Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance

by Christie Tegan

  “Good, then it’s settled. Let’s go.”

  “Don’t we have to get the bill?”

  “All done.” At my startled expression, he chuckled. “I work fast. Come on, we can walk to the hotel if you insist on not getting into a car with the likes of me.”

  “I’ll hail a cab,” I suggested and stepped off the curb. It took a couple of frustrating minutes because Tara was whining, but I finally snared one, and we were on our way.

  Rico was true to his word. When we walked in, the staff treated him with instant deference. He got us checked in and told the front desk that we were his guests and that the room was comped. They smiled and handled the check-in quickly. Rico was right: before the hour was up we were showered and in the queen-sized bed of the gorgeous purple and blue room we were given in this boutique hotel.

  In exchange for his generosity, I agreed to give him my cell number, and he promised he’d call us in a couple of days.

  By midweek, Tara found us an apartment. It was through a friend of a friend, and the neighborhood was Lakeview, which was ideal, but we’d have to share a tiny bedroom. So tiny, in fact, that we’d have to get bunkbeds. Definitely not ideal.

  Once again, Rico came to my rescue.

  “I think you should move in with me, Sasha. I have six bedrooms in my house, and I only use one and my housekeeper has another. That leaves four empty rooms. You should take one and let Pia have that tiny room to herself.”

  “Why me and not Pia?” I asked him, genuinely interested as to why he didn’t offer Pia another of his empty bedrooms while he was at it.

  He smirked. “One guess.”

  Ah. So there were a few strings after all but to tell the truth, I wasn’t minding them so much these days.

  I had done some research on Rico Holland. He was indeed a successful businessman. The photos online showed the same man beaming back at me—a lot of them, in fact. He was listed as the owner of a chain of boutique hotels—just as he told me—as well as a day spa and a couple of beauty salons. He seemed to be doing extremely well for himself.

  Pia a.k.a. Tara agreed to come with me to his house. I was so damn nervous that it was some kind of setup, but it seemed legit. His housekeeper, Tina, was charming and soft-spoken, and there was a security man roaming the property. He even had a dog. I felt safe, not like I was in the presence of a madman.

  So against my better judgment, I moved in with him.

  By the second week, he still hadn’t tried anything naughty with me, and I was beginning to believe I had just majorly lucked out by meeting him. We had fun in the evenings, sharing dinner and drinks, and he’d tell me funny stories about his employees and hotel guests.

  “I really need to get a job soon. Pia’s already got an apartment and a job, and here I am getting exactly nowhere.”

  “No hurry,” he said lightly. “However, if you’d like, I can get you a job at my company.” He stared at me with intent eyes. “Would you like that?”

  “I would… but how much more can I take from you? I mean, you’ve already done so much for me—a stranger for all intents and purposes.”

  “I’d like to do more. As for being a stranger, we can easily remedy that.”

  His tone of voice caused my head to whip up. Definitely a sex voice that he just used on me. This was his first move on the chessboard of our relationship—if I could call it one—and I wasn’t sure how to counter his play.

  He got up, walked over to me, and kissed me. The kiss began soft and slow but grew quickly into full-fledged, tongue-involved action.

  But that was it. Just one kiss that night.

  Once Rico decided to employ me at his company, I had to come up with a reason for not having any identification, especially a Social Security card. I told him my parents immigrated here illegally and because I gave myself the name Sasha, Russia was the country I told him we came from. It worked like a charm.

  His office was in the Loop, and we commuted there together every morning although he said once I was comfortable in the job, I could work a part-time schedule. It was a decent job, entry-level admin, and the woman training me was nice enough though I felt some weird vibe from her and a few of the others too. Maybe Rico did this often enough for it to become grating to the other employees?

  The corporate offices of Hospitality Services-Chicago, Inc. operated out of the twentieth floor of a tall glass building on West Adams Street. I’d been working there all of three weeks doing clerical work and answering phones when one Wednesday afternoon Rico came by my desk.

  “Come on, Sasha. We’re leaving early today.”

  I glanced up at him from the monitor where I was trying to figure out some of the accounting system. “Both of us are?”

  “That’s what the pronoun ‘we’ generally means.” He pointed to my computer screen. “Wrap it up and let’s go.”

  I quickly jotted down the spot where I was leaving off so I could pick it up the next day. I needed to enter some data once I figured out the various key codes. I logged off the computer, grabbed my things, and met Rico by the elevator in less than ten minutes.

  “Took you long enough,” he snapped at me.

  My eyelids flared wide open, and I know he noticed my reaction. “I had to mark my place and log off.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” The elevator arrived at that moment, and we both got into the crowded stainless-steel box.

  Up till then, Rico hadn’t really given me cause for concern. True, he wasn’t always very nice to his employees, but a lot of bosses could be accused of the same. At home, he was always a gentleman. Those three weeks were among the happiest in my life. I was falling in love with him.

  Until that Wednesday.

  We got to Rico’s home quickly since it was just after midday and traffic was still light. When we walked into the living room, he toed off his shoes and over his shoulder said, “Get me a couple of fingers of whiskey. Neat and straight up.

