8. Deanna
DEANNA
“Listen Prime, I worked my ass off to get this far with your little problem, so I want you to take this seriously.”
My boss leans back in his chair and barely glances up from his phone. “This is my future we’re talking about. I don’t think it’s a joke.”
Tell that to your stupid face, asshole. I rub the tight spot between my eyes. I’m being shorter with him than usually, but my patience is worn thin.
This hasn’t been a smooth process.
Most of the women I tried laughed in my face. None have been as easy as Brittany Cole to convince. I swear, one woman even had me repeat the question on speaker phone so her mom could hear and both of them cackled like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
After about ten flat out rejections, I asked a woman named Kaley why I wasn’t getting anywhere.
“You want my honest opinion? It’s that Prime’s not serious.”
I immediately knew what she meant, but I pressed for more details in case I was missing something.
“He’s serious, you know what I mean? Terrifying honestly, and that’s part of the appeal.
It’s really sexy the way he looks at you like he wants to murder you while fucking you?
Like a sort of sexy murder-fuck-suicide-thing?
I know that sounds creepy, but I mean, he’s all surface when it comes to women.
I’ve gone out with him like five times and I seriously don’t know anything about him aside from he likes to drink, can dance better than you’d think, and fucks like a pagan god. His dick makes Thor’s hammer?—“
“I get the picture.”
“A relationship with him would be like marrying a mannequin. It’d be like staying single.”
“What if he were offering money? And the marriage was only for show?”
“That’d be tempting…” She trailed off and let out a long sigh. “But no, I couldn’t do it. Imagine living with a guy like that? It’d be like waking up every morning to a stranger in your house. Sorry, but no, I don’t think he could pay me enough.”
He probably could, but I didn’t keep nagging.
Because the problem was… I understood what she meant.
I’d been working for Prime for years at that point, and I still didn’t think I knew him any better than his dates. I saw his schedule, knew his habits, understood some of his preferences, but past that?
He never lets anyone in.
No thoughts, feelings, dreams, emotions besides humor and horniness.
There’s always a hint of something darker around him, an aura of danger and terror… but I have no clue why.
Which is why I’m in a nasty mood this morning.
Because I feel like I’ve let him down.
“You need to focus,” I say, not letting him off the hook. “I have three potential girls, okay? That’s all, only three.”
That gets his attention. His brow knits as he puts down the screen for the first time all morning. “How many names did I give you? Dozens?”
“Hundreds,” I grumble, waving my clipboard in the air. “And of those hundreds, only three were remotely interested.”
“You offered them money, right?”
“I offered them more than you authorized.”
“I’m deeply insulted right now.”
“Get over it. Truth is, you fucked around so much, most of these women don’t want to marry you.
” I scrub a hand over my scalp and close my eyes.
“Alright, I’m not being totally fair. The majority of them are either in relationships already or are somehow not able to get married. More than a few live abroad.”
“I do love an accent,” he says with a nostalgic sigh.
“Gross. Focus.” I toss the clipboard down in front of him.
“Three options. I’ve written up a very detailed rubric for you to score them.
Beneath that, I’ve provided a short dossier on each girl, listing physical attributes, family history, work history, dating history, and just about anything else I could get them to tell me.
” Which was a minor undertaking in itself, putting that much information together.
Prime barely skims the pages. “No pictures.”
I jam my thumb against my forehead. “Damn it, Prime?—“
“I’m just saying!”
“They’re here, okay? You’ll get to judge their appearance in person. Stop being shallow.”
“I need a wife I can parade around town and show off. I need a trophy, not a fucking brain surgeon. Their appearance matters.”
Damn it, he’s got a point. I reluctantly wave a hand at the door. “They’re all gorgeous, okay? Can I please send in the first candidate?”
“Fine. Sure.” His eyes graze over my body. “Just so you know, I only taste attractive women.”
A shiver runs down into my toes. I’ve been thinking about that night on the pool table a lot during this process, but I do my best to push that deep down into the black pit where I stash all my most horrific memories.
“Prime, this is Brittany Cole.” I usher in the first victim—I mean, potential wife. She strides into the room like she’s the favorite in the most fucked-up and bizarre beauty pageant imaginable.
“Hey there, Prime, been a while.” She stands before him with one hand on her hip, one leg in front of the other, posing like cameras are going to catch her best side.
