Indecent Proposal (11 page)

He nodded as if he accepted that. “You would not be my first choice either. It would be more of a proposition, really. Business.”

“You’re making it sound worse.”

“You’ve been married once before,” he said. “A union you barely survived, if the hospital records are to be believed.”

Her ribs caved in on her heart, and for a moment she could not breathe through the shock of having that thrown in her face.

“Those records are confidential,” she whispered, wishing she sounded stronger. Tougher.

“To everyone else, yes.”

But not to me
. That was what he was implying. He was the kind of special and powerful and rich that could reach into her life and shake out every skeleton.

She blanched, getting light-headed.

He reached out to help her and she smacked his hands away. And it felt good, so good that she looked him in
the eye and smacked his cheek hard enough that his head snapped sideways.

Her heartbeat pounded in the silence that followed.

“I deserved that,” he murmured.

“Damn right you did.”

“But it’s the only one you’ll get.”

Underneath his polish lurked something wild. And she remembered in painful clarity how she’d felt both menaced and safe that night in his hotel room. How exciting that had been. But there was nothing safe about him now. Nothing at all. He was all menace.

Harrison took a deep breath and when he smiled at her, she saw a glimmer of Harry. Slightly abashed. Fully human. Reachable. Touchable. More safety than menace.

A lie. She understood that now. It was a persona he could turn on and off at will. A trick, one that no doubt was highly effective with the voters. It had been highly effective with her.

“Let me … let me start again,” he murmured, leading her toward the couch. She shrugged away from his touch but sat all the same, because she was feeling weak and awful and the soft edge of her red chenille blanket was a small anchor in her reality.

He turned toward the sink, got down another of her red teacups, and poured her some more chocolate milk. After handing it to her, he sat on her little square storage ottoman that was full of her running gear. The fan between them blew in the scent of hot asphalt and grilled meat.

She moaned, low in her throat, turning away from him and the smell and the hot air.

“I haven’t even asked how you’re feeling,” he whispered, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

She put her hand over her flat stomach as if to protect the baby from this man’s duplicity. This Ken Doll with
all that hidden grief, his kindness and coldness. She’d come to terms with this baby, had started to find joy in this little life, started to build fantasies about their future. And he was going to pull all that apart. Change it all.

It was time to get this guy back out of her life.

“The baby is not yours. This whole thing is moot. You can go.”

She wanted to press the cool cup to her forehead, but instead she just held it in her hands, meeting his warm gaze with her own hate-filled one.

“It doesn’t matter, Ryan. It’s only a matter of time before the press finds out you’re pregnant, and you are already linked to me.” She didn’t say anything, staring instead over his shoulder at the copy of
Dulcan’s Textbook of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry
she’d been so excited to find on a half-price rack at The Strand. “It doesn’t matter whose baby it is.”

She sniffed and took a sip of milk. “The baby is mine.”

“What I am suggesting is not a marriage in the typical sense. I am suggesting a proposal. A business arrangement.”

“If it includes sucking your dick—”

His head jerked back, his cheeks red.
Oh
, Harry was embarrassed. She was small enough to be pleased with that.

“It doesn’t. That … that night will not happen again. It’s not a part of the agreement.”

“I’m not interested in your agreement.” She stood, but he grabbed her wrist. The warmth of his palm sent something sizzling up her nerves. Something—when he was looking at her like that—that made no sense. She shook off his touch.

“Let me explain, Ryan. And then I’ll leave and give you a chance to think about it.”

She sat back down, because it was the quickest way to get rid of him.

“We will get married as soon as possible. If I win the election, we’ll stay married. If after two years you no longer want to be married—”

“What about you? Are you saying you might want to be married after two years?”

“The best thing for my career is if we get married and stay married.”

“Sounds happy.”

“I’m not looking for happy. I’m looking for a way to keep doing the work I want to do. But after two years if you want out, we will quietly get divorced after the next election. After which I will buy you a house, anywhere you want. And we will go our separate ways.”