  It was unusual for him to order me like that, but I didn’t mind. I went to the cabinet where he kept the liquor and poured some whiskey into a crystal tumbler.

  When I went over to hand him the drink, he made a gesture with his chin to put the glass on the side table.

  “Come here. Stand in front of me.”

  I did as he asked, standing directly in front of him, and waited to see what came next.

  “It’s time to start paying me back for my kindness, Sasha.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  He smiled, but his eyes stayed hard and mean. “You owe me, sweetheart. I gave you a place to stay, fed you, clothed you—I even gave you a job. You had to know there was something in it for me, right? A quid pro quo?”

  I just stood there flabbergasted. After half a minute, I found my backbone. “I asked you point-blank, and you said no strings attached. Remember?”

  “Pfft. That was just meaningless banter. Flirting.” He went on. “I’m going to need you to help me relax.”

  I felt the tiny hairs all over my body spring to attention. “How do I do that exactly?”

  “Just do whatever I tell you to do.”

  “I will if it’s reasonable.”

  He bolted up to his feet and slapped me hard across the face. So hard it felt like my brain bounced inside my head. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way, you cunt. If I want you to do something, you will do it.”

  What? My entire body seized up in a state of instant shock, watching Rico shapeshift from a charming friend into a monster in all of thirty seconds.

  I said nothing else. Inside my head, I was already clawing my way out of my shock and planning my immediate escape.

  He was watching me closely, and I could see the moment when he knew what was in my mind. His lips curled into a sneer. “If you’re thinking of escaping, I’d advise you to think again. I will track you down to wherever you run, and I will make you regret your abandonment of your obligations to me very, very dearly. Now go upstairs and put on something sexier and do your hair and ma
keup. We have games to play.”

  I walked upstairs like a wooden soldier, a cloud of misery around me. I knew that there was no way I’d escape from this sudden hell before getting burned unless I could magically fly away outside a window. I knew he’d be watching my every move today and for the foreseeable future. I had to bide my time and get the hell out first decent chance I got. But I had to be smart about it.

  I racked my brain, trying to remember if I ever told Rico where “Pia” lived. I don’t think I did, but I was scared to bring any threat to Tara. I needed to stay someplace where he couldn’t connect anything to me. He probably had my phone compromised, so I couldn’t even call her.

  Oh shit, I realized he could’ve been monitoring my calls all along. If he had, he knew our real first names even though I changed them in my phone contacts when I moved in with him—just in case. But he would have my parents’ numbers and addresses and whoever else was listed in my call lists.

  As I started doing my tart makeup as I came to call it, I began to plan. I had some money, and I knew where he kept cash in the house. I’d take that and whatever clothes I could fit in the backpack I took to work. I knew Rico took long meetings almost every day in his office. He’d go in with three or four other men, and they’d be in there for at least two hours if not more. That’s when I would make my move.

  He’d probably have someone watching me, so I’d have to leave my backpack in the ladies’ room in the morning and pray like hell no one took it. Then during the meeting, I’d sneak out, get my backpack from the restroom and just get the hell out of there as fast as I could. The elevators were almost always crowded so no one would be able to strong-arm me once I got to that point, and unless Rico had lots of big men positioned outside, no one would be able to stop me once I got that far. I’d hail a cab and maybe go directly to the bus or train station. I’d call Tara once I got out of town on a prepaid phone.

  And that’s exactly what I did—except the leaving town part. But not before I had to endure some horrible experiences that I could never scrub from my soul no matter how hard I tried.

  29

  Marley Jacobs

  Present

  Just the timbre of the voice makes my blood turn to ice.

  Electrified chills streak up and down my spine, and my knees nearly buckle. I’d hoped to never hear that voice again in my lifetime. The man almost destroyed me, and I had to take extreme measures to get away from him.

  “I see you landed yourself a big fish, eh? Too bad you owe me, sweetheart. No expiration date on your debt. You made me a promise. A verbal contract that’s legally binding.”

  Bullshit. Having a relationship with someone cannot be legally compelled. I don’t even owe him money because he kept my last two paychecks—four weeks of work. But right now, that’s irrelevant because he’s gripping me so tightly that I can barely move. I’m trying to figure out where to go from here when he puts his hand under my sweater and pushes the tip of a knife under my breast.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to calmly and quietly turn around and walk out of here with me, or I’ll plunge this six-inch knife into the center of your heart. I promise that I’m not bluffing. I’ve been looking for you for years, and now that I’ve found you, I’m not giving you another chance to take off on me.”

  I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and there was a very real possibility of peeing myself.

  “Six inches can hurt. Remember how much it hurt when I put six inches up your ass? I never did get to shove it down your throat, but we’ll have to try that soon. We’re going to have so much fun catching up. You just need to walk out of here like a good little girl, or they’ll have to carry you out on a stretcher.”

  Oh God, where is Fletcher? He said ten minutes. It has to be up by now. I try to stall by talking to him. “Where are you going to take me?”

