Bargaining with the Bride (3 page)

“I’m going to do something. Why don’t you press charges?”

“For what?”

“Fraud. Something.”

“I looked over his papers last night. By all accounts, he
was
sick when he’d first told me. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave a sick person. We’d already been together for two years. It was just…” She spread her hands out wide on the table between them and he fought back the strange urge to grasp her hand and comfort her.

Instead, he stood to pour their coffee, saying over his shoulder, “Anyone in your position would have done the same thing. He took advantage of you. I’m sure your parents would understand if you told them that.”

“I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand. People are coming to this wedding. Planes have been booked. Hotels have been called. Food has been ordered. At this point, getting divorced would be easier than calling this thing off. My parents will say it’s just another one of my colossal screw-ups. They call me Wreck-it Rachael, for god’s sake.” He placed a coffee cup in front of her and then she lifted it to her lips, blowing over the rim to cool the steaming liquid.

He resumed his seat and stirred his own black coffee, thinking over the options. As far as he could tell, she’d already made up her mind. From what he knew of Rachael’s determination, that would mean he didn’t stand a chance of convincing her otherwise.

Still…he couldn’t bear to lose her. She was a great employee. Smart, considerate, attentive. What would he do if she wasn’t there to share coffee with in the morning? How could he find another person to deal with his constantly changing demands as well as she did?

For the first time in his corporate career, he was at an impasse, so he tried one last time. "If that’s the case, then I don’t know why you’d go running back to them. There has to be something I can do. To help you
and
to keep you here."

Her tinkling laugh woke him from his thoughts. "Unless you can find someone who'll pretend to marry me in the next month and give me enough money to support my sister, I don't know what you could do to change my mind."

He looked the smile on her face. It was the kind that faltered just the slightest bit when he wasn't looking directly at her. His mind whirred with possibilities

Maybe there was an option after all…

It shouldn't be too hard to find a stand in. She was pretty, after all. Curly gold hair, brown eyes, knockout figure. Guys would start lining up to be her
real
husband if she asked them in a short enough skirt.

If they did that, though, she might end up with a creep. Besides, he didn't know anyone he could walk up to and ask for such a big favor. That was the kind of job for someone who already knew her. Someone who had at least a basic understanding of what she was like. And he knew someone who fit the bill. He settled back into his metal chair and surveyed her still-sleepy dark eyes over the rim of his coffee cup. It was crazy, sure. But just crazy enough to work.

"What if I did it?" he asked in his most casual tone, and then sipped his coffee.

She didn't play along with his cool, though. Instead, her eyes widened to full alertness and she sat down her mug in order to stare at him. "What if you
what
?" She asked, her tone caught somewhere between astonishment and amusement.

"I could pose as your husband, we'll fake the wedding, and I’ll give you a bonus big enough for your sister to get away from your parents." Piece of cake. Boom goes the dynamite.

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard." She laughed, but her expression was more curious than dismissive. Like she was appraising him. Waiting to hear more.

She was on the hook. He just had to reel her in.

"It's not that crazy, and what does it hurt?"

"Well, for one, you won't be able to convince my family that you're my fiancé. We're work friends and all, but I don't think you can manage to fool everyone I know." She didn't say it, but he heard the question that came after her words.

Could he?

And that was a question he knew the answer to, "Oh, I think I can." It would take some studying, but he could be someone's fiancé. How hard was that? He had degrees from the foremost universities in the world. He ran his own highly successful corporation. Compared to all that, this would be a game.

"I don’t think so,” she lifted a single brow.

Oh, it was definitely a game, and the only thing missing was to place the stakes. To set up the treasure chest at the end of the map.

"Well, if you don't believe me, then let's make it interesting. During our fake engagement, I’ll use you as a subject for our company research. Since we’ll spend so much time together, I think it would be an ideal time to gather data. From that point on, if I can convince your family that I'm your beloved fiancé, then you have to stay here for the next year, and you’ll have to authorize me to use your data in the study." he said.

"Corporate slavery?" she laughed, the ghost of sadness disappearing from her face.

"Contract negotiations," he countered.

"And what if nobody believes you?" she steeled her fingers.

"If nobody believes me, then you're free to go back home. I'll write you a great letter of reference, give you twice as much as I would have given you for your sister’s care if you’d stayed, and you'll be set to find another career. Win-win." That was the clincher. She couldn't turn him down.

