7. Ellis

CHAPTER 7

ELLIS

" F or God's sake, have you never signed a contract before?" I snap, shooting a glance at the woman. Marina. It's not like I care to learn her name, but seeing as she is about to become my "wife," I probably need to.

I could do worse, I suppose. As far as wives go, at least she's hot.

Marina's taking her sweet time reading every single page of the contract I got Priscilla to draw up yesterday. She ignores my rebuke, pushing her glasses up her freckled nose, squinting her warm brown eyes at the page. She should stop doing that if she doesn't want to get wrinkles. She's too pretty to spoil her face with frown lines.

"Let her read it," hisses Priscilla under her breath, and I grunt, rolling my eyes.

Honestly, how long does it take to read a few pages? Surely she's read at least one contract in her life? She was a PA. Her whole life must have been reading contracts just like this and getting them signed. She must know what they look like in excruciating detail.

Maybe it's made her paranoid. Maybe she's hunting for tricks.

That idea makes me bristle. No matter what people say about me, I'm honest. I wouldn't try and fool her into anything. If she keeps silent and does her part, she'll get the money. It's as simple as that.

She doesn't even have to try very hard.

Marina painstakingly turns over another piece of paper, absorbing every single word. Then she must hit one she disagrees with, because her face crumples in confusion before she looks up at Priscilla and me.

"It says here you're going to own all rights to any images taken of me and my daughter. You can do what you want with my image, but I don't want Lila to be everywhere."

I raise an eyebrow and remind her, "You are agreeing to be on TV. You know, the thing people watch?"

Priscilla side-eyes me with the force of an elbow to the gut. "Unfortunately, that's one of the TV contractor's clauses," she says gently. "If it helps, we won't be using them ourselves. The TV company just wants to know that they can use all these pictures for advertising."

Marina frowns, her pink lips pouting. She has her auburn hair tied loosely back, which draws attention to her long, pale neck. She really is a stunning woman. I bet the constellation of freckles on her cheeks goes all the way down her shoulders and chest. Not that you'd ever know, because she's decided to cover up her body with a hideous green jumper that she must think looks professional but actually just hides every curve she ever had.

I suppose looking sexy at work isn't most people's usual concern.

She gets to the final page of the contract and hesitates. Then, at last, she picks up a pen and carefully signs it. I breathe a sigh of relief. If she can just keep her mouth shut about the lie, this plan will go perfectly.

"One more thing," I say, waving the next contract in front of Marina's face.

"What's this?" she says, frowning deeply again. I can't help but notice her little button nose and the dimples in her cheeks as she does.

I have to stop getting distracted. I'm not supposed to be feeling anything for her at all, attraction or otherwise.

"Nondisclosure agreement," I say. "You cannot tell one single soul on earth that this is a fabrication."

She shrugs and signs that one without question. Really? She put up such a fuss about the other contracts, but she barely needs to have a second look at this one? Nothing about her makes sense. At least this means she'll keep quiet.

That really is the most important part of this deception. If either of us speak, it makes me look worse than ever.

"Great. Thank you, Marina," says Priscilla, smiling warmly. "Now, maybe you two should get to know each other a little better."

We both groan, and Priscilla raises her eyebrows. "If you're going to pretend to be married, you at least have to know something about each other. Marina, tell us about your career."

Her cheeks blush faintly pink, and I wonder if she's actually embarrassed or if it's just a natural reaction to having attention on her.

I couldn't relate less to that. I love attention. I guess that's why I'm famous and she's not.

"Well, I've mostly worked in offices. I was PA for the CEO of Seattle East Bank for three years."

"Those guys suck," I interrupt, sneering. "They canceled my credit card without warning one time."

"They were decent employers, though."

It's like she has to argue with every single thing I say. It's a good thing we're not actually married, because this level of tension in my life would be unbearable. Or maybe this is realistic. If we're bickering like this already, maybe we'll give the impression of a long-term married couple, tired of getting in each other's way all the time.

Which does lead to certain questions about where she's been hiding all this time, because surely if I had a wife I'd want to show her off. But these are details. Priscilla is already getting her team to work on a fully convincing backstory for us to learn.

Anyway, I don't have a whole lot of confidence in most people's intelligence. Most people swallow anything you tell them.

I bite my tongue to let her continue. "But unfortunately, they laid me off when I went on maternity leave."

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal," I say. "You're not allowed to discriminate against people for things like that."

"In theory, no." She shrugs, her face twisting with barely concealed bitterness. "But in practice, I went on maternity leave — and basically got told not to come back."

My own face falls into a frown. I knew those guys sucked, but that's the kind of treatment I would ensure never befell my employees. Sure, it's annoying when people go on leave, but everyone's entitled to a vacation every now and again. Even more so, I guess, when you're literally giving birth.

And then a sickening realization hits me. "What about the father? Who was he?"

Marina's blush deepens, the red of her face bringing out her eyes even more. "There isn't one. I mean, obviously there is, but he was one great night of an awful holiday in Europe. An accident fueled by slightly too many tequila shots."

I chuckle. The tequila shots. We've all been there.

Before I can speak, though, Marina's face hardens, and she adds, "He was a mistake, but my baby never will be."

"Message received," I say, throwing her a mock salute.

That seems to relax her, her shoulders visibly sagging. "Yeah. You don't have to worry about him. He doesn't even know that she exists. He barely even spoke English."

"And did you speak Spanish?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I can order a glass of wine. Doesn't help that we were in Italy, though."

I don't smile, but for the first time she almost makes me want to crack one.

This plan seems utterly stupid, but she seems like she can hold her own.

Priscilla keeps grilling us like this, asking us pointless and generic questions about our lives. I learn that Marina loves Lebanese food — but more than anything she loves her baby. That keeps coming up again and again. She loves her baby.

I guess that's what I want. Someone with passion, someone willing to fight for what she believes in. I can admire that.

Even if I find it super annoying, I have to give her some respect.