9. Ryan
9
Ryan
“Maybe we should sit down,” Emma says.
I’m trying to read her face, desperately wanting to know what her answer is while desperately trying not to show her that I desperately want to know what her answer is. Even thinking about that is hard work, never mind actually putting it into practice.
“I will admit,” she begins, “the idea of us getting married scared me to death when you first mentioned it, so I’m sorry for how I reacted.”
“It’s fine,” I say, still trying to control my breathing.
“That being said, I’ve put a lot of thought into it since, and I have come to a decision.”
Just get on with it, woman!
“I’ll do it.”
“Really?” I blurt.
She lifts a hand to stop me while giving me a firm look. “There are conditions.”
But I’m too busy reeling with excitement to care about conditions. She can tell me I have to walk around on one hand for the entire time we’re together for all I care. I just can’t believe she’s agreeing to it, and that’s far more than I could ever have imagined happening.
Then she stands and walks over to her desk, lifts a pile of papers, separates them, and gives me a pile that is stapled in one corner. The two piles are about the same size, and it’s only when I look down that I see why.
Printed in capital letters at the top and center of the page is a word. It’s even in bold, just in case I might miss the importance of it:
CONTRACT
And then she starts reading.
I’ll be honest, I’m pretty used to contracts. I’ve been signing them my whole life. A part of me just wants to get to the end, where I sign my name on the dotted line. But then I pull myself back and think.
Maybe for once in your life, you could not be a selfish idiot. This is clearly a big deal for her. You should be grateful she’s agreed to it at all.
And it’s true: I should be, and I am. And so, I put my arrogant inconsideration to the side, sit up a little straighter in the chair, and read along with the paragraphs she’s so carefully thought of and written out.
“No emotional attachment,” she begins. “This relationship is a facade meant to serve a mutual benefit. Developing feelings will only complicate the arrangement. This stipulation is pivotal for both parties to maintain clarity and prevent misunderstandings that could jeopardize our personal and professional lives.”
She pauses and looks up at me. “How are we so far?”
“Great,” I say with a nod. “Keep going.”
“Okay.” Looking back at the page, she continues, “Professional boundaries. Our interactions, both in public and private, should adhere to a set protocol that avoids any unnecessary intimacy. This includes public displays of affection, communication, and living arrangements that reinforce the temporary nature of the union. By maintaining a professional demeanor, we can navigate social situations without raising suspicion while ensuring that our personal lives remain unaffected.”
“So, what are the protocols?” I ask.
Emma shrugs. “I was thinking we could figure those out and add them in later. I haven’t done this before. I didn’t really know how it was going to work.”
I’ll be honest, it’s probably the first time I’ve actually seen or heard her unsure of herself. While she’s looking at me like I’m supposed to know what to do, there’s a softness to her expression that I find even more attractive than the woman already is.
That, and you like to be in control.
Sure.
“We can come back to that, but it sounds good so far,” I say, nodding for her to continue.
“A review system.” She looks up at me, leaving the page for a moment. “I don’t know how long this is going to last, but I figure a few months, right?”
I don’t know the answer to that, either, and I shrug. “Maybe.”
The two of us are looking completely clueless, and then, seeing the other’s expression, we laugh at the fact that we’re both lost in the same boat. Emma has a sweet, soft laugh, which shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen her smile before in our sessions, but this is the first time I’ve heard that sound, and I can’t help gazing at her.
A flash of discomfort crosses her face, and she drops her eyes to the paper again. “Okay, where was I? Oh, yes. A review system to assess the arrangement’s effectiveness. This involves regular check-ins where both parties can voice concerns and make adjustments as needed, ensuring transparency and mutual respect. By doing so, we can create an environment where we can both fulfill our roles without overstepping boundaries.”
She lifts her head again, waiting for my thoughts.
“Sounds good,” I say.
What else am I going to say? Clearly, she’s thought this through way more than I did.
