by Jamie Knight
With another sip of hot chocolate, I told myself that agreeing to be his date for the wedding was just a good idea for me. It would help me come out of my shell more and practice talking to people. That was all it was, a way to make friends — not a way to get closer to the gorgeous billionaire.
To get my mind off my embarrassment, I decided to bake the cookies we had talked about the night before: Chocolate chip. It might be a minority opinion, but I honestly believed that cookies were truly the language of love.
I looked through my archives, piles upon piles of notebooks kept in the pantry, to find just the right recipe. They were all good, many of them having been in my family since the days of my great grandmother, but I really wanted to do something special for Liam.
I had woken up several hours before work, partly on account of the headache, so I had time to bake from scratch, which was always preferable. It always felt more heartfelt. I gave a moment’s thought to actually shaping the cookies like little hearts but decided better of it. That would look too childish.
After getting the warm cookies onto a plate, I checked on Jacob one more time and then went down to the corner to wait.
Last night, Liam and I had talked about how to make this fake engagement believable. We thought it would be a good idea to spend some time together to get to know each other, and Liam said he would drive me to work and pick me up today. I jumped at the chance and was already excited about the time we were going to be spending together. I only hoped there would be a traffic jam on the way to the office.
Right on time, his big black Hummer — that I doubted was compensating for anything-pulled up to the curb outside my building, somehow finding a spot. Parking tends to be at a premium; none of the buildings in the surrounding area having their own parking.
“Well, hello, pretty lady,” he said from the driver’s side.
“Greetings, kind sir,” I replied, ignoring my blush. “Would you like to try a cookie?”
Liam laughed, but he did take the biggest cookie on the plate. “These are delicious,” he mumbled. “Maybe they will make me fall in love with you.”
I knew he was kidding, but the comment made me smile.
Maybe this business arrangement would turn out to be fun.
Chapter Nine
Liam
On the ride to her office, Hayley and I had covered the basics: favorite colors, foods, etc. It had gone well, and the arrangement was starting to be enjoyable. Once she warmed up, Hayley was quite pleasant. She would get excited about the littlest thing, like us sharing a love for the color green, and her intensity of emotion was infectious. I found myself smiling more on that short trip than I had in months.
The ride after work was just as enjoyable, so when she asked me to come in, I couldn’t turn down the offer.
“Shit, I didn’t even think about the stairs,” Hayley said when we were halfway up. “It’s okay, I can do it,” I said, clutching onto the railing.
The fact was I could do it. Almost without pain even. I had certainly been through a lot worse, and to be fair, part of me knew that the trip upstairs would be worth it.
We were on our way through the entryway into the kitchen, where Hayley was going to make us some tea when I saw him in the living room. Like a ghost, he was pale. He had the same blonde hair as Hayley. The face was similar too: round with distant blue eyes. The man didn’t turn when we came in. He didn’t acknowledge our presence at all. He just sat and stared at the TV.
Suddenly I understood why Hayley seemed to be working so hard for Ann.
“His name is Jacob,” Hayley said, noticing me noticing.
“He was a soldier?” I asked, spying the picture on the mantle of Jacob in uniform.
“Yeah.”
“Iraq?” I asked.
“How -”
“Desert print.” I nodded to the photo. “He’s too young for Desert Storm, so I assume it was the current one.”
“Amazing,” Hayley breathed.
“Logical,” I corrected, not taking my eye away from Jacob and his hundred-yard stare. “He has -”
“PTSD,” I finished, knowing the symptoms when I saw them.
“Yeah, how did –”
“Experience.”
“Oh, right.”
“I think I can help,” I told her, leading her back towards the kitchen.
“I don’t see how, I’ve tried everything I can think of,” she said, leaning against the wall. “I have connections to some really good PTSD therapists. Some of the guys in my unit needed help after we got back, I’ll see if I can set something up for your brother.”
“Thank you,” Hayley said, kissing me on the cheek.
The feel of her lips on me was almost like a tingle. She was so close I could smell the scent of her shampoo. Desire built up inside me. I wanted to take her in my arms and throw her over the small, two-person table that was sitting opposite the stove, but that would be wrong. That wasn’t what I was here for.
“Have any more of those chocolate chip cookies?” I asked, trying to brighten her mood a bit.
Hayley lit up with a smile. “Yes! I made two dozen this morning! Come on!”
Taking me by the hand, she led me to the counter where there was, indeed, a large plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“Wow,” I said, meaning it.
“Thanks, old family recipe,” Hayley beamed. “Would you like some milk too?”
“Um, no, thanks, they really look great, but I thought we could maybe go for dinner and…”
“Say no more,” Hayley said, dividing the cookies up into two large Tupperware containers, quickly giving me one of them.
“For the office?” I asked, indicating the other container.
“How did you know?” Hayley asked, seemingly mystified.
“Lucky guess,” I said with a shrug.
