The rest of the day, they lounged around the resort drinking fruity cocktails, swimming and making love in the afternoon heat. “Siesta is a brilliant concept,” she said.
“I never appreciated the idea until now. I thought it was lazy.”
“Maybe you were just a workaholic with nothing better to do…” she said, lazily kissing his collarbone.
In just a few days, they found themselves back on a commercial flight, headed for the city and the damage control they’d arranged. Nothing less than a national lifestyle and fashion magazine would do, and they had mere days to prep for the make or break interview, the public display that would determine, to a great extent, the perception of their union . If they wanted it to seem as real as it had become, they were going to need a team of experts.
Chapter 5
Brandon Cates thought he was going to lose his mind. He had managed to run a successful multinational conglomerate for the last five years. He had weathered the ongoing legal battle with his acquisitive stepmother, and her ever more aggressive team of lawyers bent on seizing control of his father’s corporation from him. But this was the first time he’d ever reached his breaking point so quickly. Because of a spray tan.
Sure, he was the kind of guy who spent money for a good haircut every four weeks, just the right amount of tousle with a nice, clean-cut trim. He was not, however, the sort of man who stood around getting airbrushed with a tan gun that looked like a legitimate weapon of mass destruction. He stood in the (thankfully private) tanning room of an upscale salon in his boxers while two aestheticians in smocks and facemasks, like dental hygienists wear, aimed and fired those blast guns of body makeup at him. The chilly mist fell sharp across his skin and it felt disgusting. It was slightly drippy. It was annoying. He didn’t feel that he needed to be bronzed to look healthier, more at ease, more happily married.
His publicist and the team of stylists disagreed. Gone was his natural hair color, now streaked delicately with caramel highlights to brighten his complexion and make him look ‘well-rested’. Of course, there was no reason to brighten his complexion since it was being bronzed at the moment. His standard Brooks Brothers attire was being upgraded for Hugo Boss with a sexier, more European cut to his suit. The bespoke shirt in the whitest fabric money could buy would fit him like skin. If he ate a single grape or, heaven forbid, chip more than usual, it probably wouldn’t button at all. He was lean and fit, but he felt restricted by this interview and by the damned suit he had to wear that was made to measure in the strictest way possible. There would be no extra fabric to tuck in, nothing that created a bulge or twist or wrinkle. Only the very smoothest, most flawlessly fitted garments would appear in the photos. And he would try to appear at ease and natural under the spray tan and highlights, beneath the seven thousand dollar suit.
His cell phone rang, and he answered it. It was Paul, one of his lawyers. One of the few who actually knew the truth. They chatted a bit, and Paul gave him a few pointers for the interview, even though PR had already prepped him.
“I saw the picture of Marj in the paper,” he said. “That woman is beyond gorgeous.”
“I can honestly say she takes my breath away.”
“Did you see her in that bikini? My goodness! Why weren’t you down there showing her off?”
“I was working.”
“Of course. You always are.”
“Oh, no. Don’t you start too.”
“You’re in Mexico! Fuck work. Go enjoy yourself. Work will be waiting for you when you get back. I wanna know one thing. How did you get someone that hot to be your pretend wife?”
“Why by my charm and dashing good looks, of course.”
He laughed. “Or how about your money?”
“Marj isn’t a golddigger. Trust me, I know the type. Been there, done that.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have found a gold digger? She’d follow the rules and leave when she’s supposed too. She’d be in it for strictly the money, and not for you. It could’ve been a simple business arrangement with no strings attached.”
“What are you saying, Paul?”
“Marj is not going to leave when it’s time. Because she’s fallen in love with you. And dealing with a rejected, scorned woman is no fun. Trust me, I’ve had for ex-wives. If you put a ring on a woman’s finger, be prepared to lose half your stuff.”
“Maybe you should stay single until you’re sure it’s the right woman.”
“Or maybe next time, I’ll have them sign a long ass prenup.”
“You’re a lawyer…”