11. Alex
11
Alex
When I returned home yesterday evening, I was excited. Most of my surgeries are not as nerve-wracking as that experience was, and Dara nearly choking in the middle of it all had hardly helped. At least there was a doctor in the house. A doctor who had caused the incident in the first place, ironically.
It was an accident. A stupid accident, but an accident all the same.
And yes, I did dabble with the idea that to even conceive such a suggestion, I might have entirely lost my mind. But when I finally explained it to her, me being the selfish billionaire that I am, she seemed to change her mind rather swiftly after that.
Clearly, Mark has kept his word and never mentioned my involvement to his sister, or anyone else for that matter. And I did feel a little guilty when I could see she felt bad about making huge assumptions on how I spend my money.
But only a little.
That’s the funny thing about people and money. I’ve worked darned hard to get where I am. Between training for years to acquire my qualifications, to working behind the scenes with investments and making my money work for me, I feel my wealth is deserved. But if I had a dollar for every person who has judged me for accumulating it, even when I spend it on altruistic pursuits, I’d be far richer.
It wasn’t something I would have ordinarily disclosed, but she forced my hand. If where my money went was going to be the deal breaker for her accepting my proposal or not, I didn’t really have any choice, did I?
But it worked. She didn’t exactly say yes, but even her thinking about it is a win in my mind.
That’s probably the reason I had just a little bit more of a spring in my step when I went out for my run this morning. It’s also probably the reason that, after my shower and getting dressed, I’m sitting here at 7:45 a.m., watching my phone and willing it to ring.
It can still go either way. Dara, saying she needed time to think about it, wasn’t a full-on yes for either proposal, but the former was always going to be an easier sell than the latter. Only time will tell. Time that seems to be ticking by at an incredibly slow pace. It feels like ten minutes has passed since I last glanced at the phone, but it’s now only 7:47.
When the screen does light up, just a few minutes before eight, I snatch the phone up quicker than The Flash, and without hesitation, I swipe the green button and say hello
“I’ll do it,” she says, omitting the greeting entirely.
I bite my lip to stop myself yelling out in delight, though I do silently punch the air. If she could see my face, she’d know how happy I was. Good thing we’re not Facetiming.
“That’s great news,” I say, my tone steady, like I’m having an ordinary conversation rather than feeling like I’ve just won the lottery. And then I catch myself, fearing I might be celebrating too soon. “Is that to both proposals?”
I’m still trying to keep calm, but my heart is thumping just a little bit harder in anticipation of her answer.
“Yes. Though I won’t be able to start as your personal chef straight away. I’ll have to give the diner at least a week’s notice.”
The delight returns, and I stifle a breath of relief. “Of course. That’s totally understandable.”
“What happens now?” she asks.
It’s a good question, and in my excitement last night, I hadn’t been able to help myself thinking about what we would do if she said yes. So, at least I have an answer.
“I think it would be prudent to lay down some ground rules for both of us. We could do with discussing it, given I’ve never done this before.”
“Good to know.”
I smile, and then say, “Why don’t you come over this evening, if you’re free. Say eight?”
“Okay.”
I’ll admit it, I am surprised she seems so calm about the whole thing. I mean, I am asking her to live a lie for a probably a whole month, and I’ve already deduced that Dara Gilbert is a woman who likes to speak the truth, as harsh as it might be.
“Perfect. See you then.”
When I hang up the phone, I jump from my chair, and practically do a jig at my desk. “Yes!”
Honestly, I can’t believe it worked. It was a crazy idea, even for me, but it worked. I’m both delighted and a little stunned but the feeling of elation is definitely taking over. When this deal is done and things go back to normal, I’ll have to send a case of something special to my brother for putting the seed in my head to begin with.
The city traffic is busy as I head into the clinic, but this morning, I don’t care. Nothing can take this feeling away. I’m high on life, and the buzz feels fantastic as it races through my body.
“Morning, Barbara,” I chirp, as I glide toward her desk.
She beams up at me. “Well, aren’t you a cup of sunshine this morning?”
“I am. And I have good reason. Things are going exactly to plan.”
She hands me the mail and my messages and says, “I’m glad to hear it. How are things going at the house?”
“Swimmingly,” I say, before pushing my office door open and stepping inside.”
I have two surgeries this morning and one just after lunch, which gives me plenty of time to get back to Riverdale and ready myself for Dara arriving at eight. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m going to be so busy today. If I was still at the house, I’d be pacing back and forth, wearing a hole in my new flooring.
