Scrooge

10. Haylee

10

HAYLEE

I left Alex’s office and walked around the park for a few hours. It was cold, but the sky was clear, and the sun offered the warmth I needed. After successfully dodging Jillian's questions and side-eyes all afternoon, I am now in her kitchen, a bottle of red wine opened, waiting for her to come join me after putting the kids to bed.

“So, did you beg?” she asks, slumping in the seat opposite me. She’s defeated because I didn’t come back smiling and laughing, so she automatically thinks I failed at our mission.

“Not exactly,” I murmur, taking a sip, needing the courage. I’m not sure how she’s going to respond to what I have to say.

“Tell me what happened,” she urges as she pours herself a glass of wine, the pour lasting a lot longer than it should, the glass almost full, and I take a deep breath.

“We have come to an agreement,” I say, taking a sip, trying to get the words out right.

“An agreement?” Looking a little more alive now, she eyes me curiously.

“Well, he has offered to have Tucker Toys remain on the same rental agreement as we had previously for the next two years, giving us enough time to revamp our budget and organize our cash flow…” I say, taking in another breath.

“In exchange for what?” She sits forward, knowing there’s more, not wanting to celebrate too soon. My long pause has her taking a gulp of her wine.

“In exchange for marriage,” I blurt, wincing as she chokes, coughing up a mouthful of red wine, the liquid spilling from her lips and down her chin like she’s being exorcised.

“Shit,” I mutter, throwing a dishtowel at her, and she mops up her chin and wipes the table, her top now stained with red wine drizzles down the front.

“What the hell, Haylee!” she yells at me, her eyes wide and wild now that she’s stopped choking.

“Sorry, I should have waited.” The lame excuse slips past my lips, and I rest back in my chair and sip some more, the wine warming me up and making me feel less like a fraud.

“Please explain,” she demands, looking cross.

“He needs to lift his profile. Apparently, he isn’t well-liked, and people, his staff, clients, media don’t see him as stable and trustworthy. He needs a permanent person by his side to take the edge off. Make him appear loyal, dependable, like he’s a good guy.”

The contract was couriered to the shop this afternoon, and I read through it three times before I signed it and sent it straight back.

“And that person is going to be you?” she asks, trying to understand everything.

“Yep,” I say, popping the P , thinking about it all again. I can do it. It isn’t like I have much else going on in my life. If the toy store was gone, I’d only have my paintings. No boyfriend, no house, no job, hell, I don’t even have a dog. I would really like a dog, though.

“Haylee! No. No, no, no. I will not let you do that.” Her overprotective nature comes out as she shakes her head.

“We need to save the shop. This is how we do it,” I tell her steadily, and she frowns.

“But not to the detriment of you and your life, Haylee!”

“What life? I have nothing. No one. I need to do this. I need to do this for Mom and Dad. I need to do this for you—”

“No! You don’t. This is insane. Really, it is. What is he thinking? Is he just going to waltz into your life, pretend that you have dated for a while in secret, and what? Start to take you out on the town, to fancy dinners, get some paparazzi to take photos…” she trails off, and I huff a laugh.

“That is exactly what is going to happen. They are getting me a new wardrobe of clothes and a makeover because, you know, I need to look the part. Alexander marrying someone who looks like me isn’t believable.” That part hit the hardest, for some reason. Of course I am not his type. I’m just a regular girl. Living with my sister because I left an abusive relationship without taking a dime. Working in a toy store and playing with kids all day. Making silly little paintings in my free time.

“That is ridiculous. You are perfect the way you are. He is such an asshole. He can’t even find a wife, so he has to blackmail one. You can’t do this,” she says, pushing her chair out. She starts to pace in her tiny kitchen, obviously stressed that I am putting myself and my reputation on the line.

“I can and I will,” I state firmly. It is the only thing we have, and I am not going to fail at it.

“You are practically selling yourself for him. Not to mention, the media attention it will bring…” Jillian shrieks, shaking her head to herself and biting her lip.

“Which will be excellent for the shop,” I try to assure her. All news is good news and media attention on the store during our busiest season will no doubt boost our sales. Then I remember an important detail, tapping the table to get her attention on me. “I should have mentioned, it is only until the holidays. As soon as Christmas comes around, we’ll break up, the romance will puff in a cloud of smoke, and life will go on, with the two of us going our separate ways.”

She takes a breath, her shoulders lowering a little at knowing this isn’t a long-term thing.

I swallow my confusing feelings. It’s for the best. Sure, he is good-looking, but it’s his hard exterior with the softness hidden underneath that has me more intrigued by him than I should be. I need to remind myself that this is business only. No feelings, no real emotions. Everything is fake. As fake as all the dicks Deloris now has stashed away somewhere.

“But still… to get married? Don’t you want the first diamond ring you get to be from a man who loves you? A man who will get on his knee and give you the proposal you’ve always wanted,” she implores, coming back to stand before me.