With a Tupperware of her cookies under my arm, we went back out to my Hummer and got in. We couldn’t have been more synchronized if we had practiced it. Something that gave me hope for our upcoming plot at the wedding.
“Where are we heading to eat and plot?” Hayley asked.
“I chose the last place, it’s your turn,” I said.
“How democratic!”
“I do my best.”
“Do you know a place called Mama Dee’s?”
“In Echo Park?” I asked, not having heard that name for a while.
“That’s the one,” Hayley said.
“Yeah, of course,” I said.
“Really?”
“Sure, I grew up there.”
“You didn’t!”
“I remember it fairly clearly,” I said.
“You grew up in Echo Park?”
“Yeah.”
“In the ‘70s?”
“Indeed.”
“Wasn’t that -”
“Gang territory, yeah. I lived in the Head Hunters area.”
“Wasn’t it scary?” Hayley asked.
“Not as scary as Iraq,” I observed.
“No, I guess not, but still, how did you cope?”
“It’s easy when it is what you are used to,” I explained.
“I can see that,” she said.
“Where do you and Jacob grow up?” I asked.
“Burbank.”
“That would explain it,” I said. “First time in the big scary city?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I never even really visited before. I spent most of my life on a cul-de-sac.”
“Jacob too?”
“Yeah.”
“That makes sense, I suppose,” I said.
“What does?”
“What happened to him. There are lots of things that go into different reactions, but if you take someone from a pretty much-sheltered background and throw them into the middle of a war zone, it is not surprising if something goes wrong. I would honestly be more surprised if it didn’t.”
“Why didn’t it affect you?” Hayley asked.
“I heard gunshots since I wa
s born,” I said, putting the Hummer into gear.
I knew exactly how to get to Mama Dee’s stopping there every day after school for a milkshake. We didn’t have much money at the time, so I paid when I could and when I couldn’t, she would either let it go or when I was old enough to work, have me work it off washing dishes in the kitchen. Something that rarely took more than an hour. I was glad to do it. Better than not getting the milkshakes at all. They really were that good.
Soon after I had made my first million, I had heard that Mama Dee’s was in danger of closing, so I gave her the money to keep it going. Mama Dee had since retired, leaving the restaurant to her daughter, who kept the place going, still under the Mama Dee’s name.
While the evening rush hour was still going, we managed to get to the restaurant before the dinner rush had really kicked off. The lot was pretty much empty despite the open sign being posted. A truly rare sight, particularly since the area had started gentrifying. Young hipsters wanting to slum it flocking to the authentic ghetto diner. I really wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but overall was glad that the place would survive, especially in the family.
“I guess you know about the milkshake,” Hayley said, as we approached the door. “Yes,” I said, not letting on how much of an understatement this was.
We slid into the best booth, which we somehow agreed on without talking it over beforehand, and there was no way she could have seen where I had scratched my name into the raw wood of the underside.
“What can I get you?” the server asked, appearing almost as soon as we sat down.
“Two milkshakes and two prices of pie,” Hayley and I said in unison
“So, four?” asked the befuddled server.
“No, two, as in one each,” I explained, Hayley still being too busy laughing to say anything.
“Ah, got it, right away, Mr. Adams,” the server said, jotting it down.
“Wow, they do know you here,” Hayley said.
“I suppose,” I said.
“So, how do you want to go about this fake fiancée thing?” Hayley asked, seeming to sense my discomfort.
“Well, that’s what I thought we could go over. It is impossible that we have the same story in our heads and can match them.”
“Makes sense,” she said.
“Okay, so I’ve been out of the army for three years, so we need to have met sometime between my discharge and now.”
“Won’t your friend wonder why you never told him about me?”
“Maybe, but he knows me well enough to know that I keep to myself, though that is a good point. It is probably better if we met fairly recently.”
“Is six months too quick?”
“Maybe a bit, but I can work with that,” I said.
“Okay, good, how did we meet?”
“How about the truth?” I asked.
“The truth?”
“Yeah, you know. You were working for Ann at the law office, and I came in to discuss a legal issue with her, and we happened to meet in her office. Not all that strange with me being her client and you being her aid.”
“No seems about right,” Hayley said.
“Romantic even. Not quite love at first sight but something similar,” I said.
“Yeah, actually,” she said, thinking it over.
“How did I propose?” I asked.
“At a restaurant,” Hayley said, “we were just finishing dessert when you got down on your knee and asked me.”
“Ring?”
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of ring?” I asked.
“I’ve got a really nice sapphire I got from my mom when I graduated,” she said. “Perfect, start wearing it, at least around the office,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, seeming to be happy with that.
“What else?” I asked, leaving the next thing up to her.
“How’s our sex life?” she asked, blushing slightly.
“Is that likely to come up?” I asked. The booth we were sitting in suddenly seemed too small.
“It might, it is better to know in case it does. Better to be prepared, I think.”
“Agreed,” I said, looking to see if our milkshakes would be showing up anytime soon.
“So, what’s going on there?”
