I Married a Master

by Melanie Marchande

  I was echoing my parents' sentiments, without consciously meaning to. They'd spent so much time and effort drilling them into my head, it wasn't a surprise that a few of them actually stuck. But really, I didn't need them. I'd seen enough firsthand to know that money was power, and power corrupts.

  And the closest thing to absolute power was having a net worth of almost fifty billion dollars.

  Benjamin Chase could practically run his own space program. He could charter a private jet twice a day just to take him across town. That kind of wealth made you crazy, utterly disconnected you from any kind of reality.

  But there was something else, too. It struck me, the more time I spent with him, that none of this was particularly interesting for Ben. Certainly not enjoyable. His money made his life easier in countless ways, there was no doubt about that, but it was just normal for him. It always had been. Someone like me could sit and imagine being able to thoughtlessly spend thousands of dollars on a single bottle of champagne, and it seemed like it would be a thrill. And maybe the first time, it would be. But for Ben? It was just like buying a cup of coffee.

  I was hardly wallowing in sympathy for the guy, but it was hard to imagine all this excess being so joyless. So empty and without any sense of excitement or thrill. No wonder guys like him had to drive race cars around a track until they crashed and caught fire, just to feel something.

  Or spank women recreationally. I supposed that was another way to get one's kicks.

  "Do you have an assistant?" I asked him, finally. "Or...a secretary or something?"

  "Administrative assistant," he said. "Yes. She's fantastic, except when she cleans up my desk. I can't figure out her organizational scheme at all. I'm pretty sure it's one of the signs of a budding psychopath."

  He glanced up at me. "What's that sour expression? You trying to scope out all the women in the office, so you know who you should act jealous of?"

  It was a harmless joke. Nothing more. But an angry heat flared in my chest, and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. "Billionaires and their secretaries, right? It's practically a cliche at this point. I'm just trying to figure out where I stand." I cleared my throat. "Theoretically speaking, of course."

  "Theoretically, you've got nothing to be worried about," he said. There was a glint in his eyes, or maybe I just imagined it. "Theoretically, my assistant is happily married, and would happily flay me alive if I dared to make a pass at her, which I most certainly wouldn't, by the way. Actually, none of that is theoretical. It's all true."

  "Yeah, well, nobody thinks they're a cheater until they become one." I glanced over my shoulder. "Theoretically, if I were the jealous type, I wouldn't care about any of that. I'd just see if I thought she was attractive, if I thought you might be attracted to her, and I'd smell blood in the water."

  "Are you the jealous type?" he asked me.

  "Theoretically," I said. "It lends some credence to the performance, doesn't it?"

  "Theoretically," he said. "If you want any tips, just watch Maddy. I hear she's fiercely possessive."

  I laughed. "Some things never change. Does it drive Daniel crazy?"

  Ben shook his head, with a smile. "He likes it, if you can believe that. Makes him feel special. I don't know why. Even animals can feel jealous. It's the basest emotion there is. The most selfish, too. But he thinks it means something, and that's all that really matters. Jealousy signifies love to a lot of people. I always thought Daniel was smarter than that, but..." He shrugged. "I guess nobody's smart when it comes to hormones, right?"

  "I think it's kind of sweet," I admitted. "Exhausting, sure, but I don't usually judge how people decide to spend their time. Some people play chess, some people do tai chi, some people get jealous. And hell - I mean, if I landed a guy like Daniel, I'd probably be worried about that too."

  Ben's forehead crinkled slightly. "You like him?"

  "Not him," I said quickly. "Not him exactly. You know what I mean. Someone...desirable."

  The clock ticked very loudly.

  "I'm keeping you away from work," I said, after a few moments that felt like an eternity. "Sorry. Uh, should I just...come back around lunchtime, or...?"

