I lean forward. “Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“I'd like to hear you say out loud why you came to me first.”
He blinks his long dark lashes and gives me a look that I cannot interpret.
“I need to hear it with words.”
“I came to you first because I know you, and I like you. Because you're beautiful and intelligent and good-humored and I have always enjoyed spending time with you...also because I feel very comfortable with you. So I’d like you to join me, as my date, for the next month.”
I guffaw again. I really didn’t mean to. It just came out. Force of habit.
“I can pay your monthly bills, to cover the time you’ll have to take off from work while we’re traveling.”
“Would I have to actually spend time with you?”
“Yes. A lot of time. With a smile on your face. But only when we’re in public. I enjoy making you scowl in private.”
I’m frowning at him.
“Yes, like that, that’s perfect,” he says.
“Covering my bills ain’t gonna cut it.”
“Understood. Since it will require you taking time off from your restaurant job while we’re out of town, I’d be happy to compensate you for missed wages. You make what—fifteen dollars an hour?”
“I make around five thousand a month in tips alone. And yes, fifteen an hour. Six to eight hour shifts, five nights a week. But I’m also doing some modeling.”
“Right. I thought you weren’t going to do that anymore.”
“I have a regular gig that I like.”
“Really? For whom?”
“For a local lingerie boutique.”
He raises his spectacular eyebrow and jerks his head back.
“Don’t judge me. The pictures are for Instagram, so they’re very pretty and tasteful. Plus I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there, so it’s hard to estimate…”
He appears to be enjoying this, now that it’s becoming a negotiation. “Okay. Obviously your time and company are invaluable, and despite what you may think, I am aware that you consider my personality to be somewhat rough around the edges.”
I guffaw at that. “Understatement.”
“Let’s say that for the two weeks we’re out of town, I write you a check for five times the amount you’d make in that amount of time at the restaurant. In the unlikely event that you aren’t able to return to work at the restaurant after you take that time off.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“I can pay cash. As well, you will be provided with travel, luxury room and board, any and all incidentals, per diem and a substantial wardrobe budget.”
“Go on…”
“And…” He shifts around in the chair. There’s something he’s been keeping up his sleeve, and here it comes. He clears his throat and can’t contain his grin. That smug, cocky grin. “And as a major donor to the Bay Area Ballet, I would be happy to speak to the appropriate people to ensure that you will be featured next season.”
Whuck?
“You’re a donor? Since when?”
“Since last year.”
“You mean since I started there?”
“It did coincide with your employment there, sure. I’ve dined with Louisa and been to a cocktail party at her house.”
Louisa Boehmer is the Artistic Director of the Bay Area Ballet. She’s a retired principal dancer and a phenomenal choreographer. I worship her, even though she is not immune to the politics of art and commerce. No one is, apparently.
“I’m friendly with several board members.” He looks at me, very seriously. “You should be the Sugar Plum fairy in the Nutcracker this year. You’d be perfect. It’s a great part for you, right? I intend to tell them so when I hand them the next check.”
“Uh, you are correct, sir. That would be…very much appreciated. I thought you didn’t approve of my career choice.”
“Things have changed.”
“How so?”
“I’ve changed. My perspective on things has changed. I wish to support your endeavors.”
“Thank you. My endeavors would be grateful for your support.” Suck it, Kennedy, my Sugar Daddy’s hotter than yours! “You’d really do that for me?”
“I’ve made a lot of money, Olivia, and I know everyone says they want to make the world a better place, but I do especially intend to make the world a better place for the people I care about, and that includes you.”
My hand goes to my heart. “Thank you, Johnny. Thank you.”
“So you won’t mind if I try to help you in this way?”
“No. I don’t mind. I mean, I would have a few years ago, but…I’ll graciously accept it now. I mean—I know that there’s no guarantee that I’ll get the part even so. It’s such a coveted role. But yeah. Thank you for supporting the ballet.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Wait. Have you even been to a performance? Did you come see me dance without telling me?”
He doesn’t answer. “So you agree to the terms, as discussed?”
“The terms? Is there a contract?”
He opens up his messenger bag and gets up to hand me a printed-out contract, then returns to the armchair to watch me look at it. I suddenly feel uncomfortable with the formality of these terms. I stand up and walk over to the kitchen counter, to lean against it while I scan the two pages.
3
Olivia
Besides what he’s offering, there is only one reason I’m even considering this. My hand accidentally brushed past it once, years ago. It was tucked into the right leg of his jeans, it was harder and bigger than I ever would have expected, and I would gladly have a fake relationship with that thing. Maybe we’ll get to the point where we’re so comfortable being together that he’ll leave the bathroom door open when he pees and I can finally get a look at that surprisingly significant part of him that has wandered into my fantasies uninvited more than once in my life, like an obnoxious, engorged thief.
Until today, that was the only moment where it had occurred to me that the tension between Johnny and me might be sexual. Usually being around him had felt like being in a room with a fly. Always aware of the constant buzzing of his brain, never quite knowing what to expect, always ready to swat at him if he landed near me.
