I Married a Billionaire (2 page)

"No, no, not at all," he said. "Please. Go on."

I stared at my paper. The questions all sounded stupid now that I was in front of him, under his piercing green stare. But somewhere in the rational portion of my mind, I knew that they were still important. I swallowed hard and then began to speak.

"There's only one copy of the contract, right? Who will keep it?"

Mr. Thorne answered quickly. "Excellent question. My attorney, Mr. Wegman, is responsible for keeping the document private and secure. I realize this may sound like a conflict of interest, since I'm paying him, but I assure you that he will be representing us both equally in this arrangement. I made certain to add the terms of his payment into the contract as well, so he is highly motivated to keep it safe."

"During the term of our marriage, while I'm...living with you." I hesitated. "I understand that I'm supposed to act like your wife. Will there be any other restrictions or expectations on my behavior that I should be aware of?"

"None whatsoever," said Mr. Thorne. "So long as you appear to be in love with me, and faithful, I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to live the rest of your life as you choose." He hesitated.

God, this was so weird. My mouth was incredibly dry. "You said you'll be supporting me. Will I have a daily allowance, or...?"

"My credit card," he said, easily. "There is no limit. You'll be added as a joint member on the account and have your own card. You may use it to pay for anything you like. You see, Ms. Wainright, this whole arrangement requires a mutual trust. But in the time you've been employed here, I've seen no reason to believe that you are dishonest or that you take undue advantage of situations. That's one of the other reasons I chose you."

I looked up from my paper. "I thought you chose me because I don't believe in marriage."

He laced his fingers together thoughtfully. "That was the deciding factor," he said. "But I had already evaluated your character."

He was talking about me like I was a set of characteristics rather than a person. Then again, I supposed that came with the territory. Being a successful businessman meant coldly evaluating situations, completely devoid of any emotional impulses. It meant reading people like they were a string of zeroes and ones who happened to have an organic brain rather than one made of chips and diodes.

It must be liberating, to not have to worry about other people's feelings.

But perhaps that was best. If I was going to enter into a marriage of convenience, it really ought to be with someone who was going to keep things professional and break it off at the end without any messiness.

And pay me a whole truckload of money, of course. That was a nice bonus.

"There was something else I wanted to address with you," he said, looking down at the desk. "I meant to bring it up yesterday. If, during the term of our marriage, you were to meet someone..."

"I'm not worried about that," I interrupted, quickly.

He looked up at me, his eyes searching my face. It seemed like I'd succeeded in reminding him that I was, in fact, a human being. "Are you certain about that?"

"Yes," I said. "Can we move on?"

"Of course," he said. "That brings me to my next point. It's important that we keep things professional. With an arrangement like this, sometimes the lines can become blurred. But I hope we can both act as checks and balances against each other to ensure that things stay appropriate. You're clearly a sensible person, so I don't anticipate this being too much of a problem. But it would be foolish to pretend we're not human beings." He gave me a sharp look, like he'd been reading my mind. I fidgeted. "If you feel things are becoming too personal, please don't hesitate to let me know. And I will do the same for you."

I nodded, trying to ignore the uncomfortable prickling at the base of my neck. It almost felt like he was looking through me.

He was silent for a while, and I realized he was waiting for some sort of verbal acknowledgement.

"Yeah," I said. "Of course, that...that sounds good," I said, my voice cracking a little. I realized belatedly that I was making it sound like I'd already consented to the arrangement, and briefly panicked. "I mean - if I decide to go through with this."

"Of course," he said, raising both hands in a supplicating gesture. "Nothing is official until we both sign the contract in the presence of my attorney."

"Sorry," I said. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't misunderstanding me."

He smiled. "I'm a very cautious man, Ms. Wainright. I'm not in the habit of making assumptions until I have signatures in triplicate."

"Well, that's good to know." I stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Thorne. I appreciate your time."

