“Have you read this thing?” Zach asked, his tone and narrowed stare equally incredulous, as he looked from his agent, Marla to his publicist, Darlene to his attorney, who had obviously read the contract—he’d written it—to Walter, the head of the network.
They were all seated along the broad side of a long conference table on the top floor of the Christian Network’s building in midtown Manhattan, while Zach, wide-eyed and horrified, paced with his hands on his hips in front of the large windows boasting a gorgeous, autumn view of Central Park.
“She’s not going to sign this!” he went on, pausing his step only to rake his fingers through his black, bedraggled hair.
He’d put some thought into his digs and picked out a gray cashmere sweater that complimented the particular shade of his piercing green eyes instead of throwing on his usual tee shirt, and he’d looked dressed up. That was before he’d read the non-negotiable and thoroughly legally binding behemoth contract that stipulated terms for the relationship that no two strangers would ever in their right mind agree to. Now he was just coming undone. He’d pushed both sleeves up, but one had fallen. Somehow his undershirt had gotten untucked in the back. The left side of his thick hair where he’d been worriedly raking his fingers was standing stiffly on end while the other side was still combed flat.
“I don’t even know if I want to sign it!”
“What did you think I meant when I said ‘Tom and Katie’?” Darlene coolly countered, gazing up at him with mock sympathy in her big, brown eyes.
Abruptly, Zach stood stock-still and stared dead at her for a suspicious beat before blurting out, “I thought I’d be jumping up and down on Oprah’s fucking couch, is what I thought.”
Though mild-mannered, Zach’s attorney, Andrew Cranston, who looked more like a weathered turtle than an actual human being, pointed out, “Tom Cruise jumped up and down because he was overjoyed that Katie Holmes had accepted his marriage proposal.” Everyone stared at him. “I remember it distinctly,” he assured them. “I was at the dentist.”
“Andrew’s right,” said Darlene.
“Look,” said Zach, cutting her off. “I thought this was going to be a fake girlfriend deal, someone to pose with me in pictures to prove to America on the whole that I’m straight.”
“Anyone can pose for a photo,” Darlene reminded him.
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head and staring at the contract, its signature page—unsigned as of yet—resting on the conference table in front of where he was supposed to be sitting. “What if she’s offended?”
“Why would she be offended?” Marla, his agent asked as if the possibility were ludicrous. “She’s going to be thrilled. Darlene told us how she was looking at you in the café. This will be her Cinderella story. She’ll love it”
“She would have to be desperate to love this,” he shot back then grumbled under his breath, “and maybe so would I.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” said Darlene in a concluding tone, meeting Walter’s gaze.
He had been unusually quiet during this pre-meeting and at first Zach had assumed it was because Walter was equally skeptical of Darlene’s plan. But it was slowly dawning on him that that wasn’t the case. Walter was growing irritated with Zach’s reluctance.
Darlene offered him a pen and said, “Abby will be more apt to sign without a fuss if she sees your signature on the page. We don’t have much time.”
Zach was all too aware of the ticking clock. Abby would be here in a matter of minutes once she’d gotten through the red tape of security downstairs and signed what he could only assume would be a dozen more NDAs before being permitted into their conference room.
“No one will ever know the relationship is contracted,” Andrew assured him to reinforce Darlene’s point. “And if Abby doesn’t sign, the NDAs she’ll have signed by the time she enters this room will prevent her from ever breathing a word of this to anyone for the rest of her life.”
It wasn’t lost on him that he’d be protected whichever direction Abby decided to go—signing or running from the conference room screaming—that wasn’t why he was hesitating. He’d do anything to save his place on the show… well, he hadn’t thoroughly thought through or defined ‘anything’. Now that he was staring down the long barrel of Darlene’s definition of ‘anything’… this felt like the biggest decision of his life.
He drew in a deep breath and took hold of the felt-tip pen his publicist was holding out for him.
As he pressed the pen’s smooth tip against paper, carefully drawing his signature across the line, he tried to forget the more terrifying clauses the contract contained, and focused only on Abby, the feeling she’d given him when he’d seen her yesterday morning in The White Rabbit.
The way he’d felt wasn’t business as usual. It didn’t tie in to some Hollywood damage control strategy as if he’d seen her and a lightbulb had blinked on over his head like she would be the solution to his problem. The feeling that had slammed into him the moment he caught sight of her cascading, auburn hair, and porcelain profile, those big green eyes of hers and the hourglass curves of her petite figure, had been real and it had stayed with him all night.
The media thought he was one to avoid relationships because the best part of his bad boy lifestyle was plowing through women and refusing to settle down. Zach hadn’t bothered to correct them either, even though it wasn’t that he avoided relationships and though he’d had his fair share of romps, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t give up the bachelor life for the right girl. That girl simply hadn’t come along.
Until now, he thought.
He just wished he didn’t have gay rumors to contend with. He wished his contract renewal with #Blessed wasn’t on the line. He wished he could ask Abby out like a normal fucking person and do this right.
But there was no time to do this the old-fashioned way.
He had to convince his rapidly dwindling fan base that he was still every bit as worthy of fantasizing about as he ever was; every bit as worthy as Jamison Holt, the star of the show who had gotten married. He just hoped Abby would go for it. If she didn’t, he knew there wouldn’t be a second chance. Not in terms of dating her—you never got a second chance at a first impression—and not in terms of staying on the show.
“Good,” said Darlene curtly as she slid the contract in front of her, preparing the staple sheets for Abby Gallagher’s impending signature. “Have a seat.”
