by B. B. Hamel
“I find that hard to believe,” he said. “Aren’t all you Penn kids rich?”
“Hardly,” I said. “I’m here on scholarship. I’m from the Northeast, normal parents and all.”
He grunted. “Good. Wasn’t sure if you were a rich girl or not.”
“Would that matter?”
“Probably,” he said, smirking. He sipped his drink again.
“Got a problem with rich people?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Interesting. Aren’t you rich now?”
He shrugged again. “I’m not interested in my money.”
“You sure do like to spend it though.”
He laughed. “I said no interview.”
“You can’t blame me for trying.”
He looked at me for a long moment, almost as if he were sizing me up. “Guess not.” He leaned back in his seat, finishing off his drink. “We’ll order food, and then I’ll tell you what you’re doing here.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me more about yourself while we wait.”
So I told him about my early life growing up on the outskirts of Philadelphia. My dad was a mail carrier and my mom worked as a paralegal. They weren’t rich people, but they did well enough to provide a comfortable life for us.
Soon, the waitress came back. Nash ordered a steak and potatoes, and I ordered a Caesar salad, too nervous to get anything else. He gave me a look when I said it, a knowing smirk, but said nothing.
The waitress walked away and I looked at him. “Okay, I need to know what this is all about now,” I said.
“I have a business proposition for you.”
“Business?” I asked, laughing nervously. “You know I’m just a college undergrad, right?”
“What are you studying?” he asked.
“Marketing and journalism. I’m interested in publicity and things like that.”
He laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Too fucking perfect,” he said.
I stared at him quizzically. “What is?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Do you want to hear this proposition?”
“Okay,” I said, totally unsure. Part of me wanted to get up and run away, get far, far away from him.
But there was something keeping me in that seat.
Nash had a magnetism about him, something that drew me toward him. I wanted to get up and leave, walk away. He was a dangerous man, not in the sense of hurting me or something like that, but he had a bad reputation and was well-known as being a deadly force. I had no clue what kind of proposition he had for me, but I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
And yet I couldn’t leave. There was just something about his smile, the way he asked about me, the way he seemed like he didn’t belong in an expensive steak house wearing an expensive suit.
“Lately,” he said slowly, “I’ve been under pressure from my publisher.”
“For what?”
“Apparently, I have a morality clause. And they don’t like the way I’ve been handling myself.”
I laughed. “Seriously, a morality clause?”
“I’m an all-American hero, Selena. Can’t have a hero fucking random club sluts and getting drunk every night.”
I bit my lip. “Are you fucking random women every night?”
“Not the point,” he said. “I have a problem with my publisher, an image problem.”
“You want me to help with that?”
“Yes,” he said, grinning his delicious grin. “I want you to marry me.”
I stared at him, shocked. “What did you just say?”
“Selena,” he said slowly, “I’ll pay you one million dollars to marry me.”
I leaned back in my chair, my eyes wide, shock and denial running through my body.
I should have gotten up.
I should have run away.
But instead I sat there and looked at him, confused, uncertain, wondering what I was getting myself into.
4
Nash
I savored the look on her face for a few seconds.
As soon as I had laid it out there for her, she’d looked totally shocked. At first I could tell she didn’t believe me, but she was slowly figuring out that I wasn’t fucking around.
“Why?” she managed to say.
“I need to change my image. You’re beautiful as hell and a student at a good college.” I grinned at her. “I also did some more research on you after we met. You’re a pretty normal person living a pretty normal life.”
“So what?” she said. “I mean, why would you want to marry me? You don’t even know me.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “But that doesn’t matter. We won’t really be married. But I need you to pretend to be my wife, at least until my book tour is over. Once it’s done, I’ll be able to renegotiate my contract and hopefully get rid of this idiotic morality clause.”
“But how does marrying me help?”
“Come on, Selena,” I said, “you’re the marketing major. Think about it.”
She bit her lip, shaking her head. “This is crazy. Really crazy.”
“Maybe, but I don’t give a fuck. Those bastards think they can push me around, but nobody fucking pushes me around. I’ll play their game, but I’m playing it on my terms.”
She nodded, and I could tell she was thinking it over. I didn’t expect her to say yes right away, but I did think she’d come around. A million dollars was a lot of money; honestly, it was most of the money I had. But I wasn’t kidding when I said that I didn’t care about the cash.
I cared way more about my fucking freedom. No publisher was going to have Nash Bell by the balls. I’d killed men with my bare hands, stabbed them in the neck, shot them, burned them, blew them up. I was a trained killer, skilled in more than just taking off women’s clothes.
“You need to change your image,” she said, “and you think that having a normal wife will help with that.”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“But why me?”
