Page 7 of Fate In Fiction

“You’re here early.” Clyde pulls my attention away from her and assesses me in my gym attire. “Can billionaires take days off work?”

“After the all the stipulations and shit going on with my parents, there is no way I can focus on work till nine or ten tonight.” I lean my forearms on the smooth live edge counter, and don’t bother pulling out a stool. “I’ll down the usual poison.”

“You’ve got it.” He places a lower end whiskey in front of me, and double checks no other guests need anything from him. “So, tell Papa Clyde what’s got you skipping work.” His voice is smooth like some hippie stoner from the seventies. Nothing can ever phase this guy.

“Call yourself Papa Clyde again, and this is the last time we speak.” I chuckle, welcoming the burn from my drink to greet my throat. “It’s the same old situation about how my parents want me to settle down, work my ass off for this company, do charity work, and still manage to travel for work.” I huff as he refills my glass. “Did you know you need to be at an airport hours before take-off when you don’t fly private?”

“Dude, my day’s pay is probably what you make in the time it takes to have a piss.” Clyde shakes his head but smiles. “No sympathy for how you’re being forced to fly commercial right now.”

“I just cannot figure out how to balance it all when, if I put my time toward charity and social gatherings, it means cutting hours at work. And fuck, I can’t even make time to schedule a one-night stand, never mind a girlfriend. An actual relationship takes time. And they expect that of me, maybe even more than anything else.” Glancing around the bar lounge, as if it has answers, I sigh as defeat washes over me. “How am I supposed to have my life together in the next few months?”

“You’re a smart dude, Emmett. You’ll figure it out. It’s not like you’re poor. You still have an allowance to maintain this lifestyle.” Barely. I stare at my drink, but don’t touch it. “You need to get laid, maybe. It’ll help you focus.”

Movement catches my eye as the mayor’s daughter shuts her book and stands. She’s a soft-featured type of girl. They were the good girls in high school. I don’t go near those in the slightest, yet my pulse picks up as her hazel eyes meet mine. Her delicate fingers reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her pearl earring. Then, she blinks, and it’s like her flip is switched. She reaches the bar within a few paces as her arm jets out in front of me, snatching my drink as I watch the amber liquid drain from the glass. I can only stand there in shock.

“I think we can work something out.” The little darlin’ sets my empty glass down, shooting me a wince of distaste. Her book clutches to her chest as her eyes meet mine.

What the fuck is happening?

JOSIE

I’ve scanned the page of my newest book for five minutes without retaining a single word. I’m too distracted by the ridiculous idea now taking up all the space in my brain. Emmett Wheaton is by far the most entertaining elite man I’ve met. And we haven’t even officially done that. Dinner last week had been a humiliating mess, yet he didn’t back down when it came to his beliefs or knowing when to throw out humor, even with the type of crowd he was surrounded with. God knows how much of a dread staying proper is. Hearing him complain about parental ruling, the things his family expects of him, while I’m sitting here, pondering what I can do to get what I want… it’s making my head spin. If anyone knows about that, it’s me.

I can blame my idea on the books I’ve read, but I think it could be a solid plan. He needs me as much as I need him. Of course, I want love, but the chances of me being able to give someone everything they need is slim. A pang in my gut hits deep, knowing why, but I ignore the hurt. Emmett and I could make a great team in getting what we both want. I shut my book and stand before I can back out. It’s now or never, Josie. My eyes meet his, and with a deep breath, survival mode kicks in. I stride to the bar and down his glass for liquid courage. The cheap whiskey is awful, and I immediately judge how sane he is.

“I think we can work something out.” With my book pressed to my chest for comfort, I look up at him. “I can impress your parents.”

“Cute.” He blinks slowly as his lips press together, fighting a smile. “Your offer is generous, but no.”

Seriously? Arrogant asshole.

“Let me rephrase. We are going to work something out.” Dropping my tone, I channel every bit of hope and as much assertiveness as I can muster in my gaze.

“Josie.” Clyde, my friend, who I have emotionally dumped all my problems on this past month, raises his voice as I watch our silent war play out of what I’m about to do.

“Hi, I’m Josephine Callahan.” I extend my hand toward Emmett, who reluctantly encompasses mine with his. His skin is rougher than I imagined for a CEO, but his gym clothing matches his firm grip.

“Mayor Callahan’s daughter.” He bites his cheek as his eyes light up. “We didn’t get the chance to formally meet the other night, but your snort was endearing.”

“I think we know who the real pig is.” My wit kicks in as Clyde chuckles, slowly backing away to give us space.

“I have quite a respectably sized sausage.” There’s the Emmett I expected. He winks as his eyes hold mine, waiting for my response.

Focus, Josie.

My eyes drift down his body, but it’s more to find words than it is to check him out. “Look, Emmett.” He definitely hasn’t earned the respect to be addressed as Mr. Wheaton. Lord knows the cocky comment he’d make if I put him on a higher level than me. “I know we can both benefit from each other. And I have a plan.” His hand rubs the back of his neck, drawing my attention to his flexed arm muscles.

“I’d say you can benefit from me tonight, if you’d like.” Irritation swirls through my stomach with his inability to act serious.

“I’m more interested in the benefits of not seeing your penis. I know your reputation. I would rather not be number ninety-five in your spank bank.” My shy demeanor has completely diminished, and though I can’t help my innocent face, I want my tone to show I mean business. “Are you free to discuss my proposition?”

“You wanna talk?” he questions as his eyebrows push together. How much interaction has he had with women outside of asking them to hook up? From this interaction, I’d bet not many.

“You don’t need someone to convince your parents that you’re not their fly-by-night playboy son who cares more about sex than stability?” I grip my book tighter. “And here I thought you were worth losing pages over.” My eyes grow wider with annoyance as doubt to pull this off swarms my nerves.

“Hold up. You want to be my fake girlfriend or something?” When I shrug my answer, his eyes swing to Clyde for silent approval that I’m not crazy. “She’s serious, right?”

“Josie means business, dude.” Clyde nods before he looks my way and shakes his head with an eye roll.