by Melinda Minx
“Five million,” I say.
He snorts. “What?”
“Five million,” I snap. “I know you can afford it. Like you said, there will be apartment fees. The extra $4 million should cover those for life.”
“Three,” he counters.
“Five,” I say.
“Okay, five,” he says. “Whatever.”
As if $2 million were just two dollars.
“Once I put this ring on your finger, you’re committed. Okay?”
“Do I have to marry you?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll explain everything to you later, but you only have to pretend to be engaged to me for a year at most.”
“You realize, Mr. Billionaire,” I say, taken aback, “That in my world, ‘pretend to be married for a year,’ should never be preceded by ‘only,’ it’s totally crazy.”
He looks at me with the hint of a smirk, and he lifts his chin up, probably so he can literally look down his nose at me. “I understand that, Amber, which is why I’m offering you an amount of money that is normal in my world, for you to do this favor for me. Where else in your world could you make $5 million dollars for a year’s work?”
I sigh, but I’m not sure if I’m sighing in relief, or because of something else. I don’t have an answer for him—he’s right. I’ll never see this kind of money again in my life, and it is actually only a year.
“What else?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” he says.
“You’re going to announce that I’m your fiancée, and suddenly all these rich people are going to talk to me. I have to pretend like we really know each other. Like we’ve been ‘low-key’ engaged for however long already.”
“Oh,” he says. “I’m good at this kind of thing. I’ll take charge. There’s only one person you have to really convince, the only one who really matters.”
“Who is that?” I ask.
“Cynthia Frost,” he says. “I want you to avoid talking to her as much as possible. Under no circumstances are you to speak with her if I’m not right by your side. Do you understand?”
“Not really, no. Who is Cynthia Frost?”
He sighs. “Just trust me. I promise you, I will explain it all later.”
I shake my head. Trust him? Sure, I’ll trust him. Considering how well we’ve started out on trust, with him lying to me in his garden.
“For five million, I’ll do whatever you say, Liam.”
He slides the ring onto my finger. “Probably not exactly how you imagined you would be proposed to, huh? In a tiny little pantry, and I’m not even down on one knee.”
“You seriously think this pantry is tiny?” I ask.
He laughs. “You know what? I will get down on one knee.”
I roll my eyes, but he stoops down until he’s on one bended knee.
“Amber,” he says. “Will you marry me?”
“You’re really going to give me five million for this?” I ask.
I realize he doesn’t even know my last name.
He grins and nods. I can’t help but notice just how dazzling his smile is. Just as striking as the rest of him. Not that I’d ever admit it to him, but I’d probably have accepted his offer even if he was only paying me $3,000. Hell, I should be paying him.
“Uh,” I stammer. “I do.”
“No, that’s what you say at the wedding,” he smiles. “This is the proposal. We won’t go as far as a wedding.” He smiles again.
“Yes,” I say. “I agree. I’ll be your fiancée.”
He stands back up and takes me by the wrist. I feel my heart slamming against my chest as he takes my hand into his and brings it closer to his face.
Is he going to kiss me? I thought this was fake.
Then he looks down at my finger. No, he’s not going to kiss me. I’m such an idiot. He narrows his eyes at the ring, and he pulls on it a bit.
“It’s kind of tight,” he says. “Try not to let Cynthia scrutinize the ring too much.”
“You told me to not even talk to her, so why would she be looking at the ring?”
“Right,” he says, nodding. “Good reasoning.”
“And I think the only thing anyone’s going to notice is this huge, honking-ass diamond. I swear I can feel it weighing down my hand.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Don’t lose it.”
I snort. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
He gives me a serious look. “I’m worried about a lot of things right now, Amber, but mostly about Cynthia seeing right through this whole sham.”
I consider asking him if I’ll still get paid if she does call our bluff. I should have solidified the terms before I let him put the ring on my finger. I guess that’s why I’m a part-time bartender and not a CEO or something.
“We’re running out of time,” Liam says. “We need to be able to pretend we’ve been dating for at least a few months...so let’s get to know each other really fast. I’m assuming you already know enough about me.”
I scoff. “Why would I know anything about you?”
“I’m Liam Lions,” he says.
“I didn’t even recognize you in the garden,” I say. “Are you really that arrogant?”
He sighs. “Okay, so you think I’m arrogant. Make sure you get that across to Cynthia.”
As if that will be a stretch of reality.
“So you agree that you’re arrogant?” I ask.
“What’s your deal?” he asks. “This bartender thing can’t be all you do, right?”
I glare at him. “Not everyone is filthy rich.”
“So...this is all you do then? Noted.”
“I’m taking classes part-time,” I say, in an effort to redeem myself.
It’s very part-time. Tuition costs too much, and I never have time to take more than one or two classes per semester.
“What are you studying?”
“Well,” I say. “I was studying journalism, but then I realized that wasn’t so smart, so I switched to math, but that wasn’t very grounded--or applied--so now I’m thinking about focusing on education--”
“So you’re indecisive, a waffler,” he says. “Got it.”
