“And what are we going to do in the meantime?”
“I need to spend a couple of hours writing. I want you to do the same. Then we need to add another layer to the experiment.”
“What should I write about?” I say.
“That’s up to you, Maya. But it might be helpful for you to write about what you want from a man in your life. Then you’ll have a better way to gauge whether I can be that man or not.”
He delivers this speech like he’s Spock. But I know he’s just trying to appeal to my analytical side. It’s not a bad strategy. I know I said it before, but it bears repeating: when you find a man that encourages your mind, you don’t just throw everything away and worship him just because he’s not fixated on your body, but it’s an uncommon thrill.
As I put the pen on the paper, it is quickly apparent that I know much more about what I don’t want than what I do. Other than my night with Conrad, the rest of the men in my life haven’t exactly set the cosmos on fire. Let’s see:
You already know about Ian. Cheating, charming, cowardly.
Tim had been a waiter with a screenplay in a desk at home. He called him mom three times a week and cried when he couldn’t pay his bills on time.
Nick had been in the city for a summer before returning to an oil rig somewhere in the ocean. He had been an adorable moron whose T-shirts all had words on them.
There had been a philosophy professor whose name I couldn’t remember. He used words like “Kantian” at the breakfast table before the sun had come up. He had approached sex like he did his classes: painstakingly, clinically, as if he thought Socrates might show up and judge him.
Other than them, there had been a few boyfriends when I was a teenager. What I wanted was what they were not. I want ambition. I want stability. I want someone who adores me and challenges me. I want someone independent who has passions of his own. I definitely want someone who had a body, a pair of eyes, and ass like Conrad’s. I’m not proud, I can admit it. The thing I want most of all, I think, is for someone to know everything about me. Not that I’m overflowing with unshared secrets, but I’ve never been in a relationship that passed beyond that guarded stage where you’re not even you, you just send your representative to date in your place.
Conrad will know me if I let him. But I guess we have to follow the experiment to its end. Good God, this is all so weird and wonderful. Angela is going to lose her shit when she gets here.
He’s writing. He hasn’t looked up once. Now and then he pulls on his lower lip when he’s trying to concentrate or work through something. He occasionally sighs and I wonder what he’s remembering, or if he just had a flash of insight. Then I’m done wondering because I get so wet that I’m going to die if I don’t deal with it. Slowly, so he can’t hear me approaching, I put down my notebook and crawl towards him. There’s a layer of cushion on the ground, so I’m silent.
Conrad looks up and notices me at the same time as I’m reaching for his zipper. I push him back against the chair he’s in and his cock is in my mouth before he can protest that I’m interrupting his literary masterpiece. He pulses against my tongue, and I take as much of him in as I can. His hands are in my hair. My hands are on his muscular thighs. Soon he’s moving his hips to meet me, lifting slightly off of his chair. I’m lost in the moment, dimly aware of myself, more aware of his moans. It’s a delicious sensation, being nothing but body, focused solely on someone else’s pleasure. And maybe I’m being selfish, but part of me knows that if I make this memorable enough, I’m going to get something in return for my efforts. When he comes I make no effort to pull away.
“Jesus,” he says, finally releasing my hair. He leans back, eyes closed. When they open again, he looks like he’s starving and I’m the first bit of food he has seen in a week. He moves out of the chair and pushes me against the ground. One hand pulls my blouse open, squeezing my breasts, while the other yanks my skirt up. He pushes lightly against me with his palm, grinding slowly. I thought I was wet before, but nothing like this. He slips a finger under the cups of my bra and toys slowly with each nipple, just as he pulls my panties aside and slips another finger inside me. I try to sit up, ready to beg him to put his cock inside me, but he takes his hand out of my bra and softly covers my mouth. “You don’t want the ducks to hear,” he says with a devilish grin, before he disappears, kissing down the length of my body, settling between my legs.
It’s no surprise to find that he’s a bit of an artist down there. His tongue directs me to arch my back, to grind my teeth, to moan and whimper and I can tell my eyes are rolling back in my head. He slips another finger inside me while he works my clit with his tongue, and now his fingertips are pushing against my ceiling from inside. I come in under a minute, then again. It shakes me so hard that I worry I might not ever come back to reality. Then it gets even better and I worry that this might stop. Reality no longer has any charms for me.
When he finally lets me go and sits back, smiling down at me, I feel like I’ve been wrung out. I am so deliciously empty and sedated that I feel like I must weigh a thousand pounds.
I want someone to really know me, inside and out. Conrad certainly knows me better than anyone else ever has. My God, with the way he works my body, it’s like he’s always known me. He’s just been waiting for me to show up.
“I think you were really inappropriate tonight,” he says. “I’m starting to think the experiment is going to fail. We aren’t sticking to rigid methods. This is kind of all over the place.”
“Meh,” I say. “Some of the greatest breakthroughs were accidents, right? People who just said fuck it and did what they wanted?”
“You certainly did what you wanted tonight.”
He’s right about that. And it wasn’t enough. And I worry that it might never be enough. It’s not the worst problem to have. Conrad stokes the fire and opens a wooden chest. He takes two blankets out and lays them over us. At some point in the night, it begins to rain. I wake with him pressed against me from behind, his hand resting on my hip.
