by J. J. Bella
But before she could think too much about it, Peter sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach.
“However, there’s something of a catch.”
“Oh?” asked Molly, waiting for the bad news that would turn this gig from the opportunity of a lifetime to a no-go.
Peter looked pensive, as though trying to think of some way to soften the news, to make it more presentable. But with a sigh, he appeared to realize that the best thing to do would be to just spit it out.
“Yes. I need you to pretend to be my fiancée.”
5
“You need me to be your what?” asked Molly, convinced that she had misheard what he said.
“My fiancée. Let me explain.”
Molly nodded slowly, bringing the wine up to her lips and taking long, deep sip. She knew she’d need it.
“As I told you, I have an app that I believe has a lot of promise. But it’s going to need funding, and lots of it. I have an investor in mind who recently came into some substantial capital; through an inheritance, I believe.”
He took another sip of wine.
“But every investor has his or her quirks. This one is that he’s an old-fashioned type.”
“Old-fashioned?” asked Molly, curious as to what, exactly, he meant by this.
“Mhmm. In this case, the investor is the type of person who only works with, as he puts it, ‘family men’.”
Molly was confused.
“I don’t understand; what difference does it make if you’re married or not?”
“Old-school guys like him view marriage as a sign that a man’s grown-up, that he’s trustworthy enough to do business with. It used to be a fairly standard way to look at things, but not so much anymore.”
“So,” started Molly, setting her silverware down next to her plate. “You need me to pretend to be your fiancée while this deal goes through.”
“That’s exactly right,” he said, his blue eyes catching a nearby light. “Now when I say ‘pretend,’ that’s all I mean. You stay at my home, I get you a ring, and you play a part for a while. Nothing more than that is expected of you. And, as you can see, I’ll be making it worth your while.”
He sure wasn’t kidding about that. Molly thought about how much he’d be paying her again, the number written on the paper clear in her mind.
“I don’t know,” said Molly, wringing her napkin beneath the table. “It’s…it’s just weird.”
Peter nodded, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his linen.
“I understand that it’s a strange offer. But I wouldn’t be considering it I didn’t think it would be in both of our best interests. And to make things perfectly clear, you’d have your own room. Though with how much empty space my place has, it’d be more accurate to say you’d have your own floor. Your duties as my pretend-fiancée would essentially amount to hanging on my arm at public appearances and flashing the ring whenever anyone points a camera at you.”
“Wait, ‘public appearances’?”
“Dinners, charity events, wine tastings; the kind of thing Silicon Valley-types with too much money fill their time with.”
Molly’s stomach tensed at the idea of having to act in front of the San Francisco elite; her mind shot back to her brief foray as an actress in high school when she completely blanked on her lines in front of a packed-full auditorium during a production of As You Like It.
“But I’ll be doing the talking, so you don’t need to worry about being convincing. Just flash that pretty smile of yours on cue and you’ll be fine.”
Molly felt another hot blush spread across her face, and she cursed herself for being so susceptible to Peter’s well-placed compliments.
“What’s the app?” asked Molly, feeling the need to change the subject just a bit.
“That also might be of some interest to you. It’s an app for a company called Blind Design, an interior design firm that I’m looking to get involved in. Sparing you the under-the-hood details, it determines your interior decorating tastes, and after taking pictures of the room you’re looking to decorate, automatically comes up with suggestions for you based upon what you’ve told it you like. Think Pinterest, but with a built-in interior decorator.”
“Wow,” said Molly, impressed.
“And Blind Design has some of the top up-and-coming designers in the city working there. Should you accept the position, I’d be more than happy to offer you the opportunity to make some great connections.”
Molly’s heart raced at this prospect. Between the money and the networking opportunity, she realized this gig could be just the thing to get her career up and running. But still, something about the whole thing struck her as unsavory- not to mention the possibility of getting caught in a lie and blowing the whole thing.
“So, think about it. You’d have some money to take time off from babysitting and fully commit to the job hunt, not to mention connections that might even allow you to get something lined up before the summer’s even out. All you have to do is watch my daughter and hang out with me a few nights a week. And I like to think I’m halfway decent company.”
He flashed her a charming grin of white, perfect teeth.
“And your daughter…?”
“Winne’s great. She…can be a little moody at times, what with her mother not being around, but she’s a good kid. Not a problem child in the slightest.”
Molly sat back in her chair. She didn’t know whether or not to say “yes;” all she knew is that she needed more time to think this over.
“Can I…take a day to think about it?” she asked, her eyes on the half-eaten veal in front of her.
“Of course,” said Peter. “I wouldn’t expect you to make a decision like this without some serious consideration. I do, however, need an answer within forty-eight hours.”
That sounded fair to Molly.
“Sure, I’ll let you by then.”
“Excellent,” said Peter. “Let’s enjoy the rest of our dinner, in that case.”
