Executive Engagement: A Boardroom to Bedroom Fake Fiancee Romance

by Alexis Angel

  But time and again, Prince Derrick has shown me what a capable, protective, and caring person he is.

  He’s rescued me personally when I was getting attacked on the street from my ex-boyfriend.

  He’s given me shelter when my own home was ransacked and I felt unsafe.

  He’s taught me how to live freely and enjoy myself.

  But more than anything else, he’s taught me how to love. He’s taught me what it feels like when you love someone so much that their happiness means just as much, if not more, than your own. Where you draw your own happiness from making them smile. Where you find strength from them when you feel weak. Where together, you are stronger than you would be on your own.

  Prince Derrick Blaine has selflessly given himself to me and I have fallen in love with him.

  And how did I repay this?

  By masquerading as someone else. By hearing his stories of his pining for me in his youth and remaining silent. By lying to him. By deceiving him to create fodder for then newspapers. By working with someone who wished to do him harm.

  He’s found now. I watched his face as he found out and my heart broke into a million different pieces. And I realized that with that, a part of me – perhaps the most important part – had died as well. I will never be whole without Derrick Blaine in my life. And I will never forgive my profession for sending me on a course where I drove him out of my life.

  In short, my life will be empty and hollow without Derrick. To you, the vast citizenry of Gotham, his is but Prince Sin.

  To me, I would give nearly anything to take back the actions that I’ve engaged in the last four months. But I cannot do that. So I will continue the soulless journey of my life, forever treasuring the brief time I was able to spend with the Prince.

  This may very well be my last time at the Abigail Adams desk. And for that reason, I bid you, New York, farewell.

  Derrick

  Fucking hell.

  I throw the paper down onto the seat next to me. I just read her column.

  Fuck.

  I’m not in the Bentley anymore. I’m seated in the ultra-luxurious Boeing X7 – newly released just this year to only 25 people, including me. As large as a 747, it has 3 fucking levels.

  Yes, okay the seats are fucking perfectly soft and yet still firm. The views are incredible, since sections of the plane are made with something new called transparent aluminum – allowing you to literally see the sky as you fly through it. It’s seriously like flying outside of a plane sitting at certain angles.

  There’s also a seat towards the center of the plane that you can use that will lift you up to a compartment above that cabin where you literally get 360 degree views of the surrounding sky. That’s right. No fucking walls. Like you’re zooming through the atmosphere on your own.

  Fuck, I see what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to focus on something else other than Alicia, aren’t you?

  Well, even if you aren’t, I’m going to say you are. Because right now I feel like a major fucking cunt. I fucking walked the fuck out on her.

  My life will be empty and hollow without Derrick…

  Fuck me. She fucking feels the same way about me that I feel about her. I can’t let her get away from me.

  I signal the intercom and talk to Pressly who’s on the far aft compartment of this floating palace.

  “Pressly, we need to turn back, mate” I say into the microphone. “We need to head back to New York.”

  There’s a pause from Pressly as he undoubtedly is considering what he’s hearing. Hell, if I were him, he’s probably swearing at me and hoping that I die. Thankfully, he does no such thing. But he might as well, because his words bring a sense of dread into me. “We can’t, sire,” he says with a finality. “The plane cannot land. Air Traffic Control in the New York airspace is already scrambled enough as it is with the President of the United States making an unscheduled landing. There would be nowhere suitable for the 747 to land.”

  Fuck me. He has a point.

  But I’m done being rescued. I’m done being the one reacting. I’m done staying silent while other people determine my fate. I start to wonder what I can do.

  I spend some time thinking. Then an idea comes to my mind.

  Fuck it. If I don’t do this, then there really isn’t much point in going along.

  “Pressly,” I say into the microphone again. I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence because he comes down the stairs. Jesus Christ, that was fast.

  Pressly sees my look of amazement and shrugs. “I figured you wouldn’t be taking no for an answer,” he says to me. “I take it you read this morning’s paper?”

