I Married a Master(18)
Author: Melanie Marchande

"You want a drink?" I asked her. "Something to eat? Whatever – just name it. Make yourself at home."

She walked into the library and sat down on the leather love seat, pulling off her elegant stiletto heels. Her eyes never left me for long. "I know you brought me here for a reason, Mr. Chase, so spit it out. What is it? Do you need me to sign Daniel’s birthday card?"

Well, if she was going to play it like that.

"Now that you mention it, there’s something I could stand to discuss with you," I said, settling into the armchair opposite her. "Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?"

"I’m sure," she said. "Whatever you’re about to say, I want to hear it with a clear head."

Damn it. She could read me much better than I was strictly comfortable with.

I began to speak.

"Ten years ago, I was married." I could see her doing the math in her head. "Yeah, yeah, before you ask – I was too young and it was stupid. We both were."

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "I wasn’t going to say anything."

"Okay, sure." I smirked. "But the ugly details don’t matter. It was great, until it wasn’t, and her cutthroat lawyer came up with the most diabolical settlement of all time. I was lovesick, so I accepted it. I didn’t think she was serious. The whole thing was like wading through a nightmare. I didn’t even think it was enforceable. I don’t know what I thought, but I knew I was lucky that she wasn’t going after alimony or spousal support, so I signed it."

Jenna’s forehead had that adorable little wrinkle in the center, and I knew that meant she was about to say something that would infuriate the hell out of me. "You didn’t have a lawyer?"

I gritted my teeth.

"Okay," she said, after a moment’s silence. "I get it. We all make mistakes. I’m not here to sit in judgment of the way you handled your divorce." She cleared her throat lightly. "Actually, I’m not sure why I’m here."

Right. I still hadn’t gotten to the juicy part.

"This does not leave this room," I warned her. "You understand?"

She nodded innocently.

"I’m serious," I said. "You don’t tell anybody. Not Maddy, not Daniel, not your mom, not your priest."

She snickered. "Do I strike you as somebody who goes to confession?"

"Hell, I don’t know your life." Shrugging, I stood up to pace the floor. I couldn’t get this out if I had to look her in the face. "I agreed to give her fifty-one percent stake in my company, within two years of the divorce being finalized."

Jenna stared.

"Unless," I said, turning on my heel to begin the epic journey to the other side of the room. "Unless I got married, and stayed married, for a total of two years. That clock begins on the day the license is filed. If the marriage ended at any point after the original two-year time period, bam. Agreement over. Fifty-one percent to the Wicked Witch of the West."

Snorting, she leaned back in her chair. "Right. I’m sure you were blameless in the whole thing."

I didn’t dignify that with a response. "It’s been one year, and eight months," I said. "I have this bad habit of procrastinating."

Jenna raised her eyebrow, laughing softly. "Did you even try?"

"I figured it would just happen, you know?" I shrugged. "Take care of itself. Well, that didn’t work out. Now I’m thinking I need to find another solution."

I eyed her, trying to gauge her reaction. But it was impossible to tell if she was following my logic.

"Or," she said, smirking, with her arms folded across her chest, "you could just admit defeat and give the woman what she deserves. She outsmarted you. And by the sounds of it, it wasn’t even that hard. Just accept it."

Was she serious?

"Fifty-one percent, Jenna," I said, as calmly as I could manage. "I know this isn’t really your area of expertise, being a drama major, but if you’ve ever caught a rerun of Shark Tank you’ll know that means -"

"A majority share," she said, calmly, cutting me off. "That must really sting, my condolences."

How the hell was I going to make this woman understand what Chase Industries meant to me? She’d never been responsible for anything more important than a toaster oven. I couldn’t believe Daniel trusted her with his baby.

"Well, as a drama major, I clearly don’t understand how contracts work," she said, with a very thin-lipped smile. "But I’m pretty sure, legally speaking, you’re what they call completely screwed."

I raked my hands through my hair, staring at the wall. I couldn’t look at her face for one second longer. Such a smug look, on such an effortlessly sexy and infuriating woman – I could put my fist through the wall.

Or, kiss her so hard that she forgot how to be a smartass. That was always another option. It also sounded like it was a little less likely to end in broken bones.

Probably.

What the hell was I doing? Focus, Chase.

"It’s not about the money," I said, finally, cringing at the sound of the words.

She wasn’t even trying to stifle her laughter anymore. "Of course it’s not," she said. I heard the sound of her gathering her things and standing up – no, no, no, things was going much worse than I’d anticipated.

"I’m not really sure why you’re telling me all this," she was saying. "But unless you’re about to offer me a million dollars in exchange for pretending to be your wife…"

It was a joke, but as soon as she said it, all the blood drained from my face. I couldn’t help it.

"Mr. Chase," she said, taking a step towards me, her voice soft and tainted with disbelief. "Are you offering to pay me to marry you?"

Reflexively, I shook my head.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Okay," I said, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Maybe."

"Oh, my God," she laughed. "This is…this is too good. Are you…this is a joke, right? You’re pranking me. Please, let’s not drag this out any further."

She was heading for the door. Suppressing the urge to jump up and block her way out, which I figured would look pretty bad, I just said: "Where are you going to go?"

She sighed. "I don’t know. Somewhere crazy people aren’t making me bizarre offers that sound like the setup to an Andie McDowell movie."

"It’s not like it’s for a green card," I said, spreading my hands open in a vague gesture. I hoped it would read as come on, what the big deal? "I’m not asking you to lie to the government. I’m not asking you to commit fraud."