Holiday Hoax: Chapter 4

A Few Hours Earlier

So far, my Thanksgiving week has been super productive. I got a ton of work done yesterday since no one was in the office. The only thing I can complain about is that I had a moment of weakness.

Since it was Thanksgiving, nothing was open. I didn’t think about food before I left. I figured I had some meals in the fridge at work.

I was wrong and paid for my mistake.

When lunchtime rolled around, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was starving. Georgia left her cupcakes in the breakroom. Those damn turkey cupcakes were inside a glass-covered cake plate, tormenting me.

I didn’t eat only one. I binged four of them before I left for the night, cursing myself every time I polished one off.

I had underestimated Georgia’s cupcakes. They weren’t good. They were amazing.

And addictive.

It only made me more annoyed. The last thing I needed was a cupcake obsession.

When I got home, I spent two hours in the gym. I still felt guilty. It took me years to create my strict regime so I could eliminate the excess weight of my childhood. And I’m going to be CEO of Cartwright Enterprises. Come January 2nd, I’ll be the face of the corporation. I can’t have cupcake rolls. I can imagine all the fun the gossips would have with that.

Pissed at myself, I went to bed and got up at three a.m. to burn off some more calories, still feeling guilty about my binge. At five, I went into the office.

For hours, I’ve been working. I hit send on an important email regarding a contract I need to close immediately and my phone dings. I glance at the screen and groan.

Mom: Here’s somebody I think you should meet. Her name’s Carolina. She’s a lovely girl.

A picture of a blonde pops up. She’s got fake everything… hair, lips, eyelashes. Her cleavage is pushed so high, there’s no doubt her boobs are fake too. I’m not against implants if a woman wants them, but at least be a bit discreet about them.

She should take some pointers on being natural from Georgia.

I need to stop thinking about Georgia, I reprimand myself.

Mom: Or Jessica’s available. She told me she loves Dallas and would consider moving there for the right person.

‘I bet she would,’ I mutter.

A brunette pops up on my screen next. Everything about her resembles my last fiancée.

Not reliving that nightmare.

Mom: Of course, Carmine’s really, really nice. She can’t wait to have babies.

A nerdy-looking redhead fills the screen. I suppose she’s good-looking, but I’m pretty sure she should marry a boring accountant or something.

I’m about to text my mom to stop when another text pops up.

Mom: What about Sarah? She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’s competing in the Miss Texas pageant.

A photo of a Latino woman in a glittery gown followed by one of her in her bikini with a sash over it comes through.

That’s all I need. A pageant queen.

She should take lessons from Georgia on how to not overdo the makeup.

Stop thinking about Georgia!

Good God, my mother really doesn’t know me at all.

I text my mom back.

Me: I told you I’m in a relationship. Stop texting me these pictures. I’m not interested in any of these women. Nor will I ever be.

Mom: Who is it? Tell me. You said that, but you didn’t give me any details. I thought you were making it up, Sebastian.

Great. Even my mother can see through my lie.

I scrub my face.

What am I doing? I have to leave on Monday. There’s no way I can go home alone now.

Why did I say that?

Instead of fessing up, I only go deeper.

Me: You’ll meet her when I bring her home.

Mom: You’re bringing her home? You must be serious, then?

The pit in my stomach grows. This is bad. I’m not dating anyone right now. I have my women who I utilize when I want to fuck, but I wouldn’t bring any of them home, especially for a month.

Mom: Sebastian? Give me details!

Me: I’ve got important meetings. I don’t have time to talk about this. I’ll talk to you later. STOP YOUR MATCHMAKING.

I toss my phone on the desk upside down and press my hands to my forehead. What am I going to do?

I can’t go home. It’s going to drive me nuts.

If I don’t, I’m not going to be CEO. I’ve worked too damn hard to have my father name my brother head of this corporation over me.

I need a fake fiancée. That’ll appease everyone for a month.

Fiancée number five?

The shame I feel around my failed relationships cyclones in my stomach. I pound my head against the back of my chair.

No more fiancées, whether real or fake.

Think! What would be better?