  “You’ll see. First, I’ll take you to a safe place, and when the heat dies down, we’ll go home. I have a secure room there waiting just for you. I had its construction begin the minute I saw your wedding photo online that let me know you were still in Chicago. Wait until you see it—it’s very private. Now, button your sweater, and we’ll get going.”

  My sweater has only two pearl buttons—it’s not meant to be worn closed so it flaps open at the bottom hem. The two buttons, though, are probably enough to conceal his weapon unfortunately.

  His left hand holds the knife, and he grasps my arm with his right and turns us around. “Remember what I said,” he murmurs under his breath as he smiles at people around us. My eyes are frantically darting everywhere, searching, when I catch sight of Fletcher across the large room going toward the exit. He’s too far away for me to catch his eye.

  And then the unthinkable happens. As he gets closer he looks directly at me, and I almost hit the floor. I’ve always been intimidated by him, true, but the look I see on his face now—such contempt in his eyes as if he wants to literally kill me. Then he turns away, and I watch him going out the door.

  He’s leaving me here. At the mercy of a man who has none. Was he in on this?

  With a knife held to my chest, I walk across the large room, weaving through other guests, but there’s no chance of escape—Rico’s holding me too tightly to risk it. I would definitely not put it past him to plunge the knife into my heart. He’d probably figure out a way to get away with it too. My eyes are scouring for Tristan. Where is all of our security? When we get to the door and no one stops us, I know I’m a goner. He’s going to lock me in that room he had built and probably chain me up as well. I’ll never be seen again. It’s a fate worse than death to be at the mercy of a sadistic monster like him.

  Desperate now, I’m thinking that maybe I could trip him and make a run for it. I’ll swing my leg over and once he goes down, I’ll kick off my heels and run for my life. My heartbeat is fluttering inside my chest like the wings of a hummingbird. There are steps down to the walkway. If I do it on the steps, he might take me down with him. Probably will. I’ll have to wait until we’re on level ground.

  As soon as we step outside the house, my sense of panic trips into high gear. If he gets me in a car, I’m as good as dead. I don’t know what to do, but I know that I’m better off taking my chances with him hurting me here than getting me alone where he could do anything he wants.

  When we reach the sidewalk, I decide to make my move despite there being a mountain of a man next to what I assume is his waiting car. I’m two seconds away from making myself drop into dead weight—I think that gives me a better shot at success than trying to fight him off with my self-defense tactics. It’s two, possibly three, against one since I think I see a driver inside the darkly tinted windows of the car.

  As I start to drop, like a miracle, his grip loosens, and as if in slow motion, I turn to see him crumple to the ground. Instead of me.

  I stand there in shock, my mind trying frantically to make sense of the scene. Then I take note of the man standing right behind him. I don’t know who he is, but very recently he’s become my knight in shining armor. Yes, it would’ve been mighty nice if my husband rescued me, but he left me flat to fend for myself.

  I grab the man’s arm. “Thank you. He had a knife to my chest.” My voice is as wobbly as my legs.

  “I noticed. Do you know him?”

  Swallowing hard, I nod assent. “Yes. I used to work for him a long time ago.” It isn’t an adequate description, but I have no time to explain. My mind is racing with competing impulses: run, stay, fight, scream. I don’t know what to do first.

  The man’s face is taut, but otherwise there’s no expression. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. I wait for more questions, but none come. I look down at Rico just as his guy comes dashing over to help him. I don’t know what the guy did to him, but it seemed to not only bring him down but also render him unconscious or close to it.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the giant yells at my savior, his face going
purple with rage. “That was completely unprovoked.” He lunges at the man who knocked Rico down, but he nimbly sidesteps and remains untouched.

  Grabbing my arm, my good Samaritan barks out, “Where’s your car? You have to get out of here.”

  “Uh, I don’t have one at the minute.”

  “Come on, I’ll take you to mine.”

  A little voice inside my head tells me not to go, that he could be part of Rico’s setup for all I know.

  “Um, no. Thanks. So much. You totally just saved my life.” I try to smile, but I’m pretty sure I fail miserably. I’m shaking from the adrenaline rush, but I’m trying my best to think clearly. “I’m going to go back inside—I need to use the restroom, and I’ll call for a car. You’ve done enough. Thank you again.”

  He looks unsure if he should keep arguing or not. Ultimately, he nods his head. “Happy to help. Be careful.”

  “Okay.”

  I go back inside, twisting my ankle in the process because my legs are so weak. I can’t believe it. Rico. I never thought I’d see that bastard again. I managed to make him think I moved back to New Mexico or at least out of Chicago, but being married to a prominent man brought him back into my life. I hear my phone ping with a text and take it out of my clutch bag.

  There’s a message from Fletcher. Two words.

  Fletcher: We’re done.

  30

  Marley Jacobs

  What? What is he talking about? I punch in a reply. ‘

  Marley: What’s wrong?

  Fletcher: I warned you about discretion, and now we’re done. I’ll have your things packed, and you can move back to your loft or wherever. My publicist will announce our separation within 48 hours. Divorce will proceed at the six-month mark as discussed earlier.

  WTF does he mean? Why is he saying this and being so cold?