On The Dotted Line (3 page)

“What
kind of goals?” She balled her hand in a fist not wanting to become engaged in his
tale.

“Valedictorian
in high school, charity work.” He counted the items off on his fingers. “Summa
cum laude graduate in college. I had a 4.0 average.”

“Ask
a banker a question and he gives you his numbers.” She bit her own tongue to
stop the laughter.

“I
had one more item on my list, something my father added and then I was done.” He
straightened up. “One more and my trust fund, the business, everything would be
mine. My life would be mine.”

“One
more thing?” She crossed her arms. His gaze intense, those green eyes darkened
turning almost black as if they wanted to absorb everything and give nothing in
return.

“I
had to get married by my thirty-third birthday. Stay married for at least a
year, and on my thirty-fourth birthday I would be free.” He turned to the
ground.

For
a moment they didn’t speak, only the music from inside the art gallery
interrupted their silence.

“Now
who is living in the alternate universe?”

“I
wish it were me.” He repeated his action of walking around in a circle.

“You’re
not kidding about this list are you?” She stepped toward him.

He
shook his head. “I’m completely serious.”

“So
what happens if you don’t make it?” Fairytale or not, she wanted to know the
end. At least the story was an amazing distraction from her issues.

He
rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t lose. I can’t lose. I won’t lose.”

“Do
you have a bride in your pocket and a Justice of the Peace around the corner?”

“I
have a charter plane at my beck and call.” He lifted his head. “And I have you.”

Everyone
had their certain moments in life they would always remember. Some of these
moments were shared with the world such as man landing on the moon. Other
moments like special birthdays or life changing events one was supposed to keep
forever. Then there were the moments, little flashes that stuck with someone
for the rest of their lives but would be meaningless to anyone else.

Randolph
mentioning her, marriage, and a charter plane together qualified as one of
those moments in her life.

She
forced herself to take a breath, move, react in any sort of way to his idiocy. “I
think the fever is getting to you. Maybe you need to go home.”

“Actually,
I feel surprisingly better. I think what you gave me worked.” He tilted his
head, his curls tumbling off to one side with the motion.

“So
says the naysayer.” No one was ever surprised when a prescription worked, but
everyone was amazed when what nature doled out did the job. Actually, she was
amazed he gave her remedy a shot.

“Maybe
you’re on to something.” He pointed at her. “At last my head isn’t pounding. You
did that.”

“Then
I need to go home. I think I’m going to be sick.” She needed to go anywhere
deemed a Randolph-free zone. She walked down the alley toward her store, the
gravel digging into the bottom of her sandals.

“Lest
you forget you don’t have a home.” He called after her.

“Don’t
let him get to you,” she mumbled and forced herself forward. He must have
continued to eavesdrop on her and Jade.

“How
much longer are you going to be able to put off not paying your landlord?”

His
words hit her, and nearly knocked her over.

“You
know you may have something I need, but the street goes both ways.” He followed
her down the alley.

Not
wanting to hear whatever argument he spewed, she continued her trek.

“What
is it you want Willow? What if I told you I could make it happen?”

“I
just want to be happy.” Her steps slowed.

“You
know, if you married me I would get the rent current within three seconds of
saying yes and you would never fall behind again.” The man continued. “I could
also make sure you never had to buy anything but the best ingredients for your
store. If your headache remedy is any indication, they work.”

Her
mind yelled for her to keep walking. At the end of the alley she would be at
her shop, go up the flight of stairs, make a cup of tea and get rid of his bad
vibes.

“I
can make you happy. I have the money and the connections. You would be set, all
for only three hundred and sixty-five days of your life.”

Some
force beyond her control made her turn to him.

“You
know, I’m thinking that living in mansion may be a better alternative to your
cramped quarters above your store.” He inched toward her. “Think about it, all
your expenses paid, time to concentrate on anything you like, luxury living,
and at the end…”

Once
again she found herself face to face with him.

