by P. Dangelico
“It’s not much but it’s comfortable.” He gestured, sweeping his arm from the stone wood-burning fireplace to the kitchen located on the opposite side of the room, a handful of feet away. Shamefully, the first thought that occurred to me was…this is where he hosts his orgies?
Because the place was small. Shabby and small. The furniture was, hmm, best way to describe it would be bachelor-on-a budget. It reminded me of my college days. The leather couch was worn out. The square table in the corner with four mismatched chairs looked second-hand. The giant flat-screen television that hung on the wall seemed to be the only item purchased in this decade.
This was so odd. So very un-Scott like.
He waltzed in, cutting across the living room to enter through an open door on the other side, which was technically, only a few feet. With great reluctance, I followed. His bedroom was so small two people could barely move around in there. No orgies in this bedroom. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture. A sad wooden chair sat next to a dresser with a few missing knobs. A king-sized bed with a cheap navy-blue comforter and two lumpy pillows. Thea had once mentioned that he slept on a fifty-thousand-dollar handmade mattress imported from Sweden. This was definitely not the one. He’d made the bed though. That was something.
“So, um, where will I be sleeping?” The question was begging to be asked because no way, no how were we sharing a bed.
“On the couch,” he suggested. And that’s exactly what it sounded like––a suggestion. Although it was obvious by his expression that his choice would’ve been anywhere outside the state of Wyoming. “I have an inflatable mattress if you prefer. Stacked washer/dryer is in the kitchen,” he continued with a completely straight face. It wasn’t even an exaggeration. The washer/dryer was located right next to the stove. Little did he know I’d slept in worse places.
“And where should I set up my computer? The printer? My work area?”
I’d be video conferencing with all the department heads at least once a day. Not to mention Frank and the board members and my executive team. A work space was more important than where I slept.
“The table.” He shrugged and crossed his arms over bulging pecs. If he was waiting for me to lose it and run screaming from this cabin, he’d be waiting forever. I nodded and went to check out the electric outlet instead.
“What’s the cable and WIFI situation out here? I’m getting spotty coverage on my phone.”
“It’s not the best.”
“You don’t mind if I get my tech guy out here to look at it, do you? I know you wouldn’t want to jeopardize company business,” I asked with a jaunty smile.
His blue eyes narrowed a fraction. “Knock yourself out.”
“No need. I’ll just get my tech guy out here.” More smiling. “Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to use the bathroom.”
Scott motioned with his head and frowned when I walked by, our shoulders brushing. As soon as I made it past him, I caught a trace of his scent. Sandalwood, a touch of bergamot…musk.
It was the same scent that had claimed my attention earlier that morning when I’d opened the door only to be harassed by his virility. He’d crossed into my personal space, as he’s wont to do, before I had a chance to retreat. One sniff was all it took for the memory to come flooding back. I’d been cursed with a highly developed sense of smell, and the same way I couldn’t tolerate the smell of lavender candles or cigar smoke––because it invoked memories of my childhood––Scott’s scent brought back memories of one stolen kiss in a dark coatroom all those years ago.
Closing the door, I leaned back against it and released a sigh that emanated from the bottom of my tired soul. Absently, I glanced around the bathroom. It too was small and cramped. Faded navy blue towels hung neatly from a chipped towel bar. A gallon-sized bottle of Listerine sat on the rim of the sink keeping company with a toothbrush and toothpaste in a drinking glass.
Again, all very un-Scott like.
Where was the man who valued opulence and luxury and his own comfort above all else? Where was the happy-go-lucky loser? Maybe he’d found Jesus, I thought. Maybe the open space and clean air had driven him mad. He certainly never displayed a tendency to brood before. I didn’t believe people could change their nature, but maybe Scott had channeled all of his worst qualities into something more productive and yet (unfortunately) infinitely less congenial.
My gaze fell on my polished crimson toes. Mud and flecks of grass stuck to my right foot. I’d promised Frank I’d bear Scott. For how long I could do it was yet to be determined.
* * *
“Still wanna marry me?” Scott asked as soon as he pulled the pickup truck into the Four Seasons’ driveway. He shut off the engine and turned to look me squarely in the eyes. Was he trying to purposely intimidate me? If he was, I had news for him: it wasn’t working.
My thoughts ran back to New York. What did I have to lose by doing this? Sadly, nothing. There was literally nothing waiting for me at my apartment other than a few condiments and a jar of cashew butter. No family. No boyfriend. No Josh. Just a whole lot of loneliness. And even Scott the Grinch was better company than a jar of cashew butter.
I could do this. My resolve had only hardened throughout the day. This new grumpy, outdoorsy version of Scott was better than the degenerate, constantly intoxicated playboy he’d once been. How or why that change had happened didn’t concern me. As long as the change was mostly permanent––and I had good reason to believe it was––I was willing to give this arrangement a chance.
“Am I willing to marry you for the opportunity to become CEO of Blackstone?” I held his steady midnight blue gaze rendered even more intense in the darkened cab of the pickup as I spoke. He needed to see that I meant business. That I was willing to see this arrangement through to the end. “Yes.”
