7 BEN
BEN
“No. Are you crazy? No way,” she starts shaking her head side to side violently.
“Yes way.” I push on. “It’s perfect. You’ll call me on my bullshit, help me seal the deal with dad, save me from dying of boredom—”
“I am the most boring person I know,” she deadpans but I ignore her.
“And you’ll get…a million.”
“Dollars?” she yells comically loud.
“I meant pounds, actually.”
“1,270,000 dollars?” she says immediately, still way too loud.
I narrow my eyes at her, “I knew you were a savant. Come on, let me save Granny and your brother the wanker and provide you with fine sushi and lots of naps.”
The head shaking is back, “You realize what this sounds like?”
“A mutually beneficial agreement.”
“A mental break. Are you having a seizure? Do we need to get Nigel over here?” She raises a hand but I put my hand over hers. I ignore the tingly feeling where our skin touches. I also ignore how she yanks her hand away as if she’s touched the plague.
Lovely.
“You know from the Grace Race and others in our circles: arranged marriages, contractual marriages, they happen all the time.”
“Only for you billionaire weirdos!”
I smirk, still unfazed, “You should focus on the billionaire bit.”
“Benedict.”
“Janie.”
She leans forward to whisper-yell at me. It’s…inconveniently sexy. “Be so freaking for real right now! I am not marrying you!”
I sit back and relax, really settling into the leather seat.
“Fine, if you don’t miss New York, don’t mind living in your Gran’s old house, working at Mellman’s during the day and painting walls and hammering and whatnot every night, for years and years…
” I can see her resolve weakening. “Don’t want to take advantage of my obscene wealth for a few months—”
“Five years,” she cuts me off.
“Only a year of that really counts. Plus, with your job at Mellman’s we can really sell it between now and the deadline, January first.”
“What…what do you mean, sell it?”
“Think about it, we have to convince the world we’re madly in love.”
“Wow, very bold of you to make us a ‘we’ already.”
I go on, “Which would take work at any other time of year but now? In Juniper Falls? Your famous little holiday town? I looked up the photos online after you described it. It’ll be easy with all the little things they do.”
“Little things?”
“Right? Isn’t there a festival? Hayrides? Baking contests and such?”
She seems to be in a daze as she grumbles, “Weekly.”
“See? We won’t even have to try. We just show up at all the things you were going to have to do anyway, except now you’ll have your smitten, rich and unbearably handsome husband by your side.”
Then I realize she probably doesn’t want to continue her job. “Unless you’d like to quit your job. No wife of mine has to work if she doesn’t want to.”
She grits her teeth, “Must be nice but a: not your wife and b: I am contractually obligated to stay a year.”
“I can buy you out of that.”
“Is everything just throwing money around with you people?”
“Yes.”
“Well, no. I’m not going to ditch my team.”
“What if I pay them off just enough to let you and your team work remotely.”
Her eyes lock with mine.
Gotchya.
“Pass… Because nope…I mean? Maybe—No. But?…No…” She seems to be having a conversation with herself. After more muttering she looks at me. “They’ll never buy it.”
“The press loves a holiday romance, love, we—”
“Forget the press, I’m talking about your brother and his wife who happens to be Skye’s sister. Skye who is very perceptive and observant and who was my best friend for years.”
I pause and ask, “Was?”
“Um, is . The point is they know me and they know you and they will never buy this,” She gestures between us and then sits back in her seat. It appears she’s done.
So I lean forward, “Sure they will. We say the sparks were always there under the surface and we reconnected in Vegas, had a week of mind-blowing sex at the expo,” she inhales, exasperated but I go on, “ and mind-blowing conversation, and laughs and fun and decided to tie the knot because, screw it, it’s Vegas. ”
“But I wouldn’t do that. I would never just say, ‘it’s Vegas!’ like a lunatic.”
I lift a shoulder, “I changed you.”
“Not to mention, uh, ‘sparks were always there’?” she scoffs, “You know they’ve been with us, at all the past weddings and parties and stuff, like, they were present.”
I ask, genuinely, “And?”
