“Call me Marley. Nice to meet you… and thanks?”
He smiles again. “My pleasure.”
“Your name is Tristan?”
“Yes. Tristan Farley.”
“Oh nice. We’re Marley and Farley.”
Saylor giggles. “Ha! That’s right.”
Tristan merely smiles and gives a little nod.
“Oh,” Saylor says, turning back to me. “You’ll be passing Fletcher’s office on your way home, won’t you? I’ve got something he needs to have right away. Can I give it to you?”
“Is it drugs?”
“What?” she says, shocked, and then adds, “What gave me away?”
I chuckle. “Give it to me, and I’ll pop into his office on the way home.”
She hands me a manila envelope. “Tell him to sign it and then express-mail it to the attorney in New York. And thanks for coming to lunch.” She gives me a spontaneous hug.
“Thanks for the invite. It was fun.”
“It was fun. Let’s do it again soon. Maybe go shopping or something?”
“Definitely.” I start to turn to walk in the opposite direction, giving Saylor a little wave. As I walk, I do a quick head turn to see that Tristan is on the move with me but stays at least ten feet behind me. It’s weird to know that this person who I’m certain is capable of doing many important things in life has a sole responsibility to follow and protect me should I run into any trouble. I feel kind of bad for wasting his time.
Three blocks down, I reach the Creed building. At least they know me at the front desk now. I sail in much more confidently than I did the first time I visited, and the receptionist waves me through, unlocking the turnstile when I reach it. I’m sure she’ll phone Fletcher to let him know I’m on my way up.
The elevator silently whisks me up to floor 46. When the doors slide open, a tall man, utterly gorgeous, is standing at the reception desk speaking to Blair, Fletcher’s assistant. It’s like my brain is disconnected, and it takes me a second to realize it’s Fletcher. Not five seconds later from out of the hallway that leads to the restrooms sashays a woman who proceeds to hang herself on his shoulder like a clump of smelly seaweed that grabs at your body in the ocean and won’t let go.
A woman about to take a sound beating from me.
23
Fletcher Creed
Great. My wife and my ex-girlfriend once again in the same small space. What the hell is Kelly doing here anyway? And why does she have to paw me? It’s easy to see that Marley despises the woman, and I’m beginning to share the feeling.
I watch Marley take a deep breath and stride over, shoulders back, head held high. Good girl. I untangled myself from Kelly’s poisonous embrace even before I spotted Marley so that should earn me some points. Blair tries to tip me off.
“Hello, Mrs. Creed,” Blair says artificially loud.
Marley looks first at me and then Kelly. Since she’s a bitch and wants to upset Marley, Kelly appears extremely satisfied at the situation unfolding.
Ignoring Kelly, my wife walks over to me, beams a thousand-watt smile, and then does something very surprising.
“Hello,” she murmurs and standing higher on her toes, grasps my face and kisses me full-on. Physical affection is something we don’t generally share, but today she must find it necessary, and I don’t mind it in the least. In fact, I’d like to do more… much more.
“Hey,” I say when she pulls away, “how was lunch?”
Smiling brightly, she nods her head. “Great actually. Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah, sure.” I turn to Blair. “If Bristol arrives before my wife exits, tell him I’m running late and have him wait here. We won’t be long.” Then I glance at Kelly over my shoulder. “Thanks for dropping by. Take care.”
She pouts, her ruby-red lips jutting out like an oversized toddler’s. “That’s it? You can’t spare a few minutes for a friend? I just got here.”
“Next time, call first, Kelly. I have appointments.”
“Mm-hmm. I can see that. It seems you have time for other unscheduled drop-ins.”
“My wife is not a drop-in. Blair, can you ring for the elevator for Ms. Raynor?” To Marley, I say, “Come into my office.”
I grasp her hand and we walk into the hall together, out of sight. As soon as we enter my private space, I close the door. “I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me from Kelly, but why are you here? Did I forget something?”
“No, as you know I had lunch with your sister. She gave me this” —she reaches into her oversized handbag and pulls out a manila envelope— “to give to you.”
I take the envelope and scan the front.
“She said it’s time sensitive, that you need to sign it, and express it to the attorney in New York.”
Ah, I know what it is. Paperwork for the the disbursement of my trust fund. “Good. Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s it. I guess I’ll be going.”
“Are you going home?”
“I’m not sure. I was thinking maybe of taking an extra dance class this week. Today might be a good day. The late afternoon classes are the least crowded especially on Friday.”
“That’s a good idea.” I pause, mulling over whether or not I should ask her about the party tonight. We can skip it.
“Is there anything else?” she asks intuitively.
“Do you have any plans for this evening?”
“No, why?”
“I know it’s short notice, but a friend of mine is giving a murder party to raise funds for a nonprofit he heads. It’s for a new health clinic being built in Haiti. I thought it might be fun to go.”
“Murder?”
“Yeah, one of those parties where someone is murdered—not really of course—and everyone tries to solve it?”
“That sounds like fun. What time?”
“The party starts at eight, but we can go anytime. It will stretch into the wee hours since it’s the start of the weekend.”
“Great. I’ll be ready by seven.”
