Maybe I should be angry with her for pushing off a potential client, but she knew how tiger-like I became when faced with a difficult client. “Good girl.”
“Let’s just say he wasn’t very happy.” When she wrinkled her nose, I knew he’d been a demanding ass.
Since I’d grown up in a household with an arrogant man as a father, the fact I could keep a plastic smile on my face while dealing with clients who truly believed their shit didn’t stink was an absolute miracle. That didn’t mean I tolerated certain behaviors. Especially from my employees.
I sat back in my seat, folding my arms as the fury continued to rise. I tried to remind myself I was in a particularly bad mood. “Uh-huh. Who is this jerk?”
Amelia laughed. “Christian Elliot.”
“O-kay. He’s not a prince or perhaps the next action star in Hollywood.” I had no clue who he was, but the name sounded familiar.
“He could be. I’d consider him playboy material.” She laughed before narrowing her eyes. “Come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. The most eligible bachelor in Miami. His fatherowns more real estate in Florida than anyone. They own a firm that buys and sells off parts of failing companies, making billions in the process? That to die for man?”
No man was worth dying for.
It suddenly dawned on me why there was a hint of recognition. I tried my best to pay close attention to companies and people who had a stronghold on Miami and the surrounding area, but as of late, I’d been far too exhausted to search the internet for hours. “Christian Elliot, the asshole.”
“Why do you call him that?”
“I know his reputation. Arrogant. Chauvinistic. Condescending. He makes Pete Campbell fromMad Menseem sweet and innocent.” There was a little more truth to my words. A long time before I’d interviewed with Mr. Elliot. He’d been the biggest jerk I’d ever met then and he was even more powerful today. Maybe I was holding a slight grudge since he’d turned me down barely ten minutes into the interview.
Ten. Fucking. Minutes.
His nasty words of advice? That I should consider finding a rich husband. The idea of securing that sugar daddy was sounding better and better. At least I’d make a decent wife. Granted, before the comment he’d provoked me. I’d retorted to him. He’d fumed. I’d smiled. Then he’d tossed me out of his office with those dazzling parting words.
Or maybe I should thank him since he’d been some inspiration for creating Perfect Pairing. I’d learned to cater to men and women of his… type.
“FromMad Men? Really? Maybe you don’t realize Mr. Elliot is worth more money than God and we’re talking about at least a six-month gig with everything including living expenses.”
“For what? A companion for a long-term trip out of the country? Let me guess. Arm candy. Right?”
Her slight shrug meant I was spot on. “Something like that.”
When she tugged hair behind her ear, I sensed whatever she needed to tell me would light a fuse. “Just say it, my dearest Amelia. I can take it.”
“Fine,” she groaned. “A wife.”
I narrowed my eyes, noticing she seemed more fidgety than normal. Laughter popped from my lips before I even thought about it. “Let me get this straight. Christian Elliot, who I think I can concede is perhaps the best-looking man in the city if not the country, a man who I’ve seen has scores of women following him around like lapdogs hoping for diamonds, a man who is shitting money on an hourly basis suddenly needs a wife.”
“That about covers it,” she said sheepishly, likely since I’d raised my voice.
Why was it men like Christian managed to get under my skin every time? All personal feelings aside, there was no logical reason for him to use a service to hire a fake wife. “Does this poor excuse for a man understand this isn’t an escort service?”
She didn’t have a chance to get a word in edgewise. Even as she opened her mouth to answer, I jumped in.
“Does he have nothing better to do than hassle decent companies? Tell the son of a bitch to try Madame Zola’s. I heard she has the kinkiest women working for her in the city and fromwhat I understand, Christian is a sadist. Maybe he needs to feel the lash of a whip for a change. Or he can try one of those online dating services, although after spending a few minutes with him, his dates would likely do everything in their power to disappear off the planet.” I was forced to take a deep breath, coming close to hyperventilating.
“Wow. That’s all I can say. Do you know him?” Poor Amelia appeared as if I’d just dragged her down the middle of South Beach naked.
I raked my hand through my hair. There was no doubt I looked like a mess, as if a truck had run over me. On top of the disastrous financial situation, there’d been no water in the pipes of my bleak little home that morning. A shower had been a no-go and finding a plumber available within two weeks would take an act of Congress. I was facing staying in a hotel for a few days.
Money I couldn’t afford to lose.
“No, but I know men like him. Too many of them. I don’t want anything to do with a son of a bitch with a God complex.” I’d been too embarrassed to tell anyone about our earlier encounter. Okay, so it was years ago and I should get over it. Obviously, he’d left a lasting impression, like going through your first root canal.
“It’s a lot of money. We’re talking a lot.”
“I do have scruples, Amelia. I know we need the money, but if he calls you again, just tell him politely but firmly that the answer is no. If he pushes you, I’ll deal with him.” How in God’s name would finding a fake wife actually work for a man of his stature? I couldn’t imagine the clauses attached to the ironclad contract that my attorney would need to go over.