"I ought to be thanking you," he said, rising as well and extending his hand for me to shake. "Take as much time as you need. I have a few months before they'll loose the hounds, so it's not terribly urgent."

I had to laugh. "I appreciate that, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep properly until I make a decision." 
And maybe not even then.

He looked a little bothered. "I never meant to cause you any distress," he said. "I meant it when I said that refusing wouldn't impact your career. You can continue to work here as long as you like. You'll be treated like any other employee. And if you choose to leave I will always give you a positive reference. You have my word."

"I know," I said. "It's not that. I just...I guess I can't decide if the risk is worth the reward."

He considered this for a moment. "I won't pretend there isn't a risk," he admitted, finally. "But...it is not as great of a risk as you might think. I am in...an advantageous position."

My eyes narrowed. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Mr. Thorne shrugged a little. "Money opens many doors, Ms. Wainwright. As I'm sure you know."

"If it's a question of money, why do you need me at all?"

"I said 'many' doors. Not every door."

"Fair enough," I said. "I'll get back to you when I'm made my decision."

"Thank you," he said. "Again. For everything."

By the end of the week, I'd chewed every single fingernail down to the nubbins.

Every time I considered asking someone for advice - even anonymously on the Internet - a wave of paranoia would overtake me, and I'd bite my tongue. I couldn't risk doing anything that would violate Mr. Thorne's trust in me. Even if I hadn't signed the contract yet, if I did, I was pretty sure the silence clause would apply retroactively. Or would it?

I found myself wishing that I could afford my own lawyer. It would be helpful to go over this whole thing with someone who was level-headed and experienced, and who could be trusted to keep things quiet. But that simply wasn't possible.

Driving home on Friday, I was completely drained. And for the first time in a while, a weekend of quiet relaxation simply wasn't in the cards - I was going to spend the whole break mulling this situation over in my head, trying to figure out my next move. Whatever decision I made was certainly one I'd have to live with, well, for the rest of my life.

I became dimly aware of a rattling noise coming from somewhere, but I tried to ignore it as I approached the world's longest traffic light. I wasn't sure if it was really longer than others or if it just seemed like it was, because it was only a few blocks from my apartment. But either way, I gritted my teeth when I saw it turn red as I approached.

The rattling noise grew louder as I idled. I tapped my knuckles against the dashboard, hoping it was some loose piece of something that didn't matter. The car was getting old, after all.

The rattling turned into a grinding noise, and as I let off the brake and pushed down on the accelerator, I felt the car lurch to a start, right before it ground to a sickening halt in the middle of the intersection.

Yes.

Perfect.

-

I could feel my back begin to ache as I sat at the mechanic's, in a tiled room that stank of oil and rubber. Beside me, on the table, there was a stack of four-year-old magazines that were badly wrinkled and smeared with grease. I couldn't shake the feeling of dread. I just knew the news wasn't going to be good, and there was no way I could afford a major repair right now.

When they finally called me up to the counter, I could barely focus on what they were saying to me. The few words that penetrated the haze in my brain didn't sound good. "Badly degraded." "Major repairs." "Payment plan."

Numbly, I pulled out the only credit card I had that wasn't already maxed out and handed it over to make my first deposit. If I lived off of cup noodles for a while, I could manage to make the minimum payments. Hell, if I was lucky, I 'd only be paying this off until I retired.

Of course, there was another option.

As I rode the courtesy shuttle home, I lost myself in a fantasy of being a billionaire's bride. Even if it was just for a year...of course I'd have my payment after that, which would be a dream come true in and of itself. But to live for an entire year, without having to think or worry about money once? That was beyond anything I could even imagine. Once I was managing my own small fortune, it would be different. I'd be worried about where to invest it, how to save it - I'd spend all of my free time concerned with making it last. But while I was playing the role of Mr. Thorne's wife, I'd be completely worry-free. If I needed anything - anything at all - I could have it.