  What the fuck? Am I really that predictable? Is the whole story of my life something that can be fit into a nice formula? Well, I’ll fucking show all of them. Predictable my ass.

  “Right, let me ask you a question, mate,” I say getting up and walking towards him. “Does Alicia still have the panic key that we gave her when we thought her name was Daphne?”

  Pressly considers this for a moment before answering that he believes so. That’s it. I smile.

  “Fucking beautiful,” I say with a grin. “Talk to Sam and get the coordinates for where that panic key is at and take the plane into that airspace.”

  Pressly is confused by this, but I wave him off. “Just do it,” I tell him. “I’ll explain later.”

  He finally nods and goes off into the plane to contact Sam. I go into the aft cargo hold and start rummaging around. There’s got to be something here that I can use. I start going through the various compartments in the cargo hold until I find what I’m looking for.

  Perfect!

  Sam and Pressly come into the cargo hold and Sam looks at me with a bit of consternation. “You wanted to know if Ms. Bayer is still using her panic key?” he asks me. I nod to him. Most likely it’s at the bottom of her purse and she forgot to take it out. That’s the beauty of the panic keys. They’re unobtrusive and can go pretty much anywhere. You only remember them when you need them and that’s when you find them exactly where you left them.

  Sam fiddles on his tablet and turns it to me. “She is actually using it still,” he responds. He points to a blinking red dot on a transit map of New York City. “She’s actually in transit.”

  “Great,” I say again. “I’m fucking going after her.”

  “Sire,” Pressly gets in a word. “I’m afraid the plane is still unable to land anywhere near her location. Airports in New York City, Connecticut, and New Jersey are all tied up with severe traffic.”

  I grin at Sam and Pressly. That’s when Pressly realizes what I want to do. His face goes white. It takes Sam another minute.

  “Sire, I must protest!” Same yells.

  “You can’t be fucking serious!” Pressly chimes in.

  Whoa. What the fuck. Sam and I both turn towards Pressly, who goes red. “Your Highness,” he adds a bit sheepishly. I smile and give out a laugh. Finally, I feel alive again.

  “Tell the plane to turn and get close to the signal,” I say as I walk over and pull out a parachute and body gear. “And get me a tracker to wear on my wrist.”

  To his credit, Sam, my bodyguard complies first. Pressly still has massive doubts and lets me know. “Sire, this is the rashest decision you have ever made!” he practically yells.

  “More than the Bolivian housewife, Pressly?” I ask, turning around and giving him a grin. He considers for a moment. “She wasn’t a housewife, sire! She was the First Lady of Bolivia, and you could have started a war!”

  “As long as the Americans don’t shoot me down, I think I should be okay,” I tell him as I start putting on my gear. I feel the plane tilt in its angle and start to descend.

  Good, we’re on our way. Two minutes later Sam comes into the cargo hold and tells me we’ll be in position in five minutes. He also hands me a location tracker I can wear on my watch.

  “It’ll tell you exactly what the coordinates are that she’s in, with
about a two feet radius.”

  I nod, and feel the plane bank even lower. They’re not wasting any time. Before I put my helmet on, there’s one last thing I need to do.

  I call my Dad.

  It rings three times before he picks up.

  “Derrick? Are you okay, son?” he asks.

  “Well, I’m not in jail anymore,” I reply back to him. “But okay? Not just yet.”

  “The girl told me everything, son,” he says. “I know you feel hurt but Derrick I think…”

  I don’t let him finish. “Dad, she’s the most amazing thing that ever happened to me,” I tell him. “I need to get her back.”

  There’s a pause. Finally, he says, “That’s good to hear. I was afraid you’d get to St. Livy and lose her forever.”

  “I’m going to go get her now,” I inform him.

