by Tasha Fawkes
“No. I want you to feel secure, so that if you do decide you want to leave, you’ll know you have a job to come back to,” he explains. I frown at him, hating that I’m grateful to him for offering that. That’s the one thing that worried me above everything else, that when all this is over, he’ll have no need to keep me on as an intern and I’ll have no job and no qualifications.
“I'll think about it,” I say, even though I know I'm going to agree. I’d be stupid not to, considering it offers me the stability that I’m craving.
After work, I take the scenic route home, my car nearly stopping twice on the way. I arrive back at the condo, parking out front. The doorman smiles at me as I walk in, and I shyly smile back. I have to pinch myself every time I walk through these doors, just to make sure it’s real. Surely this can't be my life now? I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only Matt is way sexier than Richard Gere.
I think about last week, when I was living in a rat-infested apartment that was falling to pieces and surrounded by less than desirable people, and now I’m here. Married to Matt Harris, no less. And I'm pretty sure I just passed Oprah Winfrey in the lobby yesterday. It’s like I’ve gone from one extreme to the other.
Walking out of the elevator on Matt’s—our—floor, I let myself into our condo. After grabbing a bottle of water, I head down to my room, feeling like nothing more than having a nap. I have no idea why I’m so tired. I’ve been sleeping pretty well now that I don’t have to worry about my safety.
When I open the door to my room and see my belongings have been brought over, I frown. I stare at the two small bags that contain my whole life, a twinge of sadness hitting me. Everything fits into those two tiny little bags. Everything I own. That’s it, right there in front of me. Not some of them. All of them. I sit down, feeling sick.
Seeing it in front of me is just another reminder of what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I’d almost tricked myself into believing that this was some stupid fairytale, when in reality, it was the only escape I had from a nightmare. Nothing has changed, and Matt isn’t some knight in shining armor who has swooped in on his horse to save me.
I feel cheap and dirty for choosing this way out. Sure, my father’s debts are paid off, but at what price? My dignity? I've tried convincing myself that he doesn't have an upper hand in our situation, but I know full well that he does. He holds the cards in this arrangement, not me.
That’s not true. In the end, this arrangement benefits both of us. I was in trouble and there was no way around that. He helped me, just like I'm helping him. If I could just get past this feeling of selling myself out I’d be so much better off.
When Matt took me out the other night, in spite of what I'd expected, I’d had a great time. I felt like I’d gotten to know Matt a little bit better. Sure, I might've overindulged with personal information about myself after a few too many drinks, but I felt like something had changed. We went from being two people in a business agreement to almost friends, I guess. I forgot why I was there and just found myself enjoying his company.
Maybe Matt is right. Maybe I can enjoy this marriage.
Or at least, not absolutely hate it. When he asked me about my past, he seemed genuinely interested in me. There was no reason for him to pretend anymore. He got what he wanted when I agreed to marry him. I have no reason to doubt he is anything but genuine from this point on, and knowing that sex isn’t on the table is big relief. I can relax, because he’s not expecting anything more from me than what I’m already giving him.
I must have fallen asleep, because a few hours later, Matt wakes me up by gently stroking my cheek. I jump and stare up at him, my mouth dry. Oh god. Please don’t let me have been drooling in my sleep again. I subtly wipe the side of my mouth while he smirks at me.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, his eyes twinkling. “I didn't mean to scare you.”
“That's okay,” I say, sitting up.
“I thought maybe we could go out again tonight,” he says. “You know, keep the fantasy of us being a couple alive.”
“Sure,” I say, trying to ignore the way my heart is racing. “Though I wasn’t aware we had to appear as a couple to the world.”
He smiles. “We don’t, but why not have a little fun with it? I like taking you out, and there’s a nice cocktail bar on the other side of the city I think you’ll love. They have live jazz tonight, and usually the performances are pretty good. What do you say?”
I nod, even though I don’t know the first thing about Jazz.
“Okay,” I relent. I even manage a smile. “That does sound good.”
He smiles, satisfied that I’ve agreed.
“Great. I'll leave you to get ready. We will leave in half an hour if that suits?”
“Sure,” I agree.
I watch him leave, wishing I didn't feel so damn happy at the thought of going out with him. It’s not like we’re going on a date or anything. I can't think of it like that. If I start thinking of this as anything more than business, I'm going to let my guard down and I’ll end up getting hurt.
I choose the midnight blue, off the shoulder dress, which cuts off mid-thigh, because it calls out to me every time I enter that closet. Truthfully, I’m just glad to have a chance to wear it somewhere.
I leave my hair down and put on some makeup, and then I stare at my reflection the mirror. I nod, confident I look good. Better than good. I look fucking amazing. Enough to swing this partnership back in my favor a little.
I wander out into the living room where Matt is staring out over the balcony. He does that a lot. Does he think about things, or does he just love the view that much? I watch him for a moment, then I clear my throat. He turns around, his eyes widening slightly when he sees me, which makes my heart race. He looks me up and then down, desire filling his expression. I shiver, and my nipples harden under his intense stare. I cringe. Please don’t notice. But he’s pretty much staring right at them, so it would be impossible for him not to.
