by Coco Miller
I close my eyes as the engine roars to life. It rolls quickly down the runway and before I know it, we’re in the air. I literally claw the arm rest.
“It’s okay. See.” He points out the window. “We’re in the air. Everything is fine.”
I release a deep breath. “Okay.”
I feel a little silly, but I try to remain calm as he gazes at my legs.
Remember the money, Bella.
Remember that you can’t let Natalia down.
And I won’t.
I settle into my seat and close my eyes, trying my best to get into the part of Victor’s fiancee. I’m a fiancee to a wealthy man. I keep repeating this over and over, but it does little good. It’s as if my mind can’t comprehend it and won’t cooperate. Like it’s a fantasy I can’t in my wildest fantasies ever imagine for myself.
I once remember shopping in an upscale store Natalia had taken me to. It was before my eighteenth birthday, and she wanted me to pick something nice out for my special day. I perused the racks, trying desperately to find the cheapest thing I could, even though Natalia told me not to worry about the money.
There was a beautiful woman standing in the corner of the store checking out the racks. I was fascinated and unable to avert my gaze from her. She was dressed tastefully in a purple designer dress, and carrying an expensive bag that matched. She had beautiful caramel skin, large breast implants, a tiny waist, butt implants and long blonde waves that were obvious hair extensions but which looked very expensive.
She was full of herself, and was bossing the store clerks around, as if they owed her something. I stood there in awe as everyone fell to her knees, doing their best to not upset her. Her nose remained high, her shoulders back, as she glared at everyone within an inch of their lives. She was fierce.
And I wanted to be just like her.
Powerful. Wealthy. Respected.
Downright feared.
And now I needed to pretend to be just that. Have everyone bowing down to me and my power. Even if it is all pretend. I could do this.
I had to.
7
Victor
I know hiring a black woman to play my fiancee was probably a leap for some people to believe. I don’t have a history of dating women from other racial backgrounds, not that I wouldn’t, but I just haven’t. This time though Phil has purposely picked someone African-American to be my date. There’s a reason for it though. A plan.
Jaden Kirk is the CEO of Lansing Consulting, a company I want to get my hands on. A company I need to control with everything I have. A company that I have to finesse Jaden into believing is in trouble and needs my help.
There’s one small problem.
Jaden doesn’t just talk to anyone.
He wants to feel a social connection with you. He wants to feel that you’re not just one of the millions of ‘white’ guys trying to make a pass at his power. And even though I am, I won’t let onto him I am, so I agreed to hire a black woman. A strong, powerful, black woman to stand by my side, and be someone who could gain Jaden’s trust and in turn give me a free pass at the trust.
Hey, I know it’s a cutthroat plan, but business is like war. It’s either kill or be killed. Doesn’t really matter much now though. The escort company got one over on me. Isabel does not possess the qualities I requested in my hire. Anyone with half a brain can see that. She is not some seasoned pro who will be able to talk her way into Jaden’s circle of trust. So now, I’m just going to have to depend on the one thing she does possess– her beauty.
I would never pimp Isabel out to him, but I do expect her to catch his eye and grab his attention. If there’s one thing I can definitely count on, it’s the horniness of a man when there’s a beautiful woman in the room. We all look, we all drool, we all fantasize, and some of us act on those baser instincts. It’s in our DNA.
The plane takes off taking us further to our destination, into the foothills of Alabama to the mansion of Gregory Bertford. The man who is hosting the 50th annual billionaire’s retreat. Everyone attending has some corner of the market for global wealth (including some of my shareholders), and yours truly couldn’t wait to get to see my competition all in one place.
As Isabel sleeps on the blue seat next to me, Gretchen the flight attendant walks by and winks at me. Gretchen and I have had a few mile-high romps in the hay, but who I really want is sitting next to me, asleep.
“Isabel,” I whisper to her. “Wake up.”
We need to go over a few things, and I need Isabel to be on top of her game this weekend.
She stirs slightly. “Are we there yet?” Her whiskey-colored eyes open and she stretches out.
“No, not yet. We need to discuss things.”
I need to tell her about Jaden. I need to fill her in on exactly why I hired her and let her in on the mission, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to tell her. I wonder if things working out organically would be better.
This way I won’t need to trust her with vital information. This way I don’t have to worry about her telling the wrong people. This way I won’t have to admit out loud how I’ve allowed myself to be talked into this questionable plan.
All I can do is pray she falls into character quickly and hope for the best. She’s a smart woman. At least I hope she is. I think she can do this as long as I manipulate her just right.
“What things?” Her innocent eyes hold onto mine, and for a minute I just want to keep staring. The way those eyes soften when she comes for me is making me hard just thinking about it. “I need you to act a certain way when we land.”
Recognition dawns on her beautiful face. “I’ve been thinking about that too. I can do it, Victor.”
“Do what?”
She smiles. “It. Act like a snob.”
“Snob?”
“Yes, like all the rich people do. I can act that way.”
I laugh a little. “And just how do they act.”
