by Leigh James
His eyes sparkled. "It's not that it's difficult. But I need this to be a business transaction. I'm not interested in having a relationship with anyone. I'm certainly not interested in having a wife."
I knew I shouldn't ask more, because it wasn't my business. But curiosity got the better of me. "Why is that?"
"I can see that you're the inquiring type." The small smile still played on his lips. "I'll make you a deal. You can ask me five questions, and I will answer them honestly. But then I get to ask you five questions, and you have to answer them honestly. And then we're done with all this getting-to-know-you garbage. Deal?"
I crossed my arms against my chest. "Deal." I looked toward the kitchen, mentally kicking myself for starting this. I wasn't looking forward to answering his questions. "Can we have a drink while we play this?"
Lucas immediately headed toward his liquor cabinet. "Hell yes, we can. Does that count as one of your questions?"
"Does that count as one of yours?"
"No." He poured us each a neat bourbon.
"Then no for me, too." I started formulating my list of questions. I knew he wouldn't give me a second chance. I had to make these count.
Lucas sank down onto one end of his enormous leather sectional, and I sat down on the other, tightly gripping my drink. "Okay. Here we go. Question number one: why aren't you interested in having a relationship or a wife?"
Lucas took a sip of his drink. I tried not to let my eyes wander down to the part of his chest visible beneath the undone buttons of his shirt. "That's a compound question. That should count as two questions."
I shook my head. "It's not a compound question because it's addressing one over-arching point. Besides, it's what you just said. Now please stop being so technical, and let's get this over with."
He chuckled and then sat back, looking resigned. "I'm not interested in having a relationship or a wife because, quite frankly, I haven't met anyone who's held my interest for long enough. Not for a month. Not for a year. And certainly not for a lifetime."
He was pretty full of himself, but at least it seemed like he was being honest. "So… question number two: have you ever had a real relationship before?" I knew he'd never been married because I'd done my homework via a thorough Google search.
"Yes. I have had a real relationship before." His brow furrowed, as if I might be giving him a headache.
"Question three: how old were you when you had this relationship?" I had a million more things I wanted to ask, but I was running out of road. I had a feeling this was the only way I would be able to get this information out of him.
Lucas had another sip of bourbon. "I was twenty-eight."
"How long did the relationship last?"
"Three years. You know you only have one question left, right?"
I nodded. "What went wrong with your relationship?"
He looked at me darkly. "And here, I was starting to think I liked you." I could see the muscles in his throat work as he drank some more. "The relationship didn't work because it turned out my girlfriend was a cheater and a liar. She played me. Big time."
"I'm sorry," I said. "What happened?"
Lucas looked at me, his face impassive. "You know you're out of questions."
"I know. You don't have to answer." I took a sip of my drink, dreading my own impending turn on the hot seat.
"I'll answer anyway because you should probably know. She married my father." He laughed and drained his glass.
I just sat there, stunned. Was it possible that I'd finally met someone with a family as messed up as my own?
Chapter Four
Lucas
Well, at least we'd gotten that out of the way.
I poured myself another drink and splashed some more into Blake's glass. "Liquid courage," I said kindly. "Are you scandalized about my father? My ex-girlfriend?"
Her eyes were huge as she nodded.
"Don't be. I should've seen it coming." I sat back down, taking another sip of bourbon and regarding my fake fiancée. Actually, she was my real fiancée—my head started to swim with the logistics of it, so I pushed the thoughts aside. "Okay, enough chatting. It's time for your questions. Are you ready?"
Blake nodded again, but now instead of shocked, she looked nervous.
"Why do you work for Elena?"
"Because waitressing doesn't pay enough. And I'm taking care of my mom—she's sick, and she's on all sorts of medication that we can barely afford. I don't have a degree. I don't have any real skills. All I have is this." She pointed to her face. "And this." She motioned to the rest of her body.
Ah, her mom was sick. It was sad that she'd had to resort to working as an escort, but I understood. "Question number two: do you have a boyfriend?"
She laughed. "No."
"Question number three: have you ever had a boyfriend?"
Blake stopped laughing and took a gulp of her drink. "Yes."
"You're not really into giving way too many details, huh?"
"Does that count as one of your questions?" she asked hopefully.
"Absolutely not. Question number four: tell me more about your boyfriend—the one you don't want to talk about."
She lifted her chin a little, an almost imperceptible sign of defiance. "What makes you think I don't want to talk about him?"
"It's not your turn to ask me things. Just answer the question—honestly. I figure that's the least we can do for each other." I drained my glass again.
"He was my high-school sweetheart. He cheated on me after we were engaged. A month before our wedding." Her cheeks flushed. "With my sister."
Whoa. "Your family sounds almost as messed up as mine."
She smiled at me tightly and finished her drink.
My mind raced. "Is this going to be too painful for you—planning a wedding? After what happened? And these don't count as my questions, by the way."
"It won't bother me at all. I was nineteen. Vince and I were going to get married at the VFW. It's not like I get sentimental about it."
I snorted. "Whoever this Vince is, he's fucking crazy. You're gorgeous. Smart. It's not like he could do any better."
