by Tasha Fawkes
“It’s Brady. Remember, you’re my fianceé. The mister refers to my dad.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “What does all this say?” I felt mentally exhausted, and my head pounded anew.
“Basically, what we agreed to yesterday. In return for you marrying me and producing a child within a year, you get five-hundred-thousand dollars. I’ve got the check for fifty thousand here.” He pulled the check from the envelope and then tucked it back inside. “Allotments will be deposited into an account, in your name only, throughout the year.” He paused. “It also states that a viable pregnancy comes as a result of our union.”
I glanced up from the papers. “What if—”
“It also says that we will both undergo complete physical examinations and blood work to determine that we’re both fertile and there’s nothing wrong medically with either one of us that would prevent the manufacture of a child.”
The manufacture of a child. What a sterile, noncommittal way of saying that. I frowned. “I thought you said yesterday that there would be no sex between us, that this was to be a marriage in name only.”
“I made some phone calls yesterday. Most fertility clinics wouldn’t even suggest artificial insemination or fertility drugs unless a couple is unable to procreate for some time.” He shook his head. “We don’t have the luxury of time. We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Dammit! I knew the AI angle was a long shot. I knew better. For God’s sake, I was a nursing student. I understood the reproductive system and how babies were manufactured. I stared at him, shouting at myself to get up and walk away from this absurd plan, but I just sat there, my hands trembling slightly as I held that stupid contract.
“I know that neither of us are particularly thrilled with this, Dana, but I promise, I won’t treat you badly. There’s a clause in there about drinking, smoking, and drugs. On my part, I limit alcohol consumption. On your part, to ensure safety to the baby, you refrain from all drinking, smoking, or any kind of drugs.”
“What happens…” I couldn’t even believe I was discussing such a topic with such a great sense of detachment. “What if I have a miscarriage or something goes wrong? Does that void out the contract?” Shit, I sounded so cold.
He shook his head. “No, Dana. I know, and my lawyer knows, that as much of a jerk as my dad can be, he knows also that things go wrong in a pregnancy. Termination of a pregnancy is not an option, but an act of God, well, even my dad would have to accept that.”
“What if it takes me…” I swallowed, couldn’t even believe I was talking like this. “What if it takes more than three months for me… us, to get pregnant? What if it takes five months?”
He shrugged. “Same thing, though I do have to warn you that my dad might be blunt about any delays, may even resort to asking if you’re trying hard enough, if you know what I mean.”
“And what about the marriage part?”
“We don’t have to get married right away. My dad won’t care if the baby announcement comes first, but we do have to marry within a year’s time. To keep everything legal with the inheritance and all.”
I felt hollow inside. I nodded, my mouth dry. I reached for the glass of water on the table and clasped my hand around it. I started to lift it to my mouth, but my hand shook so badly I was afraid I would drop it. I lowered the glass back down on the table. With a heavy sigh, I gestured with my hand. “Give me the pen.”
I sounded so strange, even to myself. My voice, defeated and surrendering. This wasn’t me. Never in my life would I have imagined myself in such a position—or agreeing to it. I was doing it for Charlie. But not just for my brother. I had to think of my schooling. I had to focus on that. Charlie’s safety and my career. The sacrifice had to be worth it. It had to!
I flipped to the last page of the contract and saw the line where I was supposed to sign. Taking a deep breath and holding back a guttural howl of disappointment and shame, I signed my name. The signature was shaky, no doubt about it, but I put pen to paper. I added the date, then shoved the stack of papers back toward Brady, followed by a toss of the pen.
“Your turn.”
His grin disappeared as he turned the papers around and reached for the pen. His hand didn’t shake. His signature was firm and sure. And why shouldn’t it be? He was getting everything he wanted. Then again, so was I, so why did I feel so sick right now? And then I realized. I had a conscience. Maybe Brady didn’t. My heart sank even lower.
The moment the contract was signed, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone and tapped out a number. “Frederick, we’re going to the bank. Make sure they’re aware of my arrival and that the check will be cleared and paid within the hour.”
I stared at him in dumb amazement. “Who’s Frederick?”
“My lawyer.”
“You can do that? You can wiggle your way through bank regulations?”
He grinned. “My daddy owns the bank. One of his many business ventures. Frederick will know what to say, maybe that I need some fun money to go to Vegas or something. They won’t be surprised. They know me there.”
How much money did this guy have? Then again, if he was throwing around five hundred grand on a complete stranger, he probably had a lot.
“Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”
I looked at him. “Yes, actually I would.” That didn’t stop him.
“Why do you need fifty thousand dollars in cash by tomorrow?” He slid the signed contract back into the envelope. “I realize that it’s none of my business, but since we’re about to be married and all, it seems like a reasonable question, don’t you think?”
I wasn’t nearly ready to start exposing my personal history, nor my brother’s gambling debt to him. So I kept it simple. “It’s for my brother.”
