Reinventing Fate, page 4
A troubling thought occurs to me and pops right out of my mouth. “Would I have to have sex with you?”
The appeasing smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes harden just a fraction. He manages a nonchalant shrug. “That’s not what this is about.”
“And I would not have a say in what I wear, what I do?” This is crazy. Am I seriously going along with this?
Leisurely, he shakes his head. “You wouldn’t have a say in a lot of things, which is partially the point of this little experiment.”
Experiment. He’s doing all this for the fun of it. A hobby for a rich guy.
An uneasy lump makes itself known in my throat. “For how long?”
“Two months should do it. If more time is necessary, we can renegotiate at that point.”
“Why me?” I blurt. “I’m no one. Why did you decide to make this offer to me?”
“Instinct. I’m a man who believes firmly in it. In business and in life. I know that if you allow me, the result will be beautiful. Perfect, in fact.”
“No one is perfect,” I cut in before I think better of it. “Humans aren’t perfect, especially me.”
His lips stretch slowly, with pride and something else. “You, Paige Zine, will be.”
5
~ Colin ~
Mellow drops drum against harsh concrete, but the steady splatters don’t lull me into easy sleep. There’s too much meddling in my brain, churning up my restless veins. Giving up, I roll out of bed, padding out of the primary suite ass naked. It’s two in the morning and there’s no live-in staff. Modesty has never been a virtue for me anyway.
Cool stone greets my bare feet. Strangely enough, it calms me a bit. The familiar, nameless agitation is a live wire mercilessly humming through me, a buzzing I can’t stop. I trek to the kitchen, and since I’m not fourteen anymore, grab a glass for water in lieu of dunking my head under the faucet, though the thought of it has my face yearning for the gush of cool splash.
I’m not discouraged by the fact Paige needs time to think about it. She’d be a fool to immediately accept. The offer, the extraordinary conditions, are unusual. After all, once we begin in earnest, her life will never be the same. As I warned her, it will not be her own.
She’ll be better for it.
The perfect specimen. Frankensta, as Damian cheekily called it. Quite the contrary.
Paige will be beautiful, a thousand times more so than she is now, but that won’t be all of it. Deliciously classy is how I’ve come to think of her mold. It’ll require commitment on her part. Perfection is hard to attain, but I know she’s up for the challenge. So am I.
Eager anticipation flutters in my stomach, but I suppress it by draining the glass, washing it way down.
Would I have to have sex with you?
I nearly told her yes. The sooner the better, and more, please. Maybe it’s the prolonged celibacy, but as soon as Paige is near me, with her unique feminine scent crooking a beckoning, teasing finger at me, images of her beneath me, thrusting hard into her giving flesh, dominates all reasoning.
At least she agreed to return with her answer over the weekend. It’s only a couple of days from now, but it’s already a torturous wait. The only immediate assurance I got from her was that she would not share our discussion with anyone, not that I expect her to blab it all over the city, not if she knows what’s good for her and her brother. At my insistence, she kept the first payment but promised to bring it back if she decides against it.
It wasn’t that hard to figure out her weakness. Pictures of her younger sibling were abundant on her social media pages. The fact Roman Zine had his name and profile all over the place made the target easy. From there, Ausfort was able to dig up his passion and life goal for performing arts.
I even sat in on his little school play rehearsal last week on my way to a dinner meeting, far in the rear of the small, modest auditorium where no one paid me much attention. The kid has talent, I’ll give him that, fearlessly crooning his heart out until the acoustic echoed with his deep ache for some green witch. At the side of the stage, his teacher or coach or whatever she was just grinned and nodded with immense approval. It won’t be that hard to get the industry to give him a chance. Ausfort discovered he was cast at a young age in several commercials. A break by the right person can be the difference between a Tony and a mere like on some ridiculous app.
Paige is unmistakably proud of him. There was no jealousy, no bitterness at her brother thriving in the limelight. Good. That makes her much easier to manipulate. The ideal woman shouldn’t be wasting time on such useless feelings anyway.