“Like they have a baseball bat stuffed up their asses.”
I laugh full on now. “A what?”
“A baseball bat.”
I can’t stop laughing, and then I realize, she’s right. “I actually agree with you.”
For decades I’ve watched the women I knew in school and life act a certain way. Like their position gave them the right to belittle others. Like they could be downright snooty to others because they had money. For many years I’ve watched these women walk around like they indeed did have a large stick such as a bat stuffed up their ass.
“You do?” Again with the innocence. Between that and the occasional tough girl attitude, this woman is such a turn on.
“I do.” I lean in and then I kiss her.
And then I can’t stop kissing her no matter how hard I try. She doesn’t let go either, in fact her arms skate around my neck, holding on desperately for me not to let go. She opens her mouth for me, letting my tongue dance along with hers. I like it, so I deepen the kiss, holding onto her all the same.
I really hope she can act the part. I hope the minute the plane lands she is able to hold her own with the sharks of the weekend retreat, because I have a lot on the line here.
I kiss her harder.
I tangle my tongue with hers and smile when a moan escapes her throat.
“Victor,” she groans.
God, I could just listen to her calling me that all week.
8
Isabel
The plane lands late in the evening. When we exit the door of the aircraft, there’s a car waiting for us. Victor sweeps me into the back of a limo, and I rest my tired head on his shoulder. This is all so exhausting.
In the plane, when Victor asked me if I could play the part, I didn’t want to let him down. I want him to know I can do this. So I allow myself one more minute of being myself, and then I slip on the mask. I raise my head from his shoulder, and he stares at me.
“Are you ok?” he asks.
“Are we almost there?” I say more for the driver’s benefit than his. “I nee
d my beauty sleep.”
He smiles a knowing smile, picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles. “We’ll be there soon, my love.”
“Good. All this traveling has made me irritable.”
He kisses my cheek. “Maybe once we’re settled I can draw you a bath.”
“That would be nice.” And then just because I can, I lean into him.
He holds me for the rest of the drive as I glance out the window, watching empty greenery pass by. It’s a beautiful yet desolate land. Tucked in the hills, a regal white mansion comes into view and I try my hardest not to gasp.
This is no ordinary mansion.
Not that I would know anything about ordinary mansions, but this is bigger than the airport. The grounds wrap around with sprouting trees and wild rose bushes lining a winding driveway. It’s gorgeous.
I try not to appear like the apparent wealth doesn’t surprise me, but it’s hard. I don’t know anything about Alabama, and I damn sure don’t know anything about rich people.
When the driver parks, he steps out and opens my door for me. I don’t say thank you as he helps me out of the car because none of those rich women do, but before I turn to walk away, I end up saying it anyways.
I know I’m supposed to be pretending like I’m some sort of entitled trophy wife, but my nana raised me better than that. I will be a woman with manners and a gracious attitude, just like she raised, regardless of the circumstances. Maybe not as snobby as I hoped, but maybe something more.
Who says women of power and money can’t be kind?
I will be.
I’ll be a whole new kind of woman.
The mansion sleeps as we make our way to the front door.
“We’re late,” I whisper to Victor.
“No, it’s ok. They’re expecting us late.”
He knocks on the biggest wooden door I’ve ever seen in my life. The door creaks open, and an older Latina woman with gray at her temples and a distinct southern accent answers the door.
“You must be the Mr. Vaughn.”
Victor smiles this radiant smile. “I am and this is my fiancee, Isabel.”
She smiles a warm, friendly, smile like honey and helps us inside.
“Welcome, darlin’.”
The marble-floored entryway lines our path to the grand foyer. I bite the side of my mouth to keep from calling out. It’s just so lavish. More than anything I’ve ever seen before.
It’s bigger than the county library back home, and it sort of reminds me of the White House (although I’ve never been in the White House, but I have seen pictures in school).
This house is by far much bigger. If that’s even possible. I’m afraid to touch anything. I’m almost afraid to say anything.
Victor grabs my hand. “It’s quite something,” he says while his eyes roam over the marble staircase in the center of the house.
“It really is.” I try not to say my words too loudly but Victor smiles.
“It almost makes you want to gasp out loud, huh?”
I cover my hand to keep from giggling. “I didn’t want to act too out of the ordinary.”
“It’s ok. This place is something else.”
“Would you like a tour?” a white-haired man at the top of the stairs asks.
“Gregory Bertford, how are you, sir?” Victor asks as the man walks toward us.
He takes each step as if he’s one of the contestants in the Miss America pageant. “I’m well. Who’s your friend, Victor?”
“This is my fiancee, Isabel,” he almost sounds proud of me.
The man shuffles over, grabbing both my hands and bringing them to his lips. His white suit is decorated with a tiny red rose along the lapel. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Isabel.” He kisses my hands and I smile.
“Thank you. You have a lovely home.” See. Manners.
“Let me take you for a tour.” He wraps my arm in his.