“You look incredible. Again,” he mutters. He takes my hand and leads me out the front door. I stare down at his hand in mine and raise my eyebrows.
“Just for show?” I say with a tiny smirk on my lips.
He shrugs. “You never know who's watching, right?”
We walk outside, and he waves down a cab while I stand on the sidewalk and wait. I shiver, wishing I’d taken my jacket. He notices right away and shrugs off his jacket, slipping it around my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I mumble, as his soft aftershave embraces me.
“Anytime,” he smiles.
The cab ride to the jazz place is quiet, because we’re both gazing out the window, lost in our own thoughts. The cab finally pulls up out the front. Matt gets out and walks around to open the door for me. I smile, because he really is a gentleman. He extends his hand and helps me out. I try to ignore the tingling in my fingers following his touch, but I can’t ignore the way he’s looking at me.
We bypass the line of people waiting to get in and walk straight to the door. The doorman already holding it open for him.
“It must be nice to have everything waiting for you,” I whisper.
He turns to me and smiles. “It does have his perks, but there are times when I hate it just as much as I love it. Besides,” he adds, lifting his eyebrow. “Not everything is lying in wait for me.”
I flush as he smirks at me, sure that comment is directed at me. I focus on trying not to trip over my feet as we walk into the bar. We sit down, and Matt hands me a booklet. It’s a menu with pages upon pages of cocktail options. There are no prices, so I can just imagine how much these cost in a place like this.
“Can I get you a cocktail?” he asks.
I glance at the menu and frown. Cocktails and I don't have a good relationship. Mixing alcohol tends to lead me getting very drunk, very quickly. And when I'm drunk, I share way too much information. I narrow my eyes at him. Maybe that's his plan.
“What?” he says with a chuckle. “Why are you looking at me like t
hat?”
“I was just wondering if this is all part of your plan. Are you trying to get me drunk?” I accuse him.
“Why would I do that?” he asks, his eyes sparkling. “So I can trick you into fake marrying me for a year?”
I flush, because I had a slightly different idea in mind. I squeeze my legs a little more closely together and study the drinks menu again.
“I’ll have a Cosmopolitan,” I finally say.
By the fourth drink, I'm convinced that he's trying to get me drunk for some reason. He insists that’s not true, but by then, I'm pretty tipsy, so my mind has a mind of its own.
I am having a good night, and the music is fantastic so I just go with it and let my hair down. I glance around. I like this bar. It's buzzing without being over the top. I think about the line of people who were waiting outside and wonder if they gave up and left, because the place just doesn't seem to be filling up. Maybe they’re hoping that more elite clientele, like Matt, will be turning up. Maybe the people out the front are paid to stand there. So many scenarios are running through my head.
“What are you thinking about?” Matt asks. He stares at me, amused.
“Nothing,” I mumble, embarrassed, turning my attention back to the band that has just taken the stage.
A few hours later, we leave the bar, my head still buzzing from what ended up being a great night out. Matt was right. I did enjoy myself. Much more than I wanted to admit to him.
We finally get home, and as we walk inside, I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiles at me and raises his eyebrows, like he wasn’t expecting that.
“Just to say thank you,” I shrug, my heart racing. “I had a great night, and I just wanted to thank you for not putting any pressure on me. You don't know how relieved I am that this arrangement isn’t about…well, you know,” I mumble, my cheeks heating.
“Sex?” he asks, a soft smile playing on his lips. I flush again and nod.
“Anyway, I’m off to bed.” He nods and watches me walk away.
“Goodnight, Charlene,” he murmurs. “Sleep well.”
Twelve
Matt
“So,” my mother asks, as she and Nate walk into my office, unannounced and unwanted, and sit down at my desk. I frown at them, then lean back in my chair and cross my legs.
“So, what?” I ask.
“Matthew,” Mom says disapprovingly. “I think you know why we’re here. We want to know how it's going. Your marriage with Charlene? A lovely young girl, I might add. Where did you find her again?”
“Does it matter where I found or that I found her?” I ask. “I’ve already fulfilled part of grandfather’s requirements, so you two can get off my back.”
“And when do you plan on fulfilling the rest?” Nate asks. I scowl at my brother.
“Are you asking me if we’re having sex yet?” I growl at him. He puts his hands up defensively.
“I'm not asking to get myself off on the thought, Matt. I just want to make sure that things are on track, that everything is going according to plan.”
“It is,” I say, through gritted teeth. “Now, if you’ll leave me alone to get some work done, then I might be able to finish early enough to go home and fuck my wife.”
Nate rolls his eyes. “Point taken, Matt.”
They walk out, and I shut the door behind them, breathing heavily as I lean against it. The last thing they need to know is how much I’m struggling with this. It’s been two weeks of me trying to break down Charlene’s shell, and I’m no closer to achieving that than I was on our wedding night. Part of me is impressed that she keeps resisting my charms, but the other part, the bigger part of me, is downright annoyed she just hasn't fallen into my arms like most girls do.
I’ve never experienced this kind of chase before. If any chase occurs, it’s usually minimal—an hour or two of playful banter to stop them feeling like a slut before I bend her over my couch and fill her with my cock. If it wasn't for the fact that I am on a time limit, I’d be relishing in her resistance.
