I Married a Master

by Melanie Marchande

  Here's a fun fact: space and time are the same thing. I know you know that already. You've heard of "the fabric of space-time" or "the space-time continuum." But have you ever thought about what it really means?

  Time is just how we conceptualize our movement through space. To put it another way: you already know you can't move through space without moving through time. But did you know that you can't move through time without moving through space?

  You might think you're standing still, but you're never really still. The earth is rocketing through the vast emptiness of the universe so quickly you can't even conceptualize it. It's beyond your understanding. Beyond your ability to perceive. Everything we see, everything we feel, is all based on a tiny grain of sand in the vastness of everything we know.

  This should be comforting, I suppose. But it's not.

  When I meet them, I always think it's going to be different. Every time, I fool myself. That was one of the reasons I lashed out at the girl at the store. I hardly remembered it - I just remembered the exhaustion, the red creeping into the corners of my vision. But the very sight of her made me angry, because of the spark of emotion inside. Look at her. She's different.

  Like a hero in a Regency romance, I would inevitably fall for the first girl who showed a hint of spirit. Whatever that meant. These days, it hardly meant anything anymore - it was harder to tell who was truly a free spirit in an age like ours.

  But I always knew.

  There were women who treated me like I was rich, and women who didn't.

  Not that it mattered. Not being an idiot, I understood it was inescapable. People would always consider my money when evaluating my personality. If it was down to a decision between me and another man, and I was the billionaire, he certainly wasn't going to win out. To some extent, I'd never really know what any woman thought of me.

  And that was all right. It was hardly a true burden, considering where it came from. I'd been rich, and I'd been poor. Rich was better. I just wished I had landed a girlfriend before I had money. It would have made my love life a whole hell of a lot easier.

  Instead, I married a woman I hardly knew. When she cheated on me with her friend from work, part of me was shocked, but the other part felt the crushing inevitability of this. Had been feeling it for years. We met when we were teenagers. There was no chance for us.

  There would've been, if she'd tried harder.

  But I was insufferable too. I knew that. As much as I knew I wasn't supposed to blame myself, I couldn't really do anything else. Daria wasn't a degenerate when she married me. I'd turned her into someone lonely and desperate. That was my gift.

  I groaned, leaning back on the sofa. The girl at the store was nothing like Daria. But there was something that flared inside me nonetheless, an attraction, a desire that was immediately met with anger and disgust. How could I still let myself start to fall for a woman, when I knew how it would end?

  Four years since Daria left. Almost two years since our divorce was finalized.

  I was running out of time.

  ***

  Work went by in a blur. I tried to pay attention, I really did, but it was nearly impossible. All I could hear was the oppressive tick, tick, tick of the clock in the corner of the room. Why the hell did we have a clock? Everyone knew what time it was. There were a thousand electronic devices programmed to the atomic clock, self-updating, self-adjusting for daylight saving. Never needing their stupid AA batteries replaced.

  Time was my worst enemy now. I gritted my teeth through every meeting, every phone call, trying to sound normal. Probably failing.

  Nobody knew my secret. Not even the partners, the biggest shareholders, my CFO - no one. I'd been too ashamed to admit it. Thinking back, I couldn't remember what possessed me to sign that settlement.

  You had to prove something. You didn't want her to think...

  Being at work was awful. I paced like a caged animal until five o'clock, only because I liked to set an example for my employees. If people saw me fucking off in the middle of the day, they'd resent me for holding them to a normal schedule. Most days, I didn't need to be here at all. It was about appearances.

  Every time my phone buzzed, I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was exactly four months, to the dot, until she came to collect her prize. Or so she thought. We hadn't spoken in so long, but I was sure she'd contact me. Just to gloat. Just to remind me - as if I could forget.

  But she didn't. And her smug silence spoke volumes.

  She just knew. She was confident. She didn't need to taunt me. I was already in hell, and she didn't care one bit. She just wanted what was coming to her.

  I found myself in a sports bar, dangerously close to work. Someone might recognize me here. Hell, someone could recognize me anywhere, but that was a pretty rare occurrence. They'd wonder what the hell I was doing in a place like this, but I just needed the noise. The activity, buzzing around me. It was still happy hour, and everyone was acting like it. Forgetting their troubles, drowning everything that bothered them in half-price margaritas and bottomless tortilla chips.

  If any of them knew why I was here, they'd probably punch me in the throat.

  Boo hoo, the billionaire might have to give up majority control of his company. What a sad story. And it's his own damn fault.

  Cry me a river.

  My eyes swept the room, wondering if I could end my troubles right here, right now. If I asked one of these women to fix my problem, would they agree? Would they slap me across the face? Would they think I was joking?

  The last one, probably.

  I couldn't understand why this was so hard. It had seemed simple enough, back when I signed the agreement. Just find a woman and marry her. Two years. Two years was plenty of time to fall in love.

  Just not, apparently, with someone like me.

  At first, I started in the circles that made the most sense. Mentally, I began auditioning all the women I knew. The ones I had regular dalliances with anyway, because what could be more convenient than that? Things might get messy, but we were all adults. We could handle ourselves.