He felt too antsy to sit still, but he couldn’t be pacing and prowling like a psycho when she got here, so he collapsed into the chair meant for him, between Darlene and his attorney, ran all ten fingers through his dark hair, and focused on steadying his pounding pulse, drawing in a slow, deep breath meant to cool him off and calm him down.
There was a faint knock on the conference room door and then one of the rotating receptionists assigned to their floor peeked her head in and sheepishly whispered, “Abby Gallagher is at Reception. Can I bring her in?”
Walter touched eyes with Darlene, who nodded her agreement, then allowed, “Please do.”
Zach felt his eyes nearly bulge out of his head and the second the receptionist had slipped out, closing the door with a gentle click, he pitched forward in his chair, blurting out, “You’re all going to be here? Why can’t it just be—“
“Because it can’t,” barked Darlene. “Now sit back, keep your mouth shut, and let me do my job.”
“If she’s intimidated—“
But she wouldn’t let him voice his complaining two cents. “It’s been exactly twenty-four hours and I’ve finessed the girl of your choosing into showing up. In forty-eight, you’ll be on a red carpet with the brand-new girlfriend I’ve groomed. In one week, you’ll have eloped, thanks to me. You’ll have a wife on your arm, which will dispel all gay rumors. The press junket will follow and because I’ve masterfully orchestrated restoring your image, you will be presented with a renewed contract for the next season of Hashtag Blessed. Do you doubt me?”
She stared dead at him and Zach felt his balls shrink up into his abdomen.
“Do you doubt my methods? Hmm?”
Zach was afraid to speak.
“I didn’t think so,” she said in reply to his silence.
Damn.
“Intimidation is intentional,” she finally explained.
There was a beat of tension in the air, but the second the conference room door swung open, the receptionist gliding in to provide plenty of room and Abby taking three apprehensive steps, the thick tension that had built in both the air and Zach’s chest vanished like smoke in sunlight.
As Abby took in the room, clearly feeling uncomfortable with all eyes on her—there’s no way she could’ve expected an entire firing squad of suits to be staring her down—she smoothed her delicate hands over the front of the purple, wrap dress she wore, let out a rocky breath, and then the biggest most sincere smile spread across her pretty face, her eyes locking with Zach’s.
If Darlene’s brash personality had sent Zach’s testicles into hiding, the warm, inviting, and downright sultry gleam in Abby’s gaze had the exact opposite effect. He felt himself stiffen in his jeans. But unlike last night when he’d been free to explore both kinky fantasies of Abby and the shape of his hardening erection alike, there would be no immediate relief and Zach would have no choice but to ride the swell of his building arousal.
She looked like the sinful side of heaven, that was for damn sure.
“Welcome,” said Darlene coolly. Indicating the row of vacant chairs directly across from the #Blessed team, she invited Abby to have a seat. “You understand that everything discussed within the four walls of this room is strictly, and one hundred percent, confidential?”
“Yes,” said Abby, as she lowered into one of the plush conference room chairs, looking and sounding more sure of herself.
She touched eyes with Zach and he felt an electric zing of arousal shoot right through him, then returned her attention to his publicist, who it seemed wasn’t going to bother introducing any of the other four suits. But now that Abby was settling in, she didn’t seem all that fazed by it. In fact, she seemed comfortable.
“We love your Christian image—“
“Catholic,” Abby corrected her.
Darlene waved the discrepancy off with, “Whatever,” and barreled right ahead. “As I’m sure you’re aware, a rumor has surfaced recently in regard to Zach’s sexual preference and long story short it’s bad for the show.”
“And it’s not true,” Zach piped up, insisting, “I’m not gay.”
Abby flashed him a little grin and if she meant to reassure him that she hadn’t bought the rumor, it worked.
“We’ve invited you here today,” Darlene went on, “because the best way to squash this rumor is for Zach to essentially be married.”
Abby’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, her eyes rounding wide as saucers. She didn’t blink.
“Married?” she questioned.
“Technically there’s no time to go through with all that a full-on wedding would require,” Darlene clarified. “So, you would need to first appear by Zach’s side, constantly, and then elope in about a week, week and a half tops. The marriage, should you sign, will last…” she trailed off, flipping to the fifth clause of the massive agreement to refresh her memory. “Six months. At which point in time the contract will have expired and you’re welcome to get a divorce.” She smirked at Marla, his agent, then beamed her devious grin at Walter so he’d be in on it. “The messier the divorce the better, right? Then we’ll let Zach’s wounded heart bump the ratings!”
Zach scowled and Darlene quickly sobered up, clearing her throat and smoothing her hand over the front of the contract. “The point is, this is a serious commitment and once signed, the contract is legally binding. You’ll be compensated, but you’ll also be expected to continue your regular routine of going to work. What we like about you is that you’re normal, so try to stay that way until you elope. Do you have any questions? No?” she plowed right through.
If Abby did have a question, she wouldn’t have had a second to voice it.
“This is the contract,” she went on, sliding the thick agreement across the shiny conference table. “You have exactly twenty-four hours to decide. If you’re ready to take this leap with Zach, then you’ll return the contract to me signed, sealed, and delivered. Understood?”
To Zach’s surprise. Hell, to everyone’s surprise. Abby reached across the table, plucked the felt-tipped pen out of Darlene’s grasp, and after flipping to the last page of the agreement, confidently signed her name.
She slid the contract back across the conference table with a whoosh, quirked her sexy mouth into an adventurous smile, and asked, “What now?”