"That's sweet," she said. "But my sister has tactics. They usually involve her boobs. And quite frankly, anyone who could be persuaded by her, especially that close to our wedding… I feel like I dodged a bullet."
"So good riddance, right?"
"Good riddance. Right." She looked at me hopefully. "May I please have some more bourbon?"
"Absofuckinglutely." I got up and poured us each another drink. "This leads me to my final question: are you interested in having a relationship ever again?"
Blake eyed me. "No." Her voice was husky. "As in, hell no."
I beamed at her. "So this is going to work out great for both of us." I was starting to feel a lot more optimistic about the whole arrangement.
I should have hired a fiancée a long time ago.
BLAKE
It was officially official: Lucas Ford and I were a perfect match. I was glad I knew the truth about him and that he knew the same about me. Now that I'd glimpsed what Lucas was really like, I was relieved. He didn't do messy emotional entanglements. Neither did I. We had a contract. There were strict parameters, and that was all he wanted.
This was going to work out just fine.
"Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way, what should we do next?" I asked, eyeing the tanned skin peeking through his shirt.
Lucas checked his watch. "I'm going to go to the office for a few meetings. You can do whatever you like. Relax. The whole apartment is yours, and no one will bother you. You can get settled in. And when I get back, we could go to dinner," he watched my face. "…if you'd like."
I smiled at my client. "That sounds great."
"The other thing we have to do," Lucas continued, looking grim, "which will be infinitely less pleasant than a quiet dinner, is to reach out to my father and my sister. They need to meet you sooner rather than later."
"When?"
"Tomorrow." Lucas looked as if he was talking about arranging a meet-up with the local firing squad. "We need to face this head-on."
"You're right. When's your birthday? When do we have to…" I let my voice trail off, uncomfortable saying the actual words.
"We have to make it official in three weeks." He smiled at me. "Maybe that's another thing you can do this afternoon."
"What's that?"
"Plan our wedding."
I took the liberty of exploring the apartment once Lucas left. It was enormous, with views of the Common and the shops on Newbury Street. I'm sure it had cost millions. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be able to afford a home like this. To have a life filled not only with beautiful things, but with the security of knowing no one could take it away from you. Because you owned it. And because you were free from the vagaries of being poor and worried about it all the time.
I went into the master bedroom and trailed my fingers across the sumptuous four-poster bed. I got to live here for a whole year. Then I would have enough money to buy my own apartment—nothing like this place, but something nicer than I'd ever lived. Someplace safe for me and my mom. I shivered, not believing my luck.
That was because I never had good luck.
I called my mother as I sunk down on Lucas's big bed. I had to make sure she was okay and had everything she needed. She was used to me being out on assignment a lot, but this was going to be a much more difficult separation. I wasn't going to be able to see her while I was working for Lucas. Elena had made it clear: no one could know about my family and my real background. It hurt to know that my mother wouldn't be allowed to attend the wedding, but I was being ridiculous. It wasn't a real wedding, anyway. So why did it matter?
She picked up after the first ring. "Mom," I said cheerfully.
"Hi, honey!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you called. How's everything going? Are you on your new assignment?"
"Yep." I kept my tone light.
If someone had told me that I would be working as a high-end escort someday, I would've said they were crazy. If someone had told me I would be living with my mother and that she not only knew what I did for a living and but also tolerated it, I would've told them they were flat-out out of their mind.
Mom hated what I did. She cried when I'd finally broken down and told her the truth about where the money was coming from. She was too sick to work, and her government assistance didn't even cover her medication. We were in between a rock and a hard place. The rock was the streets. The hard place was AccommoDating. When I told her that we really didn't have a choice, it was the truth. It had taken some adjusting, but she'd finally made some sort of peace with my choice. She never wanted to know specifics, and we rarely talked about what I was doing.
Which was obviously fine by me.
"How are you doing? Did you do your treatment today?" She sometimes forgot to take her medications and do her treatments. That was going to be the hardest part about being away for so long. I would ask my sister to check on her, but I didn't trust Chelsea to follow through and keep an eye on her.
"Yes, honey. You left me the daily list, remember? I open up the calendar every day, and I do everything on the list, just like you said. I'm going to be fine. Don't you worry about your mom."
"I always worry."
"I know you do! That's because you're my little worry wort!" She laughed. "So… is this thing you're doing going to work out? Are you going to be gone for as long as you thought?" She gingerly sidestepped any details.
"Yes. I'm at the client's house. We signed a contract. He's very nice—he even likes the hash at Mimi's Diner."
"Well, I approve of at least that," my mother said.
"He's a gentleman—you don't need to worry about anything." I took a deep breath. "He's going to give me even more money," I said. The words came out all in a rush. "He's going to give us so much money that we're never going to have to worry again. We can buy an apartment. Someplace nice. We'll be able to get all your medications and everything. From now on. You don't have to worry about anything ever again."
"Oh, honey… really?" I could tell she was close to tears.