“This
time next year, your own business is perfectly set up and you’ll have seven
figures to do with what you please.”

Seven
figures? Images of stacks of money, stacks and stacks of money like a cartoon appeared
in her mind. She barely ever had three figures to her name let alone seven. Still,
she opened her mouth, inhaling to get the power to tell him exactly what she
thought of his offer, how she couldn’t be bought and sold.

“Don’t
give me the line about money not buying happiness.” He leaned forward. “It may
not buy happiness, but it buys security, wellbeing and potential.”

Maybe
the man should have been an attorney instead. She almost believed him. Almost. “I
am sure if you have all that money you could find a different girl much better
suited for your needs.” She pointed toward the street. “Hollywood and Vine may
have what you’re looking for.”

He
held his hands out as if tossing the ball into her court.

Curiosity
alone made her ask the next question. At least she told herself it was
curiosity and not consideration. “What would this marriage entail?”

“Funny
you should ask. I happen to have a prenuptial agreement I can tweak rather
easily.” He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “For
the duration of the year we would need to live at my family’s mansion. We would
have our own wing.”

“Of
course, and I’m assuming a chef, maid and butler as well.” The minute she
returned home she needed one heck of a cleansing to make everything she heard
go away.

“Five
maids, maybe six, one butler, several various assistants, a chef, and a
chauffeur.” He flicked the paper. “We need to be in the same bed every night. We
must be together by midnight.”

“What
happens if we’re not? Will you turn into a monster?” She tapped her foot. “Actually,
I think you’re already a monster, so maybe we’ll all turn into pumpkins.”

“I
never want us to appear anything other than happily married.” He went on
without a hitch. “We spend the holidays up with my grandparents in Vermont.”

“You
have grandparents?”

“We
all have our shortcomings.” He shrugged. “I am not to compensate you for your
year of service.”

“But…”
She swore before this conversation finished she would slap him or herself for
thinking about the monetary gain and she forced the visions of those perfect
piles of money out of her consciousness.

“However,
there’s a loophole even my father didn’t consider.” He raised one finger. “I am
allowed to be involved in your line of work, and every decent husband gives his
wife a monthly allowance. How else can you do all the things that make you a
good wife?”

“I
don’t think anyone could make you a good wife, least of all me.” She curtseyed.
A long forgotten tingle in the back of her nose indicated tears might be on the
way. “I bid you goodnight Mr. Van Ayers, and thank you for my bedtime story.”

“You
know, until I saw you tonight I gave up. I never give up.”

A
nuance in his voice, a small shake, a fault in the perfect timbre made her
pause. Nan always told her to look for the subtle signs. The truth and the
beauty would be found in what most people overlooked. She lifted her head. Any
semblance of amusement or a smile vanished from his face. “Why me? Just because
I don’t wear a suit doesn’t make me your fool.”

“I
don’t think you’re a fool.” He held his hand out as if to stop her. “I thought
above anyone else on the planet you would be open-minded to helping us both
out.”

A
breeze whispered through the alley. Chills ran through her and she hugged
herself since no one would be around to do it for her. “You’re serious.”

He
remained silent.

“The
story, the list, the marriage, the money, you’re not joking.” She stomped her
foot. “Swear to me you’re not joking.”

He
put his hand over his heart. “I would take an oath if I could. You can notarize
my words.”

She
closed her eyes needing to block out everything and think. The answers to her
problems couldn’t be as easy as a year penance with some snarky, albeit
gorgeous, banker.

“Starting
the second after you sign the marriage license you will never have to worry
again about any of your so-called material things again. You will be set for
life.” Randolph’s words vibrated through her. “So will your Nan.”

At
the mention of her only family, she opened her eyes. A life where Nan could
relax, do her work, teach her and never have to scrimp for the little she
needed. An opportunity to give back a small bit what Nan gave to her. Their
future would be assured, and they could buy a house, a real house. “I’m not
sleeping with you.” What was she saying?