“You asshole,” I snap and smack him on his arm.
“I’m arrogant, you’re a waffler,” he says, and then he grins. “And you think I’m an asshole, but that didn’t stop you from falling for me. Seems my arrogance paid off.”
I roll my eyes again, but I have to admit--if only to myself--that he’s got a charming wit about him.
“Are you old money or new money?” I ask.
“You really don’t know anything about me?” he asks in surprise. “Don’t you ever read Fortune, or Bloomberg, or--”
He looks at me, and he can read the answer on my face, so he stops talking.
“I’m both,” he says. “My grandfather built this company from the ground up, and my father inherited it, then my father did seemingly everything in his power to burn it to the ground.”
“Why?” I ask.
“It’s not like he was trying to,” I say. “It’s just that my grandpa gave him everything he could want in life, and he never had to work for anything. So once he was in charge, naturally everything went to shit.”
“How hard is it to buy and sell property?” I ask. “Doesn’t the value just always go up?”
Liam laughs. “My dad got the genius idea of developing in China. He lost half of his money to bribes and corruption, and then the property he developed turned out to be so far outside the city center that it sat as a ghost town. Most of the units didn’t find buyers.”
It’s at that moment when I suddenly remember the headlines, about Lionel Lions Jr. hanging himself.
I bite my lip, not wanting to mention it.
“So I inherited an empire...of sorts. I had a lot of assets to work with, but also a lot of debt to recover from. It was sink or swim, but I managed to turn it all around.”
“How?” I ask.
Liam looks at the ring.
“Partly by making a deal with the devil. If I’m not engaged by midnight, I have to marry Cynthia.”
“Why didn’t you just get engaged sooner?” I ask. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Doing stuff last minute doesn’t seem like a brilliant move for a successful CEO.”
He laughs. “You got me there. I got cocky. Cynthia Frost faked her own death to catch me with my pants down...or up, in this case.”
“She faked her own death?” I ask, all of a sudden feeling in way over my head.
“For my social class, it’s not particularly crazy,” Liam says. “Though Cynthia is a bit more crazy than most, which is why I want you to talk to her as little as possible. She’s going to try to catch you in a lie.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” I say.
Liam nods. “Just stand there and look pretty.”
“You think I look pretty?” I blurt out, but Liam is already opening the pantry door.
“Let’s go,” he says.
On the way back to join the party, we run into James who is escorting Cecy and Maria toward the back door.
“Her?” Cecy says, pointing at me.
“Shhhh,” James says.
Maria stops and looks at me. “No way.”
“I thought we were paying them off,” Liam says.
“I did,” James whines.
“Not enough, apparently,” Liam says, frowning.
“Yeah,” Maria says, putting her hands on her hips. “I need another $100,000 to forget that it’s Amber. The same Amber who didn’t even recognize Liam Lions—”
“Shhhh,” James says, putting a finger to her mouth.
Liam nods. “Give them both another hundred.” He smiles wide. “You’ll both not just be quiet, but forget everything, right?”
“Forget what?” Maria says, playing her role of faking confusion.
Just as James shoves them forward, Cecy looks at me and mouths something to me. It looks like “Lucky,” but I’m not much of a lip reader.
We wait in a “small” room, another “extra” room that’s larger than my apartment. I can hear the muted bustle of the party through the wall, but the room is empty of people. Instead, it’s full of books. The walls are covered in bookshelves full of hardcover books, and there are several leather couches with accompanying side tables placed throughout the room. The floors are freshly waxed hardwood.
“This is the reading room,” Liam says. “You’ll wait in here for James. I’ll make the official announcement, and then James will escort you out. Cynthia will probably be on us right away, so be ready.”
“Ready to keep my mouth shut. Got it.” I look around the room admiring the walls of books. “You have a reading room. Do you have a room for every possible thing you do?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Like...a knitting room--”
“I don’t knit,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
Is he trying to be dense? He must know what I’m trying to say. “You know what I mean,” I snap. “Like do you have a special room just for eating?”
“A dining room?” he asks, grinning wide.
“Most people eat in a kitchen,” I say. “I don’t even have a kitchen.”
“I hope you’re just getting all this talking out of your system,” he says, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I’m going now, Amber. Be ready. The show is about to begin.”
9
Liam
Maybe I should have picked one of the Latina bartenders instead. Cecy or Maria, I think their names were. Amber is...interesting, but she seems like she’s going to be a real handful. She’s definitely got some fight in her, especially against rich people like Cynthia and me. That could be helpful in some situations, but right now I just need her to play nice with Cynthia and not get us caught in a lie.
The contract I signed with Cynthia prohibited any shady last-minute engagements. There were several dozen pages of provisions for what did or did not constitute a real engagement, and after Cynthia faked her death just to trap me, I imagine she’s memorized each and every one of those stipulations.
