Intimate Mergers

by Raleigh Davis

  I let that hang, allowing them to imagine everything I was feeling that I’m too shy to confess out loud.

  “You knew who he was,” his mother says flatly. Meaning, I knew he was the Paul Tsai.

  It might look better if I say I didn’t—look at how innocent I am; I’ve never read a gossip site in my life—but that would probably be a lie too far.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “But she didn’t care,” Paul says. His voice has dropped a few notes. “It took a few times before she’d agree to go on a date.”

  Archie rears back in surprise. “You said no? To him?” He actually points at Paul, like he can’t believe I’d ever do it.

  “I did. I was very busy at work,” I say primly.

  Lucy tucks her chin in her hand, smiling as if I really did turn her brother down. His mother raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

  “How many times did she say no?” Lucy asks. “I want exact numbers.”

  Paul and I laugh together. This isn’t the story we rehearsed before, but we’re spinning something new. It’s all lies, but it feels magical. Like we’re really building something.

  He looks at me. “How many times was it? My heart was too bruised after the first rejection to keep track.”

  “Hmm.” I pretend to count on my fingers. “Four that night, at least. But I took pity on you once you started texting me.”

  “Pity?” Lillian sits up straight.

  Oops. I guess I’m not supposed to use that word in conjunction with her golden child.

  “Yes, Mom,” Lucy says. “Pity. I mean, look at him. I feel sorry for him.”

  Lillian looks at her son, beams at him really, then shakes her head wryly. I realize that Lucy can get away with things with her mother that Paul can’t or maybe doesn’t even try. Just as the family needs Paul to be the heir, the responsible one, they need Lucy to be the funny, irreverent one.

  Which makes me wonder—what do they need from Paul’s wife? I suppose she should photograph beautifully in her designer gowns, know everyone in their social circle, raise their children well. Amelia would fit all those criteria.

  But… but I think they need someone more than just that. Someone who can fill a bigger role.

  I wonder if Paul realizes that subconsciously, which is why he rejected Amelia.

  But I also know it’s not my concern. This thing between us is fake, and he’ll make something real, true, with his wife. Besides, even if I can’t quite define it, I know I’m not the woman to fill that bigger role no matter how well I’m pretending. Because it is all pretend.

  And that kiss? my inner voice asks slyly. That felt pretty real. Almost as real as all this.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me.” Paul squeezes my hand, which he’s been holding this entire time. “She said yes in the end.”

  The look he sends me is so dazzling I have to look away before I give us both away by crying.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “He’s purposefully late,” I growl as I hand Grace a paper bag with a pastry inside. “Fuchs is never late, so he’s fucking with us.”

  The wind is strong today, cold and wild as it whips through the gardens and along the façade of Saint Patrick’s, stony and sturdy. Grace’s hair keeps falling into her face, and she tries to push the bag away. “I’m too nervous to eat.”

  I wrap her hands around it. “You have to. You have to seem casual, like you hold all the cards. If you’re eating and he’s not, then you don’t care as much as he does.”

  “Does he eat?” she mutters, pulling off a small piece of croissant.

  “Only small children.”

  She smiles, which is exactly what I wanted her to do. The more relaxed she is, the easier it will be to feel Fuchs out. He’s not going to give anything away if he senses even a hint of weakness in Grace. He respects strength, bows down to it. So she’s going to have to be strong as fuck.

  Which… I’m beginning to suspect she already is. She sailed through dinner last night, charming Lucy, impressing my mother, and even holding off Archie’s bloviating. I’m pretty sure she’s got this.

  I have to admit I was impressed by her last night too. And charmed. And aroused. I had to hold her hand, to make it look real, but once I touched her, I couldn’t let go. Her skin was soft enough to shove my imagination into overdrive, picturing all the places on her body where her skin would be even softer and thinking how much I’d like to explore those places with my mouth.

  Like her lips. I already knew those were pretty damn soft. Soft enough to get my cock hard in an instant.