I pace my office, then it hits me—I need a fake wife. I will gladly pay a woman a fortune if it means my family leaves me alone while I’m home.

Georgia’s chipper voice tears me out of my thoughts. She’s practically singing good morning to everybody she comes across.

I stare at her through my tinted window, watching her carrying six boxes.

Six.

Does the woman do anything besides bake?

Is she on drugs and that’s what makes her so happy?

If so, they should market it to the rest of the world so they can walk around in a blissful haze of happiness.

No. That would be annoying.

I stare at her round ass, wondering why she can’t be ugly. At least then I wouldn’t have to jack off to her every time I take a shower.

She turns the corner, and the urge to follow her fills me. Instead, I head to the conference room, needing to get out of my office. I pace the room, staring at the beautiful morning glow of the Dallas skyline, trying to figure out my problem. If I don’t, my mother will have every single woman in town over at the house at all hours of the day and night.

I need the perfect woman. Someone sweet and kind but not a doormat. One who my family and the entire town will fall in love with; who fools them into thinking she genuinely loves me.

Not like the others.

My chest tightens, thinking of all the other Christmases I brought a fiancée home thinking she was the one, only to learn her true intentions.

Focus, I reprimand myself. I shake it off, racking my mind over who I can turn into my fake wife.

The woman has to be someone I’d be attracted to, so gorgeous is a must. She needs to get along easily with people and eagerly dive into all the annoying activities my family will force upon her.

Where am I going to find someone with these qualities in less than four days?

Panic sets in as I mentally flip through the Rolodex of women I know. No one has the traits I need or is anyone I can put up with for more than a day.

I curse myself again for my past relationships. If I hadn’t been naive enough to think any woman would want me for me and not for my money, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Love doesn’t exist. At least, not for me. It’s a cruel reality, but at least I know and understand the truth. And I used to believe in marriage. I wanted nothing more than what my parents have. But eventually, all my fiancées’ true colors shone through. They only wanted me for my wealth, status, and power.

Then there was the issue of my sexual tastes. The women all tried to act like they were into it, but I knew they didn’t like it when I talked dirty or wanted them at my mercy. Deep down, they were prudes. I saw it in their faces, and people can only pretend for so long until their real selves surface.

I have money, so it shouldn’t be this hard.

My parents instilled good financial sense into my siblings and me. I’m not cheap, but I don’t like to be reckless with my fortune. However, this is one time where I’m willing to overpay to get what I need.

It’s the price for my promotion.

Frustrated beyond belief, I’m about to leave the room when Georgia bounces through the door. She runs right into me, and her platter of cupcakes hits my chest. My expensive, tailor-made suit coat gets frosting on it.

She gets flustered and tries to wipe it off me, but it only makes it worse.

The aromas of roses and chocolate mix in the air, and my skin electrifies. My cock hardens again. All the days I’ve spent in the office with a painful erection take their toll. I cross all HR boundaries and make her suck the frosting off her finger just to see how far I can push her.

And damn if she doesn’t like it. I see it. Her innocent eyes widen as she submits to my whim. And there’s no way for her to hide her attraction toward me. It only fuels me to want to tap into the dirty desires I’ve imagined since I ran into her in the lobby. Then everything becomes clear.

I don’t need to look anywhere except in front of me.

Georgia Peach.

She can be my fake wife.

It’s time to get what I want.

I take a quick moment to assess the situation like any other business deal.

What does she want?

She wants a bakery for her cupcakes.

I resist lecturing her on how ridiculous that is. The woman has an MBA, for God’s sake. She should use it to make as much money as possible. Besides, who would waste all that time and energy to get the education she has for a silly cupcake bakery?

It doesn’t matter. That’s what she wants.

I lead her to the table and order her to sit. Then I state, ‘I have a proposal for you.’

She tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows, questioning, ‘A proposal?’

I continue, ‘How would you like to get your cupcake bakery started after the New Year?’

She gapes at me. I stay quiet, and she finally blurts out, ‘Is this a trick?’

‘No. Are you serious about your dream or not?’