Driving back to Riverdale, I’m pleased with how productive I’ve been. The surgeries went well, and making good use of the time between operations, I managed to sit down and sketch out a few points tonight’s meeting with Dara.
I’m sure she’ll have plenty of questions. I have a few of my own. Like I said to her on the phone, I’ve never done this before. But surely it can’t be that hard.
I get back to the house and take a shower and dress. In the kitchen, I grab two glasses and a bottle of wine out of the fridge. I want this to be as relaxed as possible.
When the doorbell rings, I check the clock. Eight o’ clock on the dot. She’s nothing if not punctual.
“Hi,” I say, when I’ve opened the door and gestured for Dara to enter.
“Hey,” she says back, stepping inside and waiting for me to close the door and lead her into the house. Her scent wafts up my nose, and I catch the aroma of citrus and coconut. Fresh with a hint of warmth.
Once in the living room, I hand her a glass of wine, and then gesture for her to sit on the sofa. I lower myself onto the chair across from her.
For a second, neither of us speaks, and then Dara says, “This is weird, right?”
I nod. “It is weird. But I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to do it.”
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she says, looking bashful. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I had no right to talk about your money or what you spend it on. I feel like I pushed you to tell me things that were none of my business.”
“You did,” I admit. There’s no point denying it. She’s not a stupid woman. “And you’re right. I prefer to keep my business, especially my charitable business, to myself.”
“But why?” She looks at me slightly confused. “You should be proud of what you’re doing to help people less fortunate.”
“Did you go to Sunday school?” I ask.
Her frown deepens. “Sure.”
“Do you remember the verse in the Bible that says something like, don’t let your right hand know what your left is doing?”
“I’ve heard the saying. I can’t say I remember it at Sunday school though.”
“Well, I take that verse literally. Nobody likes a braggard. We live in a society where everyone posts their good deeds for attention. I don’t want the attention. I just want to help people.”
Dara’s eyebrows lift, and she looks at me for a long moment. I can see her mind working, though I have no idea what’s going on inside that pretty head of hers.
“That’s actually pretty profound,” she says eventually.
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. Before social media, there were lots of good deeds that happened without the world watching.”
“Now you’re just playing your principles down,” she counters with a slight smirk.
I shrug. “I just like to keep my business private. Evey single person on this planet at this moment in time is our tribe. In a hundred years, there’ll be a different tribe. We need to look after each other while we’re here.”
Her eyebrows dance on her forehead again. “Now, that is profound,” she says.
I smile and shake my head. “All right. Enough of the guru stuff. Let’s get down to business.”
An hour and a half and a bottle of wine later, Dara and I have flogged this contract to death. We’ve looked at every scenario and how it will play out. I’ve told her that it will be a temporary thing and that once the deal is over, I will deposit more than enough money into her account that will be more than enough to start up her own restaurant.
We both seem to be happy with everything discussed, and with the main issue resolved, we move on to my other proposal. I tell her I’ll need her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, apart from the days I’m in the city.
“Okay. What are your requirements for your meals? Is there anything you’re allergic to? Anything I might accidentally poison you with?”
I smile. “I’m pretty easy to cook for as long as I’m never served liver, pak choi, or eggplant.”
Dara is now smiling in surprise. “Not your favorite foods?”
I pull a face that best describes my utter disgust, and she bursts into laughter. It’s the first time I can recall hearing her laugh, and in that instant, my stomach flips, which is more than a little strange.
“It’s the texture,” I say, still a little puzzled at my body’s reaction. “It’s just…” I shiver at the memory of first tasting any of those things, “Bleurgh.”
“Bleurgh, huh?” she repeats, clearly teasing me. “That’s a great description.”
I chuckle a little then. She’s right. It’s hardly the most comprehensive way of describing my dislike, but in my mind, it sums it up perfectly.
“Okay. I will take special care not to put any bleurgh into your meals.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head, but I’m still smiling.
We end the evening with a handshake and a reminder that her job as my fake fiancée will start at the same time she begins working as my chef. There’s no rush. I still have to arrange a meeting with Jack Norton.
When I walk her to the door, she turns to me and says, “This still feels weird.”
“I know. But it won’t be for long.”
“What about Mark?” The question throws me completely off balance.
I flounder because I don’t have an answer for her. After another few seconds’ hesitation, I grab the only thing I can say. “Let’s just play it by ear for now. And please don’t forget what I said. No one can know about this.”
She nods. “My lips are sealed.”