  “Want some?” Grace blinks up at me, the afternoon sun bright on her face as she offers me a bite of croissant.

  I do want some, but not what she’s got in her hand. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Shouldn’t you seem casual too? You look… anxious.”

  I am, but I’ll get myself under control once he arrives. “I’m your muscle. I’m not casual, I’m mean.”

  She giggles. “Right.”

  And then she stops, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. She pauses over a particular spot, tasting it again and again.

  I run my tongue over my teeth, remembering how fucking hot it was to bite that pretty mouth of hers. Not hard, not mean, but just enough to let her know I meant it.

  Nope. I put the heels of my hands into my eyes. I’m not going down this path. Although I was highly tempted, I managed to keep far away from her room last night. I mean, I paced the floor, thinking about what she might do if I did come knocking and how quickly I could get her naked, but I didn’t do it. I’m not an animal.

  But God, do I want to get primitive with her.

  “Don’t worry about me.” My tone is snappier than I wanted, probably because I’m mostly pissed at myself. “Eat your croissant.”

  Her mood deflates, and I feel like an ass. She listlessly puts a piece in her mouth, chews like it’s sawdust.

  Fuck. I should apologize. But before I can, she stiffens.

  “He’s here.”

  I turn to see. Sure enough, Fuchs is stepping out of a double-parked black sedan, ignoring all the traffic honking behind him.

  I wait, watch. No one else seems to be in the car besides the driver. He’s come alone.

  Which means… he might suspect Minerva. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t at Fuchs’s side, even when he was doing the most illegal, immoral shit.

  “The mole. It’s her. Minerva,” I whisper to Grace.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Give him her name.” I have no right to order her, but I do it anyway. She gives Fuchs that one little name and her problems are over.

  Grace will be able to stay. The thought makes me happier than any I’ve had in a long time. And all Grace has to do is point the finger at someone who more than deserves it.

  But Fuchs isn’t shutting the car door. He’s out, but he’s waiting, holding it open.

  Two long legs appear, wearing black wool trousers. Then Minerva herself is there, in a severely cut black suit with a dark gray top under, and she’s got black leather gloves on. The outfit is almost cartoonishly evil-looking, which was probably what Minerva was going for.

  Fuchs offers her a hand as she exits, and she takes it with an expression of purest gratitude. It hurts to see because she looks like she’s desperately in love with him and knows he’ll never, ever love her back. But she’ll take what she can get.

  There goes my brilliant theory.

  There’s no time to tell Grace that—Fuchs and Minerva are coming toward us and we need to put our game faces on. Thank God we’ve already gotten practice in lying together.

  “Arne.” I say his name as if this meeting is some happy surprise, and I hold out my hand. “How are you?”

  He ignores me. “Who is it?” He launches that demand at Grace. “Tell me now. You’re making me angry with this delay.”

  I step between them, my cool entirely gone. “You need to change your tone, fucking immediately, or we’re out
of here.”

  Fuchs blinks at me like he’s just now realized I’m here. There’s sweat on his forehead, his skin is pasty, and there’re bags under his eyes. He looks like he’s got food poisoning and the flu all at once.

  Somebody’s good and riled about his little leak. Excellent.

  He takes a step back. I don’t back off.

  He takes another step away, then another. I let myself relax.

  “I don’t understand,” he says. “Why are you here?”

  “We’re engaged,” I say. “Thanks for the good wishes.”

  Behind me, Grace makes a noise that might be a stifled laugh.

  Fuchs looks between us while Minerva stares on impassively.

  “Do you have the name?” This time his tone is much nicer to Grace. Or at least not as hostile.

  “I need guarantees before I’ll give it to you,” she says, cool as anything. “You understand why I can’t simply trust your word.”

  “There’s nothing to give.” His voice is flat, but underneath there’s a vibration of fury. “You give me your accomplice and I get your visa approved.”

  “So you are the one blocking her visa?” I ask.

