It was exactly that many.
“Enough that my hand is cramping up!” I put the phone down.
“Listen,” he says softly. “That was my plan at first too, but as I just explained, I can’t think of one person who would work. There are two types of women in my world. One, the vicious manipulators who are already counting my money with their greedy hands, and,” he hesitates.
“And?”
“And the sweet type who think they’re in love with me.”
I scoff, “No.”
“Believe it or not, some women find me very desirable.” I must make a face because he laughs. “Damn, they at least find mebearable.”
I try to smile, “Sorry. You’re just so…” I gesture from his flopping, casual chestnut hair that he compulsively runs his hand through, down his whole charming, happy, never-had-a-single-care face, built body like someone with a lot of personal time to work out, to his expensive, hardly-worn shoes. “…somuch. But I can see the appeal.” His brows lift so I add, “if I squint.” He laughs and I chuckle too.
“C’mon, Benedict, this isn’t a real marriage, right? So what if your wife is a little…”
“Vapid, shallow, greedy, horrid?”
I glare, “You werewithall these women you’re now bashing.”
“Only because I saw eyes and tits and legs for miles.”
“Not helping your case!”
“No, damn it,” he shakes his head. “I mean, physical attraction is always the start, right?” I don’t nod but I don’t disagree. “Then you get to know a person. Despite what the press says I’m not all one night stands. I dated all those women for at least a few dates. Everyone from my circles...they just want the money, the status.”
“So give it to one of them. They get their clout, you get your inheritance. Then divorce them in a year. Come on, Boss, are all billionaires this dense?”
“I’m too pretty to be smart,” he jokes.
“It’s not hard. Pick one!”
He takes his phone back. “Firstly, it’s five years. Five years I’ll have to share a life with this person. Dad’s stipulations are clear, has to appear to be a real, public,convincingmarriage for at least one year. No one knows about this contract except Dad, me, the lawyers, and now you, here in,” he gestures around. “This very serious vault. The rest of the world must think we’re madly in love for the first year or else he’ll renege. After year one, no stipulations other than no divorce until after the fifth anniversary.”
“Five years isn’t that long,” I try. His turn to glare at me. I concede, “All right, I’ll give it to you, it’s not great.”
“That’s an eternity with a fake persona, a doe-eyed yes-man-type, fawning all over me,” I snort and he corrects himself. “Theideaof me. Not actually me. They’re just wanting to see and beseen in New York and London. It’s all status, power, politics. A boring game. And the players can’t be trusted. Who knows what schemes my wife would cook up behind my back.”
“So, what about one of the sweet ones who accidentally fell in love with you?”
“They’ll want a, you know,” he squirms in his seat, “commitment.”
I pause, “How drunk am I, exactly? Are we not talking about marriage here? The ultimate commitment?”
“Yes, but they’ll want arealmarriage and this won’t be real. They’ll secretly hope that I’ll slow down, put down roots, have babies. You know…love. And I'm thirty-three, after nearly twenty years of dating, looking, trying…I just don’t think I’m the true love type.” He pauses. “Plus, I just don’t enjoy spending time with any of those birds.” At that, I raise an exaggerated eyebrow. He understands my innuendo and laughs. “All right, I enjoyed spendingsometime with them. But talking, laughing, faffing about for fun? For five years? I can’t see it.”
“Not even with this one? You hesitated on her for twenty-two seconds.”
“Penelope?” He sighs and his face turns wistful. “She had pierced nipples.”
Shocked with his honesty, and the way he sounds truly romanced by boob piercings, I take another gulp of my water, then nod. “Speed dating it is!”
“How does that work?”
“Well, you sign up and…” I imagine him going into a coffee shop or a bar for one of the events I’ve been to. He’d be attacked by paparazzi outside before even signing a fake name on the sign-in sheet. And the fake name would be pointless. “Never mind. Wouldn’t work with the paparazzi and that People’s Sexiest Man Alive face of yours.”
He beams and leans back in triumph, like he’s caught me ogling him or something. “I believe that award covered more than just my face.”
