Chapter Fourteen #2
My body responds by way of a thickening cock before the rest of me catches up. My nervous system would like to remind me that it remains fully operational. I’m a man in a drought staring at rain.
It's been ten months. Ten months and eighteen days, if we're being unnecessarily specific, which I am because I know exactly how long Rose has been gone. I haven't touched another woman in all that time. Haven't wanted to.
And now my body has decided Rian Fields is where we're ending the streak.
Fantastic.
The guilt arrives almost immediately, which is ridiculous. I haven't done anything. I looked at a beautiful woman's breasts and got hard. There are several billion men currently maintaining successful relationships with the same basic operating system.
Biology isn't betrayal. A physical response isn't a decision.
I tell myself that twice, which is once more than a man generally needs to repeat something he actually believes.
I take a step back and put a little more space between us.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Fields. I don't think we're on the same page."
"Rian, please."
She sets her glass on the railing and takes a small step toward me.
"I'm aware I'd benefit from this arrangement more than you would. I'm not kidding myself there. And I'm not opposed to begging, Mr. Jackson." She holds my eyes. "In fact, I'm a very good beggar."
Fuck.
My body really did not need that information. Arousal pools heavier in my stomach and I have to shift my weight against the railing.
That word choice wasn't an accident. Nothing Rian says feels accidental, and now my mind has conjured images of Rian on her knees in front of me, begging. Goddamnit.
This is a terrible idea. I've already been the asset in one strategic marriage. I know exactly what it costs, and I spent three years waiting for the day I could finally get out of the last one. Every rational thought in my head is telling me to thank her for dinner and go home.
"What exactly are you proposing?" I hear myself ask anyway. "How long would we need to stay married?"
What difference does it make?
The answer is still no.
Right?
"One year. Then we divorce, clean, and walk away with exactly what we came in with.
My attorneys have already drafted the prenup, and yours are welcome to bleed all over it.
We'd need to date publicly first, of course.
A proper story. But the timeline is tight, I'm afraid.
I have it on good authority the board is close to calling a vote on my removal, and I'd rather be unassailable before they find their nerve. "
I shake my head. "Listen, Ms. Fields..."
"Rian." She corrects me again.
"Rian. I don't think I'm the right person for this."
"A seat on the Lane & Fields board," she continues like I haven't said a word. "Two percent of my personal holdings, transferred to you on signing. Voting shares, not the neutered class. At our last valuation, that's a little north of eighty million dollars."
She turns the stem of her glass between her fingers.
"Structured discreetly, obviously. A gift that size to a fiancé with my board already circling would draw attention. My attorneys have it papered as a consulting arrangement through one of your acquisition vehicles, the kind of transaction nobody looks at twice because you make a dozen a year."
And there it is.
She didn't just research me. She researched the firm, my deals, my acquisition vehicles, how my money moves and where that kind of money could land without anybody immediately asking why.
Jesus Christ.
How long has she been planning this?
I'm not a candidate she came here hoping to convince. She already built the deal around me.
"And when the year is up, you keep the seat if you want it. Consider it my referral fee for the best decision the board never got to make."
Damnit. Damn. It.
It's a good deal. A really fucking good deal.
Might as well call me Ross Geller. Two divorces before I'm even thirty-five, both of them to women I never chose for love. At least Ross got to pick his own disasters.
Don't wait for me, Rose wrote. Item four, her own steady hand.
Live your life.
I've spent months telling myself I can do both. I can live and still wait. Build the firm. Make money. Do interviews. Drag my ass onto a yoga mat at 4:55 every morning because somewhere out there she might be doing the same thing.
Living my life may also include marrying a terrifying blonde for a board seat and a few million dollars.
I'm sure that's exactly what Rose meant.
"And what does 'tight' look like?" I ask. "How soon would we need to start selling this story?"
"Right now, Mr. Jackson."
I clear my throat and shift my weight again because my cock is like a shark in the water.
"What does right now mean?"
“There's a photographer in the hotel across the way with a long lens aimed at this balcony.
" She says it casually, because having surveillance positioned before dinner is normal behavior in her world.
"I'm going to cross over to you in a moment, straddle your lap and kiss you.
You have five seconds to tell me no, and if you do, I'll never raise this discussion again.
No hard feelings, no second pitch. But I'll accept your tongue in my mouth as acceptance of my proposal. "
Holy shit.
She arranged the camera before dinner. This woman has a fucking implementation plan for marrying me.
I should be horrified.
I am horrified.
Unfortunately, I'm also impressed and hard as fuck.
"Have I made myself clear, Mr. Jackson?"
"Marcus."
What the fuck was that sound? Marcus. Are we volunteering for the Vin Diesel soundalike contest? Fucking idiot.
I lean back in the chair, and her eyes drop once, straight to my lap, before returning to my face.
Caught.
Wonderful.
"Five."
She takes a step toward me.
"Four. Three."
Another step, and suddenly five seconds is not nearly enough time to process any-fucking-thing.
"Two."
Say no.
One syllable.
I say it all day long.
No, that deal doesn't work. No, those numbers are shit. No, Bennet, we're not expensing a goddamn yacht.
Easy word.
I don't say it.
"One."
Rian closes the distance and settles onto my lap, knees on either side of my hips. She pauses there with her face inches from mine and waits.
One last chance.
Her eyes stay on me.
I could still say no.
Her mouth softly grazes mine, but her eyes never break contact.
For the first second, I sit there with my hands hovering near her waist, fully aware that the moment I touch her this becomes real.
The moment my hands close around her hips and I kiss her back, ten months without another woman catches up with me fast.
My tongue slides against hers, hungry enough that I hear her breath catch, and whatever technical distinction remained between considering the deal and accepting it disappears.
I've just signed an eighty-million-dollar contract with my mouth.
Very professional.
Her fingers grip my lapel, right over the breast pocket where I keep Rose’s card. The guilt hits hard enough that my hands tighten on Rian's hips to keep them from shaking.
She pulls away first. Her breathing is a little quicker now, lipstick smudged at one corner, but otherwise she looks infuriatingly composed.
"Congratulations, Marcus." She straightens my collar with two quick tugs. "You've just made the smartest deal of your career."
Then she climbs off my lap and reaches for her wine.