*
At exactly one o’clock on Friday afternoon, I walked into a shabby looking bar a few blocks away from my apartment building, where I had arranged to meet Slim Pete. I carried an old backpack stuffed with fifty thousand dollars in cash. My heart pounded although I did my best to keep a bland expression on my face, as if I walked into this bar every day, which I didn’t, and that my backpack was only filled with books, like it usually was.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I barely managed to disguise my expression of disgust as I smelled a combination of urine, pot, stale beer, and just… oldness… the place looked like it dated back to the 1950s and little, if any, renovations had been done. The paneling had started to split at the seams, the torn vinyl barstools exposing clumps of padding, the floors warped and strewn with crunchy stuff and God knows what else.
“Dana!”
I looked toward the corner and into the booth where Slim Pete sat, lounging, arms spread against the back of the booth, knees spread, a grin on his face. I quickly walked past the bar, ignoring the curious glances of the mid-day drinkers, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.
I swung the backpack off my shoulder and tossed it onto the seat next to Slim Pete.
“There’s your money.”
The look on his face expressed obvious surprise. He hadn’t been expecting this. Regardless of how I’d gotten the money, I felt a twinge of satisfaction at besting him.
“Where’d you get it?” he asked, leaning over and unzipping a small section of the backpack, one eyebrow crooking slightly when he spied the bundles of cash inside. He quickly zipped it up.
“None of your business.” Hands on my hips, I gave him my ultimatum. “The debt is paid off. You don’t come near me or Charlie. You don’t accept any more bets from Charlie.”
He laughed, “Now you know very well that I can’t promise that, Dana. After all, I’m a bookie! It’s my business!”
I leaned down, but not far enough that I would have to place my hand on that disgusting, grimy table as I looked him straight in the eyes, trying to sound threatening. “If you take one bet from Charlie, I’m warning you, I’ll go to
the police.”
Slim Pete was in my face so fast I nearly gasped. I told myself to hold my ground.
“No you won’t, Dana,” he snarled. “You know why?”
My stomach turned at the odor of his breath. My heart pounded. I wanted to turn and run, but I didn’t. I said nothing.
“Because if you do, I’ll hurt you,” he warned, his voice low. “And then I’ll hurt Charlie. You got it?”
“Pete!”
The anger in the voice startled me. I took a step back from Pete and looked over my shoulder at the bartender, glaring at Pete from behind the bar.
“Get the hell out of here!”
At first I thought he was talking to me, but then Pete chuckled and rose, lifting the backpack from the bench and sliding the strap over one shoulder. “Sure thing, Roger, sure thing.”
Pete brushed past me, nearly knocking me into the booth. It took everything I had in me not to start crying.
“You all right, lady?”
Startled, I turned to the bartender and nodded. I took a deep breath and quickly left the bar, hovering in the doorway for a moment to make sure that Pete wasn’t waiting out there for me. I glanced up and down the street, but I didn’t see him. Squinting against the bright afternoon sun, I pulled my phone from my pocket and called for a taxi. Normally I would’ve just walked home or waited for a bus, but at the bank yesterday, Brady had pulled out an extra thousand dollars for me. Spending cash, he said. To get myself a nice dress to wear to the gathering at this dad’s estate tomorrow. A formal dress.
Normally, I would not have considered a taxi. The public bus system in Dallas was more than adequate for my needs. But my meeting with Slim Pete had jarred me to the core. I didn’t want to be walking around by myself right now and risk the chance of bumping into him again.
It took only a few minutes for a taxi to round the corner and pull up in front of the bar. As I quickly stepped from beneath the tattered overhang of the bar and to the curb to open the door to the taxi, I glanced down the street. I paused and frowned. There, on the opposite side, near the far corner, someone sat in a car. Looking directly at me.
My stomach turned. Probably one of Pete’s goons. I couldn’t help it. My emotions in a turmoil, infuriated with my life at the moment, I raised my hand and flipped off whoever the hell it was.
Chapter Twelve
Brady
I woke late, startled when I glanced at the clock. Shit. I had called Dana late yesterday afternoon and told her to come by my apartment this afternoon at four o’clock so we could discuss some details over our feigned relationship before it was time to go to the reception. I had just a few minutes to throw on some clothes and quickly glance around my apartment to make sure it was in decent enough condition to receive company. Not that I had ever really cared before.
I had a penthouse suite on top of one of the older buildings in downtown, constructed in the early twentieth century. It kind of stood out like a sore thumb against the more modern steel and glass structures of Dallas, but when I had seen it for the first time, it pulled at something deep inside me. Maybe it was the old stone that looked like it had been exquisitely and carefully chosen, then sanded just so before placement into the edifice. Maybe it was the finely sculptured edgings carved into the stones that delineated each floor from the outside. Then again, maybe it was just the strength and longevity of the building and the fact that it had withstood the test of time and weather, even a tornado back in the thirties.
Stepping inside the foyer, I always felt like I was stepping back in time. The black-and-white marble floors were original, as were the old-fashioned brass-fronted mailboxes along the left wall of the entryway. All the molding was original, and the property owner had done a wonderful job at renovating the formerly abandoned building to its former glory. Dark, highly polished banisters to hold onto if one was predisposed to take the stairs. Otherwise, the only other option from getting from floor to floor was one of those old-fashioned elevators that you had to pull the gate over. Entry into that elevator was always an adventure in itself, never knowing if today would be the day when the ancient contraption would decide to break down.
