way I couldn’t tolerate the smell of lavender candles or cigar smoke––because it invoked memories of my childhood––Scott’s scent brought back memories of one stolen kiss in a dark coatroom all those years ago.
Closing the door, I leaned back against it and released a sigh that emanated from the bottom of my tired soul. Absently, I glanced around the bathroom. It too was small and cramped. Faded navy blue towels hung neatly from a chipped towel bar. A gallon-sized bottle of Listerine sat on the rim of the sink keeping company with a toothbrush and toothpaste in a drinking glass.
Again, all very un-Scott like.
Where was the man who valued opulence and luxury and his own comfort above all else? Where was the happy-go-lucky loser? Maybe he’d found Jesus, I thought. Maybe the open space and clean air had driven him mad. He certainly never displayed a tendency to brood before. I didn’t believe people could change their nature, but maybe Scott had channeled all of his worst qualities into something more productive and yet (unfortunately) infinitely less congenial.
My gaze fell on my polished crimson toes. Mud and flecks of grass stuck to my right foot. I’d promised Frank I’d bear Scott. For how long I could do it was yet to be determined.
* * *
“Still wanna marry me?” Scott asked as soon as he pulled the pickup truck into the Four Seasons’ driveway. He shut off the engine and turned to look me squarely in the eyes. Was he trying to purposely intimidate me? If he was, I had news for him: it wasn’t working.
My thoughts ran back to New York. What did I have to lose by doing this? Sadly, nothing. There was literally nothing waiting for me at my apartment other than a few condiments and a jar of cashew butter. No family. No boyfriend. No Josh. Just a whole lot of loneliness. And even Scott the Grinch was better company than a jar of cashew butter.
I could do this. My resolve had only hardened throughout the day. This new grumpy, outdoorsy version of Scott was better than the degenerate, constantly intoxicated playboy he’d once been. How or why that change had happened didn’t concern me. As long as the change was mostly permanent––and I had good reason to believe it was––I was willing to give this arrangement a chance.
“Am I willing to marry you for the opportunity to become CEO of Blackstone?” I held his steady midnight blue gaze rendered even more intense in the darkened cab of the pickup as I spoke. He needed to see that I meant business. That I was willing to see this arrangement through to the end. “Yes.”
After a heavy pause, Scott’s eyes returned to gazing out the windshield. “It gets below zero in winter sometimes.”
“I’ll buy a North Face jacket.”
“For weeks.”
“I’ll buy snow pants.”
His jaw pulsed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. It was clear he was doing this under duress. I knew Frank was holding his inheritance over him, in which case he could’ve simply grown a pair and refused to be bought. But he hadn’t. So here we were.
“You could get stuck here. Weather’s unpredictable.”
“I’ll video conference.”
“On the property, I mean. Sometimes I can’t get into town for days. We get snowstorms well into April.”
“We’ll stock up on frozen vegetables.”
Scott drummed his thumbs impatiently on the steering wheel. “Have it your way.” He looked downright despondent, and for the first time since I’d agreed to this plan, I felt guilty.
The Ford’s engine sputtered on.
“What about holidays?” I jumped in. He seemed determined to leave and the details hadn’t been discussed. “We can’t spend holidays apart. I’ll be spending two weeks here and two in New York for now, but you’ll have to make an effort too. Otherwise the board will catch on.”
I didn’t know why I mentioned holidays in particular. I hadn’t celebrated a holiday since I’d moved out of my grandparents’ house at seventeen and even their holidays hadn’t been a celebration, just another excuse to atone for sins I hadn’t committed.
“Holidays?” He seemed genuinely confused by the question. Not for long though. Less than a second later it cleared to make room for an entirely different sentiment, a less neutral one. Resentment. “This is straight-up blackmail––” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m willing to spend as little time as possible with you to make this farce appear legit and not a second more. Let ’em think we’ve had a rocky start. With my reputation, it