Business as Usual (8 page)

Sex would not only compromise the thirty-year
friendship between our fathers but would also strain an already tenuous
business relationship. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours I
felt like my head was spinning. He stared unblinkingly at my face like a
injured puppy.

“I mean it. I can’t be in a real marriage with
you.”

I
pushed him aside and rolled out of bed, sheet wrapped around my body. He gazed
up at me with a wounded look in his eyes, raking a hand through his hair in
frustration. I tried albeit hopelessly, to look at his face and not at his
sweaty unclothed physique. Following my line of view, he grabbed a pillow,
covered his groin and rolled out of bed with an angry thud. I smothered a laugh.
Ethan looked ridiculous hiding behind a pillow.

“We’re already married and we’re about to have
sex. How can you say you’re not my wife? Or is marriage only convenient when
you want to share our bed? I’m not your whore, Elizabeth. Where I come from, dating
and sex is a pathway to marriage. Some of us have values and believe in the
sacredness of love and matrimony.”

 “I’m a progressive American woman,” I
shrugged. “We don’t have to be married or in love to have sex.”

“But you
are
married. There’s nothing
wrong with sex or falling in love with your own husband!”

“There is when you’re married against your
will!” I snapped, an air of triumph to my tone.

Ethan smirked and a wave of heat rushed through
my body.
Good grief, I wanted this man so bad
. He looked into my eyes
and I averted my gaze, flushing at the idea of Ethan reading my thoughts. With
a strong masculine swipe, Ethan grabbed the bed sheet I wore and pulled me
close, my chest colliding softly against his. The pillow he used to cover
himself dropped to the floor at my feet.

“You were no more forced to marry me than you
were forced into our bed last night.”

He
had a point. I was drunk but fully aware of what I was doing. But these were
things I was not only unwilling to admit to Ethan, but unwilling to admit to
myself. I regrouped, tightening the sheet over my chest, the thin white barrier
that separated us. Through it, I could feel him pressing against me, his
arousal obvious.

“I
won’t sleep with you until you agree to a committed relationship. That’s not
who I am,” he continued.

“Understood. There’s no sense in arguing or
beating ourselves up about it. We made a mistake. Sue me for wanting to have
some fun,” I shrugged. “Moving forward, this marriage will be nothing more than
a contract, as intended from the start. I hope you understand.”

Ethan looked astounded, then finally, an
expression of acceptance appeared on his face. “Fine. We’ll play it your way,”
he shrugged, nonchalant as ever.

“Good. We’ll leave this embarrassing situation
behind us and forget it ever happened. That being said, I’m
gonna
hit the shower... there’s room for two, if you’re interested,” I winked.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll pass,” he
answered, waving a hand dismissively.

I turned on my heels and walked toward the
bathroom. Then with a parting look over my shoulder, I dropped the sheet to the
floor at my feet before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving a confused and
sexually frustrated Ethan to his thoughts.

Moments
later, as I stood under the hot stream of water pouring out of the shower, I
replayed my argument and short-lived tryst with Ethan in my head over and over
again wondering why I had even gone there in the first place. Like a drunken
sorority girl I’d thrown myself at him without bothering to think of the
consequences. In one night, I managed to blur the carefully drawn line
separating our business relationship and fake marriage. Why? He was everything
I avoided when it came to men. I’d always been attracted to tall, handsome,
working class guys who didn’t remind me of my extremely wealthy father. They
made me feel safe…loved. Daniel didn’t have an agenda, unlike Ethan. So why was
I so drawn to this man? Was it the fact that he was young and hot with a cool
playboy devil-may-care persona? I was used to arrogant young men with money
they neither earned nor deserved. I’d grown up with far too many self-entitled
brats. But Ethan was different. The way he wore his masculinity like a
badge…the smoldering intensity in his eyes. I’d seen him looking at me from
afar many times in the past, his gaze protective and watchful…even a bit
possessive, only I had yet to identify what those looks meant. The two of us
being only the children of our parents, I thought of him as a big brother,
because of the bond our fathers shared. But Ethan’s silent vigilance had been
much more. A nagging feeling forced itself to the forefront of my thoughts. Was
the business deal a necessary invention to bring the two of us together? If so,
how long had our fathers conspired to make this possible?

I quickly dismissed my suspicions, and stepped
out of the shower. In this day and age an arranged marriage simply wasn’t
possible. Especially when it came to a forward-thinking man like my father. On
the other hand, this was the same guy who secretly longed for a son.

I left the bathroom wearing only a bath towel
and went to the bedroom, half expecting to see Ethan there. The comforter on
the bed was in disarray, the only evidence that last night had ever happened. I
draped my body in a hotel issued bathrobe, walked to the living room and looked
around. The suite was empty and Ethan was gone. I walked to the bedroom again
and checked the closet. His clothes were still there.

A few minutes later the door opened and room
service arrived with food I didn’t order. After a decadent spread had been laid
out on the table, room service left and I sat down to eat. I was in the middle
of pouring a cup of coffee and setting a croissant on my plate when the door
open and Ethan finally walked in, wearing a jump suit and a pair of sneakers,
his body covered in sweat. He quickly disappeared into the bedroom. A few
minutes later I heard the shower.

I grabbed the paper, which sat on the table and
started reading the news. I found one of our wedding pictures in the business
section with an announcement that we had been married.

“Thirty two year-old Ethan Yu of AmeriAsia and
Elizabeth Byron, daughter of Byron Energy oil tycoon Eugene Byron, were joined
together in marriage…blah blah
blah
.”
  

