The Millionaire’s Fake Wedding

Chapter 2

Outside Fogerty’s office Carla, the secretary, met Belle with eyes full of concern. She saw Belle’s eyes were red, although a thin smile couldn’t help but show on her lips.

“What happened, B?” Carla asked.

“Didn’t you hear what happened, C? I’m out of here.”

But Carla wouldn’t let her go just yet. “Meet me tonight, will you? At that coffee place near you.”

“I’ll be there at seven.”

Belle said nothing else to anyone on her way out. She rode the elevator down, and surrendered her pass at the counter downstairs. She didn’t even let Louis say a word before storming out. She was almost running. The adrenaline had done its job, and she was feeling high on two conflicting emotions – anger and happiness. She wished the boss had actually died, as she’d initially assumed – preferably a gruesome death under the wheels of a train, or a run of the mill mugging-gone-wrong-and-ended-with-a-knife-between-his-ribs. But then, perhaps what she had done was even more damaging. She could only imagine what was going through Fogerty’s head after being slapped by a girl. Serves him right.

First thing she did was go home to change clothes. She liked the clothes she normally wore to work – suits and long skirts – but she preferred jeans and t-shirts, practical and sexy. It was eight in the morning, so she crashed on the couch in front of the TV, snoozing. It was a new and wonderful feeling, yet it was hard to keep away the inevitable thought – she was unemployed now.

Belle could almost physically feel the absence of the money she’d need to pay rent with this month, as well as her car, her gym membership and about a million other things… She dozed off with these thoughts on her mind, and slept all through the afternoon, until a call woke her up at around one.

Belle got off the couch slowly, getting her grip on the real world again, and looked for her phone that was ringing somewhere in the room. It was Carla.

“Hey,” Belle said. She could hear the sound of cars and people, as well. “Tell me you got off work early?”

“Hey, girl! Worse, I got promoted! Oh no! Not just yet, but I had a minute and thought I’d check up on you.”

“Thanks, C, I could use that.”

“So. How are you doing?”

Belle considered. She was tired and sleepy, but otherwise fine. The thought of having lost the job was worrisome, but on the back burner, at least until the evening, when she’d need to talk to her dad…

“I’m alright, I think.”

“Alright. Gotta go. I’ll meet you later, Bells.”

Carla killed the call, and Belle put the phone down. She still had a few hours, and absolutely no idea what to do. She was usually at work during these hours, so she stood in the middle of the kitchen, dazed and looking out the window as if she’d never seen the city in the daylight before.

She drank coffee to wake up some, and then went to take shower. If there was a surprise weekend to be had – she was going to get a jump on it.

*****

In the afternoon, Natalie turned into the driveway and drove a hundred feet to Allen’s mansion. There was a wide garage that she knew was full of sports cars, and she parked her Audi in front of it and killed the engine. Natalie was in her early thirties, tall and slender, with fast, authoritative gait. She was always in a hurry, focused on the task at hand.

The front door, she knew, was closed, so she circled the house, squeezing through thick bushes, and went past the gardener’s shack to the swimming pool in the back, beyond which were two basketball courts and a mini-golf course. Natalie went past wicker sunbeds along the glass wall of the house and slid aside one of the doors. The kitchen was clean and empty, except for a dirty mixer on the counter, surrounded by plastic containers from fruit and vegetables. There was half an apple in one of them, and Natalie took it and bit into it on her way to the stairs. She didn’t believe in the “an apple a day” idea, but she couldn’t stand seeing food go to waste. The stairs led her to the basement, where Rodgers had installed all sorts of cool perks: there was a whole spa complex, complete with sauna and Jacuzzi; a medium-sized movie theater, a gym, and another basketball court. Natalie went straight to that last one, where she knew Allen spent his morning these days, she could already hear the ball bouncing and the screeching of Allen’s shoes on the polished floor.

“Morning,” she said, walking through the door. She watched Allen run along the sideline towards the hoop, spin at the three-point line as if he was dodging an defense player, make two steps and jump, delivering the ball smoothly, scoring two imaginary points. The ball bounced once, and he caught it.

“Hey, Nat. What do you got for me?” Allen put the ball on a rack. “Come on.”

She followed him to the gym, where he started a treadmill. In its cup holder Nat saw a half-empty glass of fresh juice. When the machine turned on, its display came alive and started blaring the news. Allen switched off the TV and began his exercise, walking at a mere 4mph.

“Damn thing. So, what’s that genius plan you’ve come up with?” he asked.

Natalie leaned on the mill and said: “We’ll find you a wife, Al! Pretty and caring and the kind that the press will fall in love with, and, by proxy, with you. Allen Rodgers – the family guy!”

“I just threw up in my mouth a little. Do I have to?”

The mill picked up the pace a bit.

“Yes,” Natalie insisted. “If you really want to recover from this mess.”

It had been almost a year ago, yet it still felt like the day after. The sh*t-storm had settled down some, but the bitterness remained.

“I’m recovering perfectly fine, Nat, thanks.” He lied. It wasn’t even a lie, really, at this point – they both knew better. It was his go-to reply whenever these conversations took place, and Nat didn’t even react. She used to roll her eyes at him, but now she just said: “Yeah, right. When you’re not in Atlanta raiding casinos you’re covering down here ‘training’.”

“I’m not covering and yes, I am training.” He was running at 10mph now, his lips slightly parted, sweat on his face.

“Are you now?” She reached to the display and set the speed to 12mph. “That fast enough for you? Go on, train.”

Allen was stubborn, so he ran. He was also running too fast to reply, which Natalie counted on.

She said: “Listen. We’ll arrange an interview or something, I haven’t decided yet. We’ll say we’re looking for an assistant. An assistant for me, because I’m oh so very busy trying make you look good. Wow, that’s actually sounds hyper realistic, doesn’t it? How’s your training going, Al?”

She switched the speed to 15mph, and then to 16 – Allen’s eyes bulged. He did his best, but struggled, and then finally gave up and jumped off, hands on his knees, panting, sweat dripping from his hair.

“You… win…” He straightened up and grabbed the juice bottle, gulping the rest of the juice.

“But what do you think?”

“Me?” He grabbed a towel and dried off. “I think you know better, Nat.” He sounded defeated, but no longer reluctant. “Let’s do this. I’m in.”

He was still breathing heavily, but his eyes were focused on hers.

“Seriously? You’re up for it?”