“And there were no sparks! You, Sir FlirtsALot have never even flirted with me.”
I scoff back, “A man knows his weight class, love.” Her jaw drops and I realize I’ve said something terribly wrong.
“What?” She crosses her arms, like, like she’s suddenly self conscious?
Shit! “No! Not your weight I meant weight class like a boxer or a wrestler? I meant I know when a woman is out of my league!”
She rolls her gorgeous eyes and takes on a childish, sarcastic tone, “Uh, yeah, okay.”
“Tell me, honestly, if I’d so much as tried to dance with you at my brother’s wedding, you’d have said?” I wait for her to answer. She doesn’t. “Something along the lines of ‘Piss off Sir FlirtsALot,’ I assume.”
She cocks her head, considering it.
“I’m spot on, eh?” I go on. “I saw the other blokes try to flirt with you and you shot down every single one like a sniper, scope trained straight on their balls. I quite like my balls intact.” She looks at me, still trying to decide how right I am.
Then I see something pass over her, doubt?
Sadness? “Why…why was that? Is it all men or just me?”
She takes a sip of wine. “Have you ever been in a relationship?”
I dip my chin, “Of course.”
“I mean, a serious one. Not a couple weeks. A partnership you thought might go the distance. Like you might marry them.” I shake my head, since I haven’t. She says, “Well, I have. It ended right before the marrying part and how it ended, it…I…”
“Are you still in love with him?” I ask.
“Theo? No,” she says quickly but it’s not convincing. So she must still be. And for some reason I find myself deeply disappointed by this news.
I try to sound sure as I barrel onward with this plan, “Well, that was a couple years ago now, right? You’ve moved on. In fact, we should text the group.”
Her eyes threaten to bulge out of her pretty head. “What! No.”
“Yes, we send a selfie. I can…Oh! I ask my sister-in-law for advice! Samantha loves you, she loves me. She’ll be so excited she’ll handle convincing Skye for you. We can grease the wheels now and then send them some Vegas wedding pics.”
“Are you unwell, Bossman? Are you crazy? This is crazy. You’re crazy. Excuse me? Check please?” She says to no one, since not a single server is nearby. She’s coming a little bit unglued and I find it a little bit adorable.
“Janie,” I put a hand on her forearm. “I need your help. You need my help. This is twelve months we’re talking about.
And only these first few really count. After the first of the year I’ll have fulfilled the stipulations.
It’ll be hard for Dad to do much after that as long as we make some appearances and stay married on paper the rest of the five years. ”
“What about you?” she says softly.
“What d’you mean?”
She frowns, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m really not, but no one is going to believe you went from threesomes—” she does the lean-whisper thing again.
Don’t look at her cleavage, mate. Don’t do it!
“You know, like you were having last night —to suddenly settling down with some nobody from Juniper Falls.” I start to say they will when that nobody is as gorgeous as she is but she carries on.
“Not to mention you’ll have to actually settle down?
You can’t pretend to be married and be, um, showing up the next morning in last night’s suit anymore, you know? ”
“Possessive already, are we?” I tease.
“Would you cut it out? Everything is not a joke, Benedict!”
“Ben.”
“Mr. Clark.”
“Ben.”
“Boss.” I sigh. She does too. “Sorry, but you are my boss. You do have a reputation. No one is going to—”
I lean forward this time to cut her off, “I haven’t shagged anyone in weeks.” I think back. “No, over a month, including last night.”
Her mouth falls open and then she recovers with a joke, “However have you survived?”
“Just barely,” I joke back.
Her smile turns to confusion, “Not that I care, but, why?”
I look at the posh lighting overhead and think about it. “I suppose it’s what I told you, being bored of the same ol’ same ol’. How women are with me. What they want from me. Everyone signs an NDA, of course, but—”
“To sleep with you?”
“Yes. Young Ben learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago.”
“Wow, sign here to go to bed,” she says. “That must kill the mood.”
“No, I make sure it doesn’t.” I wink at her.
“Ew, don’t wink.”
