in with you after we get married. I didn’t mean to assume that you’d need a place to live; I just thought to offer it. Just in case.”
“I appreciate that.” I smile. “But it would probably make more sense for us to move in with you for the time being. I checked with Axel’s school, and it’s open enrollment. So even if we move, he won’t have to transfer to a new district. I just, um, want to make sure there’s room. For both of us.”
“There is,” he assures me. “I own a three-bedroom penthouse a block from here.”
Of course he does. I school my features to keep my jaw from dropping. “Perfect.”
“Back to your terms,” he says, looking down at my pitiful little piece of paper. “I’m not sure I understand number five...the sleeping situation?”
“Right." A huff of laughter escapes me. “Um. I just mean that I’d like to sleep separate from you, but I want my things to stay in your room. For when the lawyer or case worker comes over. It might look too suspicious if my stuff is kept in a different bedroom.”
If Christian was surprised that people on our case might be all up in his business, he doesn’t let it show. “Understood. You and Axel can each take a spare bedroom.”
That’s even more than I’d hoped for. I was honestly just thinking I’d sleep on the couch. “Thank you.” My body sinks a little further into the chair as my earlier nervousness eases out of me.
All until he says, “Now it’s your turn to hear my terms.”
Panic claws at my chest even as I pretend to be completely unbothered. “Sure. Let’s hear them.”
“All right.” He’s back to nonchalantly folding his hands on the desk. “You can’t date or see anyone else while we’re married.”
For some unknown reason, my biker crush’s helmeted face flashes across my vision. But that’s silly. I’ve never even met the guy. And I’m highly unlikely to do so during this farce of a marriage. Still, a pang of disappointment spreads across my chest.
“I can manage that,” I say, willing the feeling away. Shouldn’t be too hard considering I haven’t dated in close to a year.
“Of course, I won’t either,” he says. “We need to look completely devoted to one another.” At my nod, he continues. “Next, I’d like you to be willing to accompany me to any and all work events or family dinners that might occur before or after our marriage in order to really sell our love story.”
“Fair enough.”
“And we’re agreed that there can be PDA? When I’ve asked for your permission ahead of time, of course.”
“Y-yes.” I curse my stupid tongue for faltering. Then I’m cursing my mind for imagining what it would be like to kiss Christian’s perfectly sculpted lips.
He spreads his hands across the desk, and it’s impossible not to imagine those large hands wrapping around my waist. “We can lay ground rules for that too so neither one of us takes it too far.”
“Like kissing?” I blurt like an affection-starved idiot. Back to cursing my tongue for going rogue.
The picture of calm, Christian merely smirks. “You consider kissing going too far?”
“Well, I mean...I guess not like a chaste kiss on the cheek. Or a quick peck on the lips. Like...friends would give.”
He offers me a slow nod. “All right. So those are allowed.”
Butterflies spring to life in my belly at the thought of letting Christian get that close to me. Close enough to kiss. I’m too far away to know what he smells like, but whiffs of leather and spice drift toward me every time he shifts in his seat, and I do not hate it. Which means I probably won’t hate him being near enough to buss me on the cheek. Which may pose a problem in this platonic marriage.
“Let’s just play it by ear,” I say in a slightly strangled voice.
“Whatever works for you,” he kindly responds. “We’ll go over more specifics later, anyway. Right now, we’re just hammering out the bullet points.”
“Right.” I gulp. “Anything else?”
Christian laces his fingers together. “Just one thing. I feel like I need to address the last one on your list.”
My spine snaps taut. I may have forgotten the order I put the other terms in, but not this one. Because to me, it’s the most important after telling Axel the truth. “What about it?”
His blue eyes hold mine. “Why can’t I make Axel any promises if I intend to keep them?”
“Because. Good intentions are just that.” Defensiveness rises within me, causing me to fist my hands on my thighs. “He’s been burned enough in his life by people who were supposed to care about him.” Denise comes to mind. She never could get clean for her son, always making promises, then never keeping them. Until her addiction finally took her life. “His trust in adults is already miniscule.”
“Okay,” Christian says. “I get that. But maybe having someone in his life who won’t let him down will help build that trust back a bit.”
“But you won’t be around forever.” Christian blinks rapidly as if he’s just now considering that, and I scoff. “You'll barely be in his life for a year. I’m sorry, but getting close to him is out of the question. I don’t need him forming a bond with you just to have to rip it all away when we pull the plug on this project.”
“Fine,” he concedes, deflating a bit. “If that’s what you think is best for him, I’ll agree to it.”
“It is.”
Christian looks like he might want to argue, but he doesn’t. Thankfully. If he did, I’d have to amend my terms and add something like don’t tell me how to raise my nephew . Now he knows I’m not willing to bend on anything when it concerns Axel.
“I think that’s all I have,” he says before folding up my piece of paper. “Mind if I take this and add it to the official document?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
He tucks it into the inner pocket of his suit coat without taking his eyes off me. “So...who are we going to tell about this?”
“No one but Axel.”
Christian licks his lips. “I may have already mentioned to a couple friends that I was faced with this dilemma. Remember my friend who suggested I find someone to help me?”
I’d forgotten all about that.
“But they’re both trustworthy,” he clarifies. “One has been my friend since childhood, and the other is sworn to secrecy.”
“Are you sure you can trust them with this , though?”
He’s silent a moment as little lines form in between his brows. "I am. I’ve kept secrets for them before, and I’d trust my small circle with my life. They’re good people.” He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world to place your faith in someone else. “I wouldn’t mind if you told your best friend. Only feels fair. Then we’d each have someone to confide in when we tick each other off.”
My smile starts at his joke, but it doesn’t fully form. “I, um, don’t have a best friend.” Wow. I never realized how admitting that out loud would make me feel. Especially to a guy who is so clearly loved by those around him.
Loneliness creeps past my ribs, sticking between flesh and bone, mocking me for the choices I made in the past. Choices that made me the loner I am.
“Oh.” Christian blinks. “Okay, well. Just Axel, then.”
Before I have time to cry about my circumstances in front of him yet again, he asks, “Is there anything else you’d like to know about me before we go through with this? I want to make sure you’re completely comfortable with what’s about to take place.”
A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat despite myself. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “It’s just...this is absolutely crazy. Like you and I are both insane for wanting to do this. But I guess I’m just that desperate.”
Christian lets out a small chuckle too. Soon we’re both red-faced and laughing like the nuts we are. When my amusement finally dies down, I do my best to respond to his question.
“Honestly, Christian, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel comfortable being fake married. But I do think I can learn to be comfortable being your friend and helping you accomplish your life’s greatest goal. As long as you’re willing to help me in return.”
“I am.” The certainty with which he says it eases any of my lingering doubts.
“Then Mr. Price,” I say, reaching across the table, “we have a deal.”