‘Of course I am,’ she asserts.

I lean closer. ‘Okay, then I’m only going to ask you one more time. How would you like to start your cupcake bakery after the New Year?’

‘This upcoming year? As in a few months?’ she questions.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s not possible.’

‘Where’s Little Miss Sunshine’s optimism gone?’ I challenge.

She glares at me. ‘Stop calling me that.’

‘Why? You are, aren’t you?’ I push.

‘Just because I choose to—’

‘Look, we’re getting off topic here. Do you want your bakery or not? If there were no obstacles in the way, is that what you’d do?’ I question, reminding myself I need to win her over, not push her away.

She doesn’t hesitate. ‘Of course I would.’

I study her, trying to push out of my mind all the sordid ways I plan on having her at my beck and call for a month.

Stay focused.

‘You’re making me nervous.’

‘Don’t be,’ I reply.

She turns quiet again.

I decide straightforward is the best option. I demand, ‘Marry me until January 2nd, and I’ll give you enough money to open your bakery.’

Her jaw drops to the floor. ‘Marry you until January 2. Are you crazy?’

Here we go. Time to close this deal.

I chuckle. ‘Not at all.’

‘Why? What would make you want to marry me? I don’t understand,’ she admits. Her face turns redder, and she backs her chair away from me.

I close the space between us, sling my arm around her, lean an inch from her face, and murmur, ‘Georgia, Georgia, Georgia.’

Her body stiffens. She meets my gaze. ‘Sebastian, is this a joke?’ She holds her breath.

I turn serious and back away, deciding she needs to breathe. I confess, ‘No. I need a fake wife. And I’m willing to pay.’

Appalled, she questions, ‘Excuse me? I’m not a prostitute!’

I groan. ‘No one said you’re a prostitute, Georgia, nor would anyone think that.’

‘But you’re asking me to marry you for payment,’ she points out.

‘So? Marriages are just contracts of convenience,’ I state.

More horror fills her expression. ‘Is that what you believe?’

‘Prove to me it’s not,’ I challenge.

‘It’s-it’s not!’

I shrug. ‘Whatever. You stay in a fairyland believing what you want, and I’ll believe what I know to be true. Either way, I need a wife, and you want a cupcake bakery.’

A disgusted look replaces her horror.

I cross more HR lines. ‘Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist.’

Insulted, her head jerks backward.

But I gotta keep going because I’ve already come this far. I continue with the belief that the truth is the best option. ‘My father has given me an ultimatum. I have to go home from December 1st to January 2nd in order to become CEO. If I don’t, he’s naming my brother, Alexander, as the head of the company. So I need a fake wife. You in or out?’

Her eyes turn to slits. ‘But why?”

‘Because my mother isn’t going to stop pushing women on me the whole time I’m there,’ I admit.

‘So just deal with it,’ Georgia asserts. She doesn’t understand that that’s not possible.

I sigh. ‘Here’s the thing, Georgia. It’s not that easy. You don’t know my mother. She’ll literally have every single woman in town at our house at all times of the night and day. Plus, I don’t want to deal with it. I need to work. You know, all the projects we have to get finished before the end of the year. I don’t have time for my mother’s matchmaking games. It’ll be a complete nightmare for me if I don’t bring home a fake wife.’

She stares at me as if processing everything. I wait until she accuses, ‘So you’re going to trick your family?’

I sit back and cross my arms. ‘Georgia. Did you hear what I just said?’

‘But it’s your family. You’d be lying to them.’

And this is why she’s so perfect.

I nod. ‘Yep.’

She tilts her head. ‘So you think it’s okay to lie?’

‘Oh please, Georgia. Let’s not go into your Girl Scout routine.’

‘Excuse me?’ she says, offended once again.

I reprimand myself. I need to get the ball through the hoop, not send her running. I lean closer. ‘Sorry. Here’s the deal. I’ll pay you $100,000 if you become my wife and then divorce me on January 2nd.’

Shock fills her face.

I add, ‘I’ll put it in writing in a prenup. Think of it as a business contract.’

She looks at me like I’m crazy.