It’s in a true dancer’s nature to be up for anything most of the time, and I am up for this. Obviously I’d love to take time off from waiting tables to go to Shanghai and New York, but there’s something about this whole scenario that intrigues me. Johnny Brandt has graduated from annoyance to enigma, and I want to know more about him.
Every single term he has verbally specified is included in the contract, including the exact amount I make in two weeks times five. “How did you know how much money I make?”
“Research, observation, instinct.” he shrugs. “You’ll note that there is a non-disclosure agreement built in,” he says. “No one else will know about this arrangement, including my personal assistant Sanjay. Or any of our family members or friends, including your roommate.”
“You want me to lie to my family—to their faces? When we’re in Cleveland?”
“Perhaps by then it won’t be a lie.”
“Hah.”
“Stranger things have happened. Regardless, by then I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable with the arrangement.”
“The ruse.”
“Such a stickler for words, Miss Montgomery. And here I thought you preferred to speak body language.”
“I do, but you aren’t exactly fluent in it.”
He smirks. “Is that what you think.”
“Only based on every single interaction I’ve ever had with you.” Hold up. What’s this? “It says here you want me to ‘forego interactions with any and all current and/or past boyfriends and/or sexual partners throughout the month-long period of this contract?’”
“As will I. Is that a problem?”
“No. I mean. Julian’s not in town anyway.” He’s as clo
se as I’ve come to having a boyfriend over the years, as my sexual partners have, for one reason or another, never interested me enough to merit more than a few encounters. Julian is a choreographer who’s based in New York, and we’ve been seeing each other off and on since I lived in Pittsburgh. The sex is always hot and fast and now that I think about it, he’s never taken me on an actual date. But he’s brilliant and wildly talented. So that counts for a lot. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“You’re still seeing that guy?”
“When we’re in the same city. You know about Julian?”
“No. Sort of. Due diligence. I will remind you that we’ll be in Manhattan for a few days.”
“Oh. Right. Well—it’s a big city, I’m sure we won’t cross paths.”
“You actually enjoy crossing paths with that guy? Really?”
“Well…I mean, he’s a genius choreographer.”
“Let’s not use the word ‘genius’ so freely. If he’s a genius then why hasn’t he cast you in anything?”
“I’m under contract with the company here.”
“Not at the moment. Does he work on shows for the summer?”
“Well…Yeah. I mean, not here though. It’s not just his decision, there’s also the producers and the artistic directors. Why are we even talking about him? And I don’t just date him so he’ll want to work with me—I had a crush on him long before we met.”
“Really?” His nose is wrinkled.
“Excuse me. I’m sure your taste in women is impeccable.”
He grins as he slowly looks me up and down. “I think it is.”
I shake my head, though my nether region is all tingly and damp. “You do realize my brother would have punched you in the throat by now if he were here.”
“I think that would have been true up until a while ago, but not now.”
“Oh really? Does he know about this proposition?”
“He does not and he will not. But he did suggest that I get in touch with you.”
“I’m pretty sure this is not what he had in mind.”
“He trusts me. I think you’re the one he doesn’t trust.”
He may be right. “Uh, there’s nothing in here about sex.”
“Correct. Due to the nature of my schedule and work commitments I can’t commit to a particular number of times that I’ll be free to have sex with you.”
“Hah! Right. I meant that I want it in writing that I don’t have to have sex with you.”
He looks genuinely confounded by this statement.
“Let me clarify, in language that you might comprehend: Due to the potentially intimate nature of this arrangement, I would prefer to include a term in this agreement that protects me from being required to have sex with you simply because you’re basically paying me to pretend to be your girlfriend.”
He stares at me for about ten seconds, his brow furrowed (which I now consider his O Face because that’s what his face looks like whenever he looks at Olivia Montgomery the Confoundrix). Then he starts laughing. I wish he didn’t have such pretty blue eyes and perfect teeth, because I really want to punch him when he laughs at me like that, but I also don’t want to mess up that thing on the front of his head that I’ll have to look at every day for a month.
He stands up, crosses his arms and steps towards me, blue eyes still smiling. He bites his lower lip, then says: “Olivia, I hope you know that above all else, I am still your brother’s oldest friend. It’s going to be difficult enough navigating my friendship with him while we progress through this coming month, but at the very least let me say that I do care about you and have no intention of putting you in any position that you aren’t comfortable with.” He takes a breath, and as he does, his eyes lower from my eyes down my torso and back up to my mouth before he licks his lips and continues. “To be clear, Olivia: If you and I ever fuck each other, it will be consensual…” His voice has gotten huskier. He leans down and lowers his voice, I feel his breath in my ear: “And you will enjoy it. But no matter how good it is, no matter how much you want it, no matter how beautiful you are or how hard my cock gets every time you open that sassy mouth of yours, or how many times I might think about fucking the living daylights out of you on any given day, I am not going to be able to fuck you non-stop every day for thirty days. That’s why it’s not a negotiable term. Understand?”