  He’s mad, but not quite mad enough to get caught by that. “The name. I want it.”

  “And I want my visa approved first.” Grace crosses her arms, looking so badass I can’t help but stare. “That’s my final offer.”

  Fuchs sets his jaw, watching her. I watch Minerva, trying to see if she’s feeling anything at all beyond bored competence. But her expression looks the same as it always does.

  Her boss, on the other hand, is going through some stuff. Mostly rage. “You don’t get to bargain with me,” he says. “Tell me their name.”

  “Or what?” Grace isn’t fierce—she’s too controlled for that—but there’s a new kind of power running through her. “You can’t control me anymore. You fired me, blocked my visa. What will you do next, kill me?”

  Even Fuchs flinches at that. Minerva, surprisingly, doesn’t.

  “I didn’t think so,” Grace says, as cool as ever. “I’ve got nothing left to lose. You’ve taken everything you thought you could. But I’m not beaten. You want that name? Give me my visa.”

  She’s like an empress, demanding her defeated foe bend the knee. I don’t think it’s working on Fuchs—he looks as angry as ever—but it’s still fucking impressive.

  “I’ll find your little gang without you,” he says. “And I’ll make them pay. You too—an international border is nothing to me. Do you know how much business I do with the Chinese government? You’re nothing to them compared to that.”

  Heated rage runs through me. “Do you know how much business I do with the Chinese government?” I ask. “There’s no way you’ll be touching my wife.”

  A jolt runs between Grace and me as we both suddenly realize that I’m lying. But it was such an instinctive response—to claim her as mine felt so right.

  She blinks at me, her mouth parting, and then she tilts her chin, subtly pointing at Fuchs.

  Right. He’s just given away that he thinks she’s working with someone still inside Corvus. So he doesn’t really know much about his leak at all. I’m not sure how we can use that information, but it’s good to have.

  However, Fuchs isn’t completely stupid—he tilts his head, studying the two of us, sensing that something’s off. “Why are you here then? You don’t need a visa, not if you’re marrying him.”

  “Because I want what’s mine,” Grace says. “I worked hard for that visa, harder than you’ll ever imagine. And I want it.”

  That’s something Fuchs can understand, that pure, grasping greediness. Mine. Give it to me.

  But he thinks Grace owes him that name, that it rightfully belongs to him, so he’s going to hold on to the only leverage he’s got on her. I can already see it.

  He turns on his heel. “I want all your conspirators first. And when it checks out—and I prosecute all of them to the fullest extent of the law—only then will you get your visa.” The ice in his voice makes a chill run down my spine. I’m not afraid for myself, but when he finds the person he’s looking for…

  My gaze swings over to Minerva, who’s barely moved this entire time. If she is the mole, then she’s got guts of pure steel, because she hasn’t blinked once. We’re sitting here, discussing finding, exposing, and punishing her, and she’s as calm, as robotic as ever.

  She and Fuchs definitely deserve each other.

  Fuchs looks at me, then shakes his head. “I thought you’d choose someone smarter to marry.” He says it like he’s offering me serious advice.

  I see red for a moment, then force myself to calm down. Finn would have laid him out for that, and Mark and Logan probably would have too, but there are more elegant ways to fight. Although no less deadly.

  “She was smart enough to tell you off,” I say with a razor smile. “Oh, and I’ll be chatting with Arthur Wu this week. He’s an old friend of mine.” Arthur is also one of the most powerful men in Singapore. Nothing gets done in that business community without Arthur’s say-so, including the very lucrative surveillance and security contract with the government. “You know Arthur, don’t you?”

  Of course Fuchs does—he would have had to kiss Arthur’s ass in order to do business in Singapore. And I know Corvus does a lot of business in Singapore. But not once I’m done talking with Arthur.

  Fuchs gives me a piercing look but says nothing.

  “Good luck in your search,” Grace says, bored as she dismisses him.

  He stomps off then, toward his car which is still double-parked, Minerva following behind.

