Indecent Proposal (14 page)

Dad would like that
, she thought before she could stop herself.

When Harry had told her at the bar that he’d never had a boss, he wasn’t kidding. This run for Congress looked like his first real job.

“Rich people,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?” the driver asked.

“Nothing,” she said. She imagined that this fancy car with its fancy driver, whisking her in air-conditioned comfort from the Atlanta airport north of the city to where the houses got bigger and the lawns got more lush, probably had one of those windows she could raise and lower for privacy. But she didn’t know where the button was.

“How much farther?” she asked.

“Fifteen minutes.”

She closed the email file on her phone, having gleaned as much as she needed for the time being. Basically, she was marrying into a very white, very rich, and pretty boring family.

If it weren’t for the sister kidnapped by Somali pirates and Harry (she’d begun thinking about the version of Harrison she’d slept with that night as a totally different person), there’d be nothing interesting about them at all.

Except, of course … her. And this baby.

She opened her purse and did her best to freshen up. The green sundress she’d decided on wearing had weathered the travel pretty well except for a dark spot near the strap, where she’d spilled some decaf coffee she’d been unable to refuse on the jet.

Private
jet. There had been a time, not so long ago, that she’d thought that was her due. A foregone conclusion in her rosy modeling future. Those ambitions were something that Paul had fanned to life in her. Or at least fanned to a larger flame.

And when they didn’t come to fruition, well, that’s when she’d learned the reality of marriage. Her marriage, anyway.

Funny to have those dreams come to fruition now.

She pulled her hair out of its bun and brushed it, letting it lie brown and silky across her shoulders. Casting directors, scouts, reps—they all said her hair was her best feature, and so she played it up.

Harry—Harrison—had seemed to like it that night in the hotel room.

If nothing else, perhaps she could throw him off his stride.

Makeup helped with the dark skin under her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks.

Long ago, she’d learned that most people didn’t see
past her looks. Her beauty had been her identity for a long, selfish, and miserable time in her life. But now she would use that same beauty as armor to keep Harrison from seeing all the parts of herself she would like to hide.

And by the time the car came to a stop, she looked pretty good, if she did say so herself. And she felt pretty good, too. Not like a sheep to the slaughter, but rather as a fully capable and intelligent woman who was making a decision to improve her future and that of her child.

I can do this
, she told herself, and she believed it.

But the moment she stepped out onto a circular drive in front of a redbrick mansion with white columns lit up with dozens of hidden spotlights, her confidence took a hit.

It’s called the Governor’s Mansion
, she thought, tugging on the hem of her cheap rayon sundress.
You knew it wasn’t going to be a hut
.

The front door opened and she found herself holding her breath, waiting for Harrison, only to be disappointed when it was Wallace trotting down the steps. He was a handsome man, tall and thin. But it was all ruined by his bad ties. This one was yellow and brown circa 1972.

He stopped a few feet from her, as if she were radioactive and infectious. “You are actually going to do this?”

“Hello to you, too.” She peeked behind him, waiting for her would-be fiancé to come out. She didn’t want to talk to any of them, but the guy she was engaged to would be better than Wallace.

“He’s in meetings,” Wallace said, apparently reading her mind.

She thought,
Get better ties
, but his face didn’t change.

The night around them was thick and lush and hot,
and she felt sweat bead up under her hair.
I should have left it up
, she thought.
I shouldn’t have bothered trying
.

Because nothing about her impressed this man. Not her armor. Not her beauty. This man wasn’t about to get taken in by anything she had to offer.

Her brother had sent some information about Wallace, too. And having read all about his background, she understood him a little better. It didn’t make her like him, but she understood what he was doing: protecting his friend.

That kind of behavior was all over his file. A ghetto Robin Hood.

“This isn’t going to be a regular marriage,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“You know what I’ve been calling you?”

“I can’t wait to hear.”

“The indentured servant.”

“Aren’t you clever?”

“I am, actually.” He nodded at the driver, who went to the trunk of the car to pull out her bag, and then Wallace turned to walk back inside.

