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By the time we emerged from the store, the afternoon sun had already risen high in the sky. We got hotdogs from a nearby stand—just as Nick had requested—and ate them in silence on a bench in Central Park. Watching the pedestrians. Tossing bread to the pigeons.
Neither one of us had really said much since the moment with the necklace. And while this silent, over-analytical tendency was completely normal for me, it couldn’t have been any less so for Nick. The man didn’t have an ‘off’ switch. Truth be told, the only times I could remember him being silent, were when he was sleeping.
Several times, he glanced over at me. Several times, he glanced down at the Dior bag by our feet. Each time, he was either unwilling or unable to speak.
When he finally did say something, it was the last thing I ever expected to hear.
“So,” he began softly, “do you have a list of names for me?”
For one of the first times in my professional life, I blanked.
“I’m sorry,” I sat up a little straighter, trying to catch up, “names?”
His face tightened for a second, then smoothed clear.
“Of girls. Girls the company would approve of. Girls you think I should date.”
It was all I’d wanted that morning—to hear him say those words. To ask that question. I would have given anything I had just to make it so. But now?
For some reason, it made my skin go cold.
“Oh. Right.” I dropped my eyes down to my lap, before forcing them back up. “Yeah, we should talk about that.”
The hotdog wrappers were thrown away. The Dior bag was slid out of sight.
“We could go one of two ways,” I said slowly, trying to will away the lingering alcohol so I could think clearly. “Either find someone you already like and know—someone that would make the board breathe easier, or...” I trailed off, unable to say the rest.
Nick cocked his head curiously to the side.
“Or?”
I glanced at him apologetically, already anticipating the fall-out.
“Or...we could find a complete stranger. Someone that could use the exposure, and would be using you, just as much as you used them. Happens in PR all the time.”
He didn’t say anything, and I moved quickly forward—dismissing the idea almost as quickly as I’d introduced it in the first place.
“But that’s probably a bad call. It has the benefit of keeping things strictly professional, but in doing so, I’m sure it would get terribly awkward. You’d be faking every kiss, every intimate moment caught on camera. Whereas with someone you already knew, there would at least be a personal aspect to it, and you wouldn’t have to pretend—”
“Let’s go with a stranger.”
I came up suddenly short, glancing up in surprise. My tablet—which I’d pulled out the second we started ‘talking shop’ paused on a list of Nick’s ex-girlfriends, freezing them in place.
“I’m sorry?” I had to clarify. It was absolutely not what I expected him to say. “You said you wanted to go with a stranger? Did you not hear what I just—”
“You just said that a stranger would be awkward, but professional,” he summarized briskly. “A mutually beneficial arrangement. One with no real emotion, everything would be staged. Am I understanding that correctly?”
I cringed a bit at the curt way he was talking—already feeling sorry to help facilitate putting him in such a position—but I nodded as well. Yes, that was entirely correct.
“Good.” He pushed to his feet without another word, dusting off his pants. “In that case, why don’t you come up with a list of names, and we’ll go through them tomorrow. Or better yet,” he suddenly reconsidered, “why don’t you just pick someone for me. You’re better at that sort of thing...”
He fell suddenly silent, waiting expectantly, and I hurried to push to my feet as well.
“Uh—yes, of course. I can have someone ready by the end of the day.”
He nodded once, then started walking away.
“Excellent. Thank you, Abigail.”
My jaw fell open as I watched him leave. Watched until he disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. He’d left the Dior bag behind. As well as an untouched cup of coffee.
...Abigail?