Chapter 2
TWO
Wednesday
Nursing a virgin Bloody Mary, Darcy sat at a table for two beside the fireplace in The Campbell bar in Grand Central Terminal.
As usual, Beanz was late, but he was in no rush to go home after the past two days of dealing with his imperious father.
Between confessing his pseudo-addiction and the cause and making some severe assurances to change the course of his future, he should be drinking hard liquor tonight, not a vegetable cocktail.
His father made his point—rather, his threat—and he accepted, glad for the pledge.
The world of venture capital in one of the largest, well-funded firms required a twenty-four-seven commitment, and he would give it all his attention.
In the competitive world of investing, Pemberley Capital with its twenty billion dollars in assets, was a master at deal-making and strategizing.
If he stayed the course and put his life in order, he’d exceed the gains lost to time with his ex-girlfriend and be on top of the world again with only pride at his side.
Looking down at the folder on the table, he chuckled to himself.
What a scheme. Would Beanz buy into it? Well, she had no choice if she wanted to live a romantically safe, tremendously wealthy life as Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, wife to the heir to an empire.
To think he had been on a lonely path of self-destruction, giving up his bright future to a bottle and over heartbreak, no less.
The pendulum had unquestionably swung the other way.
Today, he set his goal on a cool billion by the time he was forty.
“Sorry I’m late, William,” his friend said, sauntering to him with a smile.
She always cleaned up well. Long-legged and slender, she wore a stylish, blousy top and black skinny pants.
One day—not today—she would make a great trophy wife.
She still had some growing up to do and oats to sow before settling down with anyone.
The way he saw it, ten years from now she’d be mature enough to make an everlasting commitment, if not with him then with someone else.
“No worries. Thanks for meeting me,” he said.
Settling into the single booth she signaled the waiter, then took in his appearance. “You look ... recovered.”
“Thanks. The suit’s a little snug but it’ll do until I can get to my tailor. It’s hard to believe what alcohol and crappy food can do to a person in just three months.”
“If you ask me, you looked super fine the other night.”
“It was dark.”
“Yeah. Hey, about what I said on Monday ... I’m really sorry. I thought a lot about it and ... I didn’t mean to imply—”
“It’s fine. You’re not normally obtuse. That’s my job.” He smiled. “I regret how I reacted. Actually, I regret everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything,” he repeated.
“Oh.”
She looked crestfallen but then the waiter appeared, saving him from apologizing again. He hated apologies; bad behavior and ignoring his moral compass should never have happened in the first place.
“We’ll have two vodka martinis,” she said with a sly smile, believing him weak-kneed.
“No. I’m good. Thanks.”
“I’m impressed. You certainly appear to be turning over a new leaf, but I’ll check back in a week to see how it’s going.”
“By next week, the alcohol will be out of my system. It’s either that or die a miserable, lonely drunk—and that’s not my fate. I only hope you’ll make some changes, too.”
“Me? What’s wrong with me?”
He looked at her skeptically. “You know.”
“Okaay ... I promise never to ghost you again. It’s terrible to miss all the exciting drama!”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Since high school, you’ve been a loser magnet, and frankly, you deserve better. You should respect yourself more.”
“I do, but I like sex, and good boys aren’t as nearly satisfying as bad boys. Well, until you. In fact, I’m downright blown away by some of the shit you did.”
He felt sick to his stomach.
“Look, if we go ahead with this idea of yours then you’ll have to sign on the line your agreement to steer clear of every parasite who comes your way—and that includes dismissing any notions of getting back together with Wickham.
He’s bad news, and I cannot—will not—put Pemberley or those I love in jeopardy ever again. ”
“Again? I know you never liked him, but he hates your guts more than I ever imagined. What and when did this happen?”
“Back in March. I didn’t mention it because it’s not my story to tell.
Just trust me. His hate of me is nothing compared to my detest of him.
And another thing, don’t ever mention my ex-girlfriend again.
If you do either of those things, the deal is off.
I’ll shred the contract before it even begins. ”
She sighed, as he knew she would. Beanz was never good at hard lines, always crossing them and doing whatever she wanted. Well, that shit was going to end if she had any intention of becoming the future Mrs. Darcy.
“I liked you better as a drunk,” she said. “Fine. So, you’re on board with my idea?”