The waiter came by and cleared the table, leaving nothing but a small fork in front of both Molly and Peter. A minute or so later, he returned with a large slice of tiramisu and a pair of espressos.
“I should’ve mentioned that I get tiramisu every time I come here; they just assume to bring it by now,” he said with a smile.
Molly allowed a small smile to cross her own lips as the two of them set into their dessert. It was gone within minutes, the lingering tastes of coffee, chocolate, and cream the only evidence that it had even been there.
“Shall we?” asked Peter.
“Sure. But don’t you need to pay?”
Molly immediately chided herself for bringing up money so directly; she didn’t know much about the rich, but she knew that it was a gauche topic.
“They’ve got a tab for me. I’m here pretty often.”
He smiled again, and led Molly out and into the cool California evening.
“Ready to go home?” he asked.
“You know what?” said Molly. “I think I need some time to process all of this. I’m not too far from here; I think I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“You’re sure?” he asked.
Molly nodded.
“I do my best thinking on my own.”
Peter acknowledged this with a nod before slipping a silver card case out of his pocket, pulling out a card, and handing it to Molly.
“Take your time, but like I said: within forty-eight hours. Let me know as soon as you’ve made your decision, one way or the other. No hard feelings if you say ‘no’.”
“Of course.”
With that, Peter slid into his car and drove off, Molly watching the red taillights of his Porsche disappearing up and over a nearby hill.
Pulling up her address on her maps app, she started off towards home, considering Peter’s offer all the while. But she was dismayed when she arrived at the multi-unit Victorian home on Caselli Avenue where she lived and had yet to decide one way o
r the other. Slipping the key into the lock and stepping in, she trudged up the two flights of stairs that led to her apartment.
“Hey, lady,” said her roommate Claude as she stepped into her small, two-bedroom apartment.
“Hey,” she said, her voice coming out with a slightly subdued tone.
“Now, I know something’s up,” said Claude. “And you’d better tell me what it is.”
She tossed her keys into the porcelain dish next to the door and looked up at Claude.
Molly realized how much she lucked out with finding Claude as a roommate. Effervescent, friendly, and always ready to lend an ear, he made Molly’s life in a new city much easier. Looking up at him, she saw that he was sitting cross-legged on the couch, his dark legs tucked under one another, his brown eyes looking down at his iPad as he swiped through social media, his black hair tied into fashionable cornrows.
“You really want to know?” she asked, plopping down onto the cheap, Ikea chair across from where Claude sat.
He turned off his iPad and tossed it onto the couch next to him. Then, he disappeared into the tiny kitchen, returning a few moments later with a pair of chipped, vintage store mugs filled nearly to the brim with Cabernet, fresh from the box.
“Girl, I’m all ears. My life’s been so boring these last few weeks I’m down for whatever drama you got.”
She sat back in her chair and gave Claude all of the details. He leaned forward as she spoke, taking it all in with an expression of complete interest.
“Do it,” he said, not a trace of doubt in his voice.
“Are you serious?”
“Girl, I’m as serious as a damn heart attack,” he said, sitting back into the couch and wrapping both hands around his mug.
“But, you don’t think it’s, I don’t know, a little sketchy?”
“What ‘sketchy’? He wants to pay you to hang out with his daughter and go to fancy dinners with him. What’s to think about?”
“I don’t know,” said Molly, looking down into the mug of ruby-colored red wine. “I’m just worried that I’ll mess it up or something. Can you imagine what would happen if I slipped up in front of a bunch of these loaded tech people? I’d be run out of town.”
Claude waved his hand at her dismissively.
“You’re always worried about how you’re gonna mess up, Mol; what you need is to start thinking about how you’re gonna do well. And one more thing.”
Claude got up, went into his room, returning moments later with a local gossip Magazine. Tossing it onto the table, he pointed to the cover, which had Peter on it, the words SAN FRANCISCO’S MORE ELIGIBLE BILLIONAIRE written in large letters.
“That’s billionaire,” said Claude. “With a ‘b’.”
Molly took a sip from her mug, surprised to see that she’d already drained it halfway; she couldn’t even wrap her head around that much money, but it explained the generous offer.
“Hmm. But what about the whole ‘living with him’ thing? You don’t think that’s weird?”
“Listen, I know what you’re worried about, and you shouldn’t be. When these rich guys are looking for a live-in sex maid, be they boys or girls, they’re not coy about it.”
Molly sat back in her chair, thinking about how explicit Peter was that this wasn’t anything shady.
“Trust me, this could be the best thing for your career. And how much did he offer you?”
Molly told him the amount, Claude’s eyes going wide as soon as the words left her mouth.
“OK, you’re officially an idiot if you don’t do this.”
Claude tipped his head back and drained the rest of his glass with a long swig, then stood up, setting the mug onto the counter.
“Do it,” he said, stepping towards the door. “I’m going out with some boys in Noe Valley; you wanna come?”
Molly considered it, but decided against going out.
“Nah, I think I’m gonna stay in.”
