Scar
I try to do some work. I force myself to concentrate for an hour, but every time I find myself getting into a groove, she pops back into my head.
Rita. My assistant.
I didn’t think much of her when the recruiter, a woman named Janine I met in college, brought her to me. “She’s smart and really needs a gig, but she’s young. Will that be an issue?”
I didn’t think so at the time. The interviews went well, Rita was poised and intelligent, and I really needed a new assistant. I couldn’t keep scaring them away by being too demanding.
So, I hired her. I took it easy in those first few weeks. I didn’t push too hard, just to make sure she didn’t panic.
Look where that got me.
Fucked, no two ways about it.
I knew she was trouble the second she waltzed into my office looking like heaven in heels. I can’t deny I find the girl attractive-she has the kind of body she clearly works on-but I try to make it a point not to get entangled at work. My job is my life, and I prefer to keep everything neat and tidy.
I don’t get attached. I don’t do romance.
Except now I’m married.
Funny how that happens.
I manage a solid ten minutes of uninterrupted work when there’s a knock at the door. It opens before I call out, Rita entering first, followed by Gregory Callahan.
I sit back, trying not to look like someone just kicked me in the teeth.
What the fuck is Callahan doing here? And why is he with Rita?
“Hello, husband,” she says, giving me the biggest, fakest fucking smile in the entire goddamn world. “Look who I found.”
“Wife,” I say, eyebrows raising. “And Mr. Callahan.”
“Gregory,” he grunts, still standing, eyes narrowed. Looking like he’s scoping my office out. As if he’s not sure any of this is real.
What’s this crazy fucker up to?
Rita comes over, around my desk, stoops down, and plants a chaste kiss on my lips.
Oh, absolutely not.
My heart races as something takes hold of me. This is my wife-my woman-and Gregory Callahan’s standing there in my office watching like he’s judging everything we do.
I will take her and own her. I will mark her as mine, so that bizarre Irish gangster doesn’t get any ideas.
I reach out, grab her by the back of the neck, and hold her still as I kiss her for real.
If I’m going to use her as my wife, I’m going to do it properly.
She’s let out a soft little yelp of surprise, but I kiss her deep and slow. I taste her bottom lip, and yes, she fucking whimpers all right. I smother any protest she might have, smother it with my tongue, my taste. God damn, the girl can kiss.
I’ll make sure to mention that later.
Finally, she breaks away, glaring death at me. Her cheeks flushed red.
“Honeymoon phase,” Gregory says with disgust. “I hope that wears off quickly.”
“I hope it never does,” Rita says sounding suitably breathless. She composes herself and beams at me. Good, she better not try to pretend like she didn’t thoroughly enjoy that.
I sit back, feeling a bit smug. “How can I help you, Gregory?”
“My father sent me down here to speak with you. And to handle some other unrelated business.” He sits down in front of my desk. Rita remains standing at my elbow. I’m tempted to put my hand on her leg, but I’d better not push it. I’m not sure how good of an actress she is, and we don’t have a deal in place.
“And how has business been?” I ask.
“Good.” He stares at me for a long moment. “Father says he’s interested in bringing you on board. Assuming you and your wife can meet him this weekend. He has a beach house in Gloucester.”
“I’d be happy to visit him,” I say, eyebrows raised, panic hitting me suddenly. What the hell? Visit him this weekend in Gloucester? “I’ll have my assistant reach out to his assistant to arrange the details.”
Gregory glances at Rita. “That wouldn’t be you, would it?”
She gives him a sweet smile. “Of course not.”
Shit. Guess I have to hire a new assistant, and fast. “Is there anything else?” I ask, ready to wrap up this farce as soon as I can.
Gregory shakes his head. “That’s all. Make the plans with my father.” He stands, eyes flitting between me and Rita. “There’s something strange about the two of you. But I admit, I looked into your little relationship. It seems like it was fast, but you really are married.”
“Love knows no limits,” I say with a shrug.
Gregory grunts. “I suppose not.” He walks to the door, but pauses there. “By the way. Why don’t either of you wear a ring?”
