Possessive Fake Husband

I stare at him and my jaw drops. I mean literally, it drops. It’s like a huge cliché, but I can’t help it. I manage to close my mouth by pouring half a glass worth of expensive iced wine down my throat.

“My what?” I manage.

“Come on,” he says, catching someone’s eye over my shoulder. I turn and spot Josh grinning at us. He gestures and walks off. Dad goes to follow, but I grab his arm.

“Dad,” I hiss. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He puts his hand on top of mine. “Honey, don’t make a scene. Come on, we’ll explain.”

I stand there for a moment, stranded in the middle of the ocean, or at least that’s how I feel. People move around me in their expensive clothing, laughing politely, talking softly. My father starts to move away and I feel like I can’t move.

My future husband?

That’s not the sort of joke my father makes. It’s just… it’s out of character. I have no clue what to think and my head’s almost spinning with it.

But I manage to put one foot in front of the other.

I catch up with Dad as we move down a side hallway. The party is sparser as we come to a staircase. Dad heads up.

“Are we supposed to be here?” I ask him as we pass several family photos. The family in the pictures looks nice, two daughters and an older couple.

“It’s fine,” Dad says, not really answering.

At the top of the step, we move into the first room on the right. It’s a study, with a large desk against the far wall, a reading chair, and a fireplace. There are bookshelves with leather-bound books and the room smells like cigar smoke and whiskey. It’s the most masculine room I’ve ever seen in my life.

And Josh is standing at the far side, swirling his iced wine thoughtfully. Dad shuts the door behind us with a soft click and I’m left stranded with these two men, not sure what the heck is happening.

“Hello again,” Josh says.

“I take it you two met.” Dad walks over and shakes his hand.

“We sure did. I take it you didn’t prep her for this conversation at all.”

Dad shrugs. “It’s not really something you can prepare for.”

“Fair enough.” Josh looks at me past my father. The two men stand there for a long moment, staring at me.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out,” I say. “What’s going on, Dad?”

“Honey, maybe you should sit.” He gestures at a chair.

“No,” I say. “I’m about to take my heels off and throw them at you. Tell me what you two are doing.”

Dad glances at Josh. “Think you can handle this?”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “She’s your daughter. And I don’t feel like getting hit in the face with a shoe.”

Dad sighs, rubs his face, and nods once. “Okay. So, you have to understand something,” he says and walks over to a small side table. There are cut crystal glasses and several large decanters filled with liquids in various shades of brown. He pours a small measure from one, sips it, makes a face, drinks the rest. “The telecom landscape is bleak. Bushings won’t last another few years, and Cork is in the same spot.”

“He’s right,” Josh says. “Bushings might last four more years. Cork could go on for another five or six. But in the end, we’re both working on borrowed time.”

“Just the way things are,” Dad says. “The big companies are buying everything up and pushing us out. There’s no real competition anymore, no real room for companies like ours.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?” I ask. I’m tempted to turn around, kick open that door, and get the heck out of here. I have my phone in my clutch, I can easily get an Uber home.

Dad glances at Josh. “Well, we came up with this plan.”

“It’s insane,” Josh says. “I openly admit that.”

“It’s insane,” Dad agrees. “But it’ll work. The thing is, we need your help.”

“I’m not involved in any of this,” I say. “How am I supposed to help your business?”

Dad and Josh look at each other. Dad sighs, throws back his drink, pours another. “Look, honey, I just want you to know that this is totally optional.”

“Get. To. The. Point.”

“He wants us to get married,” Josh says.

I stare at him then look at my dad. “Are you joking?”

“It’s just political,” he says quickly, holding out his hands.

“My board hates your dad,” Josh says. “Years of competition took its toll and now they despise you guys. Your father and I want to merge our companies, make them stronger together, but… my board won’t allow it.”

I shake my head, reeling, unable to process. I walk over and sits down on the big leather armchair. It squeaks as I shift my weight in it and stare at the two men.