“But isn’t he usually with models and socialites and you know…”
Clark shrugs. “Maybe those aren’t the kinds of girls he marries,” he says mysteriously.
“And I am? Are you sure this isn’t some sort of elaborate joke?” Visions of the movie Carrie run through my mind. Nobody picked Carrie for anything, either, and then her mean classmates elected her homecoming queen, and she was so happy—until they dumped blood on her.
“How long have you been cutting Rex’s hair?” Clark asks.
“Two years and four months?” I say.
“And in that time, did you ever get the feeling that Rex enjoys jokes?”
I snort. “Point taken!” Jokes would definitely make Rex mad. Even positive sayings seem to make Rex mad.
“It’s just a part,” Clark says. “We just need you to play the part of fiancée in public spaces on the yacht. You’d also be agreeing not to date anybody else publicly for three months until we release the news of your breakup.” This he embellishes with quote fingers.
It’s still hard to believe that Rex thought I’d be perfect for this—that Rex, sleek and powerful lion of Wall Street, would pick me over all of those willowy blondes. I’m more sturdy than willowy. More of a workhorse than a prancing palomino.
Rex O’Rourke with his billions and his beautiful sweep of hair coming off his forehead like a dark flame burning out of his annoyed mind. He picked me.
My pulse races as I think of all of those Friday nights, just us at the top of his building overlooking the twinkling lights of Wall Street. The way his shoulders relax a notch whenever I do the head massage. The sexy scowl he gets when I regale him with soap news, or tease him about his grumpiness. The feel of his short, glossy beard. The smooth warmth of the back of his neck under my thumb as I perfect his fade. I doubt he feels anything for me, not like I feel for him, but it means something that he thinks I’d be a good partner for this mission.
It means a lot, actually, and it’s more than the money.
“And you know I’m not an actress,” I say.
Jada bursts out from her bedroom door. “Tabitha, if you don’t want it, I’ll do it. I’m Jada Herberger, professional actress. What does it pay? I can do fake fiancée for Captain—I mean, Rex O’Rourke.”
Clark frowns. “I didn’t realize we had an audience.”
“Well…” I hold out my hands as if to say, you’re in a Manhattan walk-up!
Jada plucks the check from my hand and gawks at it. “Oh my god! Tabitha!” She looks back up at me with a mixture of horror and shock. “Oh my god!”
Personally, I’m just glad she didn’t call him Captain Sternpants in front of Clark. Because we discuss Rex frequently, and that’s our name for him. We have elaborate theories about his sex life and his level of sternness in bed. Spoiler alert: it’s a hot level of sternness.
“Tabitha!” she exclaims again.
I pluck it back. “He offered it to me.” And in fact, I feel that I’d be brilliant at it.
Through gritted teeth, she says, “Yet somehow you are managing to sound like you don’t want it.” She widens her eyes at the check that is now in my impoverished little fingers, like maybe I didn’t see the number of zeroes. Like maybe I didn’t notice that and I should look again.
“Well, maybe I’m kicking the tires,” I answer through gritted teeth.
“Well…” she says, again through gritted teeth. Again she widens her eyes. She has sparkly eye shadow on. Sparkliness is something we bond over. “Maybe don’t kick a dent in the car itself?”
Clark clears his throat. “And now I’m going to have to ask you to sign that NDA, too, Jada,” he says. And then he gives me a hard look, like it’s my fault I share a tiny apartment with my galpal whose room is five feet away.
I say, “It’s cone of silence here, you don’t have to worry.”
“Cone of silence!” Jada says. “The total cone is all around us.”
“I’m afraid the cone of silence doesn’t hold up in a court of law,” he says. “So we’re gonna go with an NDA.” He whips another sheet of paper out and hands it to Jada, along with a pen. I turn so she can use my back to sign it.
“I need you both to honor this,” he warns.
“Cone of silence is more powerful than your court of law, buddy,” Jada says. “Either way, you can trust us.”
“I’m sorry, I swear…we’re both very trustworthy.” I do a hasty sign of the cross, or at least what I remember of it from movies. “I’m very serious about secrets. I always keep my clients’ things confidential. I have clients with nose hair and ear hair and weaves and all that. I never talk about it.” Except right now. “Not that I’m saying for sure that I have clients with nose hair or ear hair or weaves. Um…come sit.” I can’t ruin this. I really need the money.
I lead him to our tiny living room and clear some pillows and our bedazzling stuff off the couch.
Jada makes another face at me. Because, that check!
Clark sits down, managing to make our sweet little red couch look somehow shabby, and tells me the terms. The length of time requested is sixteen days—two days for travel on either side, fourteen for the yacht itself.
“Okay, objection.” Jada puts up her hands. “Are we clear this is platonic? Because my galpal’s sexual favors would cost way more than this.”
“Let’s be clear here,” I say. “No check is enough for this galpal’s sexual favors. I would never do that.”
“Well,” Jada says. “I mean, five million dollars? Maybe?”
I lower my voice. “He’s not asking for sexual favors.”
“But like…five mil.”
“Ladies, this is absolutely not about sexual favors,” Clark says.
Jada and I exchange glances. Ladies. The 1950s called. They want their term for women back.
“This is, in actuality, a very boring assignment,” Clark continues. “You’ll have a suite with Rex, it’s true, but there will be a bedroom that will be all yours. And you’ll make occasional on-deck appearances with him for dinner and other obligatory upper-deck activities, and otherwise you will promise to spend your time in that room where you’re free to watch TV and read or whatever you like. And you are specifically forbidden to speak with Rex or interact with him in any way when not playing the role in public.”
“Forbidden to speak with him?” I ask, incredulously.
“Forbidden—I really can’t stress that enough. He has very important work to accomplish on the ship, and he is not to be bothered. You’re to deal with me for needs and questions. Think of us as co-workers, you and I, working together to create the illusion of Rex settling down with a woman who’s very different from his usual type. He wants to show this client the image of a family man. The marrying kind of man.”
“Oh, I get it,” I say, as it all becomes clear. “This is about the article. Repairing his image.”
“That would be part of the goal, yes,” Clark says. “The article was in no way accurate, and you’ll be helping to portray that.”