  "You're not," he said, at last, seeming to untie his tongue with an effort. "I promise. But you don't have to sit here and stare at me all day. I'll have one of the interns show you around, get the full office tour. It might come in handy someday if you need to act like you've actually hung out here voluntarily, from time to time." He cleared his throat. "And after that, well..." He hesitated. "Yes, we'll talk at lunch."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jenna

  I still couldn't wrap my head around the size of the place. A fresh-faced intern named Greg showed me around the offices, babbling enthusiastically about every department and every feature. I could hardly tune in to what he was saying, but I smiled and nodded, trying to pretend like my mind wasn't back in the office with Ben, trying to figure out what he hadn't said to me.

  I was anxious for lunch, but not because I was hungry. In fact, I wasn't sure I could eat at all. My nerves were jangled, my stomach tied in knots, and I really didn't know why. After Greg proudly showed me the fancy employee gym, which included a bank of blood pressure monitors, he got an important phone call and had to dart off for a few minutes. To avoid chewing my fingernails down to the nubbins, I plopped myself down in one of the monitors and stuck my arm in the cuff, just for the hell of it.

  According to the machine, I was in Stage 2 hypertension and my heart was racing like I'd run ten miles on a Stairmaster.

  Briefly, I wondered if fresh-faced Greg would run and fetch me a damn Xanax.

  I quickly cleared the display before Greg came back, lest he insist on driving me to the hospital. If possible, he seemed even more perky than usual.

  "So, do you want to tour I.T. next?" he asked me.

  "Actually, um, I have to make a few phone calls." I cleared my throat, hoping I didn't look as pale as I felt. "Is there somewhere quiet I can go?"

  "Absolutely." He ushered me down the hall, towards some empty-looking offices. "We reserve these spaces for any contractors or consultants who might need a place to work. Please, take your time, and page me if you need anything."

  I sat down in the office and closed my eyes, focusing on deep, steady breaths. At first, all I could heard was my heart racing, but eventually I began to calm down.

  The place wasn't nearly as nice as Ben's, or as expansive, but that was probably just as well. I didn't think full-length picture windows would particularly calm me down. It was small, and it was quiet. That was all I needed.

  I sat there with my phone in my hand, thinking about calling Maddy. Things were rushing forward so quickly, and here Ben was introducing me to all of his employees as his girlfriend. Just last week, I'd told her that I had no serious intentions towards Ben. Of course she didn't believe me, and something told me that she wouldn't be shocked, but I had to play my cards carefully. At this rate, everyone in my life was going to think I'd completely lost my marbles.

  By the time I'd calmed down, it was after eleven o'clock. I took a few more deep breaths and finger-combed my hair a bit, then heard a light tapping at the door just as I stood up.

  "Yes?"

  Greg poked his head in. "Sorry to bother you, but Mr. Chase said you had plans for an early lunch." He looked...flustered? Embarrassed? Something had clearly shaken him. Poor Greg. Frowning, I followed him down the hallway and over to yet another massive bank of elevators.

  "Do you need me to show you the way back to his office?" he asked, looking like he wished I'd say no.

  "Um, do you mind?" I had no idea where the hell I was in relation to my starting point. It might as well have been Antarctica.

  He let out a tight breath. "Of course not," he said, falling silent as the elevator doors closed. I wondered what the hell was wrong, until we reached the right floor and I got close enough to see the look on Ben's face, loitering in the doorway to his office.
>
  "Hello, darling," he said, in a tone that almost convinced me. I let him grab my hand and jerk me close, very close, workplace-inappropriate-close. His mouth descended on mine, and I melted to it like we'd been lovers for years. It felt so natural. His tongue sought access and I granted it, forgetting to care that we were being watched, forgetting this wasn't real. My knees buckled, and I leaned against him, feeling his body's unmistakable reaction.

  A moment later, he pulled away, and glanced at poor fresh-faced Greg. He was still standing there, red as a beet, waiting for the cue to leave.

  I swallowed. Hard.

  "See we're not disturbed, Greg. You can go." Ben's voice was husky. Greg nodded, disappearing down the hallway as fast as his legs would carry him.

