A Fake Marriage With The Real Tycoon
Chapter 8
The restaurant wasn't just exclusive; it was practically invisible. Tucked away in a quiet Beacon Hill alley, with no sign and a single, imposing doorman who checked her name against a list before letting her in.
The interior was hushed and dimly lit. A maître d' led her to a private booth in the back, secluded by dark velvet curtains.
Haskell was already there, a glass of red wine in his hand. He stood as she approached, pulling out her chair with an effortless grace that seemed out of place for a man who wielded so much power.
She sat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Thank you for meeting me. And for... everything."
"It was necessary," he said, dismissing her gratitude. He took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving her face. "Let's not waste time, Alayna. You want to know the price. The repayment terms."
She nodded, her throat suddenly dry.
"There are no repayment terms," he said calmly. "I don't want your money."
She stared at him, confused. "Then what do you want?"
He set his glass down. "I have a problem. My company, Knight Industries, is in the final stages of a merger. The board of the other company is old-fashioned. They value stability. A bachelor CEO with a certain reputation makes them nervous."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "I need a wife. In name only. For one year. Until the deal is closed."
The air left Alayna's lungs in a silent rush. A wife. He was proposing a business transaction that involved her marrying him. It was the most insane thing she had ever heard.
"You would have access to all my resources," he continued, as if discussing a stock portfolio. "A generous allowance, protection, and of course, your mother's medical care will be covered in its entirety, no matter the cost. After one year, we file for a quiet, amicable divorce. You walk away with a settlement that will ensure you and your mother are comfortable for the rest of your lives."
She finally found her voice. "Why me? You could have anyone. Any socialite in New York would line up for this."
"They would come with complications," he said, his voice flat and logical. "Family alliances, media attention, emotional attachments. You, on the other hand, are perfect. You have no connections to my world. You're intelligent, presentable, and you have a compelling reason to agree. You're... manageable."
Manageable. The word stung, a small, sharp insult wrapped in a business proposal. She was a tool. A convenient, easily controlled solution to his problem.
And yet... it made a twisted kind of sense.
She thought of her mother, asleep in the hospital. She thought of the half-million-dollar bill. She had no choice. She never had.
She picked up her water glass, her hand trembling slightly. "When would we... sign the contract?"
A flicker of something—triumph? relief?—passed through his eyes, so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. "My lawyers will have it drawn up by tomorrow."
Dinner arrived, and they ate in a tense, loaded silence. The food was exquisite, but it tasted like ashes in her mouth.
Suddenly, the curtain to their booth was pulled aside.
"Sorry, thought this was the restroom," a familiar voice slurred.
Alayna's head snapped up. It was one of Caiden's friends. One of the men from the VIP suite at the country club.
Her blood ran cold. Panic, stark and absolute, seized her. She instinctively ducked her head, her hair falling over her face, praying he wouldn't recognize her.
Before the man could even focus his drunken gaze, Haskell was on his feet. He moved with a speed that was startling, positioning his body between Alayna and the intruder, completely shielding her from view.
"You're mistaken," Haskell said, his voice low and dangerous. The man mumbled an apology and stumbled away.
Haskell immediately signaled the maître d'. "The check. And have my car brought to the rear exit."
He grabbed her hand. His touch was firm, grounding. "Let's go."
He led her through the kitchen and out into a dark, narrow alley. The cool night air was a shock to her system. She leaned against the brick wall, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
She could only nod, still trying to catch her breath.
He took off his suit jacket—a different one from the night of the storm, she noticed distantly; the one from that night was still folded on the chair in her mother's hospital room—and draped it over her shoulders. The familiar scent of cedar was strangely comforting.
She looked up at him, and in the dim glow of the alley light, she saw it again. That fleeting expression in his eyes. It wasn't the cold calculation of a CEO. It was... something else. Something softer. Protective.
Then it was gone, replaced by his usual impassive mask.
The ride back to the hospital was silent. But this time, the silence felt different. It wasn't just empty space. It was filled with the unspoken weight of the bargain they had just struck.
Back in the room, she looked at her sleeping mother, her face peaceful under the soft light of the monitors. The fear from the restaurant was gone, replaced by a cold, hard certainty.
Haskell's world was dangerous. But being without him was a death sentence.
She pulled out her new phone and sent him a text.
I agree. I'll sign tomorrow.
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