Setting the empty glass in the sink, I find myself heading to my office. Arrangements need to be made. Just because it’s the middle of the night doesn’t mean people should sleep. Lazy asses have no place in my life.
Once the laptop is booted up, I fire off a brief email to one of my attorneys. He needs to be roused out of his girlfriend’s bed to go home to his wife anyway. This arrangement with Paige might not be written, that’s so there wouldn’t be evidence, but there will be others brought in. With the exception of Damian, any one of them can very well sell the shocking story for a quick extra buck. It’s Harry Martirosyan’s job to ensure that can’t happen.
Still wide awake, I pull up the specs Damian sent me about a mixed-use property in Newark. As usual, the familiar adrenaline of a prospective asset joins the churning in my system. I decide to put in a few hours going over the preliminary review. After all, Kutter Investments can’t run itself.
~~~~~
I glance up at the discreet knock on the open office door.
Expression boasting a vacancy sign, my housekeeper doesn’t look at me when she announces, “Ms. Paige Zine just arrived.”
Right on time. “Good. Escort her to the sitting room.”
Marie dips her head before disappearing down the hall.
Either Paige is pleasantly punctual, or she’s impatient to give me a response. I can appreciate the first. I’m hoping the latter will be even more delightful.
Paige had the early shift at Café Love, which allows us to meet for an earlier dinner before her brother returns from his part-time job. Not that she agreed to have dinner with me, but like Mother used to advise during one of her rare maternal moments, it’s hard to turn someone down when that person is feeding you good food. Of course, she was referring to snagging my sordid father at the time, but no matter.
It wouldn’t do to appear too anxious to Paige. I take my time finishing off my email to Eli Kent, my personal trainer and soon-to-be Paige’s, before finally pushing away from my desk. Consciously, I inhale a measured breath, willing the scattering of tension to cool. My stiff fingers flex at my sides as I make my way through the undisturbed space to the sitting room.
As though fidgety, Paige is pacing, real casual, but pacing is pacing, from the vast windows to wander about the room, clutching a beige tote bag protectively against her chest. She doesn’t notice me right away, and I stop short to steal a few minutes to study her.
The dark hair pulled back in a functional ponytail accentuates the paleness of her cheeks, the sheer size of her wide, striking eyes. There are circles beneath them as though she hasn’t been getting enough sleep. There’s no manufactured color on her full lips or on any part of her exquisite face. I marvel at that, at the boldness of her natural beauty. Has she spent troubled nights thinking about us? I hope so. I hope to God I wasn’t the only frustrated one losing hours obsessing over it.
I need to shut it before I start composing fucking sonnets. There’s no end to my recently acquired dementedness. Fucking celibacy side effect.
“Hello, Paige.”
She turns, rigid arms tightening on the tote bag. “Colin.”
That’s all she says. My name.
“I’m glad you’re here. Dinner will be served soon. Allow me to escort you to the dining room.” Holding out a hand to her, I wordlessly wait for her to accept it.
She vacillates for a beat, her expression a mixture of mistrust and uncertainties, before tentatively prying her fingers from her textile shield to lay them on mine. It’s then I see the top of the familiar brown envelope sticking out of the tote.
“Dinner?” she manages.
“I prefer not to eat alone,” I say simply, nodding at the craggy package. “You might want to secure that. We wouldn’t want to have it accidentally fall out.”
Unsteady fingers nervously bury the protruding parcel until it disappears inside her bag. “Colin.” In contrast to her limbs, her voice is clear, with a deliberate firmness she’s injecting. “Can I use the bathroom?”
“You may,” I respond. Perfect opportunity to clear my head. It won’t do to have both of us on edge. “Allow me to show you the way.”
Within minutes, I have the jittery, anxious Paige deposited in the nearest washroom. I don’t stand around waiting for her, though. There’s too much to do for that. With an offhanded gesture, one of the household staff I’ve seen around hurries over.
“Have Ms. Zine in the dining room when she’s ready.”
