by Blake North
“The job is to be my wife.
”
CHAPTER FOUR – BECKETT
I remember a board meeting from when I was just starting out. I was terrified. We were on the edge of bankruptcy and I had to tell the board, risking that some of them would pull out, bankrupting us and ground the venture forever. The memory came back to me now because when she faced me I felt a shiver of that same fear I felt then. Fear of rejection on a grand scale.
I couldn’t quite believe I felt that way. After all, this was a deception—it wasn’t really marriage, for goodness sakes! But somehow the thought of those caramel eyes frosting over and her walking out forever wounded me.
“Mr. Sand,” she said quietly. “That is…an interesting suggestion. But I couldn’t do that. No.”
“It’s not for actual…you know…sexy stuff,” I said with an attempt at a laugh. “It’s for tax purposes, really. For PR and for the company. Nothing more.”
Her mouth formed that little “o” that, earlier, would have set my loins on fire. Right now, I was too nervous for that.
“What?” she said, sounding shocked. “Why?”
I sighed. I had a story ready to explain it, but I had hoped I wouldn’t need it. The justification was a bit lame, really, and she would probably not believe me. I cleared my throat and took the plunge, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“Well, it’s like this. Marriage encourages investor confidence. It makes you look stable and successful. I was married, as you might know. Then I divorced.” It was hard to say it. My throat still hurt a bit, like coughing glass. “So, you know, my career took a bit of a knock back then and, with all these ventures, especially in some of the countries we’re reaching out to, I thought I’d better marry again. It just looks better”
She was frowning and I held my breath. It sounded really silly.
“Well, you might actually meet someone you wanted to marry,” she pointed out fairly.
I nodded. “I might,” he agreed. “But not soon enough. This is a critical time in my company’s future and I need someone to travel with.”
“Oh? Traveling where?”
I tried to stifle a smile. The little “o” was there, only this time, she looked interested, not affronted. She was clearly adventurous, at least. Like me.
If I’d thought about it, I would have taken offense: the possibility of holidaying in Barbados was clearly more attractive than, well, me. But at that moment I was just pleased she didn’t hate me and would listen.
“Traveling east, mostly. I have a meeting in Singapore,” I explained, “and then later in Thailand, and…”
“Sounds amazing,” she breathed. “I’ve always liked the sound of Singapore. So high-tech and sophisticated. At least, people say that,” she added, with a little shrug of a pretty shoulder.
“It is,” I nodded, before I could think about it. “Super clean and efficient.”
“Cool.”
I blinked and shook myself a little. I had only just met her, and I was talking as if we’d known each other for ages. It had been ages since I’d have an honest conversation with anyone. The only person I still talked to like that, besides Cameron, my longtime buddy, was my dear daughter, Estella. And even she had been a bit distant recently.
“It is,” I agreed, trying desperately to pull back a bit, get a handle on this craziness before it swept all my sound rationality aside. “So. What do you say to this opportunity?”
“Well,” Ms. Morris asked, still watching me, “do I get a date? I mean, a start date,” she said. She had blushed bright red, the color slowly rising along her throat. Her discomfort at the word “date” was cute and I couldn’t help smiling.
“You do. Do you have a notice period for your job?” I asked.
“I do,” she said. “Today.”
“Oh.” I was surprised. “That’s…unusual.”
“Well, I’m freelancing, so I just need to finish the contracts I have now. Which is two or three, but I guess I can wrap them up while I’m starting here? If that’s okay,” she added, straightening up a little.
“Yes,” I agreed, nodding stiffly. My eyes had fallen, watching her blush, on the topmost button of her shirt, which was gaping a little, showing a hint of her fabulous decolletage. I coughed and made my eyes look up at the wall.
“Okay,” she agreed, pushing back her chair and standing up. “Well, then. Shall I report tomorrow?”
She had just assumed control of the situation without even trying. She had also done it in a way that made her very much on the subservient side. “Report” made it sound like some kind of military exercise and implied she was here to take orders.
The thought was arousing, and I swallowed hard, trying to get the naughty images out of my mind. This was ridiculous. It was a crazy interview for a mad job, and here I was letting my imagination take flight? Come on, Beckett. R. Sand. Get yourself focused.
I coughed, clearing the lump that had suddenly arranged itself over my larynx. “Do that,” I said.
She looked a bit surprised. The sudden change of tone had felt as foreign to her as it had to me.
“Now that I’ve told you,” I said, remembering something, “I must ask you to sign this.”
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“I need to know you won’t say anything of this to anyone. It’s a confidentiality agreement.”
“Oh.”
I passed her the paper I’d brought out with me. She read it, holding it up to her eyes. While she was distracted I studied her figure more closely. She had fabulous curves, I had to admit. After a moment she finished reading and looked up at me, a frown on her brow.
“This means I’m agreeing not to disclose to anyone what you just told me. Right?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Either don’t tell, or face immediate legal action.”
She frowned, considering this. “I don’t think anyone would believe me, anyway. It’s not like there’s proof of this.”
“Nice point,” I observed. “Well, I’d rather you signed it. Just in case.”