“Like how?”
“Like how many times do we, you know, do it?” she asked.
“Three times a day?” I suggested. I couldn’t help it. I raised one eyebrow as I looked at her.
“Golly!” Hayley turned bright red and giggled. It was adorable.
“A quickie in the morning, once after work and once before we go to sleep,” I explained.
“Make sense, actually,” she said. “We are supposed to be in love.”
“I know, I ran the math,” I said with a wink.
“And are you, um -”
“Endowed?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, that is, i-it might be, um, i-important.”
“Okay, but only because you stammered, which is adorable,” I said.
Using my hands, I showed her exactly how long my cock was when hard. I honestly thought she might faint.
Just then, the server came back with our orders, and this seemed to perk Hayley up considerably.
“Fuck,” she whispered after the first sip of her shake.
“I know, right?” I asked.
“Oh, damn.”
“What?”
“I don’t know your parent’s names. That’s even more likely to come up than how many times we fuck,” she said.
“Fair point, their names were Mary and John,” I said.
“Were?”
“They both died in a car crash when I was deployed,” I said.
“That’s awful!”
“I know.”
“Yeah, of course,” she said, catching herself.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Both parents alive and still married,” she said.
“Lucky,” I said, meaning it.
“Don’t I know it,” she said.
“What are their names?” I asked.
“Sara and Joel.”
“Jewish?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“Ah.”
“Would that be a problem?”
“Oh, no, not at all, just curious, that’s all,” I said.
“Mom is a teacher, and Dad is an accountant,” she volunteered.
“Useful,” I said.
“Any tattoos?” Hayley asked, taking an obvious stare at all of my body.
“I was in the army, what do you think?”
“What and where?” she asked. Her gaze got more intense, and I wanted to show her.
“Curiosity?” I asked.
“Honestly, yes.”
“It’s okay, I have an ace of spades on my shoulder and a pi on my thigh,” I said.
“A pie?” Hayley asked, confused.
“Pi, as in the mathematical equation no one can solve. I’m a bit of a math nerd, and I like the idea of infinity.”
“Cool.”
“Thanks.”
“And the ace is what?”
“Death?”
“What?”
“The ace of spades represents death, at least while you are doing a tarot reading using regular playing cards. It was a reminder that death was always at my side and to never forget it or take it for granted. It helped keep me alive,” I explained.
“Wow.”
“I also rally like Motörhead,” I added on, somewhat mitigating the effect.
“Math and Motörhead,” Hayley said, “you really are an odd and wonderful man.” “Thanks,” I said, “you’re pretty cool yourself.”
“You don’t know me,” she pointed out.
“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”
Hayley sat back in her seat. She raised her eyebrows. “Do you like what you see?” she asked, coyl
y playing with the stem of her glass.
“So far, very much,” I admitted.
She giggled. “Good, I mean if we are going to be getting married.”
“Right,” I said, not sure if she was kidding or not.
Her expression and tone were impossible to read. A rare occurrence for me. What was not in doubt in any way was the strong, nearly radiant warmth I could feel coming off of her. Warmth, I desperately wanted closer to me.
Chapter Ten
Hayley
We had been a fake couple for nearly a week. Though it didn't feel that fake to me. My time with Liam was the closest thing to a relationship I had ever had. Logically, I knew that I shouldn’t see it for more than what it was — a business arrangement — but I just couldn’t help myself.
Things in my life were looking up — and it was all thanks to Liam. Not only because of the money. My parents had done okay, and Ann paid me fairly, but Liam had started giving me more money than I had ever seen at once. According to him, it was to get me ready to be his fake fiancée, but it seemed to be a bit too much, even for that.
In the nearly a week, we were pretending to be a couple, he had barely touched me, aside from the occasional handholding and kisses on the cheek in the context of masterfully planned public displays of affection to try and really sell the story. He clearly thought I was pretty, or he wouldn't have chosen me for the assignment, but he had kept things strictly professional, which I suppose was both good and bad. It made me feel a bit better about the deception and less like a whore.
On the other hand, I really wanted to have more than we did. I wanted him to fuck me. Not just a one-off either. It was crazy in the harsh light of day. We had set clear lines but the more time I spent with Liam, the more I wanted to cross them. I was really beginning to see a future with him. If only I knew whether or not he actually felt the same or was putting on an act.
I didn't really know what to do with all the money. I had learned how to get by with a quarter that much and felt like I was doing fine. It can be a shock getting more money than you ever thought you would have. Rather than being liberating as is so often assumed, it can actually be really paralyzing. Not only is there the fear of losing it all, but the special kind of crisis that can only come with a choice. The age-old paradox of being able to do anything so you end up doing nothing. It was a bit of an exaggeration in my case. I still didn't quite have do-anything money and I certainly didn't fool myself into thinking it would last, but I felt something similar to a crisis of choice. Then it hit me. I should use the money he was giving me to feel better with myself, starting with my looks.