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Frail, I say, “Yes, sir?”
“Were you held at gunpoint when you waded through all two hundred questions? Right now, you seem somewhat…apprehensive.”
My eyes close. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
Goodness gravy. I do wonder if it has anything to do with all the crap I said about you in those two hundred answers. My apprehension is a real, real, sincere, complete mystery.
I force down a swallow. “My apologies. No, sir. I wasn’t held at gunpoint.”
“So you answered the form of your own free will?”
“I was drunk.” Something inside me is dying. If I survive the rest of this conversation, it’s going to take months for the scent to leave the crevices of my soul.
Mr. Marsh clicks his tongue. “I see. So it’s safe to say you were more yourself than usual?”
I resent him.
So much.
Circling a fingertip atop the stack of papers he removed from the drawer, Mr. Marsh rests his mouth against his fist and peers at the computer screen. “I know I ran the ad on an account disconnected from Marsh Industries and maintained a level of anonymity, but I still thought perhaps you knew when I saw your name. Then I started reading your responses, and I thought perhaps you’d found a sense of humor when so many replies ridiculed your boss and bemoaned your position. But while they weren’t all insulting, they were all detailed…” He moves his hand to his mouse and scrolls. “Insightful and earnest…” His expression softens, tender. “It was hard to believe it was a joke after a while. I suppose all I can say now is you hide how much you hate me very well.”
I droop against the terrible fabric of this stupid, stupid, stupid chair. There’s no point in trying to escape now. He has so much incriminating evidence sitting right in front of him. I am doomed. “It…takes a lot of effort.”
“I imagine it does. Are you aware that for the question asking what traits you value in a man, you preface a list delineating my exact opposites with anyone but Finnegan Marsh is honestly great?”
My fingers close into the fabric of my pantsuit as I force myself not to fidget with the hem of my jacket. “Truthfully, the whole experience is somewhat blurry. I ate an entire cake on top of the wine.”
Blissful, he laughs, watching me like I am the strangest creature in the world. “At one point, as an addendum, you put I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I’m pretty sure I hate billionaires.”
I whimper. “If I’m fired, I can leave gracefully, Mr. Marsh. I’ll sign for severance, so you know I won’t sue.”
Cheerful, he fixes me with the most baffled expression in the world. Then he has the audacity to ask, “Are you mad? You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, ever met. I’d be a fool to let you go. Also, given the libel you submitted to an unknown source, I’d have more grounds to sue than you would. Regardless, really, suing me is unwise. What would you even sue me for? Being too nice?”
As a matter of fact, yes. Exactly that.
His positive attitude causes me consistent, undue emotional distress.
Chuckling, he regards me warmly. “Fire you.” His head shakes, auburn waves falling across his forehead before he pushes them back. “Silly girl. If I do that, who will hire our wedding planner?”
I shut down. I come back online. “Pardon?”
“You are exactly the kind of girl I want to marry. Every last one of your answers is riveting, capturing me completely. I’ll not get ahead of myself and suggest I’ve fallen in love with you, but I am desperate to get to know you better outside our professional setting as we make preparations for a ceremony at the end of November.”
Balking, I stammer, “I… I’m terribly sorry. I mean no disrespect. It’s just that you seem to be forgetting…I hate you?”
Smiling—like an idiot, might I add—he watches me, as though waiting for me to say something that matters.
I cover my mouth.
His smile tames, some, just enough to be disconcerting. “Am I misunderstanding? Did you or did you not apply to become an unknown billionaire’s wife? And am I or am I not a billionaire?”
What’s the corporate polite way to say, you are a lunatic? “Husbands and wives…they…you know.”
He blinks. “Yes. Do you find my appearance as repulsive as my character? Personally, I consider you quite lovely in both respects.”
My stomach does a wee twist. “I am having a rather visceral reaction to what you just said.”