“Okay.”
Her immediate agreement was a surprise. And a bit of a disappointing, I had to admit. I had been looking forward to a verbal battle with her. Though I might come off worse.
“Thanks,” I said. I put the form down and she looked for a pen. I handed her mine. Her fingers were smooth and tapered, the nails pared back severely, one nail a little ragged, as if she bit them still. They touched mine. I felt a surprising jolt of electricity go through me. Beckett Sand, be serious.
“There,” she said, pushing the pen and paper away. “All done.”
“Okay,” I blinked. “That was fast. Now. See you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Will we say here, tomorrow, at nine?”
“Make it ten,” I said quickly. “I have a meeting from nine to ten.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “And…thanks.”
I frowned. “Not at all. Welcome to Sand Corporation, Miss. Morris.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
She had such a naughty smile, her lip slightly moist from where she had bitten it during the signing process. Her eyes shone with a sort of teasing merriment that sparked off arousal. I felt the blood flow to places it really shouldn’t have been at this time. I needed all my blood in my brain. Let’s say that wasn’t where it was now.
“Good day, Miss. Morris.”
“Good day, Mr. Sand.”
I sighed. “Beckett,” I corrected.
She frowned. “Beckett?”
“Well, it’s my name. If we’re going to do this you might as well get used to it. Yes?”
“Yes, sir!” she smiled, then flushed again. “Though I haven’t actually agreed yet.”
I frowned. “You haven’t?”
“No,” she responded wryly. I may have imagined it, but was there a teasing note there? “I have not.”
I sighed. “You have until tomorrow at ten in the morning to make up your mi
nd. And sharply, please. In all things, I require punctuality first and foremost.”
“See you tomorrow at precisely ten, then.”
I might have been hearing things, but I’m sure that when she said that, she was laughing.
CHAPTER FIVE – HAYLEY
I drove home somehow, the world all unreal and distant around me. I reached my cottage and got out of the car, feeling like I was lost in some strange dream.
Inside, I leaned against the door and shut my eyes. I had stopped shaking, but my body felt empty, somehow; a hollowness that was filled with a light, airy wonder.
“I can’t believe it!”
I laughed. I went over to the bathroom, leaned on the sink and just stared at myself, trying to get a grip on what was happening. What was real. Yes, that was me in the mirror. That hadn’t changed. Everything else had.
“How can he really be doing this?”
It seemed crazy. Yet I had to believe it had happened. I really did drive all the way to downtown LA, have an interview and then come back. So it must have happened. Mustn’t it? It just felt so unreal.
I stood there in the bathroom, looking in the mirror but not really looking, for what must have been ages. At some point, a noise in the street broke my reverie.
“Come on, Hayley,” I said to myself. “Let’s do something.”
I went to the kitchen to make coffee. I was still a bit shaky and I needed something to eat. I took some cookies out of the pantry and ate one absently, waiting for the shaking to stop.
I have twenty-one hours to make a decision. A life-changing one.
Because it would be life-changing. The confidence and excitement of the interview had dissipated and I felt cold inside.
Beckett Sand was incredibly sexy, and the thought of jet-setting was appealing, But there were huge problems. I would go from my quiet, private cottage in a quiet, peaceful city into the public eye. The very public, very critical, very judgmental eye. I shivered.
I had left the theater to escape that kind of critiquing process. And now I was putting myself up for all the things that had almost killed me, and for worse. I had no illusions about what my new life would be like.
Everything I did, said or looked like would be minutely discussed and insulted. People loved celebrity and loved even more to tear it down. Like some crazy sculptor, they built it and then enjoyed breaking it to bits. Fodder for the tabloids, grist for the mill of gossip.
I don’t want to be broken like that. Not again.
I sighed. I drained the coffee, made another, and made a plan. I needed a second opinion. There was only one person I trusted to give me one. I decided to call Brianne.
“Hello?”
“Hey! Lu! How is it? Listen, I haven’t got long…there’s an interview I need to make. Ten minutes?”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Thanks,” I added.
“Not at all. What’s up?”
I paused. I couldn’t tell her. Not exactly. The confidentiality agreement I had signed meant that I couldn’t relate anything Beckett had said to me. But if I accepted, she’d find out I’d allegedly been dating a celebrity for months and never told her. I had an idea.
“I need to ask you before I make a life-changing decision.”
“Oh?” she asked. “Sounds hectic. What?”
“Well,” I paused. “I’ll tell you more later. But right now, all I can say is that it involves me being in the public again.”
“Hurray!” Brianne said, surprising me. “I’m really glad.”
“Why?” I frowned. My cousin cared about me. She knew my career almost killed me, because I told her. So why was she so happy to hear I’d be entering that world again?
“Well,” Brianne paused, thinking. “Well, because that’s who you are. You’re outgoing. You like drama—always have, since we were small. You belong in the public, not hidden away somewhere, rotting in the countryside like a forgotten historic house.”
I laughed. “Thank you, Brianne. A good mental image.” She drew a breath and I sighed. “No, really. Thank you,” I continued. “I really do appreciate your honest opinion. I didn’t know that’s how you saw me.”
