Chapter Three

I cautiously enter his office. I take a chair in front of him, trying to appear confident.

"So, Mr Owen." I began, "what did you want to talk to me about?

There was a brief pause, and the room gets so quiet that I can hear my own heartbeat. His face is stone cold and I hold my breath as I prepare for the blow.

"I need you to be my wife!"

"I'm sorry?" I coughed out, almost falling off my chair.

Surely, this must be a joke. He didn't just ask me to be his fake wife, right? 

I keep waiting for him to burst out laughing and yell, “Got ya!” but it doesn't happen so I start to get nervous.

"You want me . . . to be your wife?" I slowly repeated.

"Fake wife," he corrected.

"Right. You're going to have to elaborate on that," I said, folding my arms. Adam sighs like he can't believe he's having this conversation right now.

But how could I understand what's going on in that handsome head of his? One minute ago, I was so sure he was going to fire my ass . . . but instead, he wants me to be his fake wife?!

He crosses his arms and looks at me. "Something happened in Vegas . . ."

"What happened?"

"I got married," he announced.

He got married in Vegas? 

"I can't believe you didn't invite me. I was right there. I'm kind of upset, actually," I lamented with a frown.

"You weren't invited because it was a mistake! Apparently, I got very drunk, even though I only remember having two glasses of champagne. Everything about that night is kind of fuzzy . . .but I remember being wed by an ordained fake Elvis in a pink, fluffy suit," he stated. "And now, my new wife is suing me for everything I own," he groaned bitterly.

I gape at him. Regret is plastered all over his face, and I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him. This must have been a huge mistake on his part.

He closes his eyes, sighs and slumps back into his chair.

Realization slowly dawns on me. This has to be the reason why he was so grumpy yesterday.

Hell, if I got married, drunk in Vegas and got sued for everything I owned, I'd probably be in a pissy mood too.

I realize there's still a piece of information he hasn't given me yet. "So, what does this have to do with me?"

"A lot, actually. To make the marriage invalid, I have to prove that I'm already married," he answered.

"Woah, wait a minute!" I stand up and take a step back as I glare at him. "I can't do that! Isn't that illegal?" I cried.

He shrugs like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"I'm serious, Adam."

"I'm serious, too." He places a piece of paper on the desk and slides it over to me. "I have prepared a contract that states that we secretly got married three weeks ago."

"You did WHAT?" I yelled. I look at the at contract and my breath gets caught in my throat.

"It's already signed by people who have agreed to falsify the document. Your signature is the only one missing," he relayed.

"Who signed it?"

"Paul, our best man, and Thea, your maid of honor," he casually replied.

I can't believe him. He got my best friend to sign before asking me?

"This won't affect you much, I promise. We'll just have to keep up this charade for about a week, and then we'll be divorce quietly. It'll be like it never happened." He smiled at me.

I reach for the contract and rip it in two. I smile victoriously at him, but he just rolls his eyes.

"That was only a copy," he confessed and I let out a deep, heavy sigh.

"Of course it was."

"Payton, I know you're upset, but--"

"Damn right I am!" I interjected, cutting him off. "You have no right to do this! Just because I'm your office assistant, it doesn't mean that I'll do whatever you want!" I ranted.

"Payton, sit down, please. I have a proposition for you," he calmly said. I eye him suspiciously.

"A proposition?"

"If you sit down, I will explain it to you. I think you'd be interested in what I have to offer," he said, enticingly.

I think it over for a second before I decide to hear him out. "Fine, I will listen to you. But I'm still very upset!"

"That's fine," he reassured.

I take my seat in front of him again and scrutinized his face. This better be good. 

"Payton . . . if you agree to do this for me, I'll promote your from “Office Assistant” to “Music Production Assistant” under my mentorship."

My head shoots up at that.

It usually takes years to get there . . . and even if you play your cards right, there's no guarantee that you'll get the job.

Adam gives me a saccharine smirk, knowing he has me right where he wants me. "Do we have a deal?"

"Wait a minute. I need to think about this," I said in protest.

"There's no time. You have to make your decision now. If you reject my proposal, I'll simply ask someone else," he said nonchalantly.

Why didn't he just do that in the first place instead of trying to entice me?? 

The wheels start spinning in my head. I really want that position and Adam said this fake marriage wouldn't affect me that much, didn't he?

"I will accept," I answered.

"Great," he grinned.

"But don't think that I'm okay with what you did. I'm still very upset with you," I scowled at him.

He shrugs. "That's fine. And now, on to other matters," he cleared his throat, "you'll have the day off to find something nice to wear."

"What?" I say, dumbfounded.

"Since I'm such a big shot in the music industry, we need to make a public appearance tonight. I'm sure the media wants to know all about the woman who made me settle down."

"Woah, hold your horses," I interjected, my lips turned in a frown. "You never said anything about making a public appearance."

"I just did. Here's my card, buy whatever you want." He hands a shiny metal credit card over to me, and I reach out to take it.

I glance at it, and my jaw drops. I'm literally having a platinum credit card in my hands! 

"Buy a dress, shoes, a matching bag, whatever it is you like to wear. Then meet me here in two hours," he instructed.

"Okay, sure."

I stand up and walk toward the door, his platinum card now safely tucked in my bag.

I can't believe that I'm doing this. I just got fake married to my boss.

I glance at Adam one last time before I leave through the doorway. He smirks.

Why do I feel like I just sold my soul to the devil?