The Millionaire’s Fake Wedding

Chapter 3

She woke up earlier than she’d anticipated, and all because of the damn tropical downpour outside. It was an often occurrence, and Belle would’ve slept right through it (soothed by it, even) any other day, but last night she had the balcony doors open, and forgot to close them before going to sleep. She woke up cold under the throw, and to the sound of drapes flapping like two flags. The rain reached its hands into the room tentatively, wetting the floor. Belle jumped off the couch, still naked, goose bumps all over her body, her nipples hard, covered with her left arm. She shut the doors and tiptoed to the bathroom and under a hot shower. She wore a shower cap, because her hair had been straightened out, but she supposed it’d curl up anyway because of the rain. She had plenty of time before the interview that was set for 4pm, so she took her time first with the shower, then with straightening her hair again and doing her nails. Then she put on light makeup, natural, and blew herself a kiss in the mirror. To calm down, she read a book. She wasn’t too worried about the interview, but it never hurt to have a clear mind. At half past two she gathered all she’d need in her bag and got dressed. In her humble opinion, as far as personal assistants went, she looked superb, a little too much so even – her hair perfectly straight, the suit brand new, almost shiny, her face… well, it was always beautiful. In fact, she looked like someone who would have an assistant of her own.

“I do have to get that hat sometime,” she said to herself with a smile.

It was still raining, and the wind seemed to be ferocious, throwing palm trees back and forth. Belle put on a light coat and took an umbrella with her before going out. The moment she stepped out the door, a horrifying realization paralyzed her: she had left her car at the restaurant last night. That was bad, really, really bad. She stood frozen, trying to figure out what to do, then fished her phone out of the bag (cursing under her breath when she saw the time) and dialed a cab service. After one ring the operator replied, and Belle gave him two addresses – her home and Kristen’s office – and asked to please hurry. After a whole minute the operator said that the closest vehicle was twelve minutes away.

“Yes, please, tell him to hurry!”

“We’ll do all in our power, Miss,” the operator reassured her.

She clicked off. It was 3:09, which meant the cab would arrive at 3:21, realistically – 3:23. That left thirty-seven minutes to get to the interview – plenty of time. Belle caught herself staring at the phone, doing the useless calculations, and shook her head to get out of this state. She took a slow, deep breath.

“You’ll be fine, little girl,” she said, parodying her dad. His tone always soothed her, and she giggled.

I will be fine, she thought. She took another breath and set her bag and umbrella to the floor. She breathed out and put her feet apart. It was an old trick her dad had taught her when she was in high school. If you’re freaking out, he used to tell her, or if you’re even just nervous, like before an exam or something – set your feet apart, put your hands on your sides, bring your chest forward, and breath. The superhero pose, little girl. That’s right.

And the trick had worked every time. Belle did as her dad had instructed, and stood like that in the middle of the hallway, breathing, her chest out, hands at her sides. After a minute she was sure she was hearing some heroic music in her ears, and confidence really did sprout inside her. Amazing.

Then the phone beeped, and she grabbed her things and rushed downstairs. It was 3:20. Jackpot.

She jumped in the back and hurried the driver. He took off so fast it threw her backwards. Good man.

She arrived at her destination at ten to four, which was just the time she had planned on in the first place. All was going according to plan. The driver stopped at a curb in front of the plaza beyond which was the office building – a glass-and-steel structure reflecting the gray clouds. She paid for the ride and jumped out, forgetting all about her umbrella. When she turned around, the driver was already gone, and no amount of waving could halt him. Belle cursed under her breath. Rain was pouring down on her, and she had to cover her head with the handbag, which she was sure looked ridiculous. She really missed that hat now. Walking at a fast pace, she crossed the plaza and headed for the revolving door.

She wasn’t actually that wet, as she entered the building. The walls were all glass and mirrors, and she stopped in front of one. The suit was wet on the shoulders, but otherwise fine, but her hair started to curl, and there was a tuft made by the hand bag. She brushed through it with her right hand, which made her look sexy, if not very professional.

Not gonna get any better, she thought, and headed for the reception, mindful of the time (which she was just on). Belle stated her business and showed the girl her ID, which scored her a laminated pass with #1208 on it. She went through the turnstile and on to the elevators.

The building was even nicer than the one she’d worked at before – the elevator alone could fit a small hatchback. Belle felt right at home. She’d always felt that her place was among the best, and this office building gave off that exact vibe.

Finally, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. There was a long wide hallway with doors on each side. Belle walked confidently, searching for the right room. She knocked when she found it, and entered.

“Hello? It’s Belle Jameson for Kristen!”

The waiting room Belle stepped into was big, its walls lined with leather armchairs. The secretary’s desk was empty, but the computer was on, and the phone blinked with a dozen voice messages. She walked to the only other door in the room and knocked.

“Come in!” a muffled voice answered.

Belle did.

“Good afternoon, Kristen!”

“Oh, please, call me Natalie.” The woman stood up from behind the desk and shook Belle’s hand, at the same time gesturing for her to take a seat.

“O-kay, Natalie.” Belle narrowed her eyes, thinking that Krist- Natalie looked vaguely familiar.

“Sorry about the whole name thing, it was a bit of a misdirect. The way you’re looking at me, I’d say you’ve recognized me. Have you?”

Belle cocked her head slightly. “I think?”

“All right. Natalie Kristen Arnolds.”

Now Belle got it – Natalie Arnolds, Allen Rodger’s PR manager. Whenever Rodger’s scandal came up on TV Arnolds would be there to give comments and try to contain the damage. To her credit, Rodgers was still around, albeit not that big of a superstar. The general consensus was that the fans kept him afloat, constantly cheering for him, keeping his reputation intact. It was odd to be in Natalie’s presence, so close to the public scandal, but Belle reminded herself that she was there to get a job, and not to hold hearings on morals.

“That does ring a bell,” she admitted.

“Is this awkward for you?” Natalie must have referred to exactly what was on Belle’s mind.

“Not particularly, no. A job is a job.” She decided honesty was the best policy. If she came off as fake now, nothing would convince Natalie otherwise.

“A job is indeed a job,” Natalie replied, making some notes. “Now, tell me this, Belle, are you in a relationship? Husband, boyfriend? A girlfriend maybe?”

Now that was getting awkward. “Not currently, no. No boyfriend, I mean.”

“So you do prefer men. Got it.” Natalie made a note. “Close with your parents?” she asked.

Belle had no clue as to what that had to do with anything, but played along. A job was a job, and a job interview was a job interview. If the questions were aimed to test her, she would pass that test.

“We talk almost every night on the phone. Holidays together, naturally. Dinner every now and then. We’re pretty close, yes.” The key was to sound confident, sure of every word.

“Good, good. Siblings?”

“A cousin in Illinois, but we don’t talk much.”

“I see.” Another mark in her pad. “How are you with the press? Interviews, photos?”