  “Son,” he says slowly. “Just remember no matter what happens, that I’m proud of you. I always have been. And I always will be. You’re a fine gentleman and you have a good heart. You’ll make a fantastic King one day.”

  “Alicia will make a great Queen,” I tell him, trying to be glib. But that’s just to hide the fact that my father’s words have fucking touched me. Like never before.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Derrick,” Dad says. “I’ll let Samantha know when she gets out of the shower.”

  Okay, I didn’t need to fucking know that. But instead, I decide to let it slide.

  “Dad,” I say to him, choosing my words carefully. “I’m going to go after Alicia now. But there is a small chance you might see my name again in the papers.”

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Where are you now?” he asks me.

  “I’m on the plane,” I tell him. Direct. To the point.

  Another pause. Moment of fucking truth. What’s he going to say?

  Finally, my Dad says what I’ve been waiting to hear all my life. “Do what you have to do, son. I trust you.”

  And there we fucking go. Off to the races. I say goodbye to my Dad and make sure everything is geared up and ready to go.

  Sam nods at me. Pressly looks like he’s about to faint.

  “Let it go,” I say and Sam pulls a lever and the panel beneath me opens up and I fall into 25,000 feet of empty air with nothing but the sharp spires of Manhattan below me.

  I’ll say this for the greatest city in the world – the air above Manhattan is just positively fucking filthy. I don’t know if it’s all the pollution, the combined steam and funk of 8 million people, or what, but as the wind is rushing by my face and I’m falling, I seriously feel like holding my fucking nose so I can’t smell.

  That’s my first thought as I jump out of the plane.

  My second thought is that I might actually die today. Even as high up as I am, I still see the concrete jungle of buildings and their interconnected streets. And it’s rushing up at me like nothing else.

  I pull my wrist close to my face and look at my bearings. I’m a bit off course. I angle my body so that the wind whips my body farther to the north.

  It looks like I’m heading uptown.

  If the stratosphere is smelly, I swear the closer I get to the city it gets crowded – even up in the fucking sky. There’s drones. Helicopters. Airplanes. Weather balloons. Kites. Birds.

  It’s like there’s room left for fucking clouds. Jesus Christ – no wonder people move out of here as quickly as they can – even the sky is starting to get crowded. And each of those things moving around in the sky is a potential death trap for me.

  I angle my body to avoid hitting a nasty looking drone that’s whirring by. I only have a few moments left before I have to start worrying about buildings and I need to make sure I’m in the right vicinity.

  I angle my body, using the atmospheric currents to draw myself further uptown. That’s it – my watch is telling me I’m on a near perfect trajectory now.

  Fuck me. On top of everything else, now add a couple falcons who are lazily circling near the Chrysler Building.

  One thing’s for sure. I’m fucking glad Alicia stayed in Midtown. Having to land in downtown with the Freedom Tower would have been a fucking nightmare, to say the least.

  I start to feel the air get warmer. It’s time to deploy the parachute. I pull on the cord.

  Nothing happens.

  Oh my fucking God. This is not the time for this to be happening to me. I pull again on the cord.

  Nothing.

  I look at the tracker on my wrist. Alicia seems to be somewhere around 42nd street and Lexington Avenue. That’s fine. I’ll head straight into Midtown – I’ll probably be dead by the time I hit the ground though if this fucking parachute doesn’t open up soon.

  I only have a few more seconds. After that it won’t matter when I open the parachute – it won’t do enough to shield my fall.

  I close my eyes and see the buildings approach. This is the last chance I have. Otherwise, I might as well make my peace with this life and hope that Alicia is able to find love without me.

  I pull the cord.

  The parachute deploys and I immediately slow my descent.

  Fuck. That was a rush. My hearts beating in my throat.

  But the hard part isn’t over. It’s just barely begun. I look at my tracker, trying to pinpoint where Alicia is. It begins narrowing down her location, telling me where I should aim to land.

  I finally see the coordinates she’s heading towards. 42nd Street between Lex and Park.