“Focus!”
My voice jarred me into action, and I quickly started a pot of coffee. Then I paused. I would be announcing Dana as my fiancée to my dad later this evening, and I didn’t know if she even drank coffee. Then again, who didn’t?
The coffee machine was gurgling away when I heard two loud knocks on the door. Oddly enough, I suddenly felt nervous. Not sure why, I headed for the door and opened it. Dana stood there, wearing a very nice cocktail dress; a sequined gold sheath dress, certainly appropriate for a get-together in most situations for sure, but not for the reception we were going to. She had pulled her shoulder-length hair into a bun. She wore little makeup but didn’t need any as far as I was concerned. Tiny faux diamond studs in her earlobes and a slim faux gold bracelet encircled her wrist to complete the ensemble. I stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.
She saw my expression and glanced down at the dress. “Not appropriate?”
I didn’t reply but gestured for her to sit down on the couch. I watched her face. While she did her best to maintain her expression, I couldn’t help notice her mouth dropped open slightly and the dismay in her eyes. For the first time, I wondered about her. Where she lived. How she lived.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” I said, gesturing again to the couch. “Make yourself at home.”
My penthouse suite took up half the upper floor of the old building. Two bedrooms, one and a half baths, a huge living room, and an open kitchen and dining area separated from the living room by a chest high dinette with stools. The entire length of the living room wall facing downtown was glass, offering a gorgeous view of not only the downtown district, but miles and miles into the distance.
Dana took the one step down into the living room area from the foyer and kitchen space and sat on the couch. Rather, on the edge of it, knees together, hands folded neatly on her thighs. She looked calm, expression bland again, but I could tell by the whiteness in her knuckles how nervous she was.
“Feel free to look around,” I invited. “After all, you’re going to be living here too, at least for a while.” I gestured down the hall. “I have two bedrooms, the master bedroom and a smaller though quite comfortably sized bedroom. You can have the master. It has a full bath.”
She nodded and glanced at me and then quickly away to gaze around once more before she spoke. “I live in a studio near the university.”
Now I understood her reaction but with the time, I had to broach the topic of her clothing. I wasn’t sure how to discuss it without hurting her feelings. I suppose I should just blurt it out. “You look nice, Dana, but you can’t go to the event like that.”
She frowned and glanced down at her dress. “Why not? It cost me—you—a pretty penny.”
“Just trust me, okay?” She didn’t look offended, but stared while I reached for my phone. I needed help, so I called Cassie.
Cassie was the only female friend I had. Cassie Darren and I had known each other forever. Literally. I think the first class we shared was in first grade. It wasn’t until we got into junior high that she began to fill out and blossom into the lovely woman she was today, and, of course, with testosterone beginning to surge through my blood, everyone was fairly confident that we would morph from friends into perhaps friends with benefits.
We kissed once in awhile, but neither one of us seemed to want to endanger our friendship with tawdry sex. By the time we entered high school, we both discovered that her interests leaned more toward women than men. Not that I would’ve hesitated if it had been different, because she was drop-dead gorgeous by then. If we hadn’t been best friends, who knows? Our moms had been friends before Cassie and I were, and that’s how we had met. She had been there for me every day following my mom’s death and—
After two rings a throaty, sexy voice answered.
“Br
ady, I was wondering when you would get around to calling me. You back from Spain?”
“Cassie, I need your help.”
“What kind of help?”
“It’s a long story, but I need you to help a friend of mine with a makeover.” I glanced at Dana and saw her frown, waving her hand in a negative gesture. I glanced away from her and pointedly stared out the window. “You know, dress, hair, and makeup.”
Dana softly protested.
“When?”
“Right now if possible. I’m taking her to a gathering at Dad’s this evening. You know what that means.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, Cassie.” I disconnected the call. The moment I did, Dana spoke up.
“If I need fancier clothes, I can go get them myself. I just didn’t want to spend too much money. The price of this thing was outrageous as it was. And as far as that goes, I can do my own hair and makeup too.”
“Please don’t be offended, Dana,” I said, walking toward the couch and sitting at the opposite end. “Honest, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, you are lovely. Absolutely lovely.” I meant it. “But to fool my dad, you have to look the part.”
“The part?”
I cleared my throat, thinking there was just no other way to say it. “I have to admit that you’re not… well, you’re not the kind of woman I typically hook up with.” Her eyes widened, and I quickly rushed on. “Not in the looks department, that’s not what I mean. You’re beautiful, no doubt about that. I just mean… I mean—”
“You don’t need to explain, Brady, I get it,” she said.
“I don’t think you do.”
“Look, I don’t know anything about you or your family, and you don’t know anything about me. I’ll follow your lead, but I hope you don’t think the fancy hairdo or a dress is going to change who I really am.” She shook her head. “That I can’t do.”
“You don’t have to change who you are, at least not on the inside,” I assured her. “It’s just that this is a formal gathering. Very formal.” I shook my head. “They’re all formal gatherings, at least in my opinion. Hobnobbing with millionaires—most of them snobs, mind you—it’s not my favorite thing to do either, believe me.”