“In a manner.”
She took a sip of her drink then craned her neck to read the cover of the contract next to his arm. “‘The Marriage Pact.’ So very official.”
“It is official. Charlie drew it up yesterday. Laughed his ass off but drew it up nonetheless.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine him getting into the idea. Such an awesome lawyer, but a romantic dreamer. He still thinks love should be organic, like some sappy rom-com meet-cute in a coffee shop.”
“Don’t be so hard on him—he’s a good guy,” he defended, then took a sip. “Did you mention Sunday night to your sister?”
“About my crazy—but totally brilliant—idea or about what’s her name and The Breakup, or how you banged me senseless?”
“Any of it, because if you breathe a word to anyone about my ... emotional breakdown, all bets are off.”
She laughed. “Of course I won’t tell her how you wept on my shoulder! What do you take me for, a gossip? She was out wedding gown shopping anyway. As for what we did…”
Picking up her phone, she scrolled her FacePage timeline, tapped away, then said, “Poof! All gone.”
“What is?”
“The meme I posted about your equipment.”
“Jeez. The internet is forever, Beanz! If we go ahead with this deal, that kinda stuff has to stop.”
“Why? I didn’t name you! You think I want either of our mothers to find out we had mind-blowing sex? My dad still thinks I’m a virgin.” She snorted. “Like, any of those still exist!”
He’d probably slept with the last one. He sighed, a sliver of doubt about the “pact” creeping in, especially considering he hadn’t given thought to her insane family. “You know, you’re exasperating, right?”
“That’s why you loove me.” She grinned.
“Not really. I like you because you’re only one of a few who stuck by me longer than a minute ... and, you make me laugh.”
“True that.”
“Anyway, don’t let on about the contract to anyone. It may not even come to fruition if either of us stupidly end up with someone, but if the time comes, the progression of our relationship must look natural, like one of Charlie’s unrealistic movies.”
“I can hear it now, ‘How cute. Childhood friends fell in love. Blech,” she said followed by a grimace and sticking her tongue out.
“Right. For all intents and purposes, we’ll be madly head over heels for each other. I’ll be your Prince Charming, and you’ll be my be-all-to-end-all boo.”
“That’ll be a stretch.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” he joked.
“Ha Ha. Okay, so what does your contract say?”
“First off, if, and only if, we find ourselves still single and sick of the dating rat race, the timeline—the contract—will commence ten years from today. If neither of us fall in love or are in a serious relationship with another, then we’ll get engaged for four months.
In the interim, we’ll be each other’s plus one should the need arise. ”
“Ten years! That’s ridiculous. I’ll be an old woman with a dried-up va-jay-jay by then! A lotta good that’ll do you if you want arm candy.”
He rolled his eyes. “If all goes according to plan, this legally binding contract of convenience is for a mutually serving type of friendship, companionship, and, of course, to enhance my corporate image. That’s all. Age is irrelevant.”
“And what about sex?”
“What about it?”
“A sexless marriage is not a marriage. People will know, and I am not wasting your hotness on a lifetime of abstinence just for your career or my bank account.” She tried the puppy-dog pout on him. “Look, you’re my arm candy, too.”
“They’ll only know you’re not getting any if you fail to curate your social media.
” Again, he sighed, expecting this response.
“Look, I know sex is important to you, but it’s not to me.
” ... because I don’t love you. “So, no. You’ll have a generous monthly allowance to make up for the lack of carnal pleasure. ”
“I have my own proposal: sex on demand, the allowance, and three years, not ten, from today for the win.”
“How about ... sex quarterly, the full allowance, and seven years.”
“I counter weekly sex beginning in five years. You can’t screw me twice like you did then expect me to wake up with amnesia. I may not love you, but I sure as hell am not an idiot to let that go to waste and have to wait forever for it.”
Chuckling, he pitched his final offer. “Six years and a thirty-percent decrease of allowance, once-a-month sexual relations, which start on our wedding night. Not before. Take it or leave it.”
“Hard bargain. Okay, I’ll take it but if you breach that clause of the contract, I won’t take you to court.” She grinned.
“I’m sure you won’t but, I assure you, I’ll stick to the agreement—unless, of course, you have difficulty conceiving. Which brings me to the issue of children. Do you even want kids?”
“Absolutely.”