He
cleared his throat. “You must sleep with me, but you don’t have to
sleep
with me. I will have you know there will be a fidelity clause in the contract.”

She
decided not to mention there was no need for such a thing. Her life was a
fidelity clause.

“If
you agree, I will draw up your official contract on the plane. We will spend
the night in Las Vegas and tomorrow you will need to move.” He returned the
paper back to the secret pocket in his jacket.

“Nan
needs to come with me.” Was she saying yes? Her heart stopped, skidded to a halt.
“She gets full use of the kitchen.”

He
narrowed his eyes and stared off as if thinking.

“Nan
comes or you are out your business, your trust fund and your sleeping only
partner.” Though she knew she should walk away and forget this whole deal, she
stood her ground, unsure if she wanted the deal or only wanted to win. Randolph
the third brought out Willow the terrible.

“You’re
a tough negotiator.” He put his hand out for a shake. “If Miss Nan moves in and
creates havoc in Chef’s kitchen, do we leave now to get married?”

She
stared at his offering, a large hand with long fingers and perfectly manicured
nails. Karma and prayer wouldn’t provide for her or Nan, they were days away
from not being able to afford food. They needed a miracle, and as Nan would
say, sometimes miracles happened in the most unexpected places. One year for
the rest of her life.

She
glanced up at the stars, took a breath and put her hand in his.

“I
added the Nanette Rivera conditions to the contract, do you have the papers?” Randolph
held his hand to Peter Ward, his personal assistant.

Out
of the corner of her eye she watched the men while she continued to crochet the
squares for her latest quilt, thankful she always kept something in her bag to
work on.

“Take
it down a notch, Randy.” Peter leaned over and pulled the pages off the
printer.

Yes,
a printer in the limousine. For some reason, out of everything that small
detail caught her attention. Of course, in the last two hours she had been
whisked away to a charter airport in the valley and flown to Las Vegas in a
private plane that was more like an airborne decadent living room, but the printer
stood out. Her world seemed off center and strange.

“This
looks all in order.” Randolph swiped the sheets away from him. “Get your notary
book out.”

“Did
you forget the word please?” Peter reached into his briefcase, pulling out a
book, a stamp pad and a few other accessories setting them up on the desk with
the printer…in the limousine.

Other
than watching the ostentatious display of lights of the most over-the-top city
in the world, the most entertaining part of this journey had to be the banter
between the two men. Randolph may be the boss, but Peter threw his attitude
right back to him.

“Please.”
Randolph pulled a pen out of his suit jacket pocket, signed and slid the papers
across to her. “Here you are future Mrs. Van Ayers.”

She
set her crochet down and put her palm over the document. “This is very formal.”
Something about putting what should be a sacred agreement between two hearts
all in writing seemed against the natural order of things.

“A
well written contract is formal and a necessity.” He held the pen out to her. “Documents
and signatures are what make the world go around, and they are usually
considered sacred. Let’s get this initialed and signed. It’s after ten already,
we have to get the license and get married in less than two hours.”

“I
should read this.” Not that she ever read any other contract. Her heart didn’t
as much pound as it fired off in rapid succession. She lifted the paper and
squinted trying to make out the tiny print.

“It’s
everything we already reviewed.” He shoved the pen in her hand.

Not
liking his attitude, and needing to take a few cleansing breaths before moving
forward, she put the document down. “I get sick when I read and drive.”

“You
are knitting and driving.”

“Crochet.
I am crocheting and driving.” She resumed her craft.

He
strummed his fingers on the desk. “Willow, all you need to do is sign.”

“Dolph,
calm it down.” Peter shook his head.

“What?
She has all year to read the paper.” Once more he held the pen out to her. “For
the rest of the year she only has to do three things. Sign the contract, sign
the marriage license and say ‘I do.’“

For
the last two hours she had been tossed around with Randolph, allowing him to
take control, but she wouldn’t be talked about like she wasn’t here. “Randolph,
I am not sure how you spoke to the woman who cancelled on you today, but I am
quite sure your condescending tone may be part of her leaving you right before
the altar.” She sat back, sinking into the leather seat.