She wasn’t going to start this endeavor being anyone’s punching bag. This family might have more money than God, and this handsome man with terrible taste in ties may have more power than she did, but she was no one’s fool.

“Do you think your mother would have taken this deal?” she asked, and Wallace paused on the wide white steps. Slowly, he turned. And she saw in his blank-faced astonishment the knowledge of every single sacrifice his mother made years ago on his behalf. He knew exactly what his mother had given up for him.

And because of the file, so did she.

“Would she have taken this deal instead of working three jobs, and living in the shitty housing project on Chicago’s south side, all so you could go to the good
private school, so you could get the scholarship to Emory?”

“I’m sorry?” he breathed as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Your mom,” she said, stepping closer. Knowledge was power, and she felt her own power return. “When she found out she was pregnant with you. Do you think if some man had come out of the blue and promised to make sure your life was set up in a way she could never dream of making happen on her own, would she have done that?” She tilted her head, watching him. She didn’t want an enemy in this man. She didn’t want an enemy at all; the next two years were going to be hard enough. “I think she would have. I think we both know your mother would have done anything for you. Including agreeing to this proposal.”

“You think you’re like my mom?”

It was obvious he didn’t. His curled lip would indicate she wasn’t fit to sit next to his mother in church.

“I’d do anything for this baby,” she said, brushing her hand over her stomach. “That makes us similar enough.”

He was silent for a long time, looking over her head at the lights around the fountain.

“Well, well,” he said and then smiled at her again, not particularly kind but not mean anymore, either. “Now who’s clever?”

He waited for her while she climbed the stairs.

“All I did was sleep with a guy at a bar,” she told him when she got to his step. “A nice guy who seemed like he was having a bad night. If you want to hate someone, hate Harrison. He knew who he was. I didn’t.”

He nodded slowly, as if mulling over the idea of hating his boss. “Clever and tough. That’s good. You’re going to need everything you’ve got with this family.”

She glanced around the front of the house, the stunning reality of Harrison’s wealth. The stunning reality
of what she was doing. Of how unbelievably out of place she was.

“Is my lawyer here?” she asked as they took the rest of the steps together.

“Yeah, he’s with Bruce, discussing your amendments to the contract.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Well, we’re not thrilled with your amendment should he lose this election.”

“If it’s really awful, I want a way to get out of this marriage.”

“He’s not a bad guy.”

“I might have agreed with you at one time, but now I don’t know what he is. And that’s why I want to be able to dissolve the agreement if both parties agree when the election is over.” She gave him the side-eye. “If your mother was in this situation, that’s what you would want her to do.”

“All right,” he laughed. “We can give my mother a rest.”

“What about my other demands?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Paying the mortgage for your family’s house in Philadelphia, setting up a college fund for your sister, for your child, and keeping your brother’s name out of the press are all doable.”

“And the last thing?”

Poor Wallace looked tortured. “You … you really need that in writing?”

“I do.”

“Then it’s done. No sex.”

“No sex. And separate rooms.” She could not imagine sharing a bedroom with a man she didn’t know, not after years of her own privacy.

If she was going to be spending most of her time pretending to love and be loved by a man who couldn’t be
bothered to greet her at the door on the evening of their wedding, then she was going to need a place to regroup.

“The Montgomerys have added their own stipulation.”

“Really?”

“A blood test when the child is born. The results to be kept private.”

She smiled humorlessly. And she wanted to tell him to fuck off, but she had nothing to hide. Harrison had no reason to believe in her; the connection she’d felt that night had been a ruse, the product of grief and her own stupid, wayward heart.

“Fine.”

Wallace nodded and opened the front door.

Despite all her efforts to not be one of those historical romance heroines, walking into the marble foyer and seeing the slick hardwood floors beyond, the glittering chandeliers and sconces, she felt like one.

She felt small and alone. And like maybe her dad lost her in a poker game.

