Chapter 9
Istand in my living room and cast my gaze around at the tall piles of blue plastic moving crates crammed with books and art that dominate the space. There is a soft, brown leather couch that is pushed into the far corner. Unsurprisingly, there are more crates stacked haphazardly atop it, poised to cascade to the floor at any moment.
Every room in my house is crowded with randomly placed towers of crates. All except the spartan bedroom and the bare bones office. The two rooms I use the most.
You would think that I had just moved in yesterday, given the state of the house. But in reality, I’ve lived here for going on eighteen months now. My maid service comes in once a week and diligently dusts and vacuums around the crates. They’ve never said a thing, though I’m sure that they have some opinions.
The thing is, I don’t really care about where I live. This multimillion-dollar beach house serves as a place to sleep and occasionally work. That’s it.
But right now, as I’m waiting for Pearl to get here, I wish like anything that I had at least a couch for both of us to sit on.
She texted me this morning with, I’m ready to meet and talk more. Your place this time? And I quickly agreed.
But as I tried to prepare for Pearl’s arrival, I realized that I was feeling a bit unprepared.
What will Pearl think when she walks into my house? At best, she’ll be unimpressed with how I live. That thought unsettles me for some reason.
I spend about five minutes clearing the plastic crates off the couch and stacking them against one wall. After dragging the hulking leather sofa into the middle of the room, I look around.
Sad? Yes. But maybe Pearl will overlook the sadness of the sofa in favor of the big bay windows that look out onto the beach.
The doorbell startles me. I dust myself off as I jog to the back door. I’m nervous, but I can’t figure out why. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the trailer. My last couple of days were Pearl-less, but I admit to having dreams about today.
I’d present her with the contract. She’d sign it. Then we’d fuck on top of the pages and smear the ink everywhere.
It’s just Pearl, I tell myself. Chill out.
I fling open the door. There she is, looking as pretty as a picture in a gray wool coat, and a blue and white striped shirt dress. My very first instinct is to look down at her cleavage, where I can see the edges of a lacy white bra.
Holy shit. This woman is so fucking hot. She has that girl next door thing going on and it’s driving me wild. I grip the door hard and try to compose my face into anything but a grimace. “You made it,” I manage to say.
Her wavy hair is coiled up into a bun. She tucks a strand of the black silk behind one ear as she greets me with a shy smile. “Hey, River. Thanks for sending a car for me.”
A smile tugs at my lips. Pearl always seems to have a teasing tone going on. I bow low, making her laugh.
“Of course. You are my fake fiancée, after all. I don’t need tongues wagging about how I treat you before we even get the chance to introduce ourselves as a couple.”
I step back, waving her inside. She sails past me, head held high and back straight. But she only makes it a few steps before she’s come to a full stop in my living room. “Did you just move in?”
She went right for the question that I was hoping we’d avoid. I wrinkle up my face and sigh. “Does two years ago count?”
She snorts, walking straight to the bay window and peering out at the beach. “Wow. Talk about a million-dollar view.”
“It’s why I bought this house. In five years, when my brothers have their baseball training camp built, I’ll sell this house for four or five times what I paid for it to some chump with too much money to spend.” I flop down on one end of the couch, watching her closely.
She studies the view, walking to the doorway of the adjoining room. It’s just an empty room with another pile of crates in the corner. There’s a set of French doors that lead outside onto the deck. From there, it’s just a short flight of stairs down and then you’re on the beach.
“I would keep this place,” Pearl says softly. I’m not even sure if her words are intended for me. “Imagine having such a view from your living room.” She turns around and pins me with a stare. “This room seems unused! You need to put your couch in this room here and face the view.”
I shrug. “I’ll think about it.”
Pearl takes my noncommittal answer as the blow off it is. She comes over to me, sitting down on the other end of the couch and putting aside her oversized purse.
“So.” Pearl crooks a brow at me. “What should we talk about?”
“We could go ahead and fuck.” I splay out over my end of the couch and smirk. “Or we could talk about how I am going to use this fake engagement to get what I want.”
She ducks her head. “And what do you want?”
“I want my stepfather to let me have access to all of my trust fund. Right now, I’m only getting a small part of it. But when I get engaged, the vault opens.” I pause, my eyes narrowing. “Or so Sam says.”
She doesn’t need to know what the trust fund will buy me. Namely, a stake in her family’s land once it’s developed into a resort.
“And you’re not going to wait around to meet Mrs. Right, I would guess.”
“Correct.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Who has the time to meet someone? Not me.”