I take a deep breath. I did always think that the man of my dreams would swoop in, ask my father for permission, and propose to me. Something low-key, maybe in front of my family or at home. I don’t need skywriting or a fancy restaurant. Shaking it off, I roll my shoulders. My family’s future is more important than my childlike sense of tradition.

“I don’t need that. I told you that I am going to be single forever,” I remind her of our conversation last week on the train.

“Of course you need that. Every woman needs that!”

“Shh, you will wake the kids,” I whisper-hiss. “I am not selling myself for him. I am selling myself for us. For those two kids in there, for Mom and Dad and everything they have built,” I tell her, feeling my chest swell, knowing this is the right thing to do. “We can’t tell anyone either. Just you and me.”

“Seriously? We have to lie to Mom and Dad too?” she asks, looking at me like I am batshit crazy, and maybe I am.

“Less room for error,” I murmur.

“Jaryd is such an asshole,” she seethes, then she grabs her glass of wine and swallows the rest.

“Jaryd? What has he got to do with this?” I ask, confused why she would bring up my ex.

“He broke you. He broke your heart first, broke your body after that, and then threw you out like a piece of trash, bloody and bruised, but took your money and left your wallet broke too,” she spits out. It is true that our relationship turned physical. Jaryd wanted a submissive partner, and we all know that is not something I am. Not naturally and certainly not for him. But he wasn’t mature enough to know how to communicate and work on our relationship the right way. So instead, he threw a tantrum when he didn’t get what he wanted and used me as a punching bag. Even to this day, I think he expects me to walk back into his life and beg for forgiveness.

“Regardless, this is something I can do. This is something I want to do,” I tell her, staying calm. I see her take a few breaths and her shoulders lower, as the reality of the situation takes over, knowing I won’t change my mind.

“You have always been stubborn,” she murmurs, sighing heavily.

“I learned from the best.” I wink, making her chuckle as she takes a seat and gives me a small smile. The one where I know she has my back.

“I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I have no idea,” I say honestly.

* * *

“Why did you let me drink so much last night?” I groan, rubbing my head that feels so heavy I just want to lean it on the shelf of Barbies we have on display and take a nap.

“Me? You are the one who grabbed that second bottle of red from the dollar bin at the liquor store last week,” Jillian says to me as she shuffles past. Clearly, the two of us are not seasoned drinkers and both woke up a little worse for wear this morning. The front door chimes, announcing a customer, and I stand up, blinking my eyes.

“Welcome to Tucker Toys,” I hear Dad say, and I turn around, trying to look alive. My eyes meet the intense blues I have been thinking about, and I have to cough through my gasp to cover my surprise.

“Hi, Sunflower,” Alex says with a smile that is as fake as my mother’s nails. I step toward him with my heart beating faster.

“Sunflower?” my dad asks, looking from Alex to me and frowning. I am caught off guard. I didn’t have time to think about how to approach my parents with this relationship. I hate the fact that I can’t tell them about it. If I did, I know they’d talk me out of it and not accept anything Alex offered in return.

“Dad…” I say tentatively, a fake smile now on my face too. Apparently, this is how we are doing things, so I am just going to go with it.

“This is Alex. Alex, this is my father, John Tucker,” I say with pride, although the feeling in my stomach from lying to my dad swirls so much I think I will dry heave. It’s either that or all the red wine last night, since both make me feel squeamish. I link my hand around Alex’s elbow, and he drops his arm and grabs my hand in his, squeezing. The move feels nice, supportive, like we are in this together.

“Mr. Tucker, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Alex says, and I watch him turn on what I think is charm, but he’s incredibly stiff, and I am starting to understand why he needs a wife. I squeeze his hand back, offering support of my own.

“Alex and I met a little while ago and we’ve been seeing each other and spending some time together,” I tell Dad, smiling brighter as my heart thuds. He stares at me, confused. Probably because having a boyfriend has been the last thing I wanted after Jaryd and I broke up. The fact that Dad saw his youngest daughter broken and bruised did not go well. He has been extremely protective ever since, and now that a new guy is on the scene, he isn’t going to melt too easily.

“Hey, Alex, good to see you again.” Jillian comes up and smiles, acting like she knows him, although the evil glint in her eyes says anything but. I give her a warning look and she winks at me.

“Hi, Jillian. Good to see you.” Alex cottons on, and my father looks at all three of us suspiciously before he smiles, and my shoulders lower, knowing we have won him over. At least for now.

“Oh, well, call me John,” Dad says with a laugh and a kind smile, and I swallow harshly. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

“Alexander Jackson. Of Jackson Enterprises,” Alex says, and my dad pales. That was enough to break the facade.

“Jerry’s son?” Dad asks. I know he and Jerry were acquainted, but the look on his face is one of shock. My grip on Alex’s hand tightens even more, and I feel his thumb brush against my palm, his support for me needed.

“Yes. That’s right,” Alex says, looking at me with a frown before looking back at Dad.

“Dad, I need your help out back. Do you have a minute?” Jillian asks him, picking up on the awkward tension, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he smiles back at us, albeit a little flustered.

