Chapter 7
BEN
I’m moving fast as I stride toward the Willis Tower, but the quick pace does nothing to clear the fog in my head.
I’ve been awake since four AM. Lying in bed.
Staring at the ceiling. Replaying every moment of last night’s dinner with Red and Marnie.
Every word Freya uttered, every smile she flashed, every time her hand touched mine.
The doorman nods as I enter the building. “Good morning, Mr. Lawlor.”
“Morning, James.”
The elevator ride to the forty-second floor feels longer than usual, giving me too much time to contemplate. By the time I reach my office, I’ve made a decision. I need to get ahead of this situation before it spirals completely out of control.
I drop my briefcase on my desk and immediately reach for my phone. Texting my executive assistant, Anthony: “Need to see you and Carson in my office. 30 minutes. Confidential.”
The response comes back within seconds: “Of course. Should I prepare anything?”
“Be prepared to sign NDAs,” I type back.
I quickly draft up the NDAs, feeling ridiculous.
How do you inform your closest professional associates that you’ve agreed to fake-marry your best friend? How do you make that sound like a reasonable commercial decision instead of the desperate improvisation it actually is?
This is exactly why I don’t get involved with women beyond a week here and there. Relationships are messy. Distracting. They make you question decisions that should be straightforward.
Twenty minutes later Anthony and Carson are seated across from my desk, both appearing curious and slightly concerned.
Carson is younger than Anthony, mid-twenties, with an aggressive ambition that reminds me of myself ten years ago.
He’s been handling my public image for two years, and he’s excellent at his job.
Maybe too excellent. Sometimes I think he enjoys the publicity side of my enterprise more than I do.
“Before we start,” I announce, sliding two NDAs across the desk, “I need you both to sign these.”
Anthony picks up his copy and scans it quickly, his expression carefully neutral. Carson, on the other hand, grins like I’ve just handed him an early Christmas present.
“This is about a woman, isn’t it?” Carson responds, signing his name with a flourish. “I knew it. The press has been speculating about your love life for months. This is perfect timing.”
“Carson.” My voice carries a warning that makes him sit back in his chair. “Let me finish before you start planning publicity campaigns.”
Anthony signs his NDA more slowly, with the careful attention to detail that makes him invaluable. When both documents are back on my desk, I take a breath and dive in.
“I’m getting married.”
The words hang in the air for a moment. Anthony’s expression remains professionally neutral, but I can see the confusion behind his eyes. Carson, predictably, appears like he’s about to start planning a parade.
“Congratulations,” Anthony says carefully. “When?”
“July. And before you ask, yes, it’s sudden. Very sudden.”
“Who’s the lucky woman?” Carson asks, already pulling out his phone. “Do we need to do background checks? Media training? Damage control for any past relationships?”
“Her name is Freya Hull. She’s a graphic designer and artist here in Chicago.” I pause. “We’ve been friends since high school.”
“Friends to lovers,” Carson nods approvingly. “That’s a great narrative. Very authentic.”
If only he knew how authentic. Or rather, how inauthentic.
“There’s something else you both need to understand,” I continue, feeling like I’m about to jump off a cliff. “The marriage is… strategic.”
Anthony goes very still.
Carson’s phone freezes halfway to his ear.
“Strategic how?” Anthony queries.
“I informed Red Dawson I was engaged to secure a commercial agreement. The client wanted to meet my fiancée, so Freya agreed to help me maintain the fiction.” I straighten a stack of papers on my desk. “But the situation has escalated, and now we need to actually go through with a ceremony.”
The silence in my office is deafening. Anthony appears like he’s trying very hard not to have an opinion about what I’ve just revealed. Carson seems like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“You’re staging a fake marriage,” Carson articulates slowly, “for a commercial agreement.”
“Correct.”
“And you need us to help you pull it off.”
“Correct.”
Anthony shifts in his chair. “Ben, are you certain about this? If word gets out that you fabricated a marriage for commercial purposes—”
“It won’t get out.” I lean forward. “That’s why you both signed NDAs. Also, this isn’t a threat or anything, but your careers are also on the line now. If it were to get out, it would make us all appear incompetent.”
“Who else knows?” Carson probes.
“Only Freya.” But as I mention it, I realize I don’t know if that’s accurate or not.
Maybe Freya has confided in someone?
“But the legal implications—” Anthony begins.
“Will be minimal,” I cut him off. “We’ll get divorced quietly after a year or so. It’s not illegal to marry someone for commercial reasons, and it’s not illegal to get divorced.”
“What about Freya?” Anthony questions. “What does she get out of this arrangement?”
The question catches me off guard. What does Freya get out of this? A trip to Japan and the satisfaction of helping a friend, apparently. When he puts it like that, it sounds like I’m taking advantage of her.
“She’s being compensated,” I reply, which is technically true but feels inadequate.
Carson, who’s been quiet during this exchange, suddenly sits forward with the kind of enthusiasm that usually makes me nervous.
“This is brilliant,” he proclaims.
Both Anthony and I stare at him.
“Consider it,” Carson continues, warming to his theme. “Your image has always been cold, ruthless businessman. Emotionally unavailable. The press loves to paint you as this calculating machine who cares more about profit margins than people.”
“Because that’s what I am,” I point out.
“But not anymore.” Carson’s eyes light up.