“Suit yourself,” said Claude, picking up his keys and leaving.
But no more than a few seconds later, he opened the door, and stuck his head in.
“Do it!” he said, slamming the door behind him.
Molly smiled and took another sip of her wine, her stomach tense, her thoughts bounding up in pensive indecision as she considered just what to do.
6
Molly’s jaw dropped as soon as she arrived at Peter’s house. A three-story Victorian mansion with a red brick façade with white trimming set upon a vast, verdant tract of land, it would’ve been a multi-million-dollar home even in a city where space wasn’t at a premium. Here in San Francisco, where a million bucks might get you a halfway decent studio, it must’ve cost an amount that Molly didn’t even want to consider.
The silver luxury car that Peter had sent to pick her up slowed to a halt in front of the black, wrought-iron gate that sectioned his estate off from the rest of the neighborhood where he lived. The driver put the car into park and got out, opening the back passenger side door for Molly.
Stepping out into the warm, morning air, Molly was now beginning to wonder just what she’d gotten herself into. After her conversation with Claude, Molly took another day to consider what she wanted to do, and after weighing her options carefully, she finally arrived at accepting Peter’s proposal.
But now that she was here, his stately mansion towering above her, the blue, cloudless sky overhead, she was beginning to have second thoughts.
The driver, a slim, handsome man in a well-cut black suit with a white shirt, retrieved her belongings from the trunk and, after gesturing for her to follow him, proceeded up to the house, the gate opening before them. As they traveled up the long stretch of lawn, walking along the path of gray stone that led to the front doors, Peter stepped out of the house.
“Drive was uneventful, I trust?” he said, leading them both into the living room.
“No complaints,” she responded.
However impressive the façade of the home was, the interior was something Molly wasn’t prepared for. It was…hideous, to say the least. The décor was out of style, the colors were mismatched, and whatever the opposite of “homey” was, this was it. The place cried out for a makeover.
“You alright?” asked Peter as the driver set her bags down and left.
“This is a…beautiful home,” said Molly, looking around the space.
“You don’t need to be polite,” he said. “I know it’s terrible. I cleared out the place after my ex-wife left and filled it with whatever was in storage. Redoing it just hasn’t been high on my to-do list.
“Well, maybe someday,” she said, already replacing décor and changing paint colors in her mind.
“Yeah, maybe once this app gets off the ground I’ll treat myself to a home makeover.”
Molly looked at Peter as he stood near her. He was dressed in a stylish suit with a light blue jacket and pants, with a gray tie and a crisp, white dress shirt. He was wearing a tasteful gold watch, and his black dress shoes shined with a fresh polish. His brilliant blond hair was slicked back. Molly thought that he must’ve been the most attractive man that she’d ever seen in her life.
“You look…nice,” she said, saying something before he noticed she was staring.
“Thank you,” he said, looking at his phone. “I’m in meetings all day, so I had to look halfway presentable.”
Molly said nothing, her thoughts occupied with the gorgeous man in front of her.
“Anyway, I have to get going here.”
He stepped over to a nearby end table and picked up a piece of paper. Returning to Molly, he handed it to her.
“This is Winnie’s schedule. I wish I could be here to introduce you two, but I really can’t get out of these meetings.”
“She’s not here now?”
“No, she’s off at her violin lessons. Karl -that’s our driver- should be bringing her back in a little while, probably around an hour or so.”
He took a look at his watch.
; “I actually probably have time for a quick tour. Come along.”
He led her through the living room and towards the back, into an elegant dining room with a long, black table that could easily seat over a dozen people.
“Dining room here, backyard out there. Kitchen to the right -help yourself to whatever you want in there, by the way-.”
He led her through the living room to a large, spiral staircase.
“Downstairs is just storage and my wine cellar; nothing too interesting unless you’re into looking at dusty bottles.”
Peter then headed up the stairs to the second floor.
“Second floor is me that way, just my bedroom, office, and a dressing room” he pointed to the right, which led to a long hallway with several doors lined down it. “And that’s Winnie,” he said, gesturing to the left, to a smaller hallway with a pair of doors.
He then went upstairs to the final floor, which was a large, open space with several doors.
“This your floor, more or less. Like I said, a lot of space for just the two of us.”
He led her to the nearest door and opened it, revealing a large dressing room with an angled mirror and closet with enough space to hold more clothes than Molly thought she might ever own.
“Clothes in here, though there’s plenty of space in your room, if you’d rather keep them here.”
Molly stuck her head into the room, noting the large amount of gorgeous dresses hung up.
“Are those…your wife’s?”
“They are; I’m not really sure what to do with them; lots of nice clothes in there. You’re more than welcome to anything in there, if that’s not too weird for you.”
Molly wondered why his wife wouldn’t want the clothes after the divorce, but decided against prying further.
“Office over there,” he said, pointing to another door. “You’re more than welcome to turn that into a studio if you’d like to work on your portfolio, or anything else.”