Pearl pops her jaw beneath her hand and leans on the couch, pursing her lips. “We’ll have to be very convincing to fool your family.”
I nod. “We’ll have to be comfortable with physical closeness. I guess it will only help matters that we’ll also be fucking regularly.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks glow pink. “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that.”
“What? That we’re fucking?” I reach out two fingers and brush them over the exposed skin at her knee. Her eyes widen and I can tell she is trying not to jerk away.
“Relax.” I smooth her dress back down over her knee. “I won’t bite. And I won’t push you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you’re not enjoying yourself, then I’m not either. I want you to want me.”
Pearl nods, not quite meeting my gaze. “It’s a little hard for me. I know that you’re just supposed to be my sperm donor, but I don’t want the story of my pregnancy to start with, yeah, so I was fucking this stranger…” She shifts and sighs. “’My fiancé got me pregnant and then we broke up’ isn’t perfect, but it’s more understandable.”
I give her a knowing smile. “I can understand that.” The last thing in the world I want is for Pearl to feel awkward around me. I pat the seat beside me. “Why don’t you come over here and sit with me while we chat? Get used to me. That’s the first part of getting comfortable with someone.”
She bites her lip for a second. Her steady gaze bores into mine. Just when I think she’s going to refuse, she moves down toward me and sits an inch away.
Looking at her stiff posture, I can see Pearl is going to need some help relaxing. I slip an arm around her waist and pull her knee up to cross over my own. She goes along with it and takes my big hand, wrapping her smaller one in it.
“There we go,” I say. “Nice and easy.”
A bark of laughter escapes her. “Feels weird.”
“It’ll get better. I promise.” I look straight ahead. If I’d had the foresight to move the couch to face the window, we could’ve stayed there for a bit. But after a minute of being in my grasp, Pearl starts to shift and wiggle.
“Can you not be still?” I ask.
She scrunches her face. “Sorry. It’s not really in my nature.”
“Thankfully, your nature isn’t really what we are relying on. Being still won’t get you pregnant,” I tease.
Her nose wrinkles. “What… what if I get pregnant immediately? Like the first time we have sex?”
“I will high five myself for a job well done.”
She lightly elbows me in the ribs. “I’m serious.”
I consider her question. “We should stop fucking as soon as you get pregnant. It’s the best policy.”
“Yeah?” Her lips twitch.
“I mean it. It’ll help keep either of us from catching feelings for the other.” I feel strangely defensive about my stance.
“Oh, I won’t catch feelings for you. You’re way too strait-laced.”
My eyebrows jump up. “Me? Strait-laced?”
Pearl stares at me. “I’m a diner waitress who loves chasing UFOs. Most people are too dull for me.”
“Ouch.” I put my hand over my heart. “Well, I can’t catch feelings for you either.”
“No?”
“Nope. I already have a good idea of what my someday-fiancée will be like. She’s sleek, cosmopolitan, and worldly. In twenty years, I’ll be ready for her. You… you’re soft, a little country, and… well, I can’t think of a better description than to say otherworldly.”
Pearl’s eyes narrow on my face and her humor seems to die down. “Good to know.”
Ah. I seem to have put my foot in it. I try to play it off. “You’re too good for me, Pearl. You know it as well as I do.”
“That’s for damn sure.” She scoots away from me, standing up from the couch altogether. When she speaks, her voice is cool and aloof. “Do we need to do any more talking? Or are we ready to trade contracts?”
“One second.” I hop up and walk to my office, grabbing the few sheets of paper and the beige file folder with the blank check inside. I return and hand the file folder to a nonplussed looking Pearl. “Here’s what I want you to sign. It basically says that you agree to be my fake fiancée for up to six months in exchange for consideration. By that, I mean my genetic contributions.” I give her a lazy smile. “I need you to have it looked over by your own lawyer. And I have included a check in there to pay for the lawyer’s time.”
She opens the file and immediately hands me the check. “I’ll get my cousin Patricia to look at it for free. She went to Georgia State, and has a family law practice in Alpharetta.”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
She reaches down to her purse and pulls out a printed set of forms titled ‘Consent to Termination of Parental Rights.’ I take the papers and jog them.
“I’ll look these over and get them back to you the next time I see you. Hopefully that’ll be in two days? My mom”s throwing a gala for whatever new pediatric charity Rhett has turned her onto now. It’s going to be at the Grand Ole Maison.”
“Really? The Maison is fancy with a capital F. I’ve been to two weddings there and both of them were really chichi affairs.”
