Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

ZAYN

T hree months later, I found myself standing in the conference room, shaking hands with the last of the board members. I put on my usual smile and pretended all was well, when all I really wanted to do was choke them with their outdated, chunky ties.

If I thought I could get away with it, there would be some violence in this room.

But alas, I wasn't interested in wearing an orange jumpsuit or living in some godforsaken country with no extradition policy. Sure, rich people never go to jail, but with my luck, I would be the first.

The men—old, stiff, and stuck in their ways—were convinced that I had a problem with my image. Give me a break. As if they didn't have skeletons in their closets. Their generation was all about banging the secretaries in their offices with no one giving two shits about them slapping asses and making lewd comments about women.

But their biggest reservation about giving us their full investment and the go-ahead on our nonprofit with Hayes and Hudson was me .

I was the holdup.

My brother, who I loved to death, had been an addict for years and that wasn't a problem.

My reputation was. That was holding this whole thing up. They wanted me to "clean it up" because apparently that was the thing they couldn't get past.

John Jones, the last board member to leave, grasped my hand with his limp, clammy fingers and looked me squarely in the eyes. "All you need is a good woman behind you, Zayn. Then everything we discussed today can be overlooked. Because a good woman would never settle for less than a man who's proven he can grow."

The guy was about as dull as his name, yet his words struck a nerve. From where I was standing, I wasn't the most troublesome of the Bancrofts. We'd all had our moments in the spotlight for some negative thing or another. The media had become experts at twisting truths, spinning them into marketable stories for mass consumption. My family had been the public's playthings for as long as I could remember. People were fascinated by the Bancroft name, the jet plane, the flashy cars, the luxury mansions.

Playboys. Womanizers. Fuckboys.

We'd been called all that and more. But that didn't mean I had to take the board saying it about me to my face with a smile.

After John Jones finally left, I returned to the boardroom where Hayes and Hudson were brooding. Hudson was at the window, staring out over Manhattan, shaking his head. "Maybe I'm the dead weight. Last year wasn't good for me. Everyone knows about my stint in rehab." He turned to face us, his expression tight. "Maybe it would be best if I back out and you two run with this."

"Don't be ridiculous," I snapped. "You're the backbone of this nonprofit. Without you, there's no point in doing it at all. We're doing this because of you. You're the inspiration."

"Zayn's right," Hayes agreed, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "We've been working too hard to get this off the ground to quit now. We're doing this, Hudson. All three of us."

Hudson didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. The truth was none of us were saints. We each had our own baggage, our own demons. But this nonprofit, this vision of offering support to individuals and families affected by addiction, was something we all believed in. It wasn't just a project. It was a way to make up for some of the shit we'd done in the past.

I knew Hudson needed this. I wanted him to have a way to turn his past problems into something positive, to give him a sense of purpose beyond his own recovery, which had been going great.

A silence fell over the boardroom. I loosened my tie and unbuttoned my collar, trying to shake off the pressure of the meeting.

The idea was good. It was amazing. We wanted to be the one place people could go to get all the resources they needed. But damn, if that red tape wasn't giving us a run for our money.

Or lack of money.

"We could use our own funds," Hudson said after a long silence. "If the board won't give us what we need, we could?—"

"No," I interrupted. "It doesn't make sense for tax or business purposes. We need their backing, their connections, their resources. It's not just about the money. It's about the network they can provide us."

Hayes nodded in agreement, but the frustration in the room was palpable. We'd been brainstorming ways to clean up our image, but no matter how much we talked, it all circled back to the board focusing on me. They'd pointed out every blemish on my record—my travels abroad with a different woman on my arm every time, late nights at clubs, a fender bender from over ten years ago because I got a little too cocky behind the wheel. Women I'd taken to bed talked—a lot. I had a reputation for being a little risky. The stories had been greatly embellished to include whips and chains.

I had never used either. I preferred to use my hands for any pleasure I doled out. But crazy rumors sold papers and got clicks online.

It wasn't like I was proud of any of the things I had actually done, but I wasn't exactly ashamed either. I was living my life the way I wanted. But now it seemed that my past was coming back to bite me in the ass, fair or not.

Hayes let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe John Jones is right," he said quietly. "Maybe the one thing you need to clean up your image is a good woman by your side. A wife. Someone like Hudson's Diana."