  Fuck. Not there. Anywhere but there.

  But the tracker doesn’t lie and I angle my body to start navigating the towers of Midtown.

  This is going to be fun.

  Alicia

  “One way to New Haven, please” I say to the ticket agent in the Main Concourse. I’m standing in Grand Central, and I’ve packed as much as I need for maybe two to three weeks on my own. Jenna was nice enough to let me crash at her parent’s place while they’re away and it’ll be good for me to get away and clear my head.

  I’ve left the News of the Times. I don’t know if they fired me. I didn’t resign. I just left. The newspaper came out, I read it at my desk, and then I packed my desk and put everything into my bag and walked out.

  On the way I saw Danielle and Mike. They both smiled at me and nodded. I gave them a tight smile as I left.

  “Round trip or one way?” the station agent asks me again.

  I sigh. As much as I told my Mom and the King, I don’t think I’m coming back to New York City for a while. Too many painful memories. But I have enough in my roller-suitcase and handbag for clothes to last me at least a month.

  “One way,” I tell him.

  I heard from Mom that Derrick went straight to his plane from Court and he was headed back towards St. Livy.

  I can’t go there. But from Connecticut I may think of moving off myself. Maybe Los Angeles? Boston? London?

  Anywhere to get away from my broken heart.

  The agent hands me the ticket and I thank him, walking down the Concourse. I look up at the windows to Grand Central. It’s lovely – one of the enduring and iconic views of New York City.

  I pause for a second to look at the beauty of the terminal Concourse and reflect on the city I’m leaving behind. But every street, every avenue, and every building seems somehow intertwined with Derrick. And it’s just too much to bear knowing that the love of my life is gone.

  I turn around to walk towards my train gate when I hear something.

  At first it’s just a low hum. But it sounds out of the ordinary. And somehow it’s seems to cut through all the other sounds of the city.

  I frown and look around. I don’t see anything.

  But the sound keeps getting louder.

  That’s when I see something from the corner of my eye. I look up.

  Something’s coming. Towards the windows.

  It’s getting closer. It’s coming fast.

  I stand there, agape at what it could be. There are a few other people who�
�ve noticed and they’ve stopped and are pointing now as well.

  It’s not a something. It’s a someone. I take a few steps back and wonder how they’re going to stop.

  And then it hits me. They’re not.

  As I’m processing that, whoever the person is seems to get in position, straightening their body like a missile, head first pointing straight and getting their body in one long straight line – becoming aerodynamic and cutting through the air resistance.

  It’s like watching something in slow motion as their head makes contact with the age-old glass windows of Grand Central. The windows shatter into a thousand different pieces. Luckily they are high above the train board and no one is underneath the falling glass.

  It sounds like a giant explosion. And then the glass begins to fall. The human missile is yelling as he zooms through the air and people get out of the way. His parachute slows him down, but not before he slams into an automated ticket machine head first, breaking it apart.

  I wince. That must hurt. But it probably saved his life, cushioning him from hitting the floor or wall. His – it’s got to be a guy who would do something like this, right? – parachute slowly comes down to the ground, settling over him. Dust is flying everywhere and bits of glass are still falling from the windows.

  This is when something entirely miraculous happens. The man seems to get up on this own two feet after a moment of lying there. Yeah, I know, it sounds insane, and I’m not lying to you. I mean, he seems shaky, but he de-attaches the parachute and wobbles a few steps away from where he “landed”.

  He looks at his wrist for a moment and then walks two steps away from me. I can’t help but notice his trim body. This is what no sex with Derrick for a few days has done to me.

  “Alicia?” he calls out.

  Oh my God!

  He stops and turns around and looks in my direction.

  “Alicia?” he calls out a bit stronger and goes to take off his helmet.

  Wait, could it be?

  “I’m here, love,” he says, taking off his helmet and revealing the smirk of Prince Derrick Blaine that I know so well.