But I've never shied away from a challenge yet, and I’m not about to start now. Maybe I just need to up my game. What I need to do is find something to use to my advantage. Something to sway her into my arms. I’ll start by figuring out something that she likes to do, to show that I can be down to earth and sensitive, and that we have more in common than just this marriage.
If that doesn’t work…well, I’ll deal with that later.
Now, to figure out what she likes. I smile when I remember I’ve got the perfect person to help me find the information I need. Margie.
I don’t even need to track her down, because she’s listed as Charlene’s emergency contact on her employee file and as her personal reference. I think about calling her, but then decide I’m better of just turning up at the café where she works. It's a little bit of a gamble, since it’s on the other side of town and I have no way of knowing if she’ll be there, but at least then I can catch her off guard and not give her the chance to let Charlene know why I’m contacting her friend.
Forty-five minutes later, I'm standing in front of the café where Charlene’s friend works. I frown because I can't imagine anyone wanting to work in this place. It’s not a bad cafe, it’s just in an area of town that is known for being shady.
I walk inside and look around, spotting Margie right away over by the counter. She’s humming to herself. I chuckle and stand there until she notices me.
“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” she says, her eyes wide when she looks up.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say, not bothering to drag the conversation out.
“Sure. I’m due for a break now anyway.” She pauses and looks around before screaming what I can only assume is her boss’ name at the top of her lungs. I close my eyes and cringe. “I'm going on my break,” she yells, when her boss asks her what she wants.
She leads me over to one of the booths, and we sit down.
“So what's up?”
“Well, I want to do something nice for Charlene, but I'm not sure what to do.” I pause and look at her, hoping my smile is sincere. “I was hoping you could help me out with what she likes. The last thing I want to do is arrange something and then find out she hates it.”
Margie smiles, her green eyes widening. “Wow, that is so romantic,” she gasps. “Are you sure this marriage is fake? Never mind,” she says with a giggle, before I can respond to that.
“So can you help me?” I ask.
“Of course I can! So what would Charlene like…” She thinks hard for a moment and then her eyes light up. “Dancing!”
“Dancing?” I repeat with a frown. “What else?” I ask. “Because I don't dance. Ever.”
Margie shrugs and raises her eyebrows. “Well, that’s too bad, because dancing is how you’re going to impress her. She used to dance with her father years ago. She's always talking about the great memories, and how much she’s always wanted to learn it properly. It’s literally the only thing I can think of that will get you the response I think you want.”
I nod bravely. “If that’s what it takes, I guess I don’t have much of a choice.” I stand up and straighten my suit, then smile briefly at her. “Thanks for your help, Margie. I appreciate it.”
“Of course. Anytime. Thank you for coming to me,” she says with a shy smile. She stands up and walks me out.
I’m still thinking about my next move as I drive away. I pull out my phone and call my assistant. If this doesn't work, I'm going to make a fool of myself for no reason. My phone buzzes.
“Shirley, can you please arrange some salsa lessons for myself.”
“Just you?” she asks, after a brief pause, probably brought on by imagining me trying to dance.
“No. And a plus one.”
No sooner than I’ve hung up, I look down and see a text from Shirley, telling me that my first dance class starts this evening. I groan, because I’d been hoping for a little more time to perfec
t my moves—or lack of them.
Sighing, I give in to the fact that this starts tonight. I do need to get this ball rolling as quickly as possible, so I suppose it's a good thing. And if a night or two of dancing fails to work its magic, then I might have to finally admit defeat.
On the drive home from work, I arrange for my shopper to urgently purchase a dress for Charlene and myself whatever the fuck I have to wear for salsa dancing lessons. I shake my head as I speak to her, because the whole thing is just downright ridiculous. I'm going to do nothing but humiliate myself.
This better be worth it.
Thirteen
Charlene
“Dance lessons?” I gasp, convinced I heard him wrong.
Wine tasting, maybe. Horse riding lessons, possibly, but dancing? Nope. No way. I just can’t see it. I close my open mouth and stare at him in shock. He’s looking slightly less confident than he did ten seconds ago.
“Yes. I've always wanted to learn salsa, and I thought you might want to do it with me. If I'm wrong, then we don't have to do this,” he mumbles.
“No, I think it's a great idea,” I say hastily. “I'm just shocked it's something you’d want to do. I love dancing. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite things in the world to do. I just can’t see you enjoying it,” I admit.
“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises,” he says with a frown. “I had my shopper buy you something to wear. She left it in your room. Can you be ready to leave in twenty minutes?”
I nod and race down to the bedroom, where the most beautiful scarlet red salsa dress is laying on my bed. I walk over and finger the soft, silk fabric. It’s simply stunning. Sitting next to it are a pair of heels that are so high, that I feel dizzy just looking at them.
I quickly get ready, relieved that the dress is the perfect size. It slides over my body and feels amazing against my bare skin. I can't quite get the zip up, so I poke my head out the door and shyly call out to Matt. He walks over to my door and raises his eyebrows at me.