I was tired of this life. I was exhausted from living paycheck to paycheck, trying to scrape enough money together to float my credit card bills for another month. Between my student loan payments and some old medical bills, most of my paychecks left my hands before I even had a chance to think about where to spend them.

But it didn't have to be that way anymore.

Mr. Thorne had given me his personal cell phone number - something that I suspected he rarely gave to anyone. He was anxious to know my decision. Of course he was. He tried to hide it as best he could, but I knew how badly he needed me to say yes.

When  I got home, I pulled the wrinkled sticky note out of my pocket and dialed the number.

He answered on the first ring.

"Hello?" His voice was dark and smooth, like...no, I couldn't let myself think that way. 
Come on, Maddy. Get it together.

"Hello, Mr. Thorne? It's uh...it's Madeline Wainright."

There was just a moment's hesitation. "I think maybe...you ought to get used to calling me Daniel." I could hear him smiling down the phone. The fact that I was calling him out of the blue gave away my hand.

"Okay, Daniel," I said. "Have the contract ready for me on Monday."

"Of course," he said.

"I know it's a purely verbal agreement at this point, but can you do something for me?"

"Anything."

I felt goose bumps rising on my arms, for some incomprehensible reason.

"I'll need a ride to work," I said. "My car broke down, and it's going to be in the shop for at least a week..."

"Of course, Madeline. I'll send a town car to pick you up Monday morning. And don't worry about paying for the repairs, I'll see that it's done. Did you take it to Fellman's?"

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess." I could hear him shuffling some papers. "I'll see you on Monday, Madeline."

"Yeah, see you later." Why were my ears burning? I dropped the phone on the sofa and went to run myself a hot bath. I needed to sink into oblivion for a moment; the decision I'd just made was too big to even think about rationally until I'd had some rest.

As I dropped my clothes into the hamper in the hallway and walked naked to the bathroom, I started to think about how awkward it would be to live with Mr. Thorne. With Daniel. We were basically strangers. Despite our charade, it wasn't like I was about to walk around naked in front of him. I'd been living by myself for so long that I was used to being in a certain amount of privacy when I was home. Being around someone all the time would definitely take some adjusting-to.

Of course, I'd still be alone during the day, when he was at work. That was another thing I hadn't really considered. What would it be like, living a life where I wasn't obligated to go anywhere or do anything? Aside from the fancy dinners and restaurants I assumed I'd be expected to attend on Daniel's arm, I'd have all the free time in the world. What on earth was I going to do?

I kept forgetting that money was no object. As I sank into the steaming water, I remembered that I could go back and take those figure drawing classes I'd always wanted to do, but never found the time for. Hell, I could take private lessons. I could drop all this commercial crap and only create the kind of art that would make somebody's soul sing...

I had to stop and laugh at myself. I was getting way, way ahead of things. I still had to adjust to the idea of being someone's wife, even if it was only temporary.

From what little I knew of Daniel, I was sure he had the whole thing planned out. He knew already what our first kiss would be like, where he'd spontaneously propose, and when we'd impulsively run over to Vegas or the judge's offices to get married, or whatever. He was already planning the first time he'd put his hand on my lower back, signaling to the whole world that I belonged to him. And I couldn't quite decide if I hated that idea, or loved it - maybe a little more than I should.

Even in the hot water, I shivered.

I wasn't about to question the business plans of such a successful man, but I had to wonder how believable our relationship would appear to be. I wasn't exactly the sort of glamorous supermodel type that the richest of the rich tended to marry. He'd made it pretty clear that he wasn't expecting me to act a certain way, but how would I be expected to dress? I'd never seen Daniel in anything but a suit; then again, I'd never seen him outside of work.

The full absurdity of my situation hit me then, and for a moment I felt lightheaded with panic. Then I remembered that I hadn't actually signed anything yet, and I calmed down slightly. Just slightly. There still a part of my brain that knew I wasn't going to go back on my word. I wouldn't be able to handle the disappointment on his face.