Chapter 9
GRIFFIN
The ultimatum came from Kevin Paxton, the managing partner of Paxton, Gill, and Associates.
I am slated to finally graduate from the associate ranks. But in order to be a partner, I need to bring in another law firm to justify my equity buy-in, and I need to "clean up my act."
That is code for: Get married.
We need more firepower if we want to remain the most powerful firm in the city.
Currently, Carl Besheir’s firm is nipping at our heels.
Per our usual strategy, we plan to acquire a smaller, boutique firm to absorb their talent and client list. I am the one leading the acquisition. I am the one bringing the rain.
But Kevin sees a problem.
“You know I want to take you on,” Kevin started earlier today in his plush corner office. “You’re our best lawyer, Griffin. Better than Tom. Better than me, frankly. But the problem lies in your conduct. Human Resources has cited you too many times. Word gets around.”
He scolded me like a father would, mostly because he’s seventy and thinks the world still operates on 1950s morality.
“Every one of those relationships was consensual, Kevin. No one said I forced or even coerced them.” I was livid.
“I know that. I’m aware you’re a handsome man who does well with women.
But you’re a forty-eight-year-old unmarried man who dips his pen in the company ink far too often.
We can’t have that liability. I’m telling you now: if you date anyone from the office again, you’re going to be terminated.
That is why I suggest you get married. Clean up your image. Find a nice civilian.”
It’s the same lecture every year. He tells me I can’t be a partner because of my bedpost notches.
“Fine,” I said, dismissive.
“This time it’s real, Griffin. If you want to be a partner, you need to show the board you're capable of stability.” He leaned forward. “It needs to happen soon, or we’ll find someone else.”
He put a heavy emphasis on someone else.
“I heard you,” I told him, standing up. “I’ll make it happen.”
***
“So what is your proposition?”
Selena dives right in as soon as we are seated in the town car.
“You don’t want me to wine you and dine you first?” I tease, trying to ease the tension radiating off her.
“No. Being wined and dined by you feels dangerous,” she says, scowling.
While I know the scowl is meant to establish a boundary, I just think she looks cute.
“If I just blurt it out in the car, you're sure to say no.”
“Then I’m probably never going to say yes. I’m not a puppy, Griffin. Food rarely motivates me. Even the best food in the country.”
She holds her scowl throughout the ride to Cennet. She is still holding onto it even after we are seated at a prime corner table overlooking the dining room.
“Okay, this place is beautiful,” she admits, giving me a tiny, grudging smile.
After that silent car ride, I have to get my wits together.
“I knew you’d like it.” I wink and hand her the drink menu. “The only thing we can order is wine; the rest is prepared by the chef specifically for us. He’ll come out and talk with us soon.”
“Will he ask what we like and don’t like?” A knot of confusion furrows her brow.
“Usually, he sits down and talks for a few minutes. He reads the table. Then waiters bring the most delicious food you’ve ever tasted.”
“We’ve already had sex, Griffin, and it’s not happening again. You don't need to impress me. On Friday, I will be walking out of your life forever.” She offers a placating smile as she delivers the harsh news.
“I guess it’s time to start making deals then,” I sigh. I want just a little more time without begging.
I’ve decided Selena is the only woman I’ve ever met who doesn’t want more from me. She’s not chasing my status. That makes her the perfect candidate.
“I’m not making any deals with you. You rescued me from a creep at a sex club, fucked me, gave me a morning-after pill, and then turned out to be a relentless asshole as a boss. You are the polar opposite of what I need.”
She holds her ground as the Chef approaches our table.
“Good evening to the lovely couple,” Chef Hamid says, bowing slightly.
Selena opens her mouth to launch a denial, but I gently knock her foot under the table and give her a warning glare.
Cennet is run by a Turkish Michelin-starred chef who believes in the mystique of the soul.
He claims to feed people based on their energy.
The poor guy knows nothing of the transactional proposal I'm about to make, and I don't want our bickering to ruin the meal.
Believe it or not, I want Selena to have a good night.
She's fighting back with every scrap of her sanity to keep from falling into my trap.
The challenge is, I want her trapped. For the sacrifice she’ll make to marry me, I’ll secure her future with enough money to change her life forever.
“We’re good,” Selena offers, playing her part perfectly.
“More than good,” I say, smiling wide. I lean over to the chef conspiratorially. “I’m about to propose to this beautiful woman.”
“Ah,” Hamid says, spreading his arms wide. “Love. Love is the best seasoning.”
I see Selena bite her lip. I try not to laugh at how hard she is struggling to hold her tongue.