What was more? He was determined to never lose. Ever. And he wouldn't.

"Interesting," she swirled her spoon around in her coffee, eying him up. “You’re going to make me into a human test subject, huh?”

"To put it crudely, yes."

"No probes, right?” she wrinkled her nose and he was surprised by exactly how charming the expression was.

He swallowed the thought along with his coffee, then answered, “No.”

"It
would
solve all my problems…so I think you have a deal," the corners of her mouth twitched once before blossoming into a full-blown smile, and she extended her arm toward him.

"I thought I would." Victory was already thundering in his ears when they shook on it.

Though the little jolt of electricity he felt as his fingers folded around her soft hand made him wonder whether the feeling was actually the thrill of the challenge, or if it was something that might make their proposition that much more interesting.

R
achael was surprised
by Garret’s grip. It was stronger than she'd remembered and, well, oddly…
sexy
. Not that he had ever really seemed like a sexual object. No, he was more of a watch-your-house, feed-your-cat kind of friend. The weird, tingly feeling was probably just the coffee in her empty stomach or last night’s vodka sucking up the last of her hydration.

But then, maybe it was the rush of adrenaline careening through her system as she thought over how awesomely things were going. If she won the bet, she could go home and walk into a job while spending the rest of her time with Eliza. And if he won—as if he ever would—she'd have job security and peace of mind.

Win-win, indeed.

Still, she was careful not to get her hopes up too high. Maybe Garret knew number-crunching Rachael pretty well, but what was the first thing he knew about reality-show-loving Rachael? Nothing. Fat chance he'd seem like anything more than a business associate to people who’d known her inside and out since birth.

Add to that the prospect of his taking her pulse while she slept or something, and she was probably in for one hell of a challenge. Why, then, could she not stop herself from smiling?

"Business before eight? Or are you just warming up for an arm wrestling stint?" Natalie Moyer, one of Rachael's best friends and Garret’s personal assistant, leaned against the kitchen partition, looking from Rachael to Garret with disinterest.

"No, it's kind of difficult to explain." Heat flooded Rachael’s cheeks, and Natalie's disinterest became something more like polite intrigue as she trudged toward the coffee maker.

"Do tell. I need a little morning pick me up," Natalie poured her coffee, added a sickening amount of sugar and cream, and sat between the pair already settled at the table.

"It's business. That's all." Garret smiled before sipping from his coffee, but Rachael could have sworn he winked, almost imperceptibly, as the mug reached his lips. “Do you have any messages for me this morning?”

“The movers called to confirm the pick-up time for Deanna’s stuff. Your brother called, too, but he was an ass, so I hung up on him.” Natalie said lazily. “To get back to the matter at hand, what sort of business is it that I can’t know about? I’m the corner stone of this office.” She flipped her silky brown hair behind one shoulder and eyed her boss with contempt.

"It's more
personal
business." Rachael said, and then realized her mistake when Garret released a small sigh.

"You're right, that's a lot less interesting." Natalie smiled, "For god's sake, like either of you could keep anything a secret from me. Just have out with it."

Rachael pursed her lips, but there really was no way around it. Natalie would be at the wedding, after all. Hell, she was a bridesmaid. If Garret's cockamamie scheme was going to even have a shot at working, she would have to get Natalie in on the action too.

"It was sort of a bet," Rachael started, then without taking so much as a breath, she explained what had happened with Lance, the situation she was in with her family, and finally Garret's new role as her current personal savior. The basics.

"Um, okay. I'll get to the bet in a sec. But could we focus on the nurse's outfit thing for a minute?" Natalie wrinkled her nose in an effort not to laugh. It was unsuccessful.

"I'm more interested in where he found pumps for men," Garret added.

"That's not really the point, guys. But, let's just say his feet were...petite at best."

Natalie gave an understanding, slightly-too-sympathetic nod, while it was Garret's turn to try not to laugh.

"I can't believe you left out that part of the story when you told me," he shook his head.

"Yeah, well, forgive me for attempting to hide my heartbreak from you guys. I can't imagine why I didn't want to tell you." Try as she might, Rachael was still pretty steamed about their reaction. Even if the visual memory of Lance all dolled up in the nurse's outfit was hilarious. Okay, more than hilarious, outrageous.

