Perfect Husband

by Leslie Johnson

  “I don’t believe in marriage,” he said after a long pause. “Never have. But I’m about to turn thirty and my family is putting the pressure on me. Especially my grandfather.” Denton gave me a tired smile. “He says he wants to attend one last wedding before he keels over.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Old enough to know he shouldn’t be threatening his only grandchild like that.” Denton shook his head then sauntered toward his bedroom, leaving me alone with his portfolio of past girlfriends.

  Reluctantly, I reached for the folder and flipped through the bios. They were stunning, each and every one of them. Educated at the Ivy Leagues. Accomplished pianists and athletes. Any man or woman would be lucky to have any of them as a wife.

  But Denton didn’t want to marry one of them. He wanted to fake-marry one. Which meant he wanted to get rid of her as soon as the ruse was over.

  “Ruthless jerk,” I muttered under my breath. Still, he was paying me 5K to get this done right, so I pored over the ex-girlfriends’ backgrounds and chose three who I thought might be okay with a quickie divorce and settlement down the line.

  When he returned with a brand-new shirt, I held out the photos of the three candidates I’d chosen.

  “Tell me why you picked them.” He sat down beside me and returned to his cappuccino, not bothering to glance at my choices.

  “First, I disqualified socialites with hefty trust funds. If—or when, I should say—you end up divorcing one of them, your personal life will be plastered all over the tabloids. That’s a scandal with a pretty long tail.”

  Denton lifted a brow. “Go on.”

  “Second, I disqualified the girlfriends you met in college, especially the ones you broke up with.” I frowned at his fake-wife portfolio. “Some of them could get genuinely attached, making it more difficult for you to ask for a divorce.”

  “So who are the lucky three women left?”

  I held out the first photo. “Veronica Sullivan. Statuesque and blonde, she could be your very own Barbie in your dream house.” I guestured with a hand at our surrondings, which were by my standards dreamy. “Has a taste for pricey things. Already has one divorce under her belt. If you dangle a nice divorce settlement, she might go for it.”

  I whipped out the second photo. “Cindy Chang. Local pianist who frequently performs with the Philharmonic. Her bio says her dream is to open an after-school arts program in Manhattan. That could be pretty costly, so your ‘donations’ would be much appreciated.”

  I glanced at the last photo, somewhat hesitant. “Laura Harrington. Her bio says she’s bisexual. Recently, her partner was involved in a car accident and requires months of physical therapy. But her wealthy parents disowned her because they disapprove of her female lover. A quickie divorce and a generous settlement might really help them out with their mounting medical bills.” I felt bad about the last one, but he had hired me for my objective advice.

  “Interesting. And you think the first two won’t get clingy?”

  I shrugged. “How should I know? You’re the one who dated them.”

  “But I’m biased. In my heart, I believe they’ll all want to stay married to me forever.”

  I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling up in my head. When they finally came back down, he was shooting me an amused smile, which caused a weird fluttering in my stomach.

  “That’s why I hired you.” The low tone in his voice was way too familiar for comfort.

  “Well…” I shifted in my seat, the room strangely hot all of a sudden. “You’ll have to be upfront with them, that’s for sure. Make sure they know what they’re getting themselves into. Oh, and they’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. I think the settlement and the NDA together will be enough to zap any romantic notions out of their heads.”

  Denton seemed pleased with my answer. “I’ll arrange a date with Veronica this evening and see how it goes.” He paused, then added, “I’ll expect you to be there, of course.”

  “What? Definitely not. That would be so awkward.”

  “Not with us.” He smirked, looking like he was enjoying this way too much. “You’ll be sitting a couple of tables away. I want you to observe her responses to me during our meal.” He gave me a once-over, his brows knotting. “Do you own a nice dress?”

  My eyes dropped to the khaki button dress I thought went well with my dark-brown hair. “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it… if you were going for a picnic at a dog park.” He pulled out his wallet and withdrew a fistful of hundreds, stuffing them into my hand. “Go buy a nice evening dress.”