I blink rapidly. Fuck, a ring. I forgot about rings. What a stupid rookie error. But before I can speak up, Rita takes over.
“Scar doesn’t like wearing jewelry, and my ring is being resized. Part of a whirlwind wedding means certain things didn’t work out perfectly.” She laughs gently and puts a hand on my shoulder. She squeezes tight.
Rita is not happy.
“I’m still looking for the right band,” I say with a shrug.
“I’ll see the two of you in Gloucester.” He turns and leaves without looking back.
Rita walks to the door, makes sure he’s gone, and closes it. She groans, head leaned back. “Oh, what the fuck,” she says, glaring at me. “Why did you just agree to that?”
“We’ll cancel. I’ll come up with an excuse.”
“You could’ve said we have plans. You could’ve said anything at all, except that we’d do it.”
“Seriously, Rita? You walk in here with Gregory Callahan, no notice, no text saying, hey Scar, get ready, we’re coming, and you’re pissed that I didn’t have any excuses prepared?”
Her jaw works. “You kissed me again.”
As if she minds.
I lean forward, smirking now. “You keep coming back to the kiss. How much did you love it this time?”
Her hands curl into fists. I probably shouldn’t push her, but I can’t help myself. She’s so beyond not my type, such a wreck, somehow courting disaster like it’s her best friend, and yet she’s so beautiful. It’s breathtaking, that thick auburn hair, those big eyes, those plump lips. I’d happily keep this ruse going, if only to get the chance to keep kissing her.
But something strange happens. Instead of tearing into me, she takes one step forward. Her hands relax, her shoulders ease, and she takes a deep breath.
Interesting. She gets control of herself.
“Here’s the deal,” she says, pointing a finger at me. Face a sudden mask. “You pay off my student loans. You buy me a new car. You write the most incredible recommendation and sing my praises to my next employer. And you give me ten grand to help with finding a new apartment.”
“That’s a lot of money,” I say, mentally doing the math. “How much do you owe again?”
“A lot,” she says, stalking over. She shoves that finger down on my desk, leaning forward slightly, other hand on her hip. “There will be rules. No sex. No unnecessary kissing. Hands to yourself. No getting attached. Max of one year, but no more. And in the end, we divorce, no fighting it.”
“No sex?” I ask, leaning back. “I doubt you can pull that off.”
“You have a really high opinion of yourself.”
“I tasted that whimper, Rita.” I tilt my head, waiting for her to deny it. She doesn’t, which sends a thrill into my guts. “You won’t last a week before you’re throwing yourself at me.”
“Do you honestly think women find you that attractive? I’m in this for the money, Scar. I don’t give a damn about you at all. Are you taking the deal or not?”
I grunt, nodding. I’d be stupid to turn her down. Whatever she’s asking, the Callahan family is worth easily ten times as much.
“Yes, with my own stipulations. We do this for real. You come to live with me. You act as my wife whenever we’re in public. I’m starting to think being married might be useful for my career.”
“One year. Max.”
I pull out a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Should I draw up the contract?”
She rolls her eyes but sits. “Do it.”
I spend the next twenty minutes drafting the language. She barks out suggestions as I go, bickering about everything from where we sleep (“Separate freaking rooms, asshole.”) to how often she gets to use my home gym (“As often as I want and you better not stand around staring at my ass.”) to her rock-climbing membership (“Non-negotiable.”) and in the end, I give her everything she wants.
Because there’s only one thing I need.
And that’s her, playing the part.
If we can pull this off and fool the Callahans, my career will be made. It won’t matter how much money she wants-I’ll pay her all that and more.
In the end, she looks over the document, commenting only a few times on my terrible handwriting.
But she signs. Her name, scribbled at the bottom. She turns it toward me, lips pushed together.
I write my name in a big, looping cursive. She rolls her eyes again.
“I now pronounce us-”
“Asshole,” she says, stands, and marches out of my office.
I watch her go, heart racing.
We’re either going to pull off the con of the century together or end up dead.