Page 57 of Resist

“I did.”

“You didn’t like the ‘no feels’ pact name?”

“I didn’t. We can still be friends, and friends still have feels. Friend-feels.” I observe every muscle on her face as she stares at the page. “I think Operation Friend Zone is way more fit for purpose.”

She hums. “You put a star next to the amount of money I added to tenet number three about your recompense.” She looks up at me, tapping a pen against her plump bottom lip. “You want more than this? I thought it was a reasonable amount.”

I resist the urge to give her an eye roll. “You have written that you’ll give me half a million dollars, Corabelle. Where the hell did you even come up with that? Did you Google, “How much is a fake marriage worth?”” As much as I want her family to pay for what her father did to Mom, I don’t want to take the money for me. I want Mom to have her day. I want the check to be forher,not for me.

She shrugs. “Sounded like a good idea at the time I guess.”

I roll my eyes for real this time. “Half up front, and half on completion of my—what was it you wrote? Service? I feel like that’s way too much money. And if any of the directors of Blackwell Publishing are illegally keeping an eye on your accounts, surely they’ll think I’m extorting you for some reason, or that you are, in fact, paying me to marry you. It’s a little... I don’t know... lax of a paper trail?”

I try to glance at the clock behind her without making it obvious I’m checking the time. I asked Georgia to get a group of Corabelle’s employees together in the break room around nine twenty for a surprise. A proposal surprise. I also left a few dozen cupcakes and some Champagne and orange juice with her as well. In case things go the way I’d like them to, and my future bride says yes.

Georgia thinks it’s a celebration of my first week as Blackwell Publishing’s Acquisitions editor, and I didn’t tell her otherwise. She thinks I’m being kind and want to share my happiness with the office. She’s sort of right.

Corabelle sighs. “You’re right. It’s reckless of me, and I know that some of those crotchety old bastards desperately want this company for themselves. They don’t want me to do what I need to, they don’t want me to run this place. It’s why I need the facade of a happy couple, I can’t give them any ammunition to challenge my inheritance. They could likely tangle me up in litigation for years. I can’t... I just...”

She swallows. “I need to sell it, make them believe it. I can’t give them the slightest inkling that this isn’t real, in case Dad wrote a trap-door clause in there that his cronies are waiting to pull open on me. I’ll have to think of some way to pay you for this when we’re done. What problem did you have with the end date? I figure a year from now gives me time to get my feet wet in my role, and also to change whatever documentation I need.”

I shake my head. “I think it’s wishful thinking, especially now you tell me they’re likely working against you. If there’s a way for them to upend it, if you’re not in a ‘real’ marriage for long enough to satisfy whatever their stipulations are, I’d say stretch it to a two year term. If we need to part ways for whatever reason, we can come back together in two years for the sole purpose of getting a divorce. But a year... again it kind of makes it seem like you’re doing this just to check the box. Andwhile you are, there’s no real reason for everyone else to know that, right?”

I have no idea how much power this board has, or how much Corabelle will have once she’s voted in as CEO of the company. Is the board advisory? Can she simply get rid of them all? From the way she’s acting, it sounds to me like they’re shareholders and have some pull over what does and does not happen within the walls of Blackwell. I want to make sure we leave no loopholes, no stones unturned, or backdoors open for them to come in and fuck this all-the-way up for her.

She studies the piece of paper in her hand. The same page I studied for over an hour last night. Do I wish she’d nixed tenet number one and instead mandated that I fuck her daily? Sure. But I get her need to protect her feelings from some guy she just met offering to help her for no apparent reason.

I can’t imagine Corabelle enjoying the kind of proposal I’m about to spring on her, but I’m glad I’ve planned it now that she’s confided in me how worried she is about those crooked old bastards on her father’s board.

“We’ll also need to put a pin in tenet numbers eight and number nine for the moment.” I offer her my hand, she may not ‘do’ relationships. And under normal circumstances she’d undoubtedly be unwilling to hold my hand at work, especially when she doesn’t feel sure of her authority yet.

But she said it herself, we need to sell it. We need to be convincing to people who may end up wanting to destroy her. Perhaps they already do. She stares at it for a moment before sliding her hand in mine. I guide her from her chair, out the door, and down the corridor to where staff are milling around cupcakes, donuts—someone else must have brought those—and Georgia is pouring mimosas.

“What’s all this?” Corabelle’s brows are pretty high, sending a deep wave of satisfaction through my body. “Did Imiss a birthday?” She scans the crowd. “Or a celebration?” She’s truly surprised. Good.

I snag a mimosa from Georgia and tap the glass to silence the small group of employees who probably resent the fact that I’m preventing them from having snacks. I almost resent myself.

I hadn’t expected any of the “crotchety old bastards” Corabelle talked about to be in attendance, but for some reason, there are two balding, aging men in the room who I don’t recognize.

“Can I have your attention please?” I tap my glass again and clear my throat.

The color has drained from Corabelle’s face, and I’m quickly regretting my idea to make this officially official in the way I have planned. Especially since I didn’t bring it up with her beforehand. But I’ve started now. I’m not a quitter, and I need to announce my intentions to the world.

“When I was a little boy, I used to steal my sister’s Barbie dolls and wrap them in tissue paper wedding dresses, imagining that someday, it would be me marrying a woman in a beautiful white dress and promising to love her for the rest of our days.”

There’s a gasp, an ‘oh my god,’ and someone mumbles “Is this what I think it is?”

Corabelle’s eyes widen, recognition dawning on her face for what I’m about to do.

When I drop to one knee, there’s another gasp, and someone sniffs. Georgia holds out a box of tissues to someone who has clearly been overcome by emotion at the sight of her boss being proposed to.

I pull out the small, black velvet box from my jacket pocket. “Corabelle Seraphine Blackwell. I know we haven’t known each other all that long, I do.” I clear my throat, myvoice breaking with the anxiety that even though we’ve talked about getting married, she might say no in front of all these people, and then I’ll need to move away and change my name.

“I know you’re strong, and capable, and fiercely independent. I know you don’t need a single other person on this planet to accomplish all the things you plan to achieve. But I love you.”

The room is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” The lies fall from my tongue with concerning ease, but I’m hoping my face conveys the authenticity I need it to. “And I’d love it if you let me love you forever. Marry me, Corabelle.”

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