So Much More

by Cristiane Serruya

  She looked at his hand as if it were a snake and involuntarily, her tongue moistened her lips.

  His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, but nothing else gave away the vulnerability he had briefly glimpsed.

  Stop. You are here for the money. She pulled herself back from the torrent of sensual feelings. Under her steel will, her face went blank and her fingers curled around his hand, firmly and detached. In an even voice, she said, “Yes, it has been a while. How are you, Mr. Blackthorn?”

  CHAPTER 2

  “Please, sit down.” He motioned to the sofa and stepped back, allowing her to pass him. “Coffee? Water?”

  She gave him a smile and slid purposely and gracefully into an armchair. “Water. Thank you.”

  He poured water for both of them, then grabbed the thick envelope his lawyer had sent, and sat by her on the sofa.

  Hannah watched him as he flipped through the documentation she had provided. He hadn’t changed much in those seven years. Sure, he looked more mature and sophisticated, and there were a few lines around his eyes and that scruffy, devil-may-care beard, which she was sure demanded permanent care. It all made him much more manly, attractive, and unattainable than when she and her mother lived at Senator Blackthorn’s Connecticut residence.

  When he finished reading all the background checks his lawyer had run through all the usual—and unusual—security agencies, he didn’t—couldn’t—understand why a woman like Hannah would be applying for the position. She was much more qualified than any other woman who had applied for it so far. From what he recalled, her mother had raised her well, but he would not complain if she wanted to share his bed. Much to the contrary.

  He took his Cartier pen out of his inner jacket pocket and held it between his large hands, his long fingers stroking it slowly, and fixed her with his dark eyes.

  Hannah watched the gliding movements, the light touch pushing and pulling. She flicked her gaze to his and it told her he was thinking of stroking—and doing—other things. The thought caused liquid fire to race, singeing every nerve, and then pooling in her stomach, rekindling long-ago dormant dreams and forgotten teenage infatuation.

  Focus, Hannah! She drank the water to wet her dry throat and broke the lengthy silence. “Your lawyer gave me all the details. I’m interested.”

  He leaned back and sipped his water. This fake wife idea hadn’t seemed so brilliant when his father and lawyers first suggested the idea, but now that he was face-to-face with his prospective bride, Markus liked it a lot. “Why should I hire you?”

  “I have an ECE bachelor degree from Rasmussen College and the New York Teaching Initial Certificate. I speak Spanish fluently and my French is passable. The Dawson’s letter of recommendation is more than enough reason to answer your question. I am qualified to take care of your daughter while passing as your wife and making you look like a…stable family man.” She shrugged. “And, I need a job.”

  “Yes, you are more than qualified if you were applying for a tutor position. But this is not a job, honey.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And what is this?”

  “You are here for the money.” He put his glass down on the center table and leaned back on the sofa. “And half a million dollars is a fucking hell of a lot of money. What do you need it for?”

  “None of your business.”

  Of course it is. He frowned. “I must insist.”

  She glanced back at him, not avoiding his stare this time. “Listen, Mr. Blackthorn—”

  “Markus.” He would have sworn he saw some kind of angry spark in her eyes. Even as a blossoming young woman, she had always possessed an almost haunting quality in her wide emerald-green eyes. But when he looked again, he could see nothing in them—nothing at all.

  “This deal is good for both of us. Your daughter gets the best education a home tutor can provide and you get a woman to pass as your wife while I close my eyes for whatever lover you might have. All that for only half a million dollars.”

  “Says here,”—he tapped her file, suppressing his smile at her prideful squaring shoulders,—“you are available to start immediately.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. Her twice-a-week babysitting job for a wealthy yet thrifty New Yorker family could go to hell for all she cared. “A few hours to pack and put my life in order. A day, at most.”

  There was something different in her now, and it was not her blossomed beauty or body, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “You’re aware you’ll be selling a whole year of your life—and more, if needed—to me. No days off—or nights, for that matter.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes returned to the expensive pen he was caressing.

  “You’re aware of the contract terms, I take it?”

  She frowned. “Are we going to sign a contract?”

  “Apart from a pre-nup? No. It will be unenforceable.”—And a dangerous document in the wrong hands.—“I expect you will hold your part of our bargain, which I must remind you is strictly confidential.”

  “I will,” she nodded. His lawyer had made it clear at the last meeting she would be destroyed if she so much as mentioned a single word of it to anyone. “I have a small request of my own.”

  “Let’s hear it,” he said curtly.

  “I don’t expect you to be celibate for the whole term of our contract. And I don’t care with whom you…fornicate,”—she didn’t even blink, but she felt a burning inside her chest,—“as long as it is done behind closed doors.”

  “I like your candor.” He wasn’t planning on staying celibate for a whole year, especially with such a beautiful woman as his wife. By the heat coursing in his veins, he would be very happy to have her in his arms.

  “I request you to be discreet in your liaisons.”

  “Discreet.” He laughed. When she opened her mouth again, he cut her off, “Hannah. You do understand why we are making this…arrangement.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “You need a wife to present to society—and to the judge—as the perfect female model: a good wife who can be a loving stepmother. I have to make you look respectable and loving and get your ex off your back, so you can have the custody of your daughter. And I can do that.”