Still, her friends apologized, and there was a lull in the air as they all sipped their coffee and got lost in their own thoughts.

"So you really think he can fool your family?" Natalie asked.

"Oh hell no. It wasn't my idea." Rachael said.

At the same time, Garret pshawed. "How hard could it be?"

"You just don’t know we well enough.”

“As if.” But it was cute that he thought she was an open book. The only problem was that, even if she was, the book was probably written in Greek.

"I think I know you well enough to play a different version of you in
The Parent Trap
. I'm observant. It's my thing."

"Might I suggest a friendly competition?" Natalie said, looking from one to the other.

It was barely a second before the two chimed in unison, "You're on."

"We'll see how well you two know each other. I'll ask you guys a question about the other person, and you have to answer. Kind of like a newlywed game but, you know, for people who don't sleep together. If Garret wins, I get the day off. If Rachael wins, I get a half day."

"I fail to see how either of those options have anything to do with the game itself," Garret argued.

"Is that really what matters right now, or do you want to win?" Natalie tilted her head to the side.

Rachael smiled. If Natalie was good at anything, it was knowing when to keep Rachael and Garret in check and when to play on their competitive spirits. Right now, it was pretty clear which she was gunning for.

"Okay, Rach, sit by the fridge. Garret, sit on the other end of the kitchen, near the sink." Natalie ordered.

They moved their chairs, each competitor poised for victory.

Rachael could already taste the sweet nectar of Garret's defeat.

"Ready?" Natalie looked from one to the other as they both gave solemn nods.

"Okay then, let's start easy. How does your partner take their coffee?" Natalie turned to Rachael first.

"Uh, he, um, just likes cream." She looked over to Garret, already beaming in his chair.

"What kind of cream?" He sounded bored.

"Irish?" She tried to sound confident, but she could still hear the question mark lingering on every syllable.

"Hazelnut. Good try, though. Valiant." He had the nerve to yawn.

"Fine, well if it's so easy, what do
I
like in my coffee?" Rachael said.

"You like the French roasted coffee, but you'll drink Columbian. Never decaf unless you're planning on napping in the middle of the day and hoping I won't catch you. Then you usually add French vanilla creamer. If we have it. Sometimes you'll drink half and half, but when you're on a diet you drink skim milk. By the way, in case you were wondering, the skim milk thing is disgusting." He arched a defiant brow.

She had half a mind to stick her tongue out at him in response. Damn, he was seriously not kidding about being observant. "All that proves is that you're a stalker. And that your secretary makes the shopping list for the kitchen." Rachael said, trying to hide the sinking feeling of doubt that was already settling in her stomach. Maybe she hadn't given him enough credit.

Nearly enough credit.

"No, that just proves that we've had coffee together every day for a year. Who doesn't notice something like that?"

"I don't need your lip. It was a lucky, um, extremely accurate guess. No big. Let's keep rolling." Rachael waved Natalie on.

"Well, at least you guys already
sound
married, so you've got that covered." Natalie smirked.

"Enough with the commentary, let's get this popping," Rachael urged. Geeze, like it wasn't enough to be mercilessly bludgeoned on the first question. Now she had to watch the slow-mo replay.

"Okay. What is your partner's favorite movie?" Natalie looked at Garret.

"How am I supposed to know that? I thought this was based on what we were supposed to have known already."

"Her relatives aren't just going to ask you what you observe while working with her. So... make a guess." Natalie shrugged.

Garrets brows knit together and he began mouthing words Rachael couldn't quite make out. Simultaneously, he was counting something on his fingers.

"I didn't ask you how
old
the movie was." Natalie said.

"I know I'm thinking. And I'm pretty sure it's
Dirty Dancing
." Garret looked triumphant again.

"Nope." Rachael said. Too quickly. She’d decided during his internal planning session that she would say no regardless of what he said. Out of thousands of movies, he would never have guessed the right one.

And it took her a long minute after she’d denied him that she realized he’d actually given the correct answer.

How would he have been able to figure that out from working with her? She never strutted into his office and asked him to meringue with her or anything. She'd never even made a "Nobody puts baby in the corner" joke. Her stomach twisted with apprehension, worried that her office was bugged or maybe he actually was a freaking stalker. Either way, it made her feel…naked.

"Then what is it?" Garret crossed his arms.