A shared moment, even though he’s asleep.
Chapter Seventeen - Conrad
From the way Maya described her, I figured that Angela was going to be a livewire, but holy shit! She’s a walking case of Red Bull that just did a bunch of speed. We came back up here to the cabin in the early morning. It was a bit of a hike since we were both still feeling wonderfully battered and shattered from what we’d spent the evening doing to each other.
When we arrive, Angela is walking up the trail, followed by my pilot. She screams and screams and throws her arms around Maya, who laughs and laughs and I’m instantly exhausted by it all. But I’ve got to make a good impression, right? Not that that’s going to be any problem. As soon as she’s done hugging Maya, Angela throws her arms around my waist and shakes me back and forth like I’m a tackling dummy.
“I can’t believe this!” she says.
“I believe you,” I say, trying to release myself.
Maya takes her inside and gives her a tour of the cabin. There is so much shrieking that I put headphones in while I try to get a little work done. That doesn’t last. Someone grabs the headphones off my head and says, “All right you, let’s get to it. Maya’s going to take a nap while we talk. What the hell did you do to her? She’s moving like a zombie!” She sits across from me.
“She started it,” I say, smiling at the memory. She started it, but I finished it.
“Oh I bet she did. You know all the fucking losers she’s been with? Most of the guys she’s dated have been about as fun a shoe. And way less interesting. So you’ve got to be careful with her. She said that you’re into games. You better not be conning her. If you break her heart I’m going to break your face. I don’t care how rich you are or how nice your face is.” Angela crosses her arms and squints. I wish that I had ever felt this much conviction about anything.
“We feel the same about Maya,” I say. “I don’t know what she told you, but I hired her to help
me work on a book.”
“Yeah, she mentioned it, but when I look around this place, and at the way you two are looking at each other, I can’t picture a lot of writing taking place. You know what? I think you’re too charming. What do you say to that?”
She hasn’t given me a chance to say one word. I haven’t had a chance to act like an asshole or a charmer. “I say that I like Maya more than anyone I have ever met. I’m glad you’re here. It’s important to me to make a good impression.”
“For the sake of the experiment, right? For the book?”
“I’m just trying to do this right. I’ve never done it right. Women have always made it too easy for me so I’ve never had to work for anything. Coming up with this kind of structure is supposed to keep me honest.”
Angela laughs. “Spoken like a true billionaire. Maybe that should be the title of your book. Look, I’m mostly kidding. You seem amazing and she’s crazy about you. But please, please, please, if you’re going to act like you’re crazy about her, be crazy about her.”
“I will,” I say. “You have my word.” I’m distracted. Something’s bothering me. I can’t figure out what it is. Something’s wrong. Angela chatters away about how nice the cabin is, and how nice the world is, and how nice everything is, and then it hits me.
Mike never left. I never heard the helicopter take off.
Chapter Eighteen - Maya
I meant to sleep, but Angela’s rapid-fire interrogation downstairs is too good (and too loud) to miss. Conrad’s disappointingly monotone and monosyllabic, but that’s what happens when you talk to Angela: you wind up looking less than colorful against her onslaught. What can you say? She lives her truth.
I might as well join them. I get up and check myself in the mirror. Wow. I’ve come a long way from the day I stepped into that elevator looking like a zillion bucks. But I look happy. This is one more thing I wish I could put in a bottle.
There’s a noise behind me. The unmistakable sound of a window being opened. When I turn around I’m not alone. A familiar-looking woman is in my room, pointing a gun at me. I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here, or what she has to smile about, but she looks like she just won the lottery.
“Let’s go downstairs,” she says, and then she puts a finger to her lips. Shh. “You go first.”
“What do you want?” I can’t figure out where I’ve seen her.
“I already told you. I want to go downstairs and I want you to go first. Let’s go see Mr. Man down there. It’s time for a little chat.”
There’s no way to warn him. I go to the door and open it. I wonder if there’s any way to get a hand on her and knock her down the staircase. But no, she’s anticipating it. I can tell by the excitement on her face. Maybe she’s even hoping for it. What the hell is this?
Conrad must have heard my footsteps because he comes to the foot of the stairs and looks up. I see two things on his face. First, the fear of seeing me in danger. And second, the shock of familiarity.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he says.
The woman behind me leans forward, putting her chin on the top of my shoulder while digging the gun into my back. “What’s the matter, Conrad? Don’t you recognize me without out of uniform?”
Chapter Nineteen - Conrad
How could I have been so stupid? For all the shit I’ve pulled, and all the games I’ve played, of course, something was going to come back to bite me. But I don’t want it to bite Maya. “Where’s Mike?” I say.
“Don’t worry about him.”
Angela jumps to her feet. “You’re that fucking crazy cop!”
Maya lurches. I can tell that Cindy just pushed her in the back. “You’re goddamned right I’m that fucking crazy cop,” she yells. “And guess what happens next?” She pushes Maya again. My fists are clenched so tightly that I feel like they’re going to explode.