Spreading my hands wide, I offer her a smile. “Mom is on the board of executives for the Grand Ole Maison. Sam’s the vice president of the Coastal Golf Club. My family is really ridiculously fancy. These ritzy-ass people are about to be your fake in-laws for a while, so get ready for that. If you don’t know it now, I think you’ll find out soon enough.”
She presses her knuckles against her lips for a moment. “I’ll try to keep up as best I know how.”
My lips twitch. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead.”
Drawing a big breath, she lets it out in a rush. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because.” Stepping close to her, I take her hand and give it a squeeze. Then I pull her body against mine. “You’re going to be with me. There’s no way this can go wrong. I won’t let it.”
My sudden burst of protectiveness takes me by surprise. It’s brand new, but it feels like a welcome emotion.
Pearl gives me a shy smile. “You’re awfully cocky.”
“I only boast about things that I can follow through on.” I wink at her, just to make her blush. “Have I mentioned today how fucking beautiful you are? My cock’s been hard for days, thinking of when I’m finally going to strip you naked and run my tongue over every inch of you.”
“River!” she protests. But even as the words leave her lips, she grins.
Fuck, she really is gorgeous. I make teasing eye contact with her for a few more seconds and then jerk my head toward my bedroom. “Ready for today’s last surprise?”
Pearl wets her lips and dashes a glance at the hallway. Toward where I assume she thinks my bedroom is located. “Can I keep my clothes on?” she asks cautiously.
I roll my eyes. “Relax, darlin’. You can keep your panties on.”
Steering her by touching her shoulders, I walk her ahead of me into the bright, airy kitchen. This room is in pretty much the same condition as the living room was this morning. Several piles of blue plastic crates are stacked high where a dining room table should be. There is a high-end coffee pot and a bean grinder on the white marble counter to my left. To my right is a wide, white marble island with a single gray steel bar stool.
And right in front of the stool is a folded piece of black velvet measuring six inches by twelve inches.
Ushering Pearl to the seat, I pull it out. She sits down, her eyes roving around the kitchen. “God, this room is insane. I can’t believe that you still have boxes piled everywhere. Such a waste.”
“Shh,” I tell her, pointing to the velvet. “I’m trying to propose to you, Pearl.”
She looks down and points to the fabric. “You want me to look here?” She picks it up carelessly, as if there weren’t millions of dollars of jewels just below her fingertips.
“Easy!” I say, clamping my hands over hers. I stand right behind her and pull back the top layer of black velvet to reveal ten glittering, gleaming engagement rings. The metals vary, the gemstones differ slightly, and of course the styles do too. There is everything from a huge, square cut diamond with two dozen pave diamonds fanning out both sides, to a circular cut yellow diamond in an ornate gold setting.
Pearl’s mouth drops open.
Something about her total shock makes me grin. It’s nice to get a rise out of her.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. She looks at me with wide eyes. “These aren”t real, are they?”
“Very real. All worth at least thirty thousand dollars. I had our very discreet family jeweler stop by and leave you a selection. I’ll let you choose.”
Her brows furrow. “Oh, River. You can’t leave me in charge of a ring like this. What if I lose it?”
Smiling playfully, I pluck one of the rings up and offer it to her. “Don’t worry. It’ll be insured.”
Making firm eye contact with me, Pearl says, “Are you sure?”
Taking her left hand, I slide the ring onto her fourth finger. She watches, her facial expression completely unreadable. Her other hand clutching the marble countertop tells me more than I can read in her face.
I hold her hand up, admiring it in the light. The ring is on the gaudy end, a big diamond surrounded by pearls. Not to my taste at all. Then again, what does my taste matter here?
“It’s sparkly,” Pearl murmurs. But she’s soon slipping it off.
Whew. That’s a relief.
She skips over the huge diamond solitaire, and the biggest yellow diamond set in white gold. Instead, she traces her fingers over a ring that I had to look at twice because it was so unusual. A large, round salt-and-pepper diamond set in a frame on a delicate, rose-gold band decorated with leaves.
She doesn’t quite pick it up, merely running her finger around the inside. “This one is so beautiful.”
I hold it up. “Let’s see how it looks on your finger.”
Her head dips and I’m certain she’s flushed. “Okay.”
I slide the ring on her finger. It’s a little snug, but the diamond rests against her hand. The rose gold looks good with her skin color. And when I check her face for a reaction, I see it in her eyes. She’s totally taken with it. Not because it’s the largest or most expensive one. But just because it suits her best.
Pearl doesn’t operate by the same rules as other women I’ve known. She’s playing a different game. What the rules of it are, I don’t yet know.