“For
your information, I added more to the monthly allowance, in fact much more than
I was offering the first woman. Call it a short notice bonus.” Though his tone
was restrained, she picked up on his negative vibes.

“I
will sign the paper when I feel it is the right time. You just said signatures
were sacred.” She crossed her arms and decided to forgo any comment about the
other woman. What he did and whom he wanted to marry before wasn’t her concern.
Their arrangement was business, nothing more.

The
limo turned, jostling them as they made their way into a driveway.

“We’re
finally here.” Peter tossed his items back into his bag. “Willow can read it in
the office and get all her signing done at once.”

Randolph
glanced down at his watch. “We are cutting this close, we have no time for
formal document reading, but I suppose I must compromise.”

The
limo stopped and without waiting for the chauffeur or Peter or Randolph, she
opened the door and exited.

“Willow!”
Randolph scrambled out of the vehicle after her. “Where are you going?”

She
stopped short and he collided with her.

Before
she fell, he wrapped his arm around her waist and righted them both. “I can’t
have you hurting yourself.” He kept hold of her.

She
pushed him back. “At least not until the year is up.”

“Willow,
we are just on a time constraint.” His tone sounded as if he were talking to a
child.

“I
didn’t cause it.” She walked toward the building.

“We
could have sped things up in the alley.” He rushed ahead and opened the door
for her.

“Maybe
you shouldn’t make such proposals in an alley.” She walked inside.

Peter
came over and guided her into an elevator.

Randolph
slipped in with them. “What? Are you upset because I didn’t propose properly?”

“Seriously.”
She snapped.

“Here,
let me remedy the situation.” In the middle of the elevator he got down on one
knee.

She
tightened her jaw refusing to be part of this mockery of something most people
took as more significant than an ATM transaction.

He
pressed his hands together as if he were praying. “I am begging you with my
mind, body and soul to be my bride, will you marry me?”

The
elevator doors opened. Several people waiting to get on clapped.

“We
get out here,” Peter mumbled.

“I
think I preferred you in the alley.” She stepped around him and headed straight
ahead causing their audience to part for her arrival.

Unwilling
to be guided anywhere or to be told what to do one more time, she stomped over
to the line indicating marriage licenses, surprised at the many people already
ahead of her. She took in the couples. Some brides were already in their
wedding dresses, others in jeans and a t-shirt. One duo definitely needed to
make a stop at the maternity ward after their ceremony. She was quite sure none
were there for her reason.

“Peter,
I don’t want to wait in line.” Randolph joined her and handed Peter a wad of
what appeared to be one hundred dollar bills. “Willow, please take this very
fast moment for some light reading material.” He handed her the contract.

She
took the document, crumpling it in her hands as she watched Peter quite
literally pay their way to the front of the line. The waste made her turn away.
She only hoped a few of these people needed the money and would put it to good
use.

The
man literally had no respect for anyone but himself and his needs. What she
really wanted was to tear the contract up, throw the pieces in Mr. Van Ayers
the Third’s face and hitch a ride back to Hollywood. She took a breath and read
the pages, pressing her hand to her chest at the sum he put in her monthly
allowance. Most people she knew didn’t make that much in a year, maybe two, or
three. “Randolph.”

“Is
anything incorrect?” He put his hand on the small of her back and leaned in,
the scent of his cologne swirled around her, decadence and expense mixed with
something earthy. Maybe something grounded him.

“This
is too high.” She pointed to the figure.

“No,
it’s exactly right.” He flicked the page. “I added some for Nan as well.”

She
stopped and studied him. Nan? In the middle of their whirlwind he added some
for Nan? The earthy part of his cologne definitely took over.

“She
will need things I’m sure.” He furrowed his brow.

“I
can’t sign this.” She handed the contract back to him.