  I stared at the money. Just how nice of a dress was he expecting? And who exactly was this guy?

  Our discussion was almost done, and I still hadn’t found out his last name or what he did for a living that made him so filthy rich.

  “Can I have your business card?” I blurted, smoothness not one of my best talents.

  He handed over his elegant, embossed card, then glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in my office in fifteen minutes. After my secretary has made the reservations, she’ll text the time and place to you. Be there on time.”

  Then I was quickly dismissed.

  On the elevator, I took a long look at the card. It read, “Denton North, Northern Alpine Industries.”

  Denton North.

  For some reason, the name rang a bell that made it feel like an invisible fist was hovering over my gut, waiting to throw the inevitable punch.

  Three

  At seven sharp, I was seated at a small table in the corner of a fancy restaurant whose name I couldn’t even pronounce.

  Denton and Veronica sat a table away, looking like the perfect couple—both tall, golden-haired, and simply stunning. Annoyingly, she kept touching his hand or bicep as she let out a raucous laugh. Whatever he was saying to make her laugh like a hyena, it needed to stop.

  I fidgeted in my little black eye-popping-expensive dress, pulling at the hem. It amazed me that a swatch of material that barely covered my ass could be priced well into the hundreds. Even if it did shimmer.

  This was such a bad idea. I never should have agreed to sit here alone, looking everything like a jilted date.

  As I sipped from my glass of water, my phone pinged with an incoming message. It was Rach, of course, wanting to know all the details.

  Rach: How does he look?

  Me: Hot, as always.

  Rach: Snap a pic and send it to me.

  I snickered. I really shouldn’t. But then again, he hadn’t mentioned no photography. If I got caught, I’d just say I wanted him to see how perfect he looked with Miss Might-be-fake-wifey. After pretending to take a few shots of the fancy interior, I snapped a secret shot of Denton and Veronica.

  Rach responded practically the instant I hit send, You look so much better than her, Tiff.

  What the hell? I shook my head, but couldn’t keep a smile from popping onto my lips. Anyone with eyes could see that Veronica Sullivan was supermodel material, whereas I was the girl next door you brought home to Grandma. When I glanced up to check on the lovey-dovey couple, I was startled to find Denton’s sharp gaze on me.

  My phone pinged seconds later.

  Denton: Focus, Tiffany.

  He surreptitiously texted again under the table. Another ping.

  Denton: You look beautiful tonight, by the way. I can’t take my eyes off you.

  “Would you like to make your order now?” A smiling waiter appeared before me, blocking my view. The thought of eating alone in this fancy restaurant, while Denton sat just a table away, caused a strange tightening in my throat.

  “No, that’s alright. My date stood me up, and I hate eating alone. I think it’s best if I leave now.” I knew Denton wanted me to stay, but I’d had enough of this. I thought I’d heard of some of his exploits—maybe from browsing through the tabloids in the grocery checkout line—and I didn’t need a front row seat, thank you very much. If I was going to be suc
cessful at this job, I needed as little information about him as possible.

  I quickly sent him a text message: I’ll be at the café across the street. Come see me when dinner’s over.

  Then again, maybe his plan was to get laid tonight? Men like him changed their women like cars—a new, upgraded model every year.

  I sent a final message as I stood up to leave: Or not.

  Avoiding his stare, I made my way through the couples smiling at each other—over hundred-dollar plates of things I’d never tasted—and out the door onto the sidewalk.

  A steaming cup of coffee and a sandwich sounded divine, so I hurried across the intersection and into the cozy café, placed my order, and settled into a window booth. Now this was my scene, enjoying a cup of soothing coffee in a relaxing atmosphere. Sighing happily, I slipped off my heels, took out the pins holding up my hair, and called my best friend.

  “I got out of there,” I said as soon as she picked up. “I’m telling you, it was awkward as hell—”

  Rach swore and muttered something I couldn’t understand. The only word I made out was, “Andy.”