“And cut all ties? What about the baby?”

“What about it?”

She gaped. “What about it? You will have spent two years pretending to be a father and then you just … vanish?”

“I will also send you monthly alimony and child support checks. The sum of which you can dictate. Within reason. I suppose there might be times I will need to see the child.”

Need to see the child. Oh my God, is this really happening?

“You are a cold man, Harrison Montgomery.”

“I’m a practical one. Embroiled in a situation that requires me to be as clear as possible. Furthermore, as my wife you will agree to help me campaign; appear in public with me as my doting and totally supportive partner. If at any point word of our agreement is leaked to the press, you and the child will get no money from me.”

“What if you don’t win?”

“I’m not entertaining that option yet.”

“Well, I’m not entertaining any of this yet.”

Harrison sat back. “I understand you have your pride. I … admire that about you, Ryan. And despite my awful comment earlier, I know you’re smart.” He glanced around her tiny apartment, including the psychology books on the shelf, before looking back at her. “There must be something you want. Something I can give you to make this rather indecent proposal of interest to you.”

She was silent. Overwhelmed. Exhausted and angry. Sad and ashamed.

He took her cell phone from the edge of the bookshelf behind him.

“I’m putting in my cell phone number,” he said. “This is my direct line. You have forty-eight hours to give me an answer.”

“Or what?”

“Or I am forced to make a statement about you. I would like to make the statement that we’ve been secretly falling in love and have gotten married in a small private ceremony at the Georgia Governor’s Mansion.”

“And if I don’t agree to your proposal?”

“Then you are a former bartender at The Cobalt Hotel who, with the help of your brother, a dubious DHS agent, is trying to blackmail me.”

“That will ruin his career.”

“Undoubtedly. It’s not like I want any of this, Ryan. He has forced both of our hands.”

She took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “Why can’t we just say we’re dating? Or engaged? And then just break up when the election is over?”

“Because politicians don’t date, Ryan. They are either married or single. And they really don’t date pregnant bartenders who live in studio apartments in Queens.”

“But you marry them?” she spat. “How noble.”

“Marriage will give it all some legitimacy.”

There was a knock on the door and then, without
asking permission, that Wallace guy walked in, looking around her home as if it smelled bad.

“This place looks like my shitty dorm room,” Wallace said. “Nice loft.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped, and the venom felt good.

“Oh, she’ll make a lovely addition to the family,” Wallace laughed. “Your mother, in particular, is going to adore her.”

Harrison herded Wallace toward the door. “Give us a second, would you?”

“We need to move,” Wallace said. “We’re already late for The Carter Center conference.”

“I know. I’m hurrying.” Harrison shut the door behind Wallace and turned to face Ryan.

He still glittered. She was sweaty and sick and ruined, and he was still more beautiful than any man should be. But his wattage was turned down, the fairy dust wiped away by a certain weariness, a reluctant helplessness.

The glimpse of this vulnerability had a predictable effect on her and because she was an idiot, she wanted to hug him.

Don’t believe this
, she told herself.
This version of him is an act to get you to do what he wants. Underneath he’s the soulless robot who knows too much about your life and thinks you’re stupid
.

“Marriage isn’t going to fix this, Harrison.”

“It won’t be easy. But it’s a start. My family—”

“Is complicated.” She laughed, remembering when he’d said that. For regular people a complicated family might mean their mom was gay, or they had two sets of stepparents who couldn’t stand one another. She never would have been able to believe he meant he was a Montgomery, American royalty. “You told me.”

“So is yours.” He shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. “We should put your brother and my mother in a room and see who makes it out.”

Ryan refused to smile and Harrison crossed the room. He hesitated for a moment before picking up her hand. His fingers were warm and dry against her damp, cold flesh. “We can make this work, for the both of us.”

For a moment they both stared at their conjoined hands, and she was wondering what he remembered about her. About that hotel room. What details, if any, kept him up at night, burning and alone.