“A marriage, even a fake one, completely transforms your public persona. Suddenly you’re an individual who’s capable of love, commitment, stability.
You’re family oriented. Trustworthy.” His eyes are practically glowing.
“This could be the best thing that’s ever happened to your public image. ”
“Carson,” Anthony interjects quietly, “it’s fake.”
“So what? The public doesn’t know that. As far as they’re concerned, Ben Lawlor is finally off the market, settled down with his childhood sweetheart.” Carson gestures enthusiastically. “The press will eat it up.”
A cold dread starts settling in my stomach. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“I’m suggesting we make this public. Big public.” Carson leans forward. “We make your engagement and ceremony the feel-good story of the year.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ben, hear me out.”
“No.” I stand up, moving to the window to put some distance between myself and Carson’s enthusiasm. “The whole point is to keep this quiet and controlled. The more public we make it, the more chances there are for something to go wrong.”
“What could go wrong? You’re marrying your best friend. That’s the perfect cover story.”
“What could go wrong?” I turn back to face him. “Someone could figure out it’s fake. Someone could expose us.” My voice gets harder. “Freya could get hurt.”
The last part comes out more forcefully than I intended, and both Anthony and Carson observe me with renewed interest.
“Freya’s a civilian,” I continue, trying to regain my composure. “She’s not accustomed to media attention. The last thing I want is photographers following her around or reporters digging into her personal life.”
“We can control that,” Carson insists. “Managed publicity. Exclusive interviews with friendly outlets. A few carefully staged photos. Nothing invasive.”
“Carson,” Anthony interrupts, “maybe we should contemplate this more carefully. If this arrangement came to light, it could destroy Ben’s reputation permanently.”
“That’s exactly why we need to control the narrative,” Carson argues. “Right now, the press doesn’t know anything about Ben’s love life. That makes him an enigma, which makes them curious. Curiosity leads to digging, and digging leads to them finding things we don’t want them to discover.”
“What things?” I ask.
“I don’t know. That’s the point.” Carson spreads his hands. “But if we give them a story they can’t resist, with a headline such as successful CEO finds love with childhood friend, they’ll be too busy writing fairy tale pieces to search for anything else.”
I hate that his logic makes sense. I’ve spent years keeping my personal life private, which has only made the press more determined to find something scandalous. A romantic engagement story would give them exactly what they want while keeping them away from the truth.
“Besides,” Carson adds, “fake celebrity relationships happen constantly. Half of Hollywood is built on strategic partnerships designed to boost careers and improve image. The key is making it believable.”
“This isn’t Hollywood,” Anthony points out. “This is the commercial world. The stakes are different.”
“The stakes are exactly why this could work,” Carson responds.
“Consider all the agreements Ben could close if clients perceived him as stable and family oriented instead of cold and ruthless. Consider the investor confidence.” He gestures broadly.
“Consider the board of directors’ comfort level with a CEO who demonstrates commitment in his personal life. ”
As much as I hate to admit it, Carson has a point. The Red Dawson agreement proved that my reputation for being emotionally unavailable can be a liability. If a fake marriage could solve that problem across the board…
“What would this entail?” I ask against my better judgment.
Carson’s face lights up. “Nothing too crazy. We announce the engagement officially, maybe with a few photos. We give an exclusive interview to a commercial magazine, Forbes or Fortune, about balancing love and career.” He’s practically bouncing in his seat.
“We ensure the ceremony gets covered by the right outlets. Chicago Tribune, maybe Vanity Fair if we can swing it.”
“Vanity Fair?” Anthony appears horrified.
“Consider the bigger picture,” Carson proclaims. “This story has everything they want. Successful billionaire, childhood friends to lovers. It’s romantic without being too personal, aspirational without being unrelatable.”
I feel like I’m being swept along by a current I can’t control. This morning I was planning a simple fake marriage to fool one client. Now Carson is discussing magazine covers and national press coverage.
“Ben,” Anthony says carefully, “don’t you think you should consult Freya before we start planning media strategies?”
“Of course. I’ll speak with her today.”
“And if she refuses?” Carson probes.
The question hangs in the air. If Freya refuses the publicity, can I still go through with Carson’s plan? Do I want to go through with it?
The honest answer is that the whole idea makes me deeply uncomfortable, though I can’t articulate why. There’s something about turning our friendship into a public performance that feels wrong, even if the marriage itself is already a performance.
But Carson’s points about my image and commercial relationships are valid. And if we’re going to fake a marriage anyway, maybe it makes sense to get maximum benefit from it.
“She’ll agree,” I hear myself declaring. “Freya comprehends the commercial implications.”
Anthony doesn’t appear convinced, but he nods. “What do you need from us?”
“Discretion, obviously. And help coordinating everything.” I return to my chair. “Anthony, I’ll need you to collaborate with whatever wedding planner we hire. Ensure the timeline works with my schedule. Ideally a July 22nd ceremony.”
“What about the actual client?” Anthony inquires. “Red Dawson? How does he fit into this expanded plan?”
“He and his wife will be invited to the ceremony. The whole point is to cement that relationship.”
Carson is already taking notes on his phone. “This is going to be incredible. By the time we’re finished, your approval ratings will be through the roof.”
After they depart, I sit alone in my office, staring out at the Chicago skyline.
On the other side of town, Freya is probably working on a design project or painting in her studio, completely unaware that her life is about to become exponentially more complicated.