At the far end of the front entry—so large that two of her apartments could have fit in it—a door opened.

She wanted it to be Harrison coming through that door as much as she was dreading seeing him again. And now she was grateful that it had been Wallace at the front door; it gave her a chance to regroup. To fortify her walls. To be reminded in no unclear way that this was business. And nothing else at all.

But it wasn’t Harrison coming through that door.

“Oh Christ, brace yourself,” Wallace whispered, placing his hand at the small of her back as if to help hold her up. His solicitous concern was terrifying.

The woman that came across the foyer to stand in front of Ryan was small, though she gave the impression of being bigger than she was. Her dark suit was
tailored to fit her thin body. Her long blond bob was perfect in every way, the highlights subtle, not a hair out of place. Her makeup was the same, elegant and restrained. She wore gold hoops in her ears and a small crucifix on a thin chain around her neck. A diamond the size of a grape on her ring finger.

Ryan knew a stylized look when she saw one, a costume top to bottom created to tell a story, to force a reaction. This woman wanted everyone to believe she was in the background. Nonthreatening. Vaguely forgettable.

But it was a lie.

She was chilling in her practiced innocuousness.

Behind her, another woman came out the door. Blond and rumpled, a pencil in her hair, two phones and clipboard in her hand.

“I’m Patty Montgomery,” the woman in front of her said.

Ryan had of course read plenty about her in the files and knew that what she was really wearing wasn’t that St. John suit or the god-ugly round-toed pumps, but ego. She was cloaked head to toe in her own hubris.

Unable to resist stirring the pot, Ryan shrugged, as if the name meant nothing to her. Beside her, Wallace swallowed a laugh.

“I am Harrison’s mother.” She said it slowly, as if Ryan were stupid. Or didn’t understand English.

“Nice to meet you. I’m his fiancée.” Ryan put out her hand to shake, but Mrs. Montgomery simply sniffed. As far as snubs went, it was expected and unimaginative.

Really? Too good to shake my hand? That’s what you’re leading with?
Ryan thought, surprised by how pissed the lame insult made her. It seemed that all the anger and resentment that she wasn’t going to let herself
feel about this strange turn her life had taken had found an incredibly handy outlet in this woman.

“Wallace, where is Harrison?” Patty asked, looking past Ryan as if she weren’t there. “Reverend Michaels is in the south parlor and he doesn’t have a lot of time to wait.”

“He’s got a conference call with Gibbs in Washington. He should be done shortly.”

“Wonderful.” Patty gave Ryan another long look. “You have a half hour, I imagine, before the ceremony if you’d like to change.”

“Nope.”

“No … nope?” Patty asked, her perfect eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline.

“This is it. My wedding dress. I got it from a guy in the garment district who only had one eye. It’s my lucky dress.” She was hugely gratified to watch Patty’s face nearly implode with distaste. Honestly, this woman was really too easy.

“Tomorrow morning we have a press conference, and after that you will be doing a school visit. Do you plan on wearing … that?”

“I’ve got some skinny jeans.”

“Noelle!” Patty called, and the messy shadow woman behind her stepped forward.

“Yes.”

“Clearly, Ms. Kaminski is going to need a new wardrobe. Could you see that done?”

Noelle nodded and wrote a note on the clipboard she carried.

“I’m size four,” Ryan said, watching Patty from the corner of her eye. “Size eight shoe. Yellow looks terrible on me, and keep the skirts short. I may be a politician’s wife, but I’m not dead, am I?” She laughed, pouring it all on thick. For a woman who just seconds ago had thought she needed no enemies, she was doing
her damnedest to make sure her future mother-in-law was going to be one.

It was her perverse streak, the rebellion she had against anything that wasn’t genuine. She’d take a hot mess over a woman pretending she was perfect, projecting a lie. She had no patience for that.

And this gut reaction to prove an act was false had gotten her in more than her fair share of trouble.

“We’ll need a stylist,” Patty said, eyeing Ryan’s hair. “Tony should be able to come in first thing before the press conference.”