After a heavy pause, Scott’s eyes returned to gazing out the windshield. “It gets below zero in winter sometimes.”
“I’ll buy a North Face jacket.”
“For weeks.”
“I’ll buy snow pants.”
His jaw pulsed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. It was clear he was doing this under duress. I knew Frank was holding his inheritance over him, in which case he could’ve simply grown a pair and refused to be bought. But he hadn’t. So here we were.
“You could get stuck here. Weather’s unpredictable.”
“I’ll video conference.”
“On the property, I mean. Sometimes I can’t get into town for days. We get snowstorms well into April.”
“We’ll stock up on frozen vegetables.”
Scott drummed his thumbs impatiently on the steering wheel. “Have it your way.” He looked downright despondent, and for the first time since I’d agreed to this plan, I felt guilty.
The Ford’s engine sputtered on.
“What about holidays?” I jumped in. He seemed determined to leave and the details hadn’t been discussed. “We can’t spend holidays apart. I’ll be spending two weeks here and two in New York for now, but you’ll have to make an effort too. Otherwise the board will catch on.”
I didn’t know why I mentioned holidays in particular. I hadn’t celebrated a holiday since I’d moved out of my grandparents’ house at seventeen and even their holidays hadn’t been a celebration, just another excuse to atone for sins I hadn’t committed.
“Holidays?” He seemed genuinely confused by the question. Not for long though. Less than a second later it cleared to make room for an entirely different sentiment, a less neutral one. Resentment. “This is straight-up blackmail––” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m willing to spend as little time as possible with you to make this farce appear legit and not a second more. Let ’em think we’ve had a rocky start. With my reputation, it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”
On the inside, each word made me recoil while on the outside there was barely a ripple on the surface, the flush on my face and neck thankfully hidden by the shadows in the cab of the pic
kup.
“Look, Scott…if you really can’t handle it––”
“I can handle it,” he shot back acidly.
I’d given him an out and he seemed even more incensed by it. No good deed…
“I’ll be in Manhattan for New Year’s,” I started after another uncomfortable pause. New Year’s? The hell was I thinking. My mouth had gotten ahead of me and backtracking was going to be tricky. “I usually go by your parents’ place for cocktails before going to my friend’s house for dinner.” That wasn’t entirely true, but he needn’t know how truly lacking my life was.
Scott put the truck in drive and let it idle. “You can have Manhattan. Tell my parents I said hello.”
After giving him a quick nod in understanding, I slid out of the pickup and watched him drive away. There was a bitterness to him I didn’t quite understand. He’d changed and not entirely for the better.
A minute later I was striding barefoot across the lobby of the hotel. My ruined sneakers in one hand, the other dialing my cell. Passing a trashcan, I dropped them in and continued to the elevators.
“Miller?” I whisper-hissed into my cell.
“The one and only,” my snarky assistant chirped without missing a beat. Miller was insolent to the nth degree. He was also the best assistant I’d ever had, and that was saying a lot since I had gone through one every three months until Miller Smith applied for the job five years ago. He was also the closest thing to a friend I had. Neither of us had ever come out and said it, but both of us knew that half the time we spent together was personal rather than work-related.
“I’m in Wyoming.”
“Somebody finally grew a pair of legs and walked away from her desk. Good for you.”
“Get real, I’m here for Frank.”
A heavy sigh filtered through the phone, then a dry, “Of course, you are.”
“I need you to go to my apartment, pack up a bunch of my stuff, and FedEx––actually, I need you to bring it to me.”
“Sydney, I’m on vacation…in Miami. You remember that, right?”
“It’s an emergency.”
This time the sigh that blasted through my phone was a touch more dramatic. “Remember when you said, ‘Miller, you’ve been a model employee, completely indispensable. Therefore, not only can you finally take a fucking vacation, but after all the years you’ve served me tirelessly while I took advantage of your impeccable work ethic, I’ll even pay for it.’ Member when you said that?”
“I don’t have time for drama. I’m sending out an SOS.” I couldn’t be bothered to hide my agitation. It was finally sinking in that I was really doing this––marrying a man I barely knew. Not to mention, the little I did know I didn’t like. And it goes without saying that he definitely did not like me.
“Paul will officially divorce me if I tell him I need to get back to New York.”
“Which is why I’m going to offer you two first class tickets to Jackson Hole and a three-night stay at the Four Seasons.”
“Hmm. I don’t know…”
“I’ll throw in one of those freaking wine tasting thingies you guys like!” An older couple waiting for the elevator glowered.
“And a couples’ massage.”
“Fine.” My molars were getting a workout.
“Done. See you in a few days.”
“I’ll email you a list of things I need you to bring.”
“What’s the emergency, anyway?”
“I’m getting married,” I told him, matter-of-fact, after which a meaningful moment of silence ensued. No point in acting like a victim. I knew what I was doing when I practically challenged Scott to call it off: baiting his larger-than-life ego. It had been way too deliciously easy to pass up.
“Are you kidding?”
“I’ll explain when I see you.”