I grunted, not sure how to answer that. Truthfully, I didn’t really know why her. I’d been toying with the idea for a couple of days, and the second I saw her I knew that I had to have her. For whatever reason, she just struck me as someone who would make a great wife, who could potentially change my image for the better.
And of course, as soon as I began to research her, I had realized how right I was. Selena Wood was a model student, a good little journalist at her paper, with a nice mommy and daddy. She wasn’t rich or poor, just a normal girl from a regular family.
Plus, she was smart. She had to be if she was going to get into Penn on a scholarship. I needed someone with a good head on her shoulders, not someone batshit crazy, if I was going to pull this off. I needed someone who understood what we were doing and could play the part.
Plus, as soon as she walked into the restaurant and I saw her in that fucking dress, I knew I wanted her on my arm. I was instantly attracted to her, wanted to peel that tight black cloth from her smooth skin and fuck her tight pussy until she cried out my name.
“Why you?” I asked her back. “You’re normal. You’re sexy. You’re smart.” I shrugged.
“But any number of girls at Penn are all those things,” she said, still shaking her head. “Why me exactly?”
I went to answer, but the waitress returned with our meals. I smiled at the woman, giving her my best shit-eating grin, and she backed off, blushing slightly. I dug into my steak, ignoring Selena’s confused stare, because I was fucking starving.
After a good few bites of food, she finally couldn’t take it anymore.
“How do you even have a million dollars?” she asked.
“You said it yourself: I’m rich.”
“That’s a lot of money. How would this even work?”
“You pretend to be my wife for a few months while the book tour ends. Then I pay you.”
“You make it sound so simple. What about my classes?”
“Finish them when we’
re done. Or not. You’ll have a ton of money.”
She bit her lip again, the cutest fucking gesture in the god damn world. I bit my steak, feeling my cock stir in my pants. I hated wearing a suit, but it was the best camouflage for going to a fancy restaurant. Plus, nobody expected to see Nash Bell in a fucking suit.
“What about the media? Won’t this look suspicious?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “They expect this sort of shit from me.”
“Pretend to be your wife,” she said softly. “For months.”
“That’s it. Just pretend, and then you’ll get your money.”
I dug into my steak while she picked at her salad, clearly still in a state of shock. There was something supremely attractive about the way she stared at me, slightly afraid, slightly confused, but clearly she wanted me. If she didn’t she’d have run off already.
“Excuse me,” she said abruptly. She stood up and stepped out of the booth, walking quickly away.
I smiled to myself, eating and drinking my whisky. Maybe she was running off, or maybe she was just getting herself together in the bathroom. Either way, it didn’t matter to me. She’d do it, or she wouldn’t and I’d have to find someone else.
But all of my instincts were telling me that this girl was the right move. And I’d learned to trust my instincts a long time ago.
I managed to wave down the waitress, get the bill, and pay it by the time Selena made it back to the table.
“Thought you ran,” I said to her, signing the receipt.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just had to think.”
“And?”
“And I think I’m going to turn down your proposal.”
I stared at her for a second, frowning. That was a surprise.
“Are you sure?” I said. “Being married to me will be the most fun you’ll ever have.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is just too crazy. I can’t do it.”
I nodded. “Okay, Selena. But if you change your mind, come to my room. I’m staying in the Ritz downtown, room 234. I leave the day after tomorrow, early.”
She sighed, frowning. “I’m sorry. I’m just not your girl. I can’t help you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said, standing. “You are exactly what I want, Selena. You just don’t realize it yet.”
She frowned. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I grunted. “Room 234, Ritz downtown. One million dollars. Come see me if you change your mind.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
“And Selena?”
“Yeah?”
“You do look fucking sexy in that dress. Wear it more often.”
She blushed, but before she could respond, I walked away.
Damn. I had to admit, I was disappointed that she’d said no. I really had thought she was going to do it, and I still believed she was the perfect person for it. I could find someone else easily enough, but I didn’t want some random actress that would probably keep squeezing me for more and more money.
I wanted Selena. I wanted that normal, sexy-as-fuck girl in a dress she barely wore. I wanted her bent over my bed, screaming my fucking name as I fucked her tight pussy from behind. I wanted to take her to Vegas and make her my wife.
I left the restaurant and flagged a cab. I was tired and decided to call it a night.
Maybe she’d come around. If not, I’d find someone in New York, the next stop on our trip.
I climbed into the cab, still thinking about Selena in that dress, bent over my bed and begging me for more.
5
Selena
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Nash had looked at me.
It was dirty, intense, and serious. He stared at me like he wanted to slowly unpeel my clothes and drag me back into the bathrooms. Even his words were dirty, and he barely knew me at all. I could see why he had his reputation.