Right before she goes through the door, she turns her head and gives me a mischievous grin.
“Can we volunteer Kelly to be the murder victim? Oh wait, you said it’s not a real murder, right? Too bad.”
I laugh because I knew that even though she totally ignored Kelly she was peeved and her remark proves it. I have to be careful—my wife is a good actress. I look down at the envelope, my saving grace. In a few days the funds will be transferred into my account and I can buy a lot of shares as they come available. So many, in fact, that I will essentially own my company again.
Freedom is at my fingertips. I should never have taken the company public in the first place. Nothing but greed on my part. MediaTech has healthy margins and is growing slow but steady—which is the best way. Things will be great very soon.
I pull out the papers from the manila envelope, and a sealed card drops to the floor. Picking it up, I see my name handwritten on the outside of the flap—in my grandmother’s handwriting. Curious, I tear it open and scan the contents.
Well, well, well. Score another fan for Marley. Grandma Creed is so enamored with her that she’s giving us a very generous wedding gift in addition to releasing my trust fund. In her note she tells me to spend it on my wonderful new wife.
I guess their dinner together went well.
To say I was worried about that dinner would be understating the situation. I didn’t have faith in Marley not to mess up, but when she sailed into our house afterward, I knew it went well. Apparently, they had a wonderful time and are now planning to take in a ballet together. This is newsworthy because my grandmother never likes the women I’ve dated who’ve actually met her. There have only been two or three who made it to Grandma’s company, and she hated them all. And my grandfather did not like my mother till the day he died.
Yet Marley won her over. Seems to be a knack of hers, winning people over.
For the rest of the day, I catch myself humming and smiling—
very unlike me. I also realize that I’m actually looking forward to the party tonight. Is it because I get to spend the evening with Marley?
Nah. I just like a good murder mystery.
24
Marley Jacobs
The party is being held in a stone house that looks more like a castle in Scotland. We arrive at 8:20 and in no time flat, we’re surrounded by people greeting us. Or more accurately, greeting Fletcher. Despite his frequently surly, arrogant demeanor, the man appears to be very popular with both men and women. I could be a cardboard cutout for all these people notice me. They’re too busy vying for my husband’s attention.
Maybe we should try that for the next event? Let him stand next to a cardboard me and see if anyone spots the difference? A waiter passes with a tray of filled glasses, and I nimbly relieve him of one. Fletcher could look out for himself, I think uncharitably, as I take a healthy swallow. Anyway, he hates bubbly wine. I love it.
Mmm. Best champagne ever. Or maybe prosecco. Almost instantly the wine improves my mood, and I allow myself to leisurely look around while I stand next to Fletcher like a decorative house plant.
“Fletch,” an older blond man approaching says in a loud voice. “I need to speak with you privately for a moment.”
Fletcher tilts his head and gives the man a look, then turns to me. “Will you excuse me for a minute, Marley? I won’t be long.”
What can I say? No? “Sure, but hurry back.”
He nods, and in seconds gets swallowed up by the crowd with some people trailing after him. I’m not even kidding—they run after him like paparazzi. I scan the room, looking for seating. I feel conspicuous alone. I slip through the knot of people that had gathered around Fletcher and make my way closer to the band. The congestion gets worse as I move farther into the room.
“Hello.”
I turn toward the bright voice and see a pretty blond woman smiling at me. She’s lean and tall and wearing a beautiful powder-blue satin cocktail dress. It’s very short and very fitted, almost indecently so, and it looks great on her. “Hi,” I chirp back.
“You look totally lost. Can I help?”
Her comment hits me sideways. I look lost and in need of help? Is she being kind or snide? Something about her tone of voice puts me on alert. I force a smile. “No, not lost. I’m just waiting for my husband to rejoin me.”
“Oh. Who’s your husband?”
“Fletcher Creed.”
She feigns surprise, and it’s very obviously false. “Oh, you’re the one…” she says, dragging out the syllables. Her hand flies to her mouth as if she said something inappropriate. “Forgive me, my name is Cassandra Sandburg. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Now I know she’s not on the up-and-up by her description of me as the one. The one she heard about? Heard what? The one who doesn’t deserve Fletcher Creed? The one who is a fraud? I might be tending toward paranoia, but my instincts tell me that she is definitely not my friend. Another waiter passes with a tray of wine, and I trade my empty for a full one. I’m going to need to get a drunk on to withstand this party, I think.
After taking a gulp of the wine, I address her comment. “Really? What have you heard?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t repeat gossip. So… tell me, are you enjoying your new life?”
“My new life?” I ask. If she’s going to try to insult me, I’m not going to make it easy for her. But she doesn’t rise to the bait.
“Married life, I mean. I’ve heard it’s dreadful.”
Laughing, I wave her off. “I’m sure it can be if you marry the wrong person. Fortunately for me, I didn’t.”
“No, you did shockingly well. Fletcher Creed has been the husband target for countless women. Yet… here you are, married to him. It’s quite an accomplishment.”
“What’s an accomplishment?”