“Randolph!”
Peter called to them from one of the clerk’s stations. “We’re ready.”

Instead
of waiting for his answer, she joined Peter. He already had his notary seal and
book out ready to go.

“I
was told you need a marriage license?” The woman behind the counter smiled at
her.

“Yes.”
She returned the gesture.

“You
need to sign the contract.” Randolph leaned over.

“I’m
not signing that.” She gave the lady her identification and filled out her
portion of the form, including adding her signature. “It’s too much.”

“You’ll
sign the license, but not the contract that protects you?” Randolph completed
his section as well. “I will determine what is too much.”

“Here
you go. Everything is in order.” The woman handed them the papers and winked at
her. “I included a list of chapels. One is right around the corner. Get him now
while he wants to give you too much. It won’t last.”

“Willow.”
Peter motioned her over to a clear spot on the long counter. “This will be fast.”

She
joined Peter. “I’m not signing the contract.”

Randolph
came over, took her shoulders and turned her. “Willow, I have the money and I
want you to have it. I am asking you to sign it now. Yes, I’m in a rush, and
yes we could do it after the fact, but I want you to sign before we get
married. That’s the right thing to do. I will not reduce the amount. “ He
slapped the papers on the counter and whipped out his pen. “Right here on the
dotted line.”

He
remembered Nan.

She
swiped the pen away and without reading anything, but noting the line was
indeed dotted, she signed the contract and the notary book. Her utter disregard
for something someone held sacred chilled her body.

Peter
quickly took her thumbprint and shuffled everything away.

Randolph
wiped the ink off her thumb as they left. “Also, let me tell you never to show
your winning hand in any business deal. If someone pays you too much never say
a word and collect your winnings.”

At
his words, her throat constricted, but she managed to get the next statement
out anyway. “What if someone pays you too much on purpose?”

“Everyone
has their own motivation Willow, remember that.” He held the door of the
elevator for her.

Yes,
everyone had their own motivation, and somehow she let him outsmart her on day
one. She needed to keep her eyes open for the rest of the year.

* * * *

“Would
you like to pick the package?” In an attempt not to be a lunatic, Randolph held
out the brochure from the small chapel around the corner from the courthouse.

Decorated
with copious amounts of draped white silk, plastic flowers and fake doves, their
location perfectly fit his image of what a quickie wedding chapel in Vegas should
look like.

Willow
shook her head. “I’m good with the ‘I do’ special.”

Without
lifting his wrist he glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes.

Time
didn’t matter in her world, but in his universe, no matter how he wanted to
change it or fight it, time was everything. Payments, interest, literally every
deal he ever made narrowed down to seconds.

“Let’s
just do this, I’m exhausted.” She sighed.

The
woman behind the counter watched them, her jaw jutted out and she narrowed her
eyes, taking them in.

They
should have entered breathless, not from arguing, but rushing because they
couldn’t wait to be together.

“I
know we have a half hour, but may I have three minutes to collect myself?” Willow
asked the question to the woman not him.

“You
can take ten.” The woman patted her hand. “We have a bride’s dressing room. It’s
nice and private.” With a glare in his direction, she guided Willow away.

He
held his hand up. Willow could have all the time in the world in thirty
minutes.

Peter
hit his shoulder. “She signed the contract, she signed the license, we made it
here and by 11:59 you will have a wife. You need to chill.”

“She
knows the importance of this.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“It’s
not her fault you decided to prove a point and wait until the last day.”

“Don’t
judge me. You knew what you signed up for when you came asking me for a job.” He
wouldn’t call Peter a friend as much as he would call him a confidante in
almost everything. Almost.

“You
offered it.” Peter stared him right in the eye.

At
least the two of them tolerated each other. He could make a single-spaced list
pages long of assistants who didn’t work out for him. Another man of privilege,
but without the contacts or the drive, Peter understood him. Their mothers
worked for some of the same charities and their demons played nicely in the
same sandbox together. “That I did, and I don’t regret it for a second.”