“For the love of— I didn’t even sleep with her.” He wasn’t that lonely. She was too young. Too wide-eyed and too hopeful for his taste. She wasn’t the kind of girl who could handle a one-night stand. Hell, they had ended the evening with a chaste kiss and she still tried for a second date. At least this confirmed his instincts were spot-on.
“It doesn’t seem to matter,” Tag commented, shaking his head at his phone’s screen.
“Is this the only reason you came in here?” Reese asked.
“Yeah.” Tag offered a shrug as if it was obvious.
Reese’s phone lit and he glanced from his brother to a reminder for the lunch tomorrow he’d asked Bobbie to reschedule. She’d probably come in here with a pink slip giving him the details of the new meeting date in a few minutes; then he could tap it into his iPhone and add to the pink trash pile. Glancing back at his brother, Reese thought of the last text message that was on his phone.
“When a woman says ‘fine’…,” he started.
“Run.” Tag’s smug expression fell as he sat ramrod straight. “Like you have zombies on your tail. ‘Fine’ is not a term of endearment from a woman.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Tag’s eyes went to Reese’s phone. “Who gave you the F-word?”
“Merina. In answer to my marriage proposal.” He leaned on his desk, hands folded. “I’m assuming that’s a yes.”
“You should assume the position, man. That does not sound like a good sign.”
Reese let loose a smile. “We’re both business professionals. I’m sure she meant what it says. That she looked over the contract and it was…fine.”
“Contract.” Tag sucked air through his teeth. “You are not a romantic, are you?”
“And you are?”
“Don Juan over here.” Tag gestured to the off-white Henley hugging his biceps. If he had a hashtag, it’d be Tag’s Tanks. That was a good one, actually. Maybe if that went viral, everyone could talk about him instead. “You two get married, Merina will be the one answering for your ‘rocket’ to the press, not you.”
“Seems unfair.” He hadn’t thought about that. Then again, he’d never imagined someone coining a term for his…his…
The mind boggled.
“The world is unfair, bro.”
He supposed that was true.
“I’m going to have her come in tomorrow to sign the prenup,” Reese said. “Then we’ll have the hard part of this deal over with.” And he could take a breath. The rest would be scheduled and orchestrated, and he could go along with the motions. Few things in life were so easy.
“Take her out for dinner before you meet to sign this contract. She’s probably nervous as hell. Help ease her worries.”
Reese’s face pinched. He hadn’t thought about Merina being nervous. He hadn’t really considered her feelings, assuming this would be a deal like any other.
“She’s a businesswoman with something to gain,” he told his brother. “I think it’s best if we sign first and then meet with my PR person.”
“PR person?”
“We need guidance to ensure we convince the press.”
Tag made a face. “Wow. Are you this clueless about women?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I have a reputation for doing quite well with women.” He pointed at Tag’s phone. “Someone is posting odes to my rocket.”
“Oh, you’re a pro at hookups,” Tag agreed. “But Merina Van Heusen isn’t going to be a one-nighter you can palm cab money in the morning. She’s going to be your wife.”
At the word wife, Reese’s breathing went shallow. Of course, marriage and wife went together, but phrased that way, he was reminded of another long-term relationship that hadn’t panned out.
“It’s a business arrangement,” he reminded them both before he puked. He had this. He didn’t have to fall in love with Merina; he just had to show up at a few public appearances with her.
“Armande.” Tag stood and snapped his fingers.
“What about it?” Reese’s neck prickled. Armande was an upscale fusion French/Italian restaurant known for its romantic mood and special menu made up entirely of aphrodisiacs.
“That’s where your first big date should be.”
“Armande isn’t exactly subtle,” Reese grumbled. He needed media attention, not overkill.
“Neither is Reese’s Rocket,” Tag answered.
“It can’t look like a stunt.”
“Then I suggest you be convincing. I’ll tell Bobbie to book you for dinner. Tonight good?”
“Tag—”
“Tonight it is.” His brother opened one of the office doors. “Trust me, man,” he said, “Armande is the perfect place to introduce the city to your future bride.”
Even if he didn’t want to do it, maybe a dinner with Merina before they inked the deal wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
“Bobbie, gorgeous,” Reese heard Tag say as the doors swished shut.
With a sigh, Reese pressed a button on his cell phone, and regarded Merina’s message again.
FINE.
Maybe dinner at Armande would be the best way to ease her concerns. Or maybe, he’d have another publicity nightmare to contend with.
As long as it wasn’t #ReesesRocket, he was good with that.
* * *
Angling around a housekeeper who smiled as she passed with her cart of fluffy white towels, Merina tapped the screen of her ringing phone. THE CRANE HOTEL, the display read.
Oh, fantastic.
“Merina Van Heusen.”
“Ms. Van Heusen, this is Bobbie from Mr. Crane’s office,” came the curt voice. She didn’t wait for Merina to respond before she plowed forward. “Mr. Crane has requested you arrive at his private boardroom for a noon appointment tomorrow.”
To sign the prenuptial contract, no doubt.
“Of course,” Merina answered with fake bravado. She heard the sound of a pen scratching on a notepad. The sooner she signed those papers, the sooner she could move on to Phase 2 of “Operation Arranged Marriage.”
“Also, he has scheduled a dinner with you at nine p.m. this evening at Armande. He’ll send a car to your residence at eight.”
Merina stopped in the middle of the lobby, realized she was in a guest’s path to his room, and smiled politely before moving to a section of uninhabited chairs off to the side. She noticed Bobbie didn’t ask if she was available for dinner. And Merina didn’t like that at all.
Partially because she didn’t like conceding control and partially because Reese Crane—her future husband—should be the one doing the asking.
“Tonight’s no good for me,” Merina clipped. Total lie. She had no plans tonight other than her usual poring over reports and e-mails. Catching up on work over a glass of merlot. “Perhaps if Mr. Crane could call himself, we could find a time that worked for both of us.”
You know, like normal human beings.
“Ms. Van Heusen, Armande is the most sought-after restaurant in the city. Securing a reservation is not easy. Many exceptions were made.”