Thirty Days to Prove Them Wrong

Chapter 2

Thirty Days for Sale



Verdine was the kind of restaurant where the menu didn't list prices, which told you everything you needed to know before you even sat down. I'd changed into the one decent shirt I owned in the truck outside, using the side mirror to make sure I didn't look like I'd spent the day hauling crates, which I had.

The host took one look at me and hesitated in a way that made it clear he was deciding whether I belonged there at all.

"I'm meeting Diane Whitmore," I said, before he could ask.

His whole demeanor changed. "Of course. Right this way, Mr. Ashford."

Diane Whitmore was seated at a corner table that overlooked the harbor, and she looked exactly like her voice had sounded on the phone: polished, expensive, and entirely aware of the effect she had on a room. She didn't stand when I approached, just gestured at the empty chair across from her with two fingers, like she was directing a waiter.

"Mr. Ashford. Sit."

I sat.

There was a second person at the table I hadn't been told about, a man maybe a couple of years older than me, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my truck, sunglasses pushed up into perfectly styled hair even though we were indoors and it was evening. He looked me over the way you'd look at a used car you were considering buying for parts.

"This is Rex," Diane said, without further explanation, as if that name alone should mean something to me. "He'll be joining us."

"Nice to meet you," I said, mostly out of habit.

Rex didn't return the sentiment. He picked up his wine glass instead and studied me over the rim of it.

"So," Diane said, folding her hands on the table. "I understand you need money quickly. Halbrook mentioned a family medical situation."

I hadn't told the agency any specifics beyond general availability, which meant she'd looked into me before this dinner even started. That should have been my first warning.

"That's right," I said carefully.

"And you're not particular about how you earn it, as long as it's legal."

"Depends what you mean by not particular."

Diane smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. "My daughter needs a fiancé. Temporarily. There's a clause in my late husband's will requiring her to be engaged by a certain date, or a controlling share of our company passes to a cousin neither of us can stand. I need someone to fill that role for approximately thirty days, convincingly, and then disappear when the paperwork clears."

I sat back slightly. "You want to pay me to pretend to be engaged to a woman I've never met."

"Correct."

"And she's agreed to this?"

"She will," Diane said, in a tone that made it clear Vivian's opinion was not currently a factor in the plan. "The compensation is substantial. Enough, I'd guess, to solve whatever medical situation you're dealing with, several times over."

Rex made a small sound that might have been a laugh. "Should've seen your face just now. Like we told you we'd hand you a winning lottery ticket."

I ignored him, keeping my eyes on Diane. "What happens after the thirty days?"

"You sign a discreet dissolution agreement, take your payment, and go back to whatever it is you do." She said it so simply, like she was describing returning a rental car.

I thought about Walt's chest pains. I thought about the thirty-day countdown on our loan, ticking down in a completely different building across town. I thought about how neither of those problems cared whether I felt comfortable with this arrangement or not.

"I need to think about it," I said.

"You don't have time to think about it," Diane said, not unkindly, just matter-of-fact. "I need an answer tonight. There are other candidates."

Rex leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Look, man, I get that you've got pride or whatever. But she's basically offering you free money to play dress-up for a month. What exactly is there to think about?"

I didn't like him. I'd known him for maybe four minutes and I already didn't like him, in the specific way you dislike someone who's never once in his life had to choose between rent and medicine.

"What's in it for you?" I asked him directly.

Something flickered behind his eyes before the easy smile came back. "Let's just say I have an interest in how this whole situation resolves."

Diane cut in before I could push further. "That's not relevant to your decision, Mr. Ashford. What's relevant is this." She slid a folded piece of paper across the table. I opened it and had to read the number twice.

It would cover Walt's surgery, whatever it turned out to be. It would cover more than that. It would buy us time on the loan, maybe enough time to figure out what was actually happening to the company.

"There's a catch," I said. There was always a catch.

"You'll be expected to behave convincingly. In public, at least. My daughter can be... difficult. She won't be pleased about any of this, and I won't pretend otherwise. Your job is simply to hold up your end regardless of how she treats you."

"She doesn't know I'm coming."

"She'll know within the hour," Diane said, checking a slim gold watch. "I find it's easier to manage her reactions after the decision is already made rather than before."

I should have walked out right then. Some part of me knew it, even sitting there with the promise of enough money to save my father's life and his company in the same folded piece of paper. Everything about this woman told me she saw people as tools, and I was about to become one of them for thirty days.

But I thought about Walt on that dock this morning, looking older than I'd ever seen him. I thought about the doctor's voice on the phone the day before, telling me we needed to talk about payment options. I thought about how some decisions aren't really decisions at all, just the only door left open.

"I'll do it," I said.

Diane's smile widened, satisfied, like she'd never doubted the outcome for a second. "Wonderful. We'll announce the engagement this week. I'll have paperwork sent to your address tomorrow."

Rex raised his wine glass in a mock toast. "Welcome to the family, Ashford. Try not to embarrass anybody."

I didn't return the toast. I was already thinking about how I was going to explain any of this to Walt, and how exactly I was supposed to convince a stranger, a woman who apparently had no say in any of this either, that I was someone worth marrying, even for thirty fake days.

I had no idea, sitting at that table, that the woman in question was about to make it very clear, very quickly, that convincing her of anything would be the hardest job I'd ever taken.

My phone buzzed as I stood to leave. A text from Walt.

"Doctor called back. They want me in for more tests tomorrow morning. Don't worry about it."

I stared at the message the whole walk back to my truck, Diane's folded paper heavy in my pocket, and thought that "don't worry about it" might be the most impossible thing anyone had ever asked of me.