  As it turned out, it was much easier to meet a woman for the occasional spanking and rough sex than it was to try and date her.

  My proclivities seemed to be at odds with my playboy behavior. After all, I was supposed to be into domestic discipline - not random discipline with strangers. But this was the closest I could get, until I found the right woman to be domestic with. And that was seeming more and more like a distant dream, every day.

  I'd given up on making it happen for real. Now, all I wanted was someone I could trust to join me in the deception of a lifetime.

  Daria was no idiot. This possibility had certainly occurred to her - and even if it hadn't, her lawyer would be expecting it. Now, with time so close to running out, I'd have to work very hard to convince them. All of the pieces would have to fall perfectly into place.

  I had four months to find a wife.

  One of these random sports bar floozies was hardly the right candidate. Not that I had a better option, at the moment. And it wasn't exactly wise to put my trust in some random stranger.

  A pair of eyes burned in the back of my mind.

  The memory was hazy, and I had to shake my head a few times to identify them. They burned with anger, and that brought it all rushing back. The girl at the grocery store. She was so mad at me, for some reason I couldn't quite recall.

  I vaguely remembered being a little combative with her. Acting a little...dare I say it...entitled. I usually made an effort to bite my tongue, because I knew how people looked at me. I knew the kinds of assumptions people made, when they saw someone who had as much money as I did. I'd discovered a long time ago that it was difficult to hide. People always know. The smell of money follows you everywhere, no matter how you dress it down. And last night, I hadn't made an effort to act like I belonged.

  No wonder she hated me. Everyone hated people like me, unless they were lucky enough to become one.


  The Chase family had been on the top of the Forbes list since before the Forbes list even existed. We were practically the definition of old money. We had the kind of pedigree that hardly even mattered anymore, these days. But nonetheless, I did take some pride in it. Why the hell not? We'd kept our status for hundreds of years, surely that was worth something.

  But not to women like her.

  For once, someone other than my ex-wife was dominating my thoughts. It was a strange feeling - exhilarating, like taking a deep gulp of fresh air after being cooped up for a long time. Maybe that was my problem. I'd been looking for someone all this time, but my heart wasn't in it. I'd been motivated, I'd convinced myself I really did want to move on. That Daria's settlement contract was actually a blessing. It would force me to get out there, get back on the market, find somebody who could actually make me happy.

  Until now, I hadn't realized how much I was lying to myself. Nobody except Daria had dominated my thoughts in a very long time.

  I didn't know what it was about that girl. All she did was yell at me, clutching her ice cream in her hand like it was worth a million dollars. Maybe it was, to her. Maybe she was having just as bad of a day as I was. Maybe that was why she didn't put up with my bullshit.

  I grinned to myself. Okay, so I liked that. I liked that I hadn't intimidated her. I liked that she didn't back down. All signs pointed to her being a little bit spitfire, determined, unwilling to bow to anyone's authority unless it suited her purposes.

  All the same, I wondered if she fantasized about a man who was strong enough to control her. It would be her choice, but deep down inside, she'd feel compelled. She'd no longer be the master of her own desires, driven by a need she didn't fully understand, didn't want to admit. The same need that drove half the high-powered businessmen I knew into dungeons across the city, begging to be humiliated by women in leather corsets. Aching to have their power stripped away, piece by piece. Needing the release of submission.

  I wasn't like them. My release was at the other end of the paddle. I admired those women, understood why they did what they did - but their company wasn't for me. I needed the opposite.

  I needed somebody like that girl from the store, kneeling at my feet, begging for my punishment.

  Gripping the edge of the bar counter, I shook my head. I couldn't keep thinking like that. The last thing I needed was to trade my obsession with Daria for a new obsession with some random woman I'd never see again. In a city of millions, the odds of us running into each other more than once were pretty slim.

  Then again, she probably lived nearby. There weren't many other reasons why someone would shop in that particular store. It happened to be right across from my office, and I hate nothing more than going out of the way. Even if it means being able to shop somewhere that doesn't smell like old fish.

  She was new in the city. She had to be. I could always tell, the ones who didn't really belong here - who'd come here on the promise of something extraordinary, the magic that was the Big Apple, only to be terribly disillusioned the minute they stepped out of the cab. She was just another one of the many millions who'd last for about six months before they packed it in, headed back for Oklahoma or Michigan or Texas.

  I hated the idea of never seeing her again.

  God damn it, Chase. Get a grip.

  I had to stop this. The more time I spent mulling over some stranger from the grocery store, the less time I'd have to find my pretend wife.

  But there was just something about that girl...

  Chapter Three

  Jenna

  After I got home, I did a quick Google search to confirm what I'd seen. Mrs. Daniel Thorne was indeed Maddy, my college roommate, the aspiring painter who ate a lot of circus peanuts and bit her lip when she smiled. I remembered her as being very shy, especially around men - but she'd evidently come out of her shell enough to catch a billionaire's attention.