Prime doesn’t show a single ounce of recognition.
The rat bastard.
To her credit though, Brittany’s completely unfazed.
She’s blond, around five-three, with a fantastic body and an outgoing personality.
They apparently met at a club one night when she was working as a bartender and she straight up quit her job on the spot to go home with him.
She’s a former cheerleader, has a CPA degree, speaks two languages, and knows more about Rolexes and high-end sports cars than just about anyone I’ve ever met.
Of the three, she was the most up front about why she wants to go through with this. “Money, obviously. The sex might be good, but you’re telling me I get to get paid to put on nice dresses and go to fancy parties? Sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Prime lets Brittany stand in strained silence as he taps a pen against his cheek and reads the dossier I prepared for him. I sit in the corner, knee bouncing, all my energy directed toward keeping my mouth shut.
“Tell me…” He looks up. Brittany’s smile gets ever wider. “What kind of birth control are you on?”
I put my face in my hands.
But Brittany doesn’t even hesitate. “The pill, but we can discuss other options if you’d rather.”
“That’s fine. How tall is your father?”
“Uh, six-three, maybe?”
“Do you know how to fire a weapon?”
“I don’t know what that has?—“
“Can you dance the tango?”
She clears her throat. “I definitely can learn.”
Prime slings a dozen more inane and stupid questions at her before waving a hand like a king speaking to his court. “That’ll be all, thank you.”
Brittany turns away, her pageant-queen attitude deeply deflated. “How’d I do?” she whispers as I usher her out.
“Honestly? I have no idea.”
The next girl is Madison Reeves. She glides into the office wearing a navy blouse, her auburn hair in waves to her shoulders, carrying a very nice handbag and wearing shoes I’m pretty sure cost more than my family home. Her back is straight as she faces Prime.
“It’s great to see you again,” she says, offering a hand. Prime shakes reluctantly.
“You as well.” His eyes flick to mine and I can tell he also doesn’t remember her. Bastard. “Shall we begin?”
“I’ll get down to it.” Madison sits, knees together, hand clasped on her lap, the image of perfect etiquette.
“I’m not looking for a forever partner. I’m looking for a worthwhile last name, and I think you can provide that.
I want access to parties, people, and potential.
I want to build something together. That’s what I’m after and why I’m here. ”
Prime is bemused as he clears his throat and drags his pen down Madison’s dossier.
She’s here for a different reason. Madison has money already.
Her family built a fortune in the adult entertainment industry.
Her father owns a wildly successful porn company, producing films all over the world.
But that money can’t buy access to polite society, no matter how desperately Madison wants it.
But marrying Prime might wash away some of the fuck-cash smear.
“If you become my wife, will your father cast me in one of his movies?” Prime asks, his face deadpan, and I could stab him in the throat. From that one glance at her biography, he identified her biggest weakness, and immediately called it out.
To her credit, Madison doesn’t blink. “Absolutely. I’ve had your dick in my mouth. I know you’re more than big enough.”
“I appreciate that.”
“But can you keep hard for two hours while twelve people fuss around you with lighting, sound, cameras, and make up? While a director is constantly altering your positions so a lens can get all the gory details?”
Prime fights a smile. “I suspect I could handle it.”
“Then great. I’ll put in a good word.”
Madison kills it. Despite how hard Prime’s clearly trying to torch her. No matter how many curveballs he tosses, Madison easily knocks them out of the park. She’s charming, funny, and beautiful. She makes Prime laugh twice despite himself.
I hate every minute.
The interview with Brittany was easier. She clearly didn’t have what it took. Too shallow, too boring, not his type at all. There was no chemistry.
Madison’s different. She’s hilarious and doesn’t back down when he gets pushy and acts like a jerk. She clearly wants something and doesn’t care what she has to do to get it, which I deeply admire.
Something in me cracks. It’s like there’s a wall around my stomach holding back these odd, twisting feelings. I only realize I’m feeling jealous when Madison leans forward, giving Prime a good view of her fantastic chest down the top button of her gorgeous designer top.
But why the hell would I feel jealous of all things!?
I already knew Prime slept with these women. Maybe I don’t remember them in particular, but I’ve seen the constant revolving door of beautiful ladies moving through his life, and it never once registered.
This is different and I hate it.