My head whips around to see Fletcher approaching us from the side and eyeing this woman who’s been trying to get under my skin. I turn back to her and am gratified to see her blushing furiously. “Hello, Fletcher. How are you?” She tries for a seductive purr, but her voice sounds shaky as if he makes her nervous.
“I’m sorry but do I know you?”
Ha! I love his answer. I might even kiss him later when he’s not expecting it for that alone. She blushes again, and the red creeps up her face to the roots of her hair. “We’ve met several times. I’m hurt that you don’t remember me.”
Fletcher’s smile is as stiff as a board. “I’m sorry, don’t take it personally. I meet a lot of people on a daily basis. Are you a friend of Kelly Raynor’s?”
I didn’t think it possible for her face to go any redder, but it does. “So you do remember me?”
Fletcher takes my arm. “It’s nice to see you again. If you’ll excuse us, I need to reclaim my wife’s attention.”
I could seriously kiss him right now. He must have known she was being mean to me, and he rescued me from her. Kelly’s friend. I should have known.
We’ve only been at the party for about a half hour when an older man approaches us. He has silver hair, flashing dark eyes, and impeccable clothes. “Creed,” he says in greeting.
“Johan, it’s good to see you.”
“Same. Are you going to the private party later?”
Private party? My eyes swing to Fletcher’s, wondering what they’re talking about. He looks slightly uncomfortable.
“I wasn’t even aware there was one, to be honest.”
“Well, there is, and you and your lovely new wife are invited.” His eyes migrate to me, and his gaze slowly descends my body to my toes.
“No, I don’t think so. As a matter of fact, we are leaving the party soon. We have another engagement tonight.”
“That’s a shame. Another time perhaps.”
“Yes.”
I wait until the man is definitely out of earshot. “What was he talking about. What private party?”
He clears his throat. “I’ll tell you in the car on the way home. Do you want to stay for the murder, or would you rather leave? I’m sure Kelly’s friend didn’t make you happy.”
“No, she didn’t. Maybe she’s the murder victim?” I ask hopefully.
He laughs. “Let’s make a circuit around the room once, and then we’ll duck out. Might as well since we made the effort to attend.
So that’s what we do. Along the way, I meet a lot of new people, among the ones introduced to me was a former client. He didn’t acknowledge our acquaintance at all, and I definitely appreciated his discretion.
Fletcher also uses the opportunity to share gossip about every third or fourth person we pass. I know he’s not mean-spirited, so I’m pretty sure he’s doing it for my benefit, maybe to make me feel better about myself after the mean woman tried to belittle me. If that’s the case, I love him even more.
Love.
I better stop using that word in the same sentence as Fletcher Creed. It will bring me heartache and nothing good.
About an hour later, we’re back in the car heading home. I’m a little tipsy from two and a half glasses of champagne. “So…? What did he mean by private party? Isn’t this fundraiser a private party?”
“Yes, it is.” He puffs up his cheeks and audibly blows out his breath.
I’m waiting for more but it doesn’t come. “Then what did he mean?”
Chewing his lip, he shoots me a side glance out of the corner of his eye. “Just a little dirty party for people who have too much money and time on their hands. Nothing to worry about.”
“Dirty?” I squeak. “Like sex dirty?”
“No, everyone rolls around in mud.” He shakes his head and changes the subject. “I should tell you that I’ll be leaving on an extended business trip on Monday.”
“This Monday?”
He nods.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Probably about ten days.”
“Oh.”
His head swivels toward me. “Would you like to take a trip to see your pa
rents or maybe go visit your friend in France?”
I think my jaw drops to my lap. “I would love to go to France.”
“Then go,” he says simply.
“Okay.” My mind begins racing with ideas and plans. He reaches over and taps my hand with one finger and my eyes swing up. “What?”
“You do realize that you can go away anytime you want. You have time and money. You don’t need my permission, Marley. Your autonomy was part of our deal.”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t have endless supplies of money, and obviously, I can’t work.”
His lips flatten into a thin line. “First off,” he says, ticking on his fingers, “money is not an issue for you as per our agreement. Second, if you really want a job, I can assist you in getting one that won’t reflect poorly on either of us.”
Oh, I wouldn’t want to reflect poorly on the important CEO. Screw him. If I want a job, I’ll get one myself.
In one sentence he turns my warm feelings for him into simmering anger. Does he enjoy antagonizing me? He drags me out to this stupid party, and I have to deal with that evil woman. Then even before the murder—which apart from the fundraising is the point of the party—we leave.
And a dirty party later? What’s that all about? Is Fletcher a pervert?
Fletcher’s gone.
He left for his business trip. Four days go by, and I’m still undecided if I should travel. I feel weird spending Fletcher’s money, and I don’t want to dip into my own savings. I never, ever want to be flat broke again. On the fifth day, I’m on my way to my yoga class when my phone rings. Checking to see who it is, I answer only because it’s one of my girls.
“Cilla? Where are you?”
“I’m here in France waiting for you. When do you arrive?”
Oops. I did tell her I might be coming. “Oh, Cilla, I’m sorry. I’m having second thoughts about it.”
“Why? We will have an obscenely good time. Come on, do it. You have no excuse anymore.”
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 16