“Work calls, I suppose,” Dad says, before turning and walking with Jillian to the back storeroom.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Alex as soon as they’re out of earshot, dropping his hand like a sack of cement. His brow furrows as he looks down at me.

“What do you mean? This is how we need to do things. I can’t just swing you about town on my arm and think the media will believe it,” Alex says, clearly feeling off-kilter as well.

“So what is this visit, then?” I press, putting my hand on my hip.

“Media got a tip-off from Laurent that I came here. Paps are outside, took a photo of me walking in,” he says, and my mind tries to catch up with what is happening.

“Oh, so this is courting? Just walking into a store?” I ask flippantly.

“No, but if we go stand near your amazing window at the front, they will no doubt get more shots of us together and talking,” he grits out, and I huff before he grabs my hand again and leads me to the front of my store. I guess I’ve already worn him out with my sass today.

“You are awfully grumpy. I can see why your people don’t like you,” I murmur, and his gaze snaps back to me.

“Now smile,” he instructs.

“You want me to smile on command?” I ask, looking out the shop window but not seeing anything.

“Yes. That is your job in this. Pretend to be in love. So in love, in fact, that I will be proposing to you soon.”

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, and his lip quirks ever-so-slightly.

“There is nobody here,” he says, looking around, tall enough to see over some of the displays and shelves.

“My dad is. And he is smart. He probably already knows what we are up to.”

“You live with your sister. right?”

I look up at him, my eyebrows raised.

“Someone has been doing their homework?” I say, impressed, wondering why I didn’t think of that. Instead of searching the internet for every last piece of the Alexander Jackson puzzle, I downed two bottles of red wine with my sister, and now we are both regretful of that fact.

“I research everything.”

“What else did you find out about me?” I ask out of interest, smirking as he sighs in exasperation.

“Ended your education as a high school senior and never went to college…” he starts, and I begin to feel uneasy and a little inferior. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go to college, but Jillian moved straight into working at the store after high school and I did the same. Owning Tucker Toys was always our destiny. “Your name is on a lease in the financial district, although you haven’t lived there for months,” he says, then pauses, clearly prying for information that I am not going to supplement him with.

“And you?” I ask defensively, changing the subject.

“I graduated summa cum laude from Yale,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“Of course you did,” I murmur. I doubt I could feel any worse than I already do about my life.

“You have worked here at Tucker Toys since school, then?” He watches me closely, like he is waiting for me to lie.

“Since before then, really. I have worked here since I could walk. See that chair over there.” I point to the far side of the window, to a small pink chair that is in the tea party room.

“What about it?” he asks, looking at the sweet kid’s chair.

“I painted that when I was five,” I state, smiling genuinely as nostalgia takes over.

“Where is that painting from?” he asks, looking at the large painting that hangs in the tea party room. The one I painted a few years ago. It is a landscape. Magical, with fairies and wizards, a little silly, but lots of fun.

“I painted that,” I tell him. It’s easier to admit it’s my work when he’s looking at it the way he is, with awe and clear interest.

“You painted that?” Glancing back at me sharply, surprise is plastered on his face. “You like to paint?”

“I bet that didn’t show up in your research,” I say with a smug look on my face.

“I got invited to an art gallery showing at Maddison Miller Gallery later this week. We should go.” It isn’t a question, but merely a verbalized thought.

“Our first outing?” I ask, not wanting to get excited because Maddison Miller is one of the best galleries in the city, and while I have never been invited to any of her exclusive showings, I have walked past that gallery more times than I care to admit.

“I wouldn’t ordinarily go, but…” he trails off as his eyes flick to the painting before they land back on me, and he clears his throat. “We might as well start the media wheel turning.”

“That would be amazing,” I say quietly, my heart thumping as he searches my eyes.

“I will send my driver to collect you at seven on Thursday.”

I try to push my eagerness to the back of my mind and focus on the logistics.

“I will get ready here,” I say, nodding. I can’t get ready at home, since it will take his driver almost an hour to drive to our place in Jersey, and then another hour to get back into the city. Especially at that time of night.

He frowns. “I will have Laurent contact you. He will manage everything,” Alex says, and I nod once more. There’s no point in arguing. Might as well get used to this; we’ll be doing these fake dates for a while, at least.

“Fine. I will see you then, darling ,” I tease, putting on a fake voice, imagining that is how the local socialites talk as they walk around Maddison Miller Gallery, ready to spend their millions. At least I get something out of our first date other than a headache and media attention.

“See you then, Sunflower,” he murmurs before he does something unexpected and leans forward, planting his lips to my forehead. My breath catches at the tender touch. It is over just as quick as it began, and he is already out the door and walking back to his office a block or two away before I come back to earth.

As my heart thuds, I look out the window at his retreating form and wonder if I am slowly breaking down the ice that encases that man. But then I see it. A photographer with a camera aimed right at me, standing across the street. The truth hits home harder than I care to admit.

Alex did it all for show. I need to remember that.