  There was no doubt she'd remember me. We'd lived together for four years, after all - and we always got along just fine, even if we were never terribly close. I always tried to be her wingman, and I'd been successful a few times, but she mostly sabotaged herself. I teased her gently about her awkwardness with boys and her habit of eating terrible candy, and she told me the cigarettes I smoked recreationally would rot my teeth faster than any dollar store confection ever could. She was right, of course. I hated cigarettes. I only smoked them because it attracted the bad boys, and I was desperately stupid back then.

  I toyed with my phone in my hand for a long time, trying to decide what to do. Would she be happy to hear from me, or would she be resentful at the reminder of the old life she'd left behind?

  Finally, I dug up the number to the local flagship office for Thorne Industries. Someone answered within one ring.

  I cleared my throat.

  "Can I leave a message for Maddy Thorne? Just tell her it's Jenn. Jenn Hadley."

  "Would you like to leave a call-back number?" The assistant's voice was crisp, but professional. I hoped she wasn't just humoring me.

  "Yes, please." I rattled it off, thanked her, and hung up.

  It would be nice to have a friend in the city. Or at least an acquaintance. But there was no way I was hanging out with a young Lucille Bluth. If Maddy had turned into some kind of country club stereotype, I'd have to quietly back away.

  And if her husband was anything like that guy I ran into in the grocery store - well.

  We'd cross that bridge if we came to it.

  I wasn't sure how I knew that Grocery Store Jerk was rich. I just did. He had the stink of money, old money, in particular - I knew it well. There weren't many people like him left. Not in this country, at least. His family probably hadn't had a whiff of hard work in many, many years.

  I'd grown up surrounded by people like him. They only came during summers and holidays, but when they did, their presence was unmistakable. You could feel it, surrounding the whole town, smothering it. After the weeks spent preparing for them, we'd quietly hibernate in our own dingy homes, trying hard not to think about the seven thousand square feet of pure luxury we'd just spent a week cleaning, top to bottom. Fluffing pillows, removing dust covers, vacuuming and wiping down every square inch. When they left, we'd repeat the process in reverse, and if we were lucky there would be some cash on the nightstand.

  Every year, every season, it was the same.

  When I was young, I'd often asked my parents why we couldn't just live there while the tourists were away. I didn't understand why the houses had to stay empty. They'd never even know the difference. But my mother said something I never forgot:

  "These people, they like to own things. Even if they're not using them, they need to know it's theirs. No one else's. They're not good at sharing. It's just the way they're brought up."

  I'd believed her, without really understanding what she meant. When I got a little older, I started noticing how sleek and handsome some of the rich boys were. Not all of them were disgustingly stand-offish, and some were actually rather nice. My parents didn't bother to warn me against them - they didn't have to. I'd already learned my lesson, years ago, before I even cared about the difference between boys and girls.

  Those kids and I, we'd never be the same. And it might not matter to them, or to me, but it certainly mattered to their parents. I wasn't going to get them in trouble. I wasn't going to be the one who got her heart broken, all because some boy needed to obey his father more than he needed me.

  ***

  I frowned at my phone. Incoming call, unknown number - typically I'd ignore them, but on a whim, I picked up.

  "Jenna?" said a voice I hadn't heard in a long, long time.

  "Oh my God." I took a moment to gather my thoughts. "Maddy. I didn't think you'd call back - well, ever, to be honest."

  She laughed. "Of course I would, man - how many years has it been?"

  "Please don't make me answer that." I groaned, flopping back in my chair. "I've been bouncing around retail jobs sin
ce college, I really don't want to account for my time. I see you've been busy."

  "Wow." She let out a little bewildered chuckle. "Yeah, I don't even know where to start. Uh, so I started working for a Fortune 500 company, married my boss, got knocked up - you know, the usual thing."

  "I feel like I got sucked into a parallel universe," I admitted.

  She snorted. "Imagine how I feel."

  "Pretty damn smug, I'm guessing."

  "Actually, most days I still pinch myself." I could hear her shifting in her seat, making little soothing noises to the little girl that was undoubtedly sitting in her lap. "So you're in town now, huh? For work?"

  "Hopefully," I said. "Finally decided to chase that dream."

  "Really? That's great!" She actually sounded enthusiastic - way more enthusiastic than I felt. "I always thought that was just drunk-talk. But I'm so happy for you. Sometimes you just have to grab life by the horns."

  "I think I might've waited a few too many years," I admitted. "But hey. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?"

  I really hoped that the existential despair didn't come through in my voice.

  "Exactly," she enthused. "So, hey - you want to grab a coffee and catch up? I'm sure Daniel can take care of Laura for a couple hours this Saturday."

  Weird - I would've assumed a billionaire would have full-time childcare. Maybe Maddy was just a little more hands-on than most. For someone who I never pictured having kids in the first place, her parenting style was kind of difficult to imagine.

  We hashed out the details of our coffee date, and I hung up feeling slightly optimistic. Having a friend didn't exactly solve my problems, but it would make my life a little less desolate.