My eyebrows shoot up, “Don’t wink? I’m not allowed to wink now?”
“Absolutely not. To look like you do and be British? No winking.”
“See? You can’t stop banging on about how handsome I am. I halfway believe this already.”
She lowers her chin and glares from under her lashes. “I said ew.”
“Come on, darling. It’s all lined up. I’ve been sad and lonely and celibate.
I see you and can’t look away, you see me, and, dashing as I am, you fall head over heels.
We take a few selfies, send a few texts.
We get hitched at some horrid chapel. Do all the holiday things to convince Skye and my father and a few friends.
Then,” I lean in, “you’re a millionaire. ”
“You’re insane,” she says again but this time there’s no fire behind it. I hold off my smile. I am suddenly desperate to seal this deal. I watch her mind work, various guarded emotions barely showing on her face.
I decide to pile on, “I bet Theo will hate it, too, seeing you looking absolutely stunning and thriving and married to a famous billionaire.”
That does it. I see her decide. And for some odd reason it irks me that mentioning this Theo character is what it took to convince her.
But I’m a man on a deadline.
“Deal?” I extend my hand.
“Deal,” she says, but before she slips her hand in mind she pauses. “But I want a contract.”
I laugh, “Of course we’ll have a contract, darling. I’ll have to do a background check. We’ll both sign NDAs.” I try to be suggestive on the last bit but she ignores me.
“What I mean is we have to have some rules, some boundaries. I want clear lines, clear expectations.” She smooths her napkins and I notice it, how her silverware is at an exact ninety degrees to the edge of the table. The end of her knife points straight to the center of her glass.
“You like order,” I think out loud.
“Yes, order, structure…peace. I don’t have diagnosed OCD, but I did have a childhood filled with chaos.
It’s pretty textbook, really. So, I need to make sure everything is lined out and simple.
” She explains herself plainly. She just owns her issues.
No shame, no qualms, just who she is and what she wants.
Again, she is alarmingly, inconveniently hot.
“Understood. Do you have your own lawyer?”
She nods but glances away. So…probably a cousin who bailed on law school. I don’t press, though. I plan to honor whatever she wants and the contract will show that clearly.
“Okay. Deal.” She slips her hand in mine. Her skin is like butter. So much so, I have to force myself to release her hand. She inhales. “Let’s get this over with, my sweatpants are missing me.”
I smile, “All right, selfie and text messages, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she stands and moves over to my side of the booth. She sits…near me?
“Janie,” I scold her.
“What?”
“C’mon, love, people need to believe us,” I say before wrapping my arm around her middle and yanking her flush to me.
I hear her gasp but she plays it off as a cough before I lift my phone and pose.
I capture a couple shots of us smiling, then some poses of her rolling her eyes and pointing at me like she’s disgusted, which makes me laugh.
I keep taking bursts so I get them all. She takes out her phone to capture some as well.
“Now that last one,” she says as she scoots away, “They’ll believe.”
I airdrop all the photos to her and say, “Good, now, let’s text.”
“We can’t both text at the same time!” She shrieks when I pull my phone out. “I just sent one to the single’s table.”
“The what?”
“It’s a group text. The single’s table at your brother’s wedding. The other girls are both married now—rude—But it’s still the name of our thread.”
“Okayyy?”
“So, you have to wait to text anyone, a few hours at least.”
I nod. “Right. Got it.” I watch her tap a couple times and then tuck her phone away. “And now?”
“Now,” she straightens. “I answer the call of my people.”
“The singles table?” I ask.
“My sweatpants.”
I laugh and signal the waiter. She smirks, watching me.
She seems calm but I’m sure, like me, she’s buzzing under the surface.
Because the wheels are in motion now. Even if she spooks, which I suspect she will, come bright light of morning, it’s too late.
I’m dead set on this, which is unusual, since I’ve had a privileged, easy life. I tend to just take what comes.
But every once in a while I truly decide on something I want. And I always get it. And I want this. This harebrained adventure.
With her.
Her phone starts to buzz and she pulls it back up.
“Here we go,” she says.
Indeed.