The older man nods. “Yes, Mr. Colin.”
I stalk away, blindly heading anywhere for a breather. Fuck. Why the fuck am I so tense? If Paige refuses the arrangement, then so be it. There are plenty of women in New York who would jump at the chance.
It’s Paige. The tempting sight of her, the overpowering pull since the first time my lazy gaze splat on her, have eclipsed all reason. How the hell am I supposed to keep my head about me if my neurons are firing nothing but deep hunger around her?
I push through the French doors onto the terrace. Cool, damp urban air immediately caresses me. I embrace it, resting my clenched fists on the ornate railing, tight chest teetering on each breath. There isn’t enough oxygen to relax me. Not for a while.
Perhaps I should just seduce her and get her out of my system.
As appealing as that is, something tells me that’s not my core vexation. Hell, it might make things worse.
“Mr. Colin?” Marie’s reserved voice drifts out through the open doors, but I don’t turn around. “Ms. Paige is waiting for you in the formal dining room.”
My head jerks once, and I know my housekeeper is gone.
Paige is already seated at the table when I get there, her horrid handbag or grocery bag or whatever the hell it is taking the honored chair next to her. As I claim mine across from her, my eyes land on the top of the envelope once again jutting out of the gap.
Still sealed.
Not quite the sign I’m hoping to discover.
Electing not to mention it for now, I take my time placing the cloth napkin on my lap with as much calm as I can fake. “Do you have any allergies, Paige? Chef is quite the culinary artist, but I’m afraid he can be temperamental at times and neglects to inquire about such necessities.” Pausing as the staff brings in the salad, I keep my gaze on my much more appealing guest. “Since you’ll be dining here often, he might as well be made aware of it now.”
A brief hesitation, but I catch it.
“I don’t think I have any, but I am on a low-iron diet,” she replies, frowning with puzzlement at the small plate set in front of her. “What’s this?”
“Salad, I believe. Bon appétit.” Not until Paige cautiously picks up her fork do I do the same. From my periphery, I dart a quick glimpse at her fork prodding at the lettuce with suspicion. “Is it not to your liking?”
“Well. I just always thought salad was chopped… and not charred.”
“It’s Chef’s grilled romaine with crab salad. It’s quite good.”
“Oh.” The word escaped in an exhale. “Is that what that stuff on top is?”
“Yes, among other essential ingredients.” Don’t point out she should be using the other fork. It’s too soon to begin correcting her when she hasn’t formally accepted yet. “I assure you, it’s perfectly adequate.”
“I see.” She plays with the shredded seafood for a beat. Assuming a brave front, she brusquely scoops up the crab without touching the green and shoves it in her mouth. “Um…” A lingering, considering second, then she gives an enthusiastic nod. “It’s good,” she announces with obvious surprise while still chewing heartily. “Love’s doesn’t have anything like this on the menu.”
“Love’s?”
“Café Love. Bob is a great cook. He’s the owner, but this is amazing.”
“Yes, the little restaurant near the university where you work. I remember.”
A small smile tickles her lips. “You should. You were there several times in the last two weeks.”
She noticed.
Just like that, my taut muscles begin to loosen. That’s a promising indication, isn’t it? She wasn’t completely unaware of me.
“You know, Paige,” I begin with faux nonchalance, slicing at the charred green. “You wouldn’t require the employment of Café Love, not with the money you’ll be receiving for our arrangement. Won’t that be nice, not having to be on your feet all day for mere pocket change? You will want for nothing while you’re here.”
Her pert nose crinkles. “You want me to quit Love’s?”
I sigh. “I’m afraid you simply won’t have the time.”
“But I won’t have a job,” she reasons abruptly, alarm halting her expression and her fork. “I need to work.”
Setting my own silverware on the nearly empty plate, I ease back on my seat, leveling her with a strict look. It’s time we get down to serious business, and if Paige needs a push in the right direction, there’s no one better at it than me.