“Don’t you do it,” I say. “Don’t touch her again.” But I’m worried. Not only is Cindy crazy, she’s trained. Of all the women who might have come for some payback, she is the one who can do the most damage.
“I remember you telling me what to do,” she says. “That’s over now.” She pokes the back of Maya’s head with a gun, proving it. Maya’s gritting her teeth. I see her thoughts tumbling over and over. She’s trying to figure out how to make a move. I can’t allow that. “It’s all over now. They won’t let me work. They say that I need to go in for a psych eval. Why couldn’t you just have left me alone?”
“I remember you doing it,” I say. “Gratefully. No one made you get into that car. If you lose your badge, that’s on you. And you said no one had ever made you feel like that, and we both know it’s true.”
Maya is watching the floor. Something ugly is flashing in her eyes. If she gets a hold of Cindy, I don’t envy her, cop training or not.
“It was fake, though,” says Cindy. “Just like you’re fake. You think you can treat people like toys. You think you can buy us all just because you have more money than God. Well, you can’t. Maybe you can have all the toys. But I can break them. I can make sure you never get to play with this one again.”
Several things happen at once. Angela screams. Cindy gives Maya another shove in the back. As Maya spins to face her, Cindy raises the pistol and aims it at Maya’s face. I’m in motion at the same time I realize that I’m moving. There’s no plan. There’s no time. There is only the prayer to an unknown God that I can decrease the distance between us.
Chapter Twenty - Maya
This crazy bitch. I’ve been planning for minutes how to turn and knock her teeth out, but there’s no time. I close my eyes, wondering if I’ll feel the bullet, wondering why my life isn’t flashing before my eyes. The roar of the gun tears through the world and I can’t believe that this is how I die.
Then I open my eyes as two heavy objects hit the floor. One is Cindy, pinned beneath Conrad. The other object is his bleeding body. The bullet entered his torso and left an exit wound in his back, just above his belt. I rush forward and take the gun, which has fallen on the floor. Angela is scrambling for her phone. I hear her calling 911. The last thing I see before everything goes dark is Mike, the pilot. He’s standing in the doorway.
30 minutes later I watch the EMTs load Conrad into a helicopter. They’ll life flight him to the closest hospital. I’m sure he has an army of private doctors he could pay, but not out here. Mike drives me and Angela. The police have already taken Cindy away. I might feel sorry for her later, but right now I just hope they lock her up. They can get her the help she needs after they lock her up.
That stupid man, Conrad. He saved my life. I can’t believe how close I came to dying. And now I’m driving to the hospital to see him. The EMTs wouldn’t tell me anything about his status. They looked worried, unless I’m reading too much into it. If he dies protecting me I don’t know what I’m going to do, or how I’m going to live with that.
“He’s going to be fine,” says Angela, as if she can hear my shrieking thoughts. As if she can feel that future guilt and wants to snatch it away from me. “He’s a tough bastard. You’re lucky, in more ways than one.”
I turn to look at her.
“Not everyone has someone who will die for them, Maya,” she says. “He did that to protect you, and he’s paying for it. But you know what? I bet he’d do it again, a hundred times out of a hundred.”
Maybe. I just want him to be okay.
When we get to the hospital they tell me that he’s in surgery. I won’t be able to see him for a few hours and they won’t tell me his condition. So Angela takes me upstairs and we set up camp in the most depressing cafeteria ever. Even though my nerves are raw, I manage to doze under the fluorescent lights. When I wake up someone has joined us at the table.
It’s Zima. She’s obviously been crying.
“What is it?” I say, fearing the worst.
Amazingly, she takes my hand. “No, it’s not that. He’s not out of surgery yet. I’ve just been upset.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“I’m his sister. Mike called me. God, I’m so scared. He must really love you, you know. I hope you appreciate this.”
His sister?
“Why are you working at the firm if you’re his sister?” I say. “Shouldn’t you be off doing billionaire things?”
“I’m not a billionaire,” she says. “I’m just someone who wants to work hard and stay close to her brother. I fucked up a ton when I was young and caused our parents a lot of grief. I needed a lot of help, and I think sometimes he has resented me from how much hurt I caused them. He saved my life. He was always there when I needed him. I’m protective of him, so sue me. You have no idea how badly he’s been hurt. Women use him. He can’t let anyone get close. But I can’t tell there’s something different with you, about how he looks at you. You better not be jerking him around.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I’m not. Let’s just get through the next part.” The next part takes three hours. Zima and Angela get to know each other. I get to know my anxiety and guilt even better. I entertain all sorts of nightmare scenarios. There are reality shows like Anesthesia Nightmares for a reason. These doctors had better be competent. These surgeons had better not mess up. I start thinking about the horrible things I’ll say about this hospital in my videos if anything happens to him. They’ll never know what hit them. They’ll...
Finally, a doctor appears. He tells me I can see Conrad. I want to cry when I see him in the hospital bed. He still looks enormous and muscular and virile, but no one looks their best in a hospital gown and an IV in their arm. Zima kisses his forehead and he winces when she punches him in the shoulder.
Fake Bride: A Billionaire Boss Fake Marriage Romance Page 12