Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

Hmm. That could work, but what a complete pain in the ass. “That makes it even stupider. Why the hell would it be a legal document if the terms are vague?”

“It says you have to display obvious affection and bring her to all family gatherings.”

“What?” Jesus. I knew no woman in my friend pool or casual dating circle that I would subject to holidays with my family.

“Hell, in that case, hire an actress,” Sam said. “Though you didn’t get that as legal advice from me. That’s me telling you as a friend.”

Wait a minute.

Hire an actress? I happened to know a singing waitress, aspiring actress, hotter-than-hell-in-her-twin-bed woman who I could easily display obvious affection for. “You may be on to something, Sam. Let me know if there is a loophole out of this,” I told him. “And call me back. I’m going to reach out to an actress I know because there is no way in hell my father is going to win this battle.”

I’d worked way too hard for my current position.

My father was the playboy, not me. I hadn’t broken hearts in years, not since I’d learned how to be brutally upfront with women I slept with. I didn’t dwell too deep into my parents’ relationship anymore because I didn’t understand it and no longer cared to, but rumor had it my mother had set my father’s Porsche on fire because he’d had another woman it in, not even six months ago. They did not have an open marriage or any sort of agreement other than they were supposed to be monogamous and neither could quite swing it.

So this was just straight-up bullshit.

Was this Dad’s weird way of expressing regret? An apology for never being around would have been preferable to this. Frankly, the best thing he could have done for me at that point was to do nothing. None of it mattered to me anymore. I was who I was and I was okay with it.

It’s not like I would be the first thirtysomething-year-old workaholic man with commitment issues. Half of the guys in my gym were some version of the same.

I ended the call with Sam and went over to where I had tossed my pants I’d been wearing earlier in the day onto an ottoman in the corner of my bathroom. I dug in the pocket and retrieved the name badge I’d removed from Leah’s sweater. I wasn’t sure why I’d kept it. I’d done it without thought, more so because there was nowhere to set it down in that tiny bedroom of hers. But now I was glad I had it. I ran my finger over the letters of her name.

I’d broken a steadfast rule with Leah. I hadn’t explained to her I was not looking for a relationship before I’d stripped her clothes off. That had been stupid, but I’d gotten no vibe from her that she wanted or expected anything other than a fun afternoon in bed. Involving her in my family drama would complicate our dynamic but I wasn’t going to lose my position in the company and Leah was the perfect choice to help me.

Would Leah be willing to do some work-for-hire acting? I didn’t want to assume anything about her situation but she did not seem to be rolling in cash. I would only need her to pretend to be my girlfriend a couple of times a month for the next couple of months. After this anniversary weekend from hell, that is. It was a lot to ask someone. But I woul

d pay generously and we had chemistry. It would be believable that we were together.

I thought about the feel of Leah beneath me, the soft cries she gave of pleasure, and the way my cock felt deep inside of her. I pictured her sassy smile and her cheerful insistence I was bossy.

The idea of having Leah at my side for the party made the entire weekend sound actually… tolerable.

Maybe even enjoyable.

I slid open a drawer on the bathroom vanity and set the name badge down inside. Then I called the diner.

“Can I speak to Theresa, please?”

It took almost three minutes—I know, I timed it—but the waitress who worked every Wednesday with Leah finally came on the line. “This is Theresa, who is this?”

“This is Grant Caldwell. I gave Leah Romano a ride home this morning. Can you please give me her number? She left something in my car.” Not exactly the truth, but it would work for my purposes.

“I’m not giving you her number, are you insane? You could be a total freak.”

“Fair enough. Can I give you my number to give to her?” I knew where Leah lived and there was a million ways to track someone down on social media but I thought a phone call might be the easiest. I wanted to ask her to meet me in person. You just didn’t DM someone without warning and ask them to be your fake girlfriend for money. That would make me a freak.

There was a pause but then Theresa said, “Fine. I’ll give her your number but hurry up, I have to work. Unlike some people, apparently.”

I wasn’t even offended by her reaction. She had a busy job she clearly didn’t love and I was asking for a favor. “Thanks, Theresa, I really appreciate it.” I gave her my number. If I didn’t hear from Leah in a few days, I’d go to the diner myself or reach out online.

“Whatever,” was her response.

After she hung up on me, I got dressed and pulled out my laptop to go over my notes for my meeting with Mr. Zhang. My apartment was a two bedroom in the Flatiron District. I liked the more central Midtown location than SoHo or Tribeca. More affordable too, such as it goes in Manhattan, and I wasn’t interested in throwing excessive money at an apartment I didn’t own. While the outside of my building maintained the original look of a warehouse, inside the apartments were very modern with high-end finishes. Smart technology. A communal rooftop pool and an outdoor lounge. The usual amenities you expected when you were spending mid-five figures a month in rent.

I’d hired a designer to decorate it because I liked nice things and had no clue how to put them together to make a comfortable but stylish apartment. He’d gone a little heavier on the leather than I would have preferred but I did like the masculine vibe. The desk was a raw-edge wood sculpture and I sat down in the chair behind it, flipping open my laptop. I was dressed but didn’t have my jacket or shoes on yet. Shoes in the apartment made my skin crawl. Too many damn germs in the city to keep your footwear on inside.

As I ran over my notes on the projected numbers for the conversion of one of the few remaining office buildings in the area around Times Square to a luxury hotel, I wondered how much Leah’s rent was. That had been one very small bedroom. My berth on the ship had been bigger than that. Of course, I’d shared it with a guy from Omaha, and at least Leah had the room to herself, but still, it was small.