  Ben pulled me inside, shutting and locking the double doors with one hasty, smooth motion. My heart was hammering again. Some part of me really thought he intended to do this - and while my brain reeled at the presumptuousness of it, I couldn't deny that I wanted it. I couldn't deny his kiss had brought my body to life.

  He stabbed a button on his phone intercom. "Carol, hold all my calls."

  Carol's voice squawked through the speaker. "You already told me that, sir."

  "Oh, did I? Something seems to have scattered my thoughts. I apologize, Carol."

  "Don't mention it, sir," she said, dryly.

  I stared at him, and he stared at me. For a moment, I swear he was almost about to grab me and push me onto the desk. But the wildness in his eyes faded, and he cleared his throat lightly.

  "Early lunch, huh?" I said, faintly, lowering myself into a chair. "That's subtle."

  "Got to make it convincing." He cleared his throat, sitting down and adjusting his jacket. "Sorry about that display out there, I should've warned you."

  "It's fine," I said. "I can roll with the punches."

  He smiled. "So to speak."

  "What's the, uh...what's the plan, exactly?"

  "Well, we'll stay in here for a while," he said. "Then, we'll actually order some lunch. At that point, we should both look like two people who just had furtive sex at work, but are trying to hide it. But not trying too hard. It's a subtle art. But I'm sure you can give me some pointers, with your training."

  I laughed, then I realized he was serious. "What, you want me to...finger-tease my hair?"

  "Sure," he said. "Whatever you call it. Look disheveled, but not too disheveled. Don't worry, after lunch you can go home and try to wash the stain off your soul."

  He wanted a performance? Well, I'd give him one hell of a performance. I buried my fingers into my hair and ruffled hard, then rubbed in circles with a flat hand on the back of my head, to create the illusion of sex-hair. Purposely smudging my lipstick with my hand, I was struck with inspiration. I dug into my purse. Ben was undoing his tie, looking at me with vague interest.

  "Come here," I said, holding up my lipstick.

  "Seriously?" He grimaced as I approached, dabbing some into my finger and smearing it along his jawline. "Nobody's going to notice that."

  "Not consciously," I said, trying hard not to notice the feeling of his stubble on my skin. "But the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It's like how they handmade all the chain mail for Lord of the Rings. Seems like overkill, but it's what you don't notice that contributes to the overall effect of realism."

  "Hmm." He still smelled good. And expensive. "You might be right."

  "Do you have some of that cologne here?" I asked him.

  He hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "Yes," he said. "In the bathroom. See, I knew you'd be good at this."

  I hadn't even noticed the door in the corner, designed to blend into the wall. Inside, it was almost as nice as the one at his apartment, but not quite as big, There was a shower, though, which I imagined came in handy for those all-nighters. I wondered how often he ended up sleeping here.

  The beautiful mirrored medicine cabinet had a little bottle in it. I lifted it carefully, and unscrewed the lid.

  "Wait," he said, following me into the small room. "Let me do it. Otherwise it's just going to smell like you're wearing it on purpose."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Someone's skin chemistry completely changes the smell," he insisted, dabbing a little bit onto his fingertips. "Didn't you just say it's the little things that count?"

  "So I did."

  "Where do you want it?" he asked, without a hint of irony.

  I stared at him for a moment.

  He raised his eyebrows, expectantly.

  "Um - well - where do you wear it?" I countered. "Because, you know, if the idea is that it rubbed off on me, from you, I need to figure out what the most likely..." I cleared my throat. "...uh, mode of...you know, transmission. Was."

  "Sure," he said, his eyes sparkling. He gestured vaguely in his chest region "So..."

  "So," I said, my pulse fluttering again. With hesitant fingers, I reached up and touched my collarbone. "About here, then?"

  "All right." He looked more serious now, stroking gently along the edge of the bone, dipping slightly below into the soft skin. The scent rose as it warmed to my body, and he rubbed it in, gently.

  "Normally," he murmured, "you just dab, but in this case we're trying to create the illusion of..." His eyes flicked up to mine, briefly. "...friction."

  My breath caught audibly in my throat. "Right," I said.