All night, I dreamed about what it would mean to be married to Nash Bell. I’d be the wife of a famous soldier, of one of the most decorated Navy SEALs in America. He had secrets, he was violent and powerful, and he was an asshole. And yet I found myself incredibly drawn toward him. His offer kept ringing in my ears.
Could I actually pretend to be someone I wasn’t?
It would involve so much deceit, so much lying. It would mean I’d have to lie to every single person I knew, including my family. And what happened at the end of it, after the book tour?
But a million dollars was a lot of money.
The next morning, my head buzzing with thoughts of Nash’s dirty words, his muscular body pressed against mine, I climbed out of bed. I had to do something to try to forget about him, and so I made myself some coffee and took out my phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “How are you?”
“Oh, hi, sweetie. Things are fine. How are you?”
“I’m good. Just had a weird night last night.”
“Hold that thought. I think I hear your father getting sick.”
I frowned as I heard her put the phone down. Dad had cancer and was going through another round of chemo, which meant he was getting sick pretty much all the time. My poor mother was dealing with it the best she could, and I tried to get home as often as possible, but it was hard.
Because of the cancer, Dad couldn’t work. He wasn’t old enough to retire yet, and so they were existing on my mother’s paycheck and Dad’s disability.
I sighed to myself as soon as the thought crossed my mind. One million dollars sure could go a long way toward helping my family out. It would mean my father could get the best treatment from the best doctors, and they wouldn’t have to worry about money all the time.
But if I married Nash, I’d have to lie to them. I’d have to pretend like I actually loved Nash, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I was terrified of that. I’d never lied to them about anything before, let alone about having a secret arrangement with a rich and dangerous man.
“Okay, back,” Mom said.
“How’s he doing?”
She sighed. “You know how the chemo is. He’s hanging in there.”
“What did the doctors say?”
“They have him on a hundred different pills, but there’s nothing they can do about the nausea. He tried eating breakfast today, but I guess he couldn’t keep it down.”
I frowned to myself. It was horrible to imagine the big, smiling man of my childhood as a weak, frail person who couldn’t even eat breakfast.
“You were saying something about your night?” Mom said.
“Oh, nothing,” I replied. “It was just a school thing.”
“How is school, sweetie?”
I told her all about my classes, but I couldn’t seem to broach the subject of my meeting with Nash. I didn’t know what that meant, or why I wasn’t mentioning it, but I stuck to easy topics.
Mom had always been incredibly supportive of me. They were happy I had decided to go to a local school, but they’d encouraged me to look everywhere and to make sure I was making the right decision. Before Dad got sick, they sent me money out every week, as much as they could.
The money had stopped, though. That was okay. I didn’t need it nearly as much as they did.
“Oh shoot,” Mom said. “Listen, honey, I have to go. It was great hearing from you.”
“Tell Dad I said hello.”
“I will. Call again later; he might be feeling better.”
“Okay.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She hung up.
I sipped my coffee, leaning back in my chair. The look Nash gave me when I turned him down flitted through my mind again. He had looked so disappointed and surprised, but also hungry for me, like he wasn’t going to give up. It honestly shook me a bit, made me wonder if he knew something I didn’t.
One million dollars. That was life-changing money, the sort of money that could really make a difference for my parents.
; And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t have to go in front of the media very often. So long as they knew I existed, got a few pictures of the two of us together, maybe that would be enough. We could say that I was a private person and that I didn’t like the spotlight.
Or maybe I could just forget about the whole thing. My parents were making it work on their own, after all. I couldn’t imagine that they would want me to go through something like this just for their sake.
Then again, they’d gone through a lot to raise me right.
It felt like I was at war with myself. I downed my coffee, got up, and went to get dressed.
I had to get out of the house.
I had to stop thinking about Nash Bell, about his cocky grin, his intense stare, his handsome face, his ripped body.
I had to stop imagining what it would be like to have him slip a ring on my finger.
And I definitely had to stop thinking about what it would be like on the wedding night.
6
Nash
The media was such a fucking bore.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I said. “That’s still classified.”
She smiled at me. “Okay, Nash. Last question. How did it feel to be out there serving your country?”
I smiled and repeated the same old bullshit. “It was my duty and my honor to fight for the United States abroad.”
“Thanks, Nash.” We stood and shook hands. I watched as she walked off and spotted Livy heading toward me.
It was another media interview morning. That was the tenth interview I had done in the span of a few hours, and now hopefully Livy was coming to let me have some fucking peace and quiet for a little while.
Though that wasn’t likely. I was probably going to be shoved in front of some more cameras and told to say things about how great America was and all that shit. Which, yeah, America was the greatest fucking country in the world, and I really did want to fight for my fucking country. But I was sick of being shoved in front of cameras and told to say it.
I missed the feeling of sand under my feet, of the sun beating down on my head. And of the constant twinge of fear and worry nagging at the back of my head.