Victor interjects, “Maybe first thing in the morning. We’re tired from a long day of traveling.”
“Ah, yes. Marta, show them to their room.”
Marta, the woman who answered the door, waves her hand with a big smile. “Follow me.”
We follow her up the stairs and down a long hallway off to the right of the staircase. It’s like a museum with fancy paintings lining the walls. An angel statue sits outside of a white door, and Marta opens the door. “In here. You two have the honeymoon suite.”
I smile. “We’re not married yet.” Marta and Victor both laugh.
“You will be soon though,” Marta says, then she leans in closer to whisper in my ear, “And we won’t tell anyone.”
Victor grabs my hand, helping with our luggage. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She leaves us alone, and shuts the door.
“You did really good,” Victor says, eliminating my high with his words.
Maybe just for one minute downstairs, I believed this all to be true, but then I get a text. Natalia’s checking in to see how my flight was. Now I remember who I am and why I’m here. I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Thank you.”
I glance at the heart-shaped bed. Noticing how it might be a little difficult for us both to fit comfortably.
“It’s a little odd, right?” Victor says as he removes his tie. “But we’ll fit.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
“If not then I’ll take the sofa.”
He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the little living area with a large, flat-screen TV in the room.
“This place is huge.”
I walk around the room, glancing over all the books in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the far wall.
“It is something, huh?”
I think about the books, and how Marta said this was the honeymoon suite, and wonder about the married couples staying here. Do any of them have time to read? Seems like a weird thing to do on a honeymoon,
“Want to get ready for bed?” Victor asks me, his head nodding toward the en-suite bathroom.
“Yes, ok.” I grab my bag, making my way across the room into the bathroom and shut the door. I place the green duffel along the porcelain and glance in the mirror. I barely even recognize myself. My nervous light brown eyes gaze back at me. I’m anxious about spending another night in bed with Victor. I shoot my sister a quick good night text wishing she were here instead of me. I really do.
She would know what to do.
She would know how to act.
And more importantly, she’d be able to keep her feelings out of the picture.
I won’t lie and say I don’t get a flutter in my belly when Victor touches me. In fact, I get butterflies. Drunk butterflies. It’s overwhelming and I don’t know how to treat this as just a job.
I change into a new night shirt and sleep shorts, and smooth some lotion over my legs and arms. It smells sweet like lavender and hibiscus. I sniff it again, savoring the scent, before I move onto the rest of my nightly ritual.
I brush my teeth and exit the bathroom. The lights are low when I enter into the bedroom, and Victor is nowhere to be found. As if on cue, he enters the room like he owns the place. Shirtless.
“Where did you go?” I manage to eek out.
“Down the hall to get ready.” He smiles slightly.
I nod in understanding. “Ah.” He was giving me my privacy to change.
I glance at the bed once more. It seems like such a large, ominous, object to me. I know that we slept together last night, but why does it feel totally different now? I think because we crossed a line that is muddling the waters for me. This is a show, this is all pretend, but now that we’ve crossed that line– I’m starting to feel like I want to cross it again. Maybe I want this to be real more than anything. Maybe I am sabotaging myself again. Maybe I don’t care.
“Ready for bed?” I ask, holding out my hand at the foot of the bed.
“Yes.” We climb into bed together, and I curl up beside him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m sleeping with my fiance,” I answer back.
He wraps his arms around me a little tighter. “Isabel,” he just about groans out. “We can’t.”
Before he can finish his sentence his lips find mine in a barely there kiss.
“We can,” I say to him because I want him to. Because I want it bad.
Even though I’m a virgin, I don’t care anymore. I need this man’s hands on me. My body just can’t control the urge anymore. I can’t control the not wanting him anymore. Definitely not for a week.
It’s like he’s opened up pandora’s box once he put his hands on me. I am now wanting this man more than I want my own breath. They always say before you have sex you’ll know if you’re ready. Well, I’ve never felt more ready in my whole life. This is what I want.
Even if it’s fake, my mind pretends it’s not. My mind and heart war with one another, knowing full well if my mind continues on this path my heart will break. But looking into Victor’s eyes right now, I no longer care. I need something to satisfy the hunger I feel between my legs. The need. The want. The absolute horniness swimming through my veins like I’ve never felt before. Why won’t he just take me now?
I kiss Victor defiantly. I’m making a stand. This may be a week of make-believe, but that doesn’t mean I can’t want a little prince charming in my bed every night. He must see it now.
I’m ready.
9
Victor
She’s a virgin, I repeat over and over again in my head. I have to remember that I can’t be with her. Escort or not, she’s innocent, and this is all pretend. Her first time should be with some asshole who actually loves her, not me, but try telling my dick that. It’s harder than ever.
And I want nothing more than to pound away inside of her.
All fucking night.
She’s a virgin, douchebag.
When we arrived and Marta and Gregory met Isabel, I was proud to call her mine. I was pleased they liked her, and I loved how she presented herself with all the confidence I would want my real fiancee to have. If I ever had one.