  His fingers drifted down to the neckline of my dress, tracing along, leaving a trail of sensation along my skin. I shivered. He wasn't putting the cologne on anymore.

  "Your lipstick's not right," he said, quietly. "I think you'd better put it back on, and start again."

  I swallowed hard. It was still clutched in my palm, but I didn't think I could steady my hand enough to avoid looking like a clown.

  "The...the lighting's terrible in here," I said.

  "Let me." He reached for the lipstick, pulling it from my fingers. I didn't try to stop him. I stood there, with my lips already parted, while he leaned forward and gently painted me with color. "You know," he said, his breath so close I could feel it on my face, "I read somewhere that the whole point of lipstick was to remind men what you look like when you're aroused."

  He finished, and I smacked my lips gently. "Yeah, and have you ever noticed what your tie's pointing to?" I smiled.

  "The more refined we try to be, the more animal we are." He was still standing close, so close, and all I could breathe, all I could see, all I could smell, was him. "Isn't that always the way?"

  I lifted my hand to my face, but he stopped me with a gentle touch on my wrist. "What are you doing?"

  "Smearing it," I said, breathlessly.

  He shook his head, loosening his collar. "Didn't you ever hear of killing two birds with one stone?"

  It was a dare. A challenge. I stared at him, and he stared at me.

  I wasn't going to let him win. Not this time.

  Stepping forward, closing the distance between us, I went up on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his neck. It wasn't a kiss, not at first - until it was.

  I felt his whole body react, his arms flexing automatically as if to grab me and pull me closer, before his brain kicked in and remembered what we were really doing. My lips trailed down to his shoulder, seemingly on their own. A moment later, I managed to yank myself away.

  His eyes were hooded, slightly downcast. As he raised them to my face, I felt the tension in the room pulled to the breaking point, ready to snap.

  Chirp chirp. Chirp chirp.

  For a moment, his face blanked with confusion. Then he shook his head, reaching his his pocket hastily.

  "Shit." He fumbled with the screen. "I have a meeting in half an hour. We've got to order lunch now if we want to get caught on schedule."

  I let out a sigh of relief - at least, I hoped that's what it was. He fled the bathroom and I stood there for a moment, clutching the edge of the sink, trying to reorganize my thoughts into something passable as sanity.

  "What do you wan
t?" he called out, from the main part of his office.

  It took me a few seconds to remember what he was talking about. Right. Food.

  "Whatever," I said. I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to eat it, anyway. My mouth was like a desert, my stomach like a clenched fist.

  A few minutes later, it occurred to me that I'd just made him order for me. So much for trying to maintain my independence in this fake relationship. I ran the sink and dabbed a little water around my hairline, to create the illusion of vigorous activity that had just recently ended. Then, I returned back to my seat on slightly unsteady legs.

  Ben looked angry. He was reading something, or at least pretending to read it, eyes darting across the page while his lip twitched in an almost sneer.

  "Relax," I told him, before I could stop myself. "Nobody's going to believe we just had sex if you look like you're about to blow a gasket."

  Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. I glanced up with a frown. I'd vaguely heard Ben order, but I couldn't remember what. It didn't seem long enough, anyway.

  "Come in!" Ben sounded slightly out-of-sorts, just enough for he facade we were putting on. By the time yet another fresh-faced intern walked in, he'd managed to arrange his face into an expression that didn't look so angry.

  I could feel the knot of frustration in my chest, too, but I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding it behind an expression of guilt and embarrassment. The poor intern practically dropped the food and ran, blushing bright red as she processed the sight in front of her.

  "That's all, really?" I muttered, after the door slammed shut. "How do you know she'll even tell anyone?"

  "Oh, she will." Ben's mouth twisted as he dug into the bag. "I made sure to find out who the biggest gossip is. The whole office will know within ten minutes."

  I poked at my food, but could hardly taste it. The room was tense, but not like before - it wasn't the pleasant kind of tension that seemed like it would end with explosive pleasure, but rather the kind that might end with a chair going through one of those gorgeous windows.