And then I see her. Cynthia Frost. She’s holding a glass of wine in her hand, and as soon as she sees me, she locks eyes with me. The next thing I know, she’s coming straight for me.
“You don’t look surprised,” she says, pouting.
“That you’re alive?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes at me. She’s trying to tell if I’m lying, but the circumstances of my life have made me very good at lying.
“So you knew?” she asks.
I shrug. “I’ve done crazy things to escape debts before. I can relate.”
She frowns. “You’re talking about our contract?”
I laugh, but it’s humorless. “Yeah, that’s a good example, I guess. The good news is that I can easily pay you back now.”
She scowls at me, her mouth hanging open.
“I thought you were going to announce our engagement,” she says. “Since you knew I was alive, that is, and since the clock has run out.”
“An engagement,” I say. “Not yours and mine. My fiancée and I have been engaged for several months now...hell, it feels like we’re already married.”
“You’re joking,” she says. “I didn’t hear a word about this.”
“Not even a rumor?” I ask. “You need to hire better people to handle your intel gathering.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Gabriela? Is that her name?”
I shake my head. I had intentionally leaked some rumors about a secret engagement, but that was when I still had Gabriela on standby. “You’ll have to wait and see, Cynthia.”
She fakes a smile, but I can tell she’s seething with anger beneath her cool exterior.
“I hope the money I am repaying you per our contract is enough for you. Faking your own death is probably expensive.”
She shrugs. “Honestly, faking death is cheap. It’s coming back to life that’s expensive. If we had gotten married and merged our assets as planned, it would have--”
“It would have been expensive for me,” I say. “And you would have been in a good spot since my company is doing so well right now.”
She gives me another fake smile, but this one looks a lot less convincing than the previous one.
“Well,” I say. “I need to go make that announcement. If you’ll excuse me. It’s good to have you alive again, Cynthia.”
“It’s good to be back,” she says, in a sickly-sweet voice.
10
Amber
James slips into the reading room and hands me a sheet of paper.
He arranged for me to change out of the bartender uniform into a fancy cocktail dress. The advantage is that I no longer look like a big garbage bag, but the disadvantage is that it’s tight and shows a lot of skin. It’s a lot skimpier than something I’d usually wear.
“This is the ‘fact sheet’ that we created for Gabriela,” he says.
“Who?” I ask.
He shoves the paper into my hand. “The woman who was going to act as Liam’s fiancée before he fired her a day too early. You only have a few minutes to study this, so stop wasting time.”
I look down at the sheet. Apparently Liam proposed to me over eight months ago. I blush reading some of the bullet points.
“I wouldn't have slept with him on our first date,” I say.
James sighs. “You’re playing a character, Amber. You’re playing a woman that Liam would actually be interested in.”
“Hey,” I snap. “What does that mean--”
“Come on,” James says. “You know what I mean. I’m not trying to sound nasty, but it helps if you can just stick to these facts rather than trying to shoehorn your own personality into this story.”
“This ‘story’ is ongoing, though, James,” I say. “Isn’t it easier to come off as realistic if I inject some reality into it? It’s easier for me to play myself than to play the woman in these bullet points.”
“Li
am has already memorized these bullet points, and he can tell a number of detailed stories and anecdotes about each one. We’ve spent months on this, Amber. This list is just for you to look at tonight. You have to learn the full story behind each bullet once we get through tonight.”
“I see,” I say. “So Liam doesn’t really care about who I really am, he just wants me to be...this.” I shake the paper.
James rolls his eyes. “You’re just a tool for him. You’re not actually getting married. Do your job, get paid, and go live your life. That’s my advice here. Don’t get attached to Liam; you’ll regret it.”
“How’s that?” I ask.
“He tends to break women’s hearts,” James says. “It’s what he does. He’s turning thirty and had this elaborate thing worked out to fake an engagement--do you really think that is the kind of guy who can hold onto a woman? Or wants to?”
What James is saying makes sense. Liam sounds like a bit of a disaster. The kind of rich asshole who doesn’t need to commit--who can just keep messing around for as long as he wants. Not the kind of guy I’d want to spend my life with.
I look down at the sheet and frown. “I’m really not a cat person, though. I like dogs.”
“You’re not allergic, are you?” James asks.
“No, but--”
“Then you’re a cat person,” he says. “Are you ready?”
I nod.
I study the sheet for a few more minutes, and then I hear the murmur from the crowds die down. There’s suddenly only one voice speaking, a deep one. It sounds like Liam.
“He’s introducing you now,” James says.
James snatches the sheet out of my hands, pulls out a lighter, and lights one corner on fire. He drops the burning sheet into an ashtray, and then puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Time for your big entrance,” he says, and then he opens the door for me. He shoves me out into the main room, and hundreds of pairs of eyes are instantly gawking at me.
I step out into the cold silence of all those people staring at me. Judging me. I can see it in so many of the women’s faces. “She is good enough for Liam Lions?” It’s a look of disbelief, of doubt. I try to keep my head held high.