“Ten thousand dollars cash resides in your handbag as we speak. It might be presumptuous, but I’m guessing that sum exceeds any income you earned in any given month at Café Love. Your previous employment, such as it was, merely provided you with a false sense of security. On the other hand, nothing you gain from me will be false.”
“I haven’t said I would work for you.”
“Agreed, and I have not and would not offer you employment.” Deliberately, I let my gaze fall on the bulging envelope, pointing out the obvious, rolling out the hard ball. “I suggest you consider the ramifications of your contention. If you decline my offer, it would not be made again, nor would I accept a change of mind, should your irrationality be realized. Be aware this generous offer would be extended to, and likely accepted by, another candidate.” My eyes slash back to hers. “Yes or no, Paige?”
6
~ Paige ~
“Where ya gonna go?” Bob Love asks, slapping the towel draped over his shoulder onto the cluttered counter so he can glower at me properly. His happy belly jiggles with the motion. “To that stinking place down the street? They got rats, ya know. Don’t ask me how I know. I just know, and I don’t just mean the customers.”
Unnerved, since I just knew he wasn’t going to take my quitting well, I fidget awkwardly on the maroon vinyl stool worn to the stitching by too many lingering assholes, literally and figuratively, over the years. Bob’s been good to me, looked out for me, always made sure there was food for his workers. I hate having to leave him like this, but Cash Colin was right. There’s no way I can make even a fraction of what he’s giving me with Bob.
Even so, I must be crazy to agree to it, but the indecent amount of cash stuffed in a box in my closet screams otherwise. Still, after leaving Love’s, I’ll be stopping by the ballroom dance studio to finally sign Rome up for those lessons.
“I’m just helping out a friend who’s offered to pay me in exchange, and it’s going to take a lot of my time. Between that and Rome, I need to take a break from Love’s.”
“Take a break?” His weathered face is clearly shouting he’s not buying it. “You win the lotto or something? Wait, don’t tell me.” He throws up an impatient hand, calloused palm out, before I can scoff. “You met a guy. It’s always some guy or gal who takes my best servers.”
Amused yet touched, I shake my head sheepishly. “Of course not. I’m just going to be busy starting tomorrow, and I can’t manage everything.”
“You think I don’t see that fancy car out front? It brought ya here, didn’t it?” He harrumphs. “What’s this friend paying ya, anyway? More than me?”
Minimum wage plus tips aren’t hard to beat, but I won’t point that out to him. “Yeah. The car’s owner… he’s generous. It’s temporary.” My gaze drops, guilt lapping at me as effortlessly as customers would slurp up Love’s broccoli cheddar soup. “I’d like to come back, Bob, if that’s okay.” I glance back in time to catch the flicker of hope on his expression. “I mean, once I’m not helping out the friend.”
The scowl doesn’t quite reach its mark. “You know where to find me, don’t ya?” With a last stink eye at Colin’s car idling outside, he grabs his well-washed and eternally stained apron, looping it over his thick neck. “What ya gonna be doing for him?”
Awkward just needled up to difficult. It’s a good thing Love’s doesn’t open for another twenty minutes, or that glower might have customers scrambling for the door while frantically stuffing last bites into their mouths. I won’t tell him to mind his own business, not when he’s been more friend than boss, and I know he’s only asking to mask the worry behind the trademark grouchiness. Besides, no way would I go around telling people about my unusual, bizarre arrangement with some wealthy, bored guy. Bob wouldn’t believe it anyway.
“Working out of this house,” I say offhandedly. “I get food, so it’s good.”
“Housework?”
“Yeah.” Only a slight hesitation breaks free before I check it. “Doing this and that around this big house. It’ll require weekends too. That’s why I can’t work here for the time being.”
Strolling out of the backroom and obviously having overheard, Cara abruptly halts, a tray of aluminum paper napkin dispensers in her hands. A blue pencil sticks out of the haphazard bun at the top of her head. “You’re leaving?” She gapes in disbelief, gorgeous eyes huge. “But why?”
“A guy,” Bob throws out with disgust and accentuates his disapproval with an eyeroll.