“A confidentiality clause,” she continues, after returning her eyes to the document. “Due to the proximity this relationship incurs, we agree to safeguard each other’s private lives from public scrutiny.” She looks up again. “I get that we need to be in the public eye. This is what this whole arrangement is about—us being seen. But we’re going to learn things about each other that we want kept out of that circus. Besides, when all this ends, I want my reputation to be in the same condition as it is now.”
“I can’t guarantee that,” I joke with a smirk.
But she doesn’t laugh, and I suddenly realize that I need to be smarter.
“Sorry.” I raise my hands. “Just a joke.”
She looks at me for another long second, and then she says, “Do you have anything more to add?”
I shake my head. “Not right now,” I say. “But I’ll show it to my agent, Phil. He might be able to help us with some more ideas. He’s used to contracts.”
She nods, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything. Clearly, Emma’s done with her expectations, and I don’t know what else to say. But then I realize I haven’t said the most important thing.
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Emma. Truly. I know I was crazy asking you to get involved, but you were just the perfect person.”
She frowns then. “What do you mean, the perfect person?”
I’m wary that I might frighten her away, but at the same time, we need to start this thing off with clarity and honesty, so why not now?
“Well, for a start, you’re mentally stable.”
Darn it, Ryan. Really?
She lifts her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s setting the bar pretty low, isn’t it?”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. Let me start again. What I mean is, you’re an upstanding member of the community here. You’re educated, smart, beautiful, and you take the initiative.” I nod to the contract. “You’re someone who’s going to be able to handle what’s going to get thrown at you. Does that make sense?”
She’s looking at me with an expression I can’t fathom. I don’t know whether it’s suspicion, doubt, or confusion. But her eyebrows are high on her forehead, and I’ll be honest, I’m not that great at reading people.
“Did I say something to offend you?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Oh. Good.”
“What about the people in Maple Springs?” she asks.
“What about them?”
“Well,” she says, standing and moving back to her desk to place the contract down, “do we tell them the truth?”
“No,” I say firmly. “No one can know.”
“No one?” she repeats.
By her tone, I figure she’s told someone, and I can guess who. “Sharon?” I say, nodding in the direction of the reception area.
“Yes,” she replies. “I needed to make sure I was—”
“It’s fine,” I say, lifting a hand. “You don’t need to explain it to me. In fact, I totally get it. Putting all the cards on the table, John and Steve know, too. This wasn’t just weird for you, I promise you.”
The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile.
“So, what happens now?” Emma says.
“I need to call my agent and find out,” I reply.
“In the meantime,” she gestures to the bed, “maybe we should get your session started.”
But this session is not like any other previous session because Emma doesn’t stop asking questions about how things are going to be. Where are we going to live? How is that going to work? What are the press interviews going to be like? Does she need to be worried about the questions they are going to ask? And on and on she goes.
I was falsely arrested quite a few years back, and I swear, compared to Emma’s interrogation, my time in the police station was a walk in the park.
Answering what I can, I defer the rest, telling her that we will sit down with Phil and go through this whole arrangement properly.
“This is new to both of us,” I say when the session comes to an end, “and believe me, I have some questions, too.”
“But it’s not the same for you, Ryan,” Emma counters. “I’m entering your world. Not the other way around. You’ve been doing this for a long time and are used to it. I’ve never been in front of a camera in my life.”
“Not even for high school photos?” I jest.
She gives me a look that tells me she does not find me amusing at all and then says, “You know what I mean.”
“I’m going to call Phil and arrange a meeting. I’ll call you and let you know.”
“Alright,” she says.
And then I realize something. “I don’t have your number.”
“Right.” Moving over to her desk, she takes a business card and scribbles her number down before handing it to me. “There you go. Now you have all my numbers.”
Once I’m out in the street, I can’t help myself. I text the guys and tell them the news. My first call should really be to Phil, but Steve and John are more important right now. I don’t hear anything back from Steve, but John must have had his phone handy because he texts me back straight away.
No way!
Yes, way, I text back.
I watch as the three little dots wiggle up and down while John types, and then his message comes through. Proud of you, man. Talk soon.
With that done, I go to my contacts, find Phil’s number, and press call.