I laughed, a short, sharp sound, but when I looked at my brothers, I realized they were serious. "You've got to be kidding me," I said. "How the hell am I supposed to find love on a deadline? You can't be serious."

"Who said anything about love?" Hayes asked, arching an eyebrow. "I said a wife."

I stared at him, then at Hudson, who shrugged. "I've got Diana," Hudson said, almost apologetically. "I'm on the right path now. And Hayes has done a good job staying out of the media. But you, Zayn? You're the low-hanging fruit. Especially after that incident last month."

He was referring to the poker game that had ended with a bunch of hot-headed celebrities and me in a brawl. It was something I'd laughed off at the time, but the tabloids had been relentless, the video going viral within hours of its release.

"Low-hanging fruit," I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks a lot."

"You know you've been getting some press lately," Hudson said.

I rolled my eyes. "A few guys got their panties in a bunch."

"I'm serious, Zayn," Hayes interjected, his voice unusually stern for the light-hearted man he was. "It wasn't a few pissed-off celebrities. It was an entire poker table full of them. And it's not just about your image. It's holding us back."

"All the more reason not to get married," I retorted. "What if my hypothetical wife and I end up in one of those messy public divorces? Then we're back to square one."

Hudson leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished boardroom table. "There will be an NDA and safeguards to protect any of this from ever getting made public. People get divorced all the time. Your fake marriage will come with a plan for a fake divorce."

"Look, it's not like we're saying you have to change who you are," Hayes said, trying to sound reasonable. "But you need to play the game a little. The board wants to see that you're capable of commitment, that you're stable, that you can?—"

"—that I can be controlled," I finished for him.

Hudson chuckled. "More like that you can control yourself. Look, we all know this is bullshit, but if it gets the board to sign off, then maybe it's worth considering."

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the idea. "You really think I should just… what? Find some girl and pretend I'm in love with her to get the board off my back?"

Hayes and Hudson exchanged a glance. "It wouldn't have to be love," Hayes said carefully. "But it should be someone who fits the image we're trying to project. Someone respectable, kind-hearted, family oriented. The kind of woman who would make people believe you've turned over a new leaf."

I scoffed, the very idea making my skin crawl.

Hayes gave a nonchalant shrug, "Don't think of it as marriage, think of it as an investment."

"A convenient arrangement," Hudson chimed in. "And who knows? Love might come later."

The idea was so absurd, I almost laughed again. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe, just maybe, they were right. Maybe I could find a woman who fit the bill. She wouldn't have to love me. Hell, I didn't need love. But I did need this nonprofit to work, and if this was the way to make that happen, then maybe it was worth a shot.

"I don't like it," I said finally. "But I'll think about it."

Hayes clapped me on the shoulder. "That's all we're asking."

"And we'll have to provide some kind of compensation," Hudson said.

"Compensation?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "You mean, pay her?"

Hudson shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe not directly, but think about it, Zayn. If she's going to be spending her life playing your loving wife, there should be some sort of reward for her efforts. A generous donation to a charity she supports, perhaps? Money buys silence and loyalty."

He was right. "I'll think about it," I said again with all the excitement of a man about to have a tooth pulled.

The room fell silent, as if the very walls were holding their breath in anticipation for my decision. I looked at Hudson's waiting eyes, then over at Hayes, whose encouraging nod was already wearing on my nerves.

"Give me the night," I said.

We left the boardroom and went our separate ways for the evening, but I couldn't shake what Hayes had said. Maybe I could find a good woman, someone who could help me clean up my image. But who? Where the hell was I supposed to find someone who would be willing to play this game with me?

I grabbed my phone and started making a list. She'd need to be the right girl. Beautiful, but not too flashy. Smart, but not so clever that people would wonder what she was doing with me. Family oriented. Kind-hearted. Able to lie. Willing to do what she's told.

It was ridiculous, but I couldn't help myself. I was running through the list of women I'd crossed paths with over the years when suddenly it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I already knew a girl who checked all these boxes.

Marigold.

The name alone made my chest tighten. It had been three months since I left her on that island, and I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since. Marigold was everything I needed. She was beautiful but not in an intimidating way. She was smart, sweet, and so damn good at lying that she'd convinced everyone on that island we were engaged. She was perfect.

But she was also the last person I wanted to drag into this mess.