"Really. I promise. It's going to be so great, Mom." I felt on the verge of tears myself, and I struggled to calm down. Ever since Vince had jilted me, I didn't do emotions, and I certainly didn't do out-of-control ones. I didn't want to completely freak my mother out by crying. "But listen. You can't tell anyone about this. And if you see any pictures of me in the newspaper or anything else like that, you can't show them to anyone, and you can't talk about it. Understand?"
"What pictures in the newspaper?" She sounded alarmed.
"Mom. There aren't any pictures—yet. But my client is a successful CEO. He comes from a lot of money. There might be pictures of us in the Globe or the Herald." I swallowed hard, not wanting to tell her the whole truth. "I just want you to be prepared."
"Blake Walker Maxwell, I can tell you're keeping something from me. You tell me what's going on right now!"
Oh boy. She meant business—she'd broken out my middle name. That was almost as bad as her asking me for a pinky promise, which was probably coming next. I sighed, not wanting to tell her the truth but knowing that in the end, she was going to find out, anyway. It might as well be now. "I'm going to marry him."
She was silent for a beat. "I'm sorry?" she finally asked. "What did you just say to your mother?"
"I said I'm going to marry him. That's the job."
"I don't understand this. What does that even mean?" She sounded bewildered.
"It means that he has to get married for financial reasons," I explained, trying to stick to easy talking points. I didn't want my mother to get distressed or upset about all the details, and I knew they would be confusing to her. "So he hired me to marry him. There will probably be an announcement in the papers, so you should know."
"So you marry him, and then what?"
"We're going to live together for a year. After that, the assignment is over, and he's going to give me more money. A lot more."
The silence was deafening, although I knew she hadn't hung up. Yet. "I don't know about this," she said finally. "I've let you get away with working for that lady for too long. You can't marry someone for money. And after what happened with Vince…" She let her voice trail off.
"Mom, I'm fine." I pressed the phone against my ear, wishing I could reach out and hug her. When I'd found out about Vince and my sister so close to the wedding, I'd fallen apart. My mom had been there to pick up the pieces. The pinpricks of tears stung my eyes. I didn't want her to worry about me anymore.
I heard her start crying. "I just want something better for you."
"I knew you'd be upset. That's why I didn't want to tell you. But please don't worry. This is going to be huge for us… and it's just a business transaction. My client is a nice guy in a tough situation. I'm helping him out, and he's paying me to do it. And he can pay me so much that you and I never have to worry ever again, okay? So this is a good thing. A great thing."
She sighed. "I just want my beautiful daughter to be happy for once. Is that too much to ask?"
Now, it was my turn to sigh. "Your beautiful daughter is happy with the money she's making, okay? Can we please just concentrate on that?"
"How much money?" She sounded suspicious, but slightly less teary.
"Two million dollars," I whispered. "Can you believe that?"
She whooped. "Holy guacamole!"
"Right? Now can you stop being so overly emotional?"
"Definitely not!" I could hear her crying and laughing on the other end of the phone. My mother held a lot inside, but I knew how worried she always was about our situation—whether we would be able to afford groceries the next week, or which medications she was going to have to give up. This was going to change both of our lives for the better.
But there was one last detail to take care of.
"There's one other thing, and it's cr
ucial," I said after she calmed down. "Please don't tell Chelsea. If she hears that I'm making that kind of money, she'll be all over this like a vulture on a steaming animal carcass." My sister had taken advantage of both me and my mother one too many times. Not to mention that she'd stolen my fiancé, who she'd subsequently taken advantage of by marrying, divorcing, and collecting alimony.
Even though I didn't mind what she'd done to Vince—he'd thoroughly deserved it—Chelsea was not my favorite person. She would only get a dime of this money if it was over my dead body.
And not even then, if I could help it.
My mother clucked her tongue. "Of course not. You know I wouldn't do that."
"Okay. But I mean it—don't let her talk you into anything." My mother and Chelsea weren't close, but my sister still knew how to work her when she needed something. When Chelsea came begging, my mother often gave her a handout, sometimes at the expense of buying her medicine.
The thing was my sister knew it. And she always took the money, anyway.
"I promise." Mom was quiet for a second. "Do I get to… visit you? Meet this man? Come to the wedding?"
"No. I'm sorry. Nobody can know about my family or who I really am. I won't have anyone there."
"That's too bad," she said.
I grinned into the phone. "You know what? It's totally fine. We're going to be millionaires, Mom! For once in our lives, everything's finally going to be okay!"
"Woo hoo!" I could almost hear her grinning.
"Woo hoo is right!" I hung up with a smile on my own face. Then I proceeded to fire up the laptop Lucas had left for me and start researching venues where I could marry my handsome, brooding, aloof billionaire fiancé.
Chapter Five
Lucas
"I told you to close the deal," I snapped at Simon, one of the young entrepreneurs who worked for me. I was engaged in my usual yelling routine, but honestly, my heart wasn't in it today. I was thinking about Blake. I was pleasantly surprised by our question-and-answer session. I never spoke of Elizabeth and my father's relationship. It wasn't something I liked to dwell on. But it had felt good to tell Blake the truth and to know that she'd been burned before, too.