  He put the pen back in his pocket and leaned in her direction. “I can’t afford to be caught with any other woman until I have everything settled with Victoria’s custody.”

  She nodded. “That’s—”

  “And I am paying you half a million dollars. Plus expenses. For that amount, I expect you to put up with my idiosyncrasies.” Markus’s eyes lingered on her for a long, endless moment before he said, “And who knows? Perhaps you can make it real.”

  Hannah frowned at the way he said the last word. “How…real?”

  He slid to the edge of the sofa and put his hand on her knee. “Real.”

  Hannah froze. His lawyer had made it clear she would have to make it real, but she thought the real part would be a few caresses and kisses while in public, nothing more. As her mother’s dying face swam into her mind, Hannah realized it wasn’t accepting Markus’s proposal that horrified her, but the certainty that her mother would be mortified with her decision to sell her body as a whore. She couldn’t do it—no matter how much the job was paying, no matter how much she needed the money.

  Though he could see the words registering in her brain, she was clearly trying to conceal the shock. “There’s a line of women who would literally kill to be in the position you’re in.”

  She wanted to tell Markus to go ahead and give the position to one of the many women in that disgusting line of his. Instead, she said as coolly as she could, “I need to think about it.”

  “Well then, sleep on it and call me tomorrow.” He rose and accompanied her to the door. There was something so mystifying about this grown-up, cold Hannah that his interest had been piqued.

  He had talked to her as though it was a foregone conclusion that he’d hire her if only she were willing to agree to the terms. It was impossible to be objective though. H
e was almost determined to have her, whether or not she took the position. Yet, the last time he’d allowed his cock to overrule his head, he’d ended up marrying Nicola. Jumping into things too quickly with women is how I got into this predicament to begin with. I need to give her careful consideration as I would any other candidate.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Blackthorn.”

  “See you, Hannah.” He smiled at her. “Take care of that broken arm.”

  He noticed the slight faltering in her pace and the hitch in her breath. But then she rose to her full height.

  “Don’t worry. I will,” she answered, not really knowing what she was going to do.

  CHAPTER 3

  Park Avenue

  Markus Blackthorn’s penthouse

  7:30 p.m.

  “Markus,” Elijah Blackthorn called, poking his head into his son’s home-office.

  Markus looked up from his iMac and waved him in with a smile. “Come in.”

  The elder Blackthorn was a tyrant under the guise of an affable and approachable man. It was reflected in his body and behavior: Solid and robust, with perfectly trimmed gray hair and sharp icy-blue eyes; his posture was straight, clearly that of a man used to exercising authority.

  He rarely raised his voice, and never his fists, but he could dominate a life and leave a person feeling beaten without even trying. Or he could make a person feel the most important in the world. If he so wanted.

  This ability had served him well in conquering the young, beautiful and billionaire heiress, Judith Greene. With her fortune and her parents’ influence, and his charisma and cunning, his entrance into politics had gone flawlessly.

  After kissing his son affectionately on the cheek, he served himself Hennessy cognac and sat in the armchair, waiting for Markus to finish his work and shut down his computer.

  “Good to see you, Senator.”

  He smiled and said, “I heard the takeover of Haskell & Sons was successful. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Markus answered, knowing very well that wasn’t the reason his father had come to his apartment without notice.

  Elijah lit a cigar, dragged, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

  Markus looked at Elijah expectantly when his father didn’t elaborate. By now, he was used to his father’s tactic of making a person blurt out their inner-most secrets. But it just didn’t work on him anymore.

  Elijah finally cleared his throat and asked, “How are the bride interviews going?”

  Ah! “I’ve decided on one.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Elijah said with a sigh. “Your mother has been in tears lately about not being able to see Victoria. She’ll want to meet your fiancée. Set up a—”

  “Senator,” Markus interrupted. “She hasn’t accepted the position yet.”

  “Do you need me to…give her an incentive?”

  Markus rested his chin on his folded hands and studied his father. Elijah loved his wife and son to distraction but he had the annoying habit of meddling in everyone’s affairs and trying to direct their lives.

  “No.”

  Elijah pressed his lips together.

  Since Markus left home, he had managed to keep Elijah at arm’s length and no matter how desperate he was to have Victoria back, he was not going to allow his father to dictate his life again.

  “Markus—”

  “I will let you know about it tomorrow.” Markus cut his father off and quickly changed subjects. “Tell me about your campaign.”

  An hour later, Markus stood in the hall of his apartment watching his father leave, musing that the old man wouldn’t be very happy if Hannah accepted his proposal. Elijah had always thought it a nuisance to have the young girl living at his expense, but it had been good for his image as a politician, so he tolerated her. When Markus mentioned Hannah’s blooming beauty, he had teetered between indifference, disgust, and worry. A scandal wouldn’t be good for his Senate campaign and he had made his feelings clear to his son when he stated, “Blackthorns do not sleep with the help.”

  Markus headed back toward his bedroom to shower. As the warm water beat the knotted muscles in his back, his mind cleared of the annoyance he was feeling toward his father and his thoughts meandered toward the five women he had personally interviewed. He ticked each one off until he arrived at Hannah.

