Page 17 of A Billion Dollar Romance
I’d gotten the lawyers to draw up a contract–that’s what we paid them for, after all–just in case. On the off chance I managed to convince her, on the off chance she was stupid enough to accept. But I hadn’t told Marketing about the scheme, or Accounting. The writing stipend would come from me, they’d never need to know. It was a pittance, really, but it would cover her living expenses. It wasn’t like there was much to do at the cabin, anyway.
“I reconsidered what you said last Monday,” I said, interrupting Lyle. “And I’ve implemented it.”
“What I said last Monday…” Bridget said, scrolling through pages of notes on her tablet. “Which was…”
“About my image. I have the paperwork right here.” I nodded at the lawyers’ documents. “So you can go ahead and coordinate with Marketing, or we can go above them, and I can contactTheTimesmyself.”
“Sorry, the paperwork?” said Bridget, not looking up from her scrolling. “TheTimes?”
“We’ll need an engagement announcement, will we not?”
She stopped scrolling and stared.
“You got engaged,” she said, expressionless.
“Congrats, boss,” said Lyle. I wanted to punch him.
“For our purposes,” I said, “yes. I draw the line at a wedding, though. This ought to be enough. For… press coverage.”
I didn’t expect the nervous flutter in my stomach as Bridget’s face softened into the same kind of smile she’d had thinking about my grandparents.You’re not actually engaged, James. For fuck’s sake.
She held out a hand for the lawyer’s paperwork, and I passed it over.
“An NDA, and a contract laying out my expectations. And hers, of course.”
“Edie Taylor,” she mused. “That sounds familiar, who is she?”
I didnotswallow nervously, but it took some effort. “Our latest hire in Editorial.”
Bridget’s eyes snapped up. “What?”
“What?” I asked. “I didn’t threaten her, or whatever you’re thinking. She was more that happy to–”
“Youremployee?” she whispered, looking around. There was no one skulking in the corners of my office.
“Yes, well,” I said, realizing for the first time that she’d probably intended me to ask… a stranger. Someone’s younger sister, who knew how to keep a secret, or something. Not an employee. Not a junior employee. She was only twenty-six. I gritted my teeth. “She seems like a promising choice. Someone our readers will relate to. And I know her outside of work.” That was an understatement. And, perhaps, an overstatement, but I couldn’t very well tell Bridget she was a one-night stand.
“Okay,” she said, visibly relaxing. “That’s fine. Family friend?”
“Former student,” I corrected.
Bridget took a deep breath, and looked up at me with a practiced smile.
“Wonderful, Mr. Martin. That’s…” She closed her eyes.One one thousand. Two one thousand.“Congratulations on your engagement.”
* * *
I was intimately familiar with a blank page, a blinking cursor.
Usually, though, it wasn’t in my email service.
Miss Taylor,I typed, then deleted, then typed again.
I allowed myself to slump back into my chair. I was alone, after all–I had an hour blocked off on my calendar for lunch, even if I rarely took one. Alice was always chiding me. “You ought to go out, James.” I always frowned at her use of my first name, but it wasn’t like I could tell her not to. She was always precisely correct in front of guests, but she’d known me since I was an awkward pre-teen, the slouchiest person to ever be invited to sit across from my grandfather at this very desk. “Read a book. Take someone to lunch. A woman, even.”
I stood up. Should I?
I’d sent the announcement in toThe Timesearlier that day. Everyone would know, soon enough. It wasn’t like we were hiding our relationship, was it? That was the point.