  We watch until the car pulls away, both of us processing it all.

  “What just happened?” Grace asks.

  “You told Arne Fuchs to go fuck himself, only much more elegantly.”

  “I guess I did.” She sounds kind of dreamy, like she can’t quite believe that was her.

  But it was. She was magnificent. I start to tell her that, then catch myself.

  I told Arne Fuchs she was going to be my wife. Hell, I practically planted an electric fence around her and dared him to touch. And it felt amazing. And most frightening of all, real.

  It can’t feel real. That was the deal.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’m not sure if I’m shaking because I’m cold or because I just told Arne Fuchs to go to hell.

  Paul pulled me into a coffee shop around the corner when I started shivering. I’ve got a cup of tea between my hands—a blend that smells lovely, because of course Paul would get lovely tea—and the shop is warm, but I can’t stop my teeth from chattering. It’s like the bitter wind outside is stuck inside me.

  Paul is watching me with a grim expression. He’s probably appalled by my reaction since I was pretending to be so brave earlier. But I can’t seem to get ahold of myself.

  “Sorry,” I say through my clenched teeth. It comes out jagged. “I can’t—”

  He sighs loudly enough to cut me off, takes my mug away, then takes my hands between his. “I shouldn’t have let you do this.”

  I shake my head. “You couldn’t have stopped me.” Strangely, my hands are feeling warmer. Almost hot. And that heat is seeping into the rest of me, chasing away the shivers.

  Paul rubs my fingers between his palms. My heart sparks at the gesture. “I could have.” His expression is masklike, but it’s not his usual polite one. This one says he’s very, very angry but not letting himself show it. He might not even be letting himself feel it.

  “I shouldn’t have gotten in his face,” I say. “I should have kept my head, been diplomatic. I lost control.”

  A muscle in Paul’s jaw twitches, but his hands remain gentle. “That’s not what I meant. You were amazing. Glorious. You gave Fuchs everything he deserved. I mean…” He takes a long breath through his nose. “This. You shouldn’t have to go through this after. I don’t like it.”

  My eyes widen. He doesn’t sound embarrassed. He
sounds… hurt. Furious. Like my pain is his. “I made a scene,” I remind him quietly. “I still am.”

  I’m unsuitable is what I’m telling him and myself. Amelia would never do something like this.

  “Good.” The harsh satisfaction in his tone makes my skin tingle. “He deserves a much more public humiliation than that.” He lifts his thumb to my chin, tilting my face toward his. “And you take all the time you need here. Do you want me to clear everyone out?”

  It takes me a moment to hear what he’s said because his eyes are so mesmerizing. They’re not quite black actually, but a gray so deep it looks endless. Limitless. The night sky if you could mix the stars into it.

  What was he saying again? Yes, kicking everyone out.

  I glance around at the nearly full café. All the customers are bent over a screen, pecking away at their keyboards or scrolling through something. “Even if you could, I don’t think these people want their work interrupted.” When his mouth twists guiltily, I nod. “Right. You own this building, don’t you?”

  “The family does. But yes.”

  He’s let go of my chin, and his grip on my hand is loose. I feel the chills nipping at my spine again. And they’re not coming just from my encounter with Fuchs—there’s his family and what I’m supposed to be pretending and the fact that all this will end very soon.

  I’m going to miss this place, my life here… and him. I’m definitely going to miss him, more than I should.

  “I’m okay.” I pull my hand back, pick up my tea. I duck my head to take a sip and almost moan when I do. This is seriously the best tea I’ve ever tasted.

  Paul continues to watch me. I smile back. “I promise I’ll be perfectly fine by tonight.”

  “We’re not going.” His tone is curt, but I don’t think he’s mad at me.

  “But your mother—”

  “No. We’re doing whatever you want tonight.” He breathes out, his expression softening. “Think about the thing you’ll miss most here, and that’s what we’ll do. Or the place you most wanted to visit but couldn’t. No matter where it is.” He shrugs. “We can take the jet.”