  In the whirlwind of his life, Markus hadn’t given further thought to the shy young woman when she and her Irish immigrant mother had suddenly disappeared from his father’s household, although he would have very much enjoyed getting more intimate with her if she had stayed.

  But now his thoughts kept returning to her.

  With enough education, a newfound elegance she hadn’t had before, and with no living parents or family, she was perfect to be Victoria’s tutor and pass as his fake wife. Maybe too perfect.

  Manhattan, West Village

  Wednesday, October 1, 2014

  1:30 a.m.

  The tick-tock of the bedside table clock in little Sarah Muller’s room was lulling Hannah into a slumber when the sound of voices made her sit up straight on the chair.

  As always, the Mullers were late to return home from their night out, but in her dire circumstances Hannah was not going to complain about their tardiness. Even though they under-paid her for taking care of their child, she was welcomed to their day-old left-overs, and she would rather have a small steady income of money and food twice a week than nothing.

  Carmen Muller tiptoed inside the room, her earlobes unnaturally elongated as they were pulled down by the weight of the long diamond earrings. She bent over the crib where her daughter slept, her large breasts almost spilling from the low neckline.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Muller,” Hannah said with a smile, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. “Sarah is a dear.”

  “She barely gives you any work,” Carmen said.

  “Barely.” Hannah agreed, rolling her eyes. Yes, the girl was a dear baby and demanded very little of Hannah’s time, but on Wednesdays she was not only responsible for taking care of Sarah, but also for washing and ironing the Mullers’ clothes, cleaning the apartment, and washing the dishes—with no extra pay for the extra work.

  Carmen waved a ringed-covered hand at Hannah, saying, “See you on Saturday, darling.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Muller.” Hannah waved back at the overdressed, overly made-up woman as she left the room, betting Carmen would need a corkscrew to get her voluptuous body out of the too slinky gala dress.

  “Good evening, Mr. Muller.”

  “Good evening, Hannah.” Jacob Muller was a strange man, with strange habits. Round, with fluffy graying-blond hair and puppy eyes, he looked like a sheep but was always surrounded by men who looked like wolves and vultures. Hannah knew by now his appearance had nothing to do with his cunning. “Here you are.”

  “Thanks.” She accepted the hundred-dollar note and put it in her jeans pocket. “Mr. Muller? Would it be possible…could I get an advance for the next…”—What? The next year?—“I mean, I have an emergency. And if I could possibly get an advance payment for…”

  “Do I look like a bank?” Jacob mumbled beneath his breath.

  Quite. The fat stack of hundred-dollar bills that deformed his wallet was proof enough the man wallowed in money. On more than one evening while babysitting Sarah, Hannah had seen—and heard—him engaged in mysterious talks with others, who seemed to be his associates, about multi-million dollar deals, stock market fortunes, profits from this and that, and various mergers and acquisitions. Not that she was an expert on any of it, but it all revolved around great wealth.

  “How much?”

  “Fifteen,” she said, mentally crossing her fingers.

  “Of course,” he said, having difficulty finding a ten and a five dollar bill amid the fifties and hundreds, then finally handing them to her.

  Cringing inwardly Hannah whispered, “I meant fifteen hundred.” Forty-five would be better.

  “Fifteen…” When the amou
nt registered in Jacob’s mind, his beady eyes nearly bulged out and he closed his wallet with a snap. “One thousand and five hundred dollars? I don’t have that kind of money!”

  No? “Five hundred?” she asked, mortified, looking at the floor. She was sure the rug they stood upon was worth a thousand times more than she was asking.

  “Fifty is all I have.”

  “Thanks.” Cheeks hot, Hannah grabbed the money. At least she would not need to overthink her subway fare that night, nor her breakfast the next morning. “Thanks a lot.”

  It was after three in the morning when Hannah fell face first on her bed for a few hours’ sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  8:45 a.m.

  I need a job—a real job. Hannah entered the bar where she used to have breakfast and waved at the only friend—if she could call an acquaintance a friend—she had made in all those years. “Good morning, Lily.”

  “Hey, Hannah.” The waitress waved back. “Are you having the usual?”

  “Perhaps, later,” Hannah answered as she sat at a table in the corner and unfolded the previous day’s newspaper, running her palm over it to make it lie flat so she could search through the ads again. I must have missed something.

  “On the house,” said Lily, putting a steamy mug and a slice of sourdough toast in front of Hannah.

  “Lily, you shouldn’t—”

  “The old miser isn’t going to know. And if he finds out, I’ll shove the two bucks up his ass along with my resignation.”

  Hannah giggled. “If you do, I’m putting it on YouTube: ‘How to Really Pinch a Penny’.”

  “And we can play ‘Take This Job and Shove it’ in the background.”

  When they stopped laughing, Lily said, “By the way, you look like crap, you know?”

  “Thanks, buddy. I really needed some cheering up.”

  “No, I mean it, Hannah,” Lily said quietly.

  She faced away. “I’m okay. Just a little tired.”

  “Hey, you!”