  “What was that?” I sat up straighter, narrowing my eyes when there was nothing but silence. “Rach?”

  “Well…” Rach cleared her throat but still sounded like she was afraid I was going to kill her for what she was about to tell me. “I did something that I umm… probably shouldn’t have done.”

  “What did you do?” I sighed when she still didn’t answer. “Look, if you slept with him, I don’t care. Matter of fact, you can have him. What are friends for?” She wouldn’t though. Would she?

  She barked out a laugh then made puking noises. “Okay, so it’s not quite that bad. Andy had the fucking nerve to call me and ask about you. Said he regretted the misunderstanding and that he never meant to break things off with you. I was so pissed when he said that. So, I uh, kinda told him you were… engaged to Denton North.”

  “What!”

  That was the thing about Rachael—she couldn’t keep a secret, and she could never lie worth shit.

  “He asked where you were right now.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t tell him.”

  “Yeah,” she said in a high-pitched voice, “I told him.”

  Oh, this was bad, really bad.

  There was a knock on the window next to my head and I glanced up to find Andy staring back at me, giving me a “what’s going on” gesture. Then he pointed at the restaurant across the street.

  I pretended like I had no idea what he was saying and growled at Rachael, “He’s here. Thanks a lot,” before ending the call.

  Andy shot me an irritated glance and hurried into the café, sliding into my booth.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

  Before I had all the words out, he yelled, “What’s this nonsense about you getting engaged?”

  “Oh, that.” It was too late to back out now, so I went along with Rach’s stupid lie. “It’s not a big deal—"

  “Not a big deal? We break up, and the first thing you do is get fucking engaged?”

  “Well, it has been two weeks, Andy, and a lot has happened; however, we didn’t break up,” I said sardonically, enjoying the feeling of power that came over me, with him on the losing end of things this time. “You dumped me. Via text message, remember?” I smiled pleasantly and quickly turned my attention to the waitress approaching the table.

  My coffee and sandwich arrived and he watched me, his jaw clenched, as I poured two packs of sugar into my coffee and took a sip. It wasn’t as good as the coffee at Morning Brew, but it would do for now.

  “So who’s the new woman in your life?” I asked sweetly, as if he were some long ago boyfriend I was catching up with after meeting unexpectantly.

  “Where’s your fiance?” he retorted, crossing his arms. “Aren’t you two supposed to be having a romantic evening?”

  “I’m sorry for being late, Tiffany,” a deep voice said from behind Andy.

  Startled, I glanced up as Denton’s face came in close and his lips pressed against mine—lips that were unyielding and commanding. They were soft and made mine tingle, the tingle moving to my chest then lower as my head went fuzzy. He pulled away and positioned himself beside me, grabbing my sandwich and taking a bite, like he kissed me—a woman he barely knew—every day.

  I tried to cover my shock, crossing my legs to tamp down the new sensations, as he smiled at Andy. “I’m Denton, Tiffany’s fiancé. And you are…?” He pressed his large foot down on mine, as if to say, play along.

  My reflexes made me jump a little, but I smiled sweetly. “This is Andy Morris, dear.” Great, just great. Thanks, Rach. “He used to be my manager at Morning Brew.”

  “Right, of course. Well, it’s nice meeting you, Andy, but Tiffany and I must get going.” He turned my way, winking as he took anther bite of my rapidly disappearing sandwich.

  Andy looked suspicious, but nodded. “I still want an explanation, Tiff. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Without saying goodbye, he slid out of his seat and left the café in a huff.

  I immediately turned to Denton, mentally willing my face not to turn red. No luck. “What was that? What happened to Veronica? Did you leave during dessert or something?”

  “Something like that.” His gaze settled on my face. “I realized I didn’t want her as a fake wife. Also, she was seriously getting on my nerves. That barking laugh of hers reminded me of why I’d broken up with her years ago.”