"It's, um,
Happy Days
." It was the first thing that had come to mind, and she was already trying to hide the urge to bang her head into the fridge when Natalie spoke up.

"That's a TV show."

"No, there was a select release film. About the show. Richie and Fonzie go, uh, horseback riding and… well, it's a long story, but it's my favorite. So there." There was no way that didn't sound like an out and out lie, but her friends let it slide.

The down side of which meant that they were both staring at her, waiting expectantly for another answer.

Garret's favorite movie? It had to be like,
Citizen Cane
or
Good Will Hunting
, right? Something acclaimed and smart. Something dry. But those were a little obvious. So...what movie most reminded her of Garret?

He looked a little like Ben Affleck, so that was something. Barely.

She decided to just go for broke and blurt out the first film she could think of.

"
Weekend at Bernie’s
," she leaned back in her chair, trying to look casual. She probably, in actuality, looked like she had a cramp, but she could live with that.

"Nope." Garret shook his head, "I haven't even seen that movie."

"So what is it?" She pursed her lips. It was probably
Dead Poet’s Society
or something smart like that. Something a CEO would like. Maybe a golf documentary.

"
Swingers,
" he half smiled. Beyond her fury at being wrong—again—she felt something else bubbling up in her chest.

“That’s so money, and you don’t even know it.” She smiled back. He looked surprised, but happy. He opened his mouth to respond, but Natalie cleared her throat with a pointed look in Rachael’s direction.

Her friend was right. They could talk about it later. Right now, she had to have her game face on.

Natalie didn't wait for them to ask this time, she just spouted out her next question, examining her cuticles before she pointed to Rachael with a lazy finger. "What is your spouse's favorite color?"

Spouse?
That sounded straight up
wrong
. Alien, even. Still, she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by the idea of Garret standing up there at the altar…She shook off her chills. Yeah, they’d definitely have to deal with things one step at a time.

She examined him, trying to ignore his smug satisfaction. He was wearing a gray suit. Come to think of it, he usually wore gray or black. They suited him well, matching his sleek, black hair and dark blue eyes. The cut was always angular, drawing attention up to his broad shoulders and back down to his lean waist. But what did he wear
with
the suit?

Most days he wore...blue? Yeah, blue ties in different shades, just like today's royal blue.

Even before she said the answer, she knew she was right.

Frustratingly enough, he wasn't fazed. In fact, his practiced disinterest could have rivaled even Natalie's genuine disinterest.

Rachael had a secret weapon, though. She knew her wardrobe—clearance special clothes galore, and every single item was a different shade. Finally, this was something he wouldn't be able to guess.

"Well, obviously your favorite color is..." He trailed off, smiling to try and hide his frustration.

It didn't work.

"Do tell?" She beamed.

"It's purple," he said. Too casually.

And genuinely incorrect.

"Nope. Next question?" Rachael smirked.

"Okay, the score is tied. One more question, then I actually have to work. Since, you know, this is an office and everything. Square?" Natalie asked, refilling her coffee.

They both agreed, staring each other down as they waited for the last question to decide who was the weak, and who was the strong.

"What is your spouse's favorite meal?" Natalie pointed to Garret.

"Pork fried rice." Garret didn't even bother pausing for breath. The bastard.

"Well—"

"Don't lie. Every time we order lunch, you want Chinese. Whenever we get Chinese, you get the same thing. It's your favorite." The bored, convinced tone in his voice made correcting him all the sweeter.

"Except that my favorite food is meatloaf."

"Meatloaf? Whose favorite food is meatloaf? You’re on death row, and you turn to the warden to order your last meal, and you say, ‘Yes, I’d like your finest meatloaf’?"

"It's a delicious and misunderstood staple of American society," Rachael crossed her legs, smirking in her victory. She knew it. She shouldn't have been so worried after all. What could he possibly know from spending eight, okay, fourteen, hours a day working with her? Nothing.

Though, in the end, that still sort of made her the loser, didn't it?

"Well, then, what's my favorite meal?"

"You seem like a fillet mignon type of guy. Mashed red potatoes. Probably a snooty vegetable. Like asparagus."

"There are snooty vegetables?" Natalie chuckled.

Rachael hushed her, "Not now, we need to find out who the winner is and who will go to bed on a tear-stained pillow."