Though the idea that Harrison burned, alone or otherwise, seemed unlikely.

Harry burned. Harrison was far too cold for those memories.

She pulled her hand away.

“I can’t do it,” she said.

“I hope you can think of this as an opportunity, Ryan. To change your life. The life of your child. I have resources you can’t even imagine, and you can use them to secure a future for yourself,” he said, and with that he was gone, the door clicking shut behind them.

Ryan put the teacup down on the floor and barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

Harrison went out the back door of the apartment building, to a tiny alley where his car and driver had been waiting. Wallace, glancing around for any photographers, opened the back door of the car and Harrison slid in. Wallace followed.

“Let’s get out of here,” Wallace said to Dan the driver, and they turned off 48th onto Queens Boulevard and made their slow way out to LaGuardia, where the family jet was waiting for them.

“So?” Wallace asked, while Harrison dug his BlackBerry out of his coat pocket. The thing had been going nuts while he was in Ryan’s apartment. Twenty text messages. Ten voice mails. Three of those from his
mother. One from the
Times
. Two from the
Journal-Constitution
.

We are in serious trouble
.

“Get Bruce on the phone. We need to have a contract drawn up.”

“She agreed to your indentured servant idea?” Wallace asked.

“Marriage.”

“You say potato,” Wallace muttered, but he was getting his phone out, putting in the call to Bruce.

“She hasn’t agreed yet. But she will.”

“Why don’t you just follow in the incredibly long and noble line of politicians who pay their mistakes to go away?”

“Because in the twenty-first century that doesn’t work anymore. The world has changed, and …” He rubbed at his forehead, at the headache just under the bone that he couldn’t reach. “I don’t know why I have to keep saying this, but that is not me. That’s not the way I want to live my life. Paying off a woman who is pregnant with my baby to be quiet?”

I am not my father. I might have made the same mistake, but I will not do what my father did
.

“So you’re going to pay her
and
marry her?”

“The campaign—”

“Listen to me, Harrison.” Wallace leaned forward, giving an impassioned plea. Harrison usually liked Wallace’s impassioned pleas, but this one was going to be in direct contrast to his own goals. “No matter how you spin this, it’s going to hurt.”

“Everyone loves a love story, don’t they?”

“You honestly believe you are going to be able to convince the world that you have fallen in love with a tattooed, foul-mouthed bartender from Philly? I mean, she’s beautiful. I’ll give you that, but come on. This is
the weirdest Hail Mary I’ve ever seen. This campaign is over.”

“What about the next one?” Harrison put voice to his greater fear, imagining the unimaginable. “And the one after that. We don’t get a hold of this story, it will ruin my career. I’ll always be the guy who knocked up a tattooed, foul-mouthed bartender from Philly, tried to pay her off, and failed.”

Wallace sat back, his silence eerily telling. “When you put it that way …”

“Right. Call Bruce.” It was bleak every way he looked at it, and the only option that left his future open was getting Ryan to agree to this proposal.

“You sure she’s going to agree to this?” Wallace asked, lifting the phone to his ear.

“She doesn’t have a choice,” he said. “Neither of us do.”

Chapter 10

Saturday, August 24

The next morning Ryan was awakened by someone knocking on her door, and by the time she got down from the loft and into her robe, that someone was pounding.

“Hey!” she cried, undoing the chain. “Hold your horses.”

The moment before she unlocked the two deadbolts she remembered the journalists outside and the easily bribed Mr. Jenkins, and kept the door shut.

“Who is there?” she yelled through the wood, her heart suddenly thumping in her throat.

“It’s me, you skinny white bitch, now open up!” Ryan looked through the peephole to confirm.
Right
. Mary from 3B. “Skinny white bitch” was nearly an endearment in Mary’s vernacular, so she opened the door.

It was Mary and five more of her neighbors, surrounding Mr. Jenkins.

Everybody looked angry.

The hallway smelled like fried eggs and curry.