  For some reason, relief coursed through me. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll move on to Cindy Chang.”

  “I have a better idea.” Leaning closer, his eyes went to my lips. “Since I just played your fake fiance, I think it’s only fair that we continue this charade.” He locked gazes with me, a predatory smile appearing. “I want you to be my fake wife.”

  My mouth dropped open, and it took me a beat to respond. “No, definitely not.”

  “You’ll be generously compensated for your time.”

  “Why me and not one of your ex-girlfriends?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You already know what I want. I don’t have to waste time going on these silly dates or convince one of them to sign the divorce papers in six months.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m only twenty-three,” I said slowly. “I don’t want to be a divorcée at such a young age.”

  “At the end of six months, you’ll have one million dollars.” His tone matched the look in his eyes—serious. He couldn’t be serious. Me? Married to a billionaire? “Just think about all the things you could do with that kind of money, Tiffany.”

  My traitorous brain was way ahead of him. I could buy a sunny studio that didn’t have cockroaches scuttling around at night; I’d harbored a fear of bugs since the pediatrician dug a lightning bug out of my ear when I was eight. And I could finally take that European vacation I’d been dreaming about since… forever.

  Most of all, it would give me time to figure out what I truly wanted to do with my life.

  “Can you give me some time to think about it?” Before I make an ass of myself by drooling all over you right here in this booth?

  Denton gently grasped my shoulders. “Don’t take too long. I’ll need an answer as soon as possible.”

  I nodded, overwhelmed by the offer. The sane part of me wanted to run away screaming, but the other part weakened at the thought of how much the money would help.

  And I would get to spend more time with this beautiful man sitting before me.

  I swallowed and willed my voice to sound normal. “I’ll let you know my decision tomorrow.”

  He reached over, brushing a thumb across my cheek. Why did his touch seem magnified times ten? “I meant what I said earlier. You look really beautiful tonight.” Then his glance fell to the partially remaining sandwich on the plate in front of me. “Is this your dinner?”

  “Was,” I corrected. “But you ate half of it. Without even asking, I might add.”

  “C’mon, I�
�ll get you some decent food,” he said, laughing. “It’s the least I can do after putting you through this uneventful evening.”

  “No, I…” Shaking my head, I remained seated. “I’d like to stay here for a while longer. Alone. I’ll grab a cab later when I’m ready.”

  Denton stared at me, hesitation flickering in his green eyes. “As you wish. Don’t stay out too late.”

  Before I could stop him, he pressed another kiss on my lips, dragging it out as if there were magnets implanted under the skin of our lips, drawing them together. I watched through a haze as he walked out of the café, leaving me wondering if he used some expensive billionaire lip balm infused with pheromones, or if I was just succumbing to a situation that was more laughable than a bad late night comedy show.

  When I got home, I pulled out Denton’s business card and sat in front of my laptop. It was time to do some research, see if Blondie went any deeper than his detailed potential fake wife portfolio. Firing up Google, I scrolled through the endless pictures and articles on Denton North and Northern Alpine Industries. A family-owned company, they specialized in winter sports gear and equipment, sponsoring numerous athletes for the Winter Olympics. And as for Denton, I wasn’t surprised to find his handsome face plastered all over the Internet. Princeton graduate, MBA at Columbia, and representative of his successful company. This guy was one of those annoying elites who was smart, wealthy, and good looking.

  Other than the way too many women on his arm, there was nothing negative about the guy. There were even articles about his family’s company clothing underpriveledged children and providing clean drinking water to villages in developing countries.

  He was hot, rich, and had a heart. He was Prince Charming with a Porche.

  And he wants me to be his fake wife.

  I stared at the images of him smiling for the camera, his clear green eyes sparkling bright as new diamonds. It made no sense.

  Why would he need to pretend for the sake of his family? Were they pressuring him to marry someone he didn’t like? Did he have some sexual preference he didn’t want anyone to know about?