Chapter Five
Scott
“I’ve been calling you all morning,” I barked as soon as my sister answered. If anyone could talk some sense into my father, it was Devyn.
“I’ve got a major crisis on my hands right now, Scott. Chocolate Chip and Cheddar Cheese are missing! Hold on…Fallon, did you look in the pantry? Okay, keep looking.” In the background, I could hear my nieces shouting.
I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know who or what the fuck “Chocolate Chip” and “Cheddar Cheese” were but I really needed her help, so halting the mare I was riding, I motioned to Ryan to go on ahead without me. We were rotating some of the cattle onto a different pasture and it wasn’t the kind of work you could do if your head wasn’t in the game. I always preached safety with my employees and held myself to the same standard.
Dismounting, I leaned a hand on the saddle. “I’ve got a crisis of my own to discuss.”
“Do you know what happens when the little asshole that works at the pet shop assures you that the hamsters he sold you are both female and it turns out they aren’t? No need to answer that because I’m gonna tell you––you end up with eighteen fucking hamsters in eighteen separate cages. They need constant cleaning, Scott. Constant. And I can’t put them together and risk begetting more hamsters. Hence, Cheddar Cheese and Chocolate Chip are now missing and probably fucking their brains out. I’m living the movie Gremlins and it’s terrifying.”
Chuckling, I pinned the phone between my ear and shoulder, took off my Giants cap, tunneled my fingers through my hair, and slapped it back on. “Why don’t you give them back to the pet shop.”
“They won’t take them!”
As much as I’d like to say that I felt sympathy for her predicament, my situation definitely trumped hers. “Have you spoken to Dad?”
“No. Why? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.” I stared out at the landscape, the valley peppered with my cattle, and pride filled my soul. Everything I had was invested in this ranch, money I’d earned through stock trades. It had taken years to get in the black and I’d done it all on my own, without a penny from my parents. “He’s decided to blackmail me into marriage, but otherwise he’s fine.”
Devyn snorted. “Really? To whom?”
“That’s your reaction when I tell you I’m being blackmailed?”
“Yeah. Who’s he making you marry?”
A pause before I begrudgingly answered. “Sydney Evans.”
What started as quiet chuckling quickly gained strength. In between the laughter she gasped for air. Was it too much to ask for a little solidarity?
“I don’t see what’s funny about this.”
“She hates you,” Devyn barely managed to push out between a fit of laughter. “Hold on a minute, I gotta text John. He’s going to piss himself laughing.”
“I thought I was calling the last sane person in the family. Nice talking to you, Dev.”
“Aww, c’mon, little brother. Honestly, this may not be such a bad thing. It’s not like you would’ve gotten around to it on your own, and I like Sydney. It might even do you good.”
I’ve always thought of myself as a man of principles, even when I was acting like an asshole. And there were a few unequivocal truths I embraced with every cell in my body. One: I loved my country. Two: meatless burgers were a spawn of the devil. Three: the environment needed to be protected and preserved. And four: marriage to Sydney Evans would never ever “do me good.”
“Good luck with your rat infestation, Dev. Love you.”
Sydney
A text came in at 5 a.m. the next morning. I picked up the phone off the nightstand, glanced at the screen.
Scott: Vegas today. Be ready by 4.
I texted him back without having to think twice. It was now or never. Intuitively, I knew that if I stalled, it would never happen.
Me: I’ll be ready.
By the time the Blackstone jet landed in Vegas that evening I was a bundle of nerves and I didn’t understand why. Hadn’t I been the one who had insisted we go through with it? Now that the plan was put into action, however, I was feeling a strong urge to run and fast. My female intuition
screamed that the price for this hoax was going to far outweigh the benefits and that’s what worried me most. In the past, it had seldom failed me. It also didn’t help that Scott’s brooding had hit an all-time high.
The short plane ride had been eerily silent as both of us worked on our respective laptops. As soon as the plane had finished climbing, he pulled it out and started typing. Floored, I couldn’t stop watching him, hiding my holy shit face behind my computer screen. Witnessing Scott do actual work was like catching sight of a unicorn among a herd of wild horses––as impossible as it was amazing.
“You didn’t invite anyone,” I said, finally breaking the silence. I couldn’t take anymore and coming from someone who’d learned to control all her emotional reactions to avoid getting beaten that was saying a lot. “Don’t you think it’ll look shady that we didn’t have any family and friends with us?”
His eyes remained directed on the screen of his MacBook Air when he drawled in as dry a delivery as I’d ever heard, “No. I don’t. We’re so hot for each other we couldn’t wait.”
Small talk had never been my thing. I’d never excelled at idle chitchat. Generally, men loved talking about themselves and I encouraged it. In business, I stuck to my repertoire: asking about the wife, the children, and the latest vacation. I even dabbled in sports talk but not because I liked it, purely as a negotiating ploy. Problem was, I couldn’t do any of that with Scott. We weren’t friends, or acquaintances. We weren’t even business partners. In his mind, we were adversaries and he treated me as such, with barely contained hostility.
Sighing, I stared out the small oval window over his shoulder. “Who’s taking care of the dogs?”
“Drake,” he’d said without further explanation.