“Miss.” He turns to Selena. “Is there anything you don’t love?”
She looks at him with a sparkle in her green eyes and says softly, “Liars and cheats.” She shrugs her shoulders innocently.
“No woman should love a cheater or a liar,” Hamid agrees gravely. “But with an angel such as you, a liar would choke on his deceit. You are fresh air and flowers. Sweetness and spice. I know what I shall prepare for you.”
For the first time all night, Selena seems genuinely impressed.
“And for you, sir.” He looks at me, making his assessment. “You are strength and command. A leader. You are roasted and smoked, but you need sweetness to balance the bitterness. I know what I will make for the two of you to celebrate love, commitment, and the unending circle of life.”
While his words are poetic, they are also terrifyingly prophetic. I try not to focus on the "bitterness" comment as he walks away.
“You're right, he is lovely,” Selena whispers. “I certainly don't want to upset him. He treats food like a religion.” She takes a sip of her wine and immediately scrunches up her face.
“Is the wine not good?” I can't imagine anything not being top-notch here.
“Nothing tastes great these days. I think it's the stress.” She glares at me again. “I'm still a little sick.”
“Yes, well, I've heard your boss is an asshole.” I chuckle, trying to keep the mood light.
“You would know.” She tries another sip but gives up.
“Would you like me to order you something else? I want you to enjoy the evening.”
She looks at me as if I’m crazy. The glass of wine in her hand is seventy-five dollars.
“No, I’m fine. It’s delicious. I’m just scared out of my wits. Why am I here?” The poor thing really does look terrified.
“I am expecting you to say yes,” I preface.
“I’m sure you are, but that doesn’t mean I will.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Hear me out. Wait until I’ve finished, please.”
Now I’m a little nervous. Selena is the only person I am going to ask. If she says no, I have no plan B. My only other option is a high-end escort or my friend Cayden’s younger sister, who actively hates me. I can’t stomach the thought of anyone other than Selena.
“I’m listening.”
“I’m going to be made a partner in the firm. But I need to erase a certain reputation.”
“A reputation?” She raises a brow as our first course arrives.
It is a beautiful tangle of bitter greens, beets, tomatoes, and saffron-infused goat cheese with sweet yellow melon.
“Chef wants you to enjoy the first course,” the waiter explains. “It is a mix of bitter greens and sweet Thrakiotika melon, to remind you that in every tangle there is richness and grace.” He leaves one plate and two forks.
“It looks like we're sharing,” I note.
“I’m fine with one plate,” she says, picking up a fork. “You were saying...”
“I need to clean up my act.” I spear some greens and cheese.
“You do,” she agrees dryly, taking a bite.
“I need to marry you.”
She nearly chokes on the melon. Her eyes widen.
“Sorry, what?”
“You’re the only woman I can stand to look at for a year or more.” I am laying this out more honestly than I intended.
“I’m sure El would love to marry you,” she counters.
“I’m not asking El. I want you. And before you refuse, hear my terms. It’s a three-year contract.
One year guaranteed, with renegotiation for years two and three.
You’ll receive five million dollars a year.
A five-carat diamond ring. At least ten pieces of gemstone jewelry, amounting to another million.
I’ll provide you with a home, an education, and a vehicle when we terminate the marriage. In short, I’ll set you up for life.”
I watch her face. It’s an irresistible offer.
“So I have to live with you for three years? Won’t that be weird? People at the office will know it's fake if you marry the temp you just met.”
I admire her brain.
“I’m impulsive. That’s my brand. We’ll play it as a whirlwind romance.
But while we’re married, we have to pull this off.
It has to look legitimate. I live in an industrial loft on the Upper East Side.
I have one primary bedroom and two guest rooms. They shall remain guest rooms. You will be given a budget to redecorate the primary bedroom.
I’ll give you one of the parlors for your private use, but you may not have a bed in there. ”
“Then where will I sleep?” She gives me an incredulous look.
“Here’s the fun part: you’re going to share a bed with me. That’s a non-negotiable. To appear as a couple, we share a room. My home could use a feminine touch anyway. You’ll be given a clothing allowance, an entertainment allowance, and—”
“Wait, so I have to sleep with you?”
“You have to share my bed. Sex will be by consent only.” And I hope to hell she consents.
“Sharing a bedroom is the only way we will know each other intimately enough to fool people. I’m of course going to want sex, but we can abstain.
However, outside sexual partners are forbidden. Fidelity is part of the contract.”
“And work?”
“As the wife of a senior partner, I’m going to ask that you not work.” I brace myself. I know this is where the fight begins.