I snapped the paper closed wondering if Danny
had already heard the news. Should I call and at least
attempt
to
explain myself? Ethan walked in just as I was setting the paper on the table
next to my plate. Dressed in dark slacks and a pale blue button down shirt, he
leaned across the table, reaching over my head as he grabbed the orange juice
and collapsed on the seat beside me as he drained the entire glass.

“Did you see the wedding announcement in
today’s paper?” I asked, skimming the front page.

“Ah huh…”

His hair was still very wet and his complexion
pallid from strenuous exercise. I closed my robe, where it had fallen open like
there was something to hide.

“What time is our flight to Aruba?” I asked.

I reached for a slice of fruit and Ethan
reached for it at the same time, the side of his hand grazing mine. I withdrew
from his touch like it burned and pushed away from the table.

“I canceled our flight.”

“Why?”

“Your father told me you hated the beach. You
should have said something.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” I shrugged.

Wasn’t like anything else did…or like I had any
say-so in the events concerning our wedding…

“Of course it matters,” Ethan replied, a
surprised look on his face. He spun his chair around and leaned towards me, gripping
my shoulders with firm hands.

“I know this marriage isn’t what you wanted,
but I’ll do my best to make life as easy for you as possible. If you want
something, just ask.”

“I don’t need anything from you. I have my own
money.”

He gave me a dour look. “I’m not talking about
money, Elizabeth. I’m talking about happiness. I’m sorry about what happened
this morning. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, but I want it to,” I replied, smiling
mischievously. “Speaking of favors, I think we both know what
I
want,” I
teased.

I bit my bottom lip and gave him my best ‘
come
hither
’ look.

“Then you should be prepared to accept
everything that goes along with it.”

Ethan released me then leaned back in his seat again,
quickly changing the subject. “We should go to Paris. Your father said you’d
like that.”

“Thanks,” I replied somewhat sheepishly. “I
would
like that, actually. I haven’t been in years. I’ve been far too busy with work.
The budget committee will be out to look at your designs today. I know we’re
supposed to go on our bogus honeymoon, but there’s a bit of a time crunch.”

“Where?’

“I booked conference room L454. Why?”

Ethan strolled across the living room and
flipped his laptop open. “You mind if I sit in?”

I studied his movements. I was
really
attracted to this man. He turned, piercing dark eyes peering quizzically into
mine.

“Negative. The meeting is
only
for the
budget committee,” I answered, circling the sofa to meet him on the other side
of the room. “I’ll go over it with you after we draft a preliminary budget
proposal. You have nothing to worry about… I handpicked the committee
personally. Your designs are beautiful, but…”

I let my fingers slide across the back of the
sofa, seductively.

“We need to think about how much it will cost
to implement.”

“We’ll worry about that when you prove we can’t
do it on a thirty million dollar budget,” Ethan said, cutting me off.

I gave him a hopeless look.

“I’ve seen your work, Ethan…it’s brilliant.
It’s eccentric, it’s grand…some of the best architecture I’ve ever seen...it’s
art
.
I was very
very
impressed. But I think
our focus should be the interior. Like I said, we’ll go over the budget this
afternoon and get back to you with estimated costs.”

“You should have invited me to the meeting,” he
said, pointing his finger. I need to be a part of the process.”

“And you are!” I answered, sweetly. “You’re
designing a multi-million dollar luxury hotel.”

“I’m also a major investor. Or did you forget
that? I need to know where my money is going. You work for me, not the other
way around.”

I slid my fingernails up his arm seductively.
“Correction. I
work
for my father.”

Ethan caught my wrist before my hand crawled up
his chest. We locked eyes, like bulls about to lock horns.

Ethan
vowed to resist a physical relationship if I didn’t agree to a real marriage. I
wanted to see how long
that
was going to last. He parked his hands on my
waist and pushed me away, eyes brimming with sexual heat. But I slid my fingers
under his collar, slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and kissed him on the neck. He
froze, breath catching in his throat.

“We’ll go over the details on our so called
honeymoon. When are we leaving?” I purred.

“In two weeks,” he answered, fastening each
button again. I watched as he slid fit arms into his jacket, my eyes drawn to
the muscular swell of his chest. He started toward the door then turned back on
his heels like he was forgetting something, and kissed me. It was only a peck
on the lips, but a kiss nonetheless.

Judging
from the determined look in Ethan’s eyes, I had a feeling he wasn’t about to
take no for answer on the meeting. So as soon as he left, I called my secretary
and told her to cancel the meeting at the hotel and to book a conference room
at the Concord Business Center. Ethan was more concerned with his designs than
staying on budget. My job as head of finance was to keep costs under control.
But after reading Ethan’s outline, and going over his blueprint for a six story
150,000 square feet building, there was no way we could build it without
spending an obscene amount of money. I was going to budget the new Gold Dust
Hotel down to the last nail, starting with its size, which I would slash from
150,000 square feet to 135,000 to get our budget down to 20 million dollars,
where it belonged.

With
the blueprint unfurled and spread across the boardroom table two and half hours
later, I made a box around the area we would cut from the design with a big red
Sharpie. I passed the marker to Hirsch, a bald forty-four year old finance
executive from our Atlantic City office. As I leaned over the table I couldn’t
tell if he was cross-eyed or staring down my silk Chanel blouse. I flattened
the fabric with my hands, smoothing wrinkles away from the soft crisscross designed
top as I strutted across the room, sat on the edge of the table, crossing my
legs, listening as the team debated budget concerns over coffee and bagels.