Holy shit.
He grabs both of my arms as I fall forwards towards him, because I ACTUALLY GET LIGHT-HEADED AND MY LEGS TURN TO JELLY.
“You okay?”
“What? Yes.”
Holy. Shit. I just lost my balance while standing still. Me. A professional ballerina. Did I just swoon? Is that what swooning is? Because of Johnny Fucking Brandt? Because of words?
He loosens his grip, reminding me that he’s still holding me up. I pull away from him and straighten myself up. “I’m fine. And yes, I understand.”
Where’s the fucking pen so I can sign this thing?
As if reading my mind, Johnny Fucking Brandt reaches for the pen that’s on the table right in front of me and holds it up for me. I swipe it from him and sign the damn contract.
“Excellent,” he says. “I’ll scan it and give you a copy on a USB drive when I see you next. Oh, there’s an investor who’ll be in town tomorrow and I’m having dinner with him and his wife here in the city. I’d like you to join me for that. If you’re free.”
“Yeah, I work the lunch shift tomorrow, so sure.”
“I’ll need your passport so my assistant can get you a rush visa for China. Can I see your drivers license? I can just take a picture of it and email it to him. Sanjay will be calling you to get more information when he’s filling out the application form. He’s…not super comfortable talking to girls, so go easy on him.”
“I’ll do my best. But I don’t have a drivers license. You can take a picture of my California identification card.”
He wrinkles his brow and scratches his head. “Okay. I don’t have time to address this issue right now.”
“Great.” Asshole. I go into my bedroom to get my sadly underused passport from my bedside table.
“Do you by any chance have an extra passport photo?”
“I doubt it.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He gives me a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet. “You’ll need to get a passport photo taken this afternoon and then my assistant will send a courier to pick it up.”
“Uh. Okay.”
“There’s no need for vaccinations, we’ll only be going to Shanghai, three full days there. It’s a long flight and it can be a difficult trip especially when it’s a short one like this, but if you stay well hydrated and take melatonin it should be fine. I load up on Vitamin C and get a B-12 shot before traveling internationally, I recommend it. You haven’t been to Asia before, have you?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to.”
“Good. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
He opens up his bag and hands me a fat sealed envelope. I open it and find it filled with a stack of crisp new bills—twenties, fifties and hundreds. A selection. “Um. Thanks.”
“No, thank you. And I will set up a meeting with Louisa at the Ballet after a couple of weeks. Once we’ve established a public persona as a couple.”
“Fair enough. I’d appreciate it.”
“Well, you deserve to be featured, Olivia. You’re very talented and lovely to look at. Unfortunately, art does not survive without commerce.”
“It is indeed unfortunate. A few years ago I probably would have been appalled by your offer, but I’ve learned pretty quickly that money talks at this company.”
“Don’t be naïve. Money talks at every company.”
“Right.”
“I think it goes without saying that I’m the one who benefits the most from this arrangement.”
“Yeah, well.” I let my eyes scan him from head to toe. I can probably find a way to enjoy this if I try hard enough.
“I mean, the matc
hmaking service charges $20,000, plus I’d have to go through a tedious interview process and dates with strangers, so you just saved me a lot of time, though not much money.”
“Right.” Stop talking. Dear God, please shut yer piehole you beautiful clueless bastard.
I hear Callie open the door downstairs and call out to me, asking if I’m home as she runs up the steps. In a flash, Johnny has pulled me to him and lowered his lips onto mine, I instinctively raise my hands to his face as he kisses me playfully, hands on my hips. Like we’re a couple publicly displaying affection while waiting at a bus stop.
“Oh!” Callie says. She stops in the doorway to the living room.
I stand on my tiptoes, wanting more, but Johnny turns away from me to face my little redheaded roommate.
“Hello,” he says. “I’m John Brandt.” He crosses the room to shake hands with her, and I hover mid-air for a few more seconds.
“Hi John Brandt,” says Callie. “I’m Callie. Sorry to interrupt. I’ll just go to my room. Hey O.”
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat.
“No, I was just leaving.” He crosses back to me. “Do you have a spare key, or should I have a copy made?”
“Um. We have a spare. Cal, can I give Johnny the spare key?”
“Sure, it’s in the kitchen cupboard.”
I get him the spare key, although I don’t recall agreeing to it. I can still feel his lips on mine, and my brain isn’t completely functional yet. He texts his driver to pick him up. “Great, so don’t forget to get the passport photo for the visa. Sanjay will be in touch shortly. Let’s see….Anything else?”
“Do you want me to wait with you downstairs?”
“No, I have to make some calls. Lovely to meet you, Callie. Is that short for Calliope?”
“It can be, but my name is actually Callie.”
“Interesting,” he says, as he walks past her. Not: “Interesting, what a nice name,” or “Interesting, you look like a Callie.”
I wait for him to call out goodbye, or that he’ll talk to me later, but all I hear is him saying “Call Sanjay,” and then the downstairs door opens and shuts.
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