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“Clearly, I can read, Vivienne.” He says my name like he’s trying to cut me with a knife.
The way he’s staring, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s envisioning that by now.
“This...this is not right. You can’t fucking claim we’re engaged. How in the hell does that make sense?” he seethes.
“Look at the photo. You’re on one knee, bending down in front of me, and I’m smiling. It looks like you proposed to me.”
“I shouldn’t be punished because of what I did last night. You were breaking the fucking rules with me. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?”
I laugh sarcastically. He’s got to be kidding. Is his ego that big?
“I’m not punishing you, per se. It’s just what must be done. This shit scandal would ruin you...and me, for that matter,” I explain.
He starts to chime in, but I cut him off.
“And this has nothing to do with whether I like or if I had fun with you last night. We fucked up. So, we have to fucking fix it.” I pound my finger onto the desk to emphasize my points.
“Isn’t this supposed to be a professional relationship? Not a fucking marriage contract?”
He’s throwing that in my face right now? Wow.
“David, I’m not actually going to marry you. Well, in a lovingly sort of way. This is a publicity stunt, something to cover our asses, so we don’t get rammed by the press, your people, and my fucking bosses.”
“So, wait—we’re not getting married?” His body drops a little, and he furrows his brows in confusion.
“Let me lay this out for you. We’re engaged. It’s not an actual engagement, but to everyone else, it is. There’s even a chance—no, a big chance—that we will get married. But it’s all fake. I don’t love you, you don’t love me. We can figure out the logistics later regarding our relationship. But for now, we’re happily engaged.”
“I’m still confused,” he admits and falls back into the chair across from me. “Are we or are we not engaged?”
I sigh, holding my annoyance in. I don’t want to make him upset again, though I know he’s like a ticking time bomb, and any word related to monogamy, commitment, or sober might make him explode. So, I tread lightly.
“We’re engaged. And you’ll need to play along to make this charade work. I can’t express this enough, but with your cooperation in this sham of an engagement, your image will be mended, and my career will be saved. Plus, it makes sense as to why you’re cleaning up your act. You’re spoken for.”
“Fuck. This is bullshit. I don’t want to play pretend. I never wanted to do that,” He reacts too quickly.
“Well, love, you better learn how to because this is happening. It’s too late to back out now.”
He gets up and leans over the desk, inches away from my face.
I hold myself still, not wanting to cower under his intense presence. But I’m also slightly attracted to how big he looks. It’s all very confusing.
“This better fucking work...” He glares at me, then turns around, leaving my head spinning.
My thoughts exactly. This better fucking work.