“Lula, how can you doubt that? You’re a show-stopper. Always have been. How long have I known you?”
I felt myself smile. “Twenty-four years?”
“Hang on, not quite. Only twenty-three. But yes. Precisely.”
I laughed again. “You are really kind, B. I needed to hear that.”
“You can say that again. Oh heck,” she added, sounding worried.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’d love to chat, but I really, really have to go. Can you talk later? I want to hear all about it.”
“I can try,” I said cautiously. It was perfect that she had to rush off, as I didn’t want to have to be too candid with her. It had to be vague, or she’d guess something.
“Good. Great. See you then! Or, hear you, I guess. Anyway. Tootles!”
“Bye, B,” I said fondly.
When she had gone, I leaned back, thinking.
Had she really always seen me as an outgoing character, someone who loved drama? I was surprised. I’d never seen myself like that. I had a strong opinion and have always given it boldly, sure. I’d never thought about the fact that it made me stand out. I supposed it did.
I always thought I was too controversial, too ready to confront people. I thought it was a bad thing.
But, if I thought about it, that very honesty, that need to always stand up for my convictions, had landed me this job! If I hadn’t been shouting at the PR lady I’d never have met Beckett Sand. And maybe he would have decided to hire someone else.
The one thing I had always criticized about myself—and that my parents had criticized constantly—was seen by two people as something good. Did criticism really mean anything, then? Maybe I could learn to brush it aside.
I leaned back in the chair, feeling at least slightly more decided than I had been before. I had almost completely made up my mind to take this job.
Now, I thought, I just have to choose an outfit for the meeting tomorrow.
The thought was so flippant, so girlish and refreshing, that I laughed loudly. I was about to embark on a job of acting in the most demanding role I could have imagined. And it would need literally be so good it looked real. But I was happier than I could remember being in years.
Well, of course I was.
I had to admit that Mr. Sand was stunning. His reputation as one of the best-looking of the whole jet-set didn’t do him any credit. In that instant, I was convinced he was the best-looking man in the world. Tall, dark, stunning, with a body that looked like he worked out every free moment.
I giggled again.
“Miss Morris,” I said to myself, loudly. “Do try to be more serious.”
I imagined him saying it, which made me giggle more. I was acting as if I was eighteen, not two years off thirty. But I was excited. Who wouldn’t be?
I was about to embark on a crazy, amazing journey. The journey of a just-for-tax-purposes wife.
As the thought crossed my mind, I remembered something. I had meant to ask him if he had been seeing anyone. Not that it was relevant, except that, if the press was full of stories of him and some other woman, it would be difficult to explain how and when I suddenly fitted in.
“I’m sure we could come up with some explanation,” I said aloud. I caught myself mid-thought. It was remarkable how I was already putting us on the same team—he and I united against the press and gossiping public.
It was weird, but it felt right. Somehow we were already a team. I filed the question away in my mind for use tomorrow, and smiled. I would see him in a few hours.
CHAPTER SIX – BECKETT
I woke the next morning with a strange excitement in me. That hadn’t happened for years and it was a good feeling. It cut through my habitual stress and depression and left me feeling light and happy.
What’s up with me?
&
nbsp; I asked it of myself as I combed my hair in the bathroom mirror, the scent of Dior shower-gel and steam drifting out toward me.
I grinned. It was her. Miss Morris. Something about her had made me feel hopeful; excited. Happy in ways I hadn’t been for a long time. I was excited about seeing her again today.
Stop it, Beckett, I told myself as I went downstairs, freshly-dressed in a crisp suit, and settled myself at the breakfast table. She isn’t really for you—just for the appearance. You know that.
I knew that, but I still couldn’t wipe the grin from my face as I drove to work that morning.
I reached my office and then headed downstairs almost at once. I didn’t want to be late. I was just in time. I was there in the smaller board room for about two minutes when she walked in.
“Miss Morris.”
“Mr. Sand.”
I closed my eyes, trying to focus. All I could think of as I faced her that morning across the desk, was how stunning she was. She was standing in the doorway of the small meeting room, a white skirt and pale oyster blouse complimenting her delicate beauty. She looked at once beautiful and alluring. I cleared my throat.
“Beckett.”
She laughed. It was such a lovely noise.
“Beckett,” she agreed.
When she laughed, her head tipped back a little, giving me a wonderful view of that long, pale neck. I imagined her in the bed, leaning back, laughing with pleasure and felt my loins ache.
Beckett, get a grip. You’ll never see that.
I focused on the present moment. “We have a plan to discuss.”
“Yes,” she said, taking a seat opposite me without being offered one. “Tell me.”
So I did. Oddly, I was shy “Firstly, I need to ask,” I said, “do you agree?”
“Yes.”
I blinked and she laughed.
“You look as surprised as I do.”
We both laughed.
I had remembered the folder with the contracts. I passed her one. “Please.” I found my pen in my pocket and handed it to her, slightly disappointed when her fingers were left out of reach. She took the pen and signed the document. She had flowing handwriting that made the letters look pretty.