‘Think about it. You’ll have all the money you need to open your cupcake bakery. Isn’t that what you said you wanted instead of working for me?’ I wait a beat, then add, ‘Which I know you really don’t want to be doing.’

She blurts out, ‘I like my job here.’

‘I didn’t say you didn’t. I said that it’s not what you really want to be doing,’ I clarify.

In a worried voice, she repeats, ‘I like my job here, and I’m grateful for it.’

I hold my hands in the air. ‘No one said you didn’t, Georgia. Look, all I’m trying to do is create a win-win for both of us. I get my mother off my back, and you get paid for your cooperation in exchange. You’ll have plenty to open your cupcake bakery.’

She bites her lip. Too much time passes without her saying anything.

‘What’s the problem? You can have everything you’ve ever wanted. And all you have to do is marry me.’

‘Marriage is forever, not a contract, Sebastian,’ she scolds.

I wave my hand in front of my face. ‘Not in my world. And we won’t even be married for thirty days. We can annul it, and it’ll be like it never even happened—except you’ll be $100,000 richer with resources to chase your dream. Win for me. Win for you.’

It’s like I can see the wheels in her mind spinning.

She’s too wholesome.

I can’t wait to make her spread her legs for me.

I lean closer. ‘Think about it. People can be paying for all those cupcakes instead of you slaving away for free.’

‘Not everything is about money, Sebastian.’

I scoff. ‘Everything’s about money, Georgia. If it wasn’t, then why do you want to open a bakery? Hmm?’

‘None of your business,’ she reprimands, then turns her head and stares out the window, biting her lip.

‘Georgia,’ I say, my tone demanding.

She turns back, locking her innocent blues on mine.

‘This is your shot at having exactly what you want. All you have to do is work for it in a little different way.’

‘What, by sleeping with you?’ she blurts out.

I can’t hold my cockiness back. I smirk. ‘You don’t like sex?’

Her face turns as red as a cherry. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

All it makes me think of is fisting her hair and shoving my dick between those plump, pink lips. I drag my fingers over the back of her hand.

She squirms in her seat and scoots it away from the table.

I firmly question, ‘$100,000, Georgia. What’s it going to be?’

She rises, scolding, ‘This isn’t right, Sebastian. This is warped.’

I chuckle. ‘As long as I get what I want, I don’t care what you call it. It’s a deal on paper to me. Nothing more.’

‘We’d be lying to everybody—your family…the people who love you!’ she exclaims.

I rise, voicing, ‘I told you what I don’t want to deal with when I go home. Stop judging me. Go think about it for a few hours. Smell your cupcakes and think about your dreams instead of putting obstacles in front of them. No one gets ahead in life by not seizing the opportunities they’re given. You’ve got until noon. I don’t have time to deal with your wishy-washy ideals.’

She huffs. ‘They aren’t wishy-washy ideals. You just dropped a bomb on me.’

‘Yeah, that’s life. Deal with it.’

Hurt fills her expression.

A part of me hates when she looks at me like that, but not enough to back down. I dangle her dream in front of her again. ‘$100,000, Georgia. Decide if your dreams are worth a month of your life or ten years, because you and I both know that’s what it’ll take for you to save what I’m offering.’ I leave the room and don’t look back, going straight to my office. I shut the door and pace, taking deep breaths.

She better say yes.

Just the way she acted means she’s perfect.

But all women pretend they don’t care about money.

She has to say yes.

My nervousness continues to grow throughout the morning. I have to force myself to stay focused in my meetings. Between them, I stare at Georgia, getting increasingly obsessed with the idea of her as my fake wife.

Consummating our marriage is going to be a challenge. I doubt she won’t make me work for it. But I’ll win her over. By the time January 2nd rolls around, I’ll have had my fun with my blushing bride. Any naive innocence she now has will be destroyed.

I sit back in my chair, staring out at the Dallas skyline, coming up with rebuttals about how I’ll convince her to do this if she comes into my office at noon and turns my offer down.

She will be mine. There’s no doubt about it. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of biting into Georgia Peach.