The Pretend Fiancé

“That’s Kafka-esque and disturbing,” he said. She looked at him, feeling uncomfortable that, for all the three semesters of college, she didn’t get what he was talking about. She felt at a disadvantage with Harvey. He was too gorgeous and too smart.

She went and got the newspaper. Her jaw dropped when she saw a picture of Harvey on the front page kissing a married woman. She was thankful she never got involved with him. He was a sweet guy. They joked and laughed and made lots of small talk. But Harvey was good as a boss and friend. Nothing more. She knew that now.

“I see you saw the newspaper.”

“Um, yeah.”

“I don’t sleep with married women. That’s not my style. Geraldine is a very good friend of mine who is getting divorced. What they didn’t tell everyone is that her husband has cheated on her their entire marriage. She was getting ready to get divorced. She was hurting, and I was just trying to ease her pain. She didn’t think she could ever move on. I told her what a beautiful, sexy woman she was, and that any guy would jump at the chance to date her. And then she kissed me.”

“The newspaper didn’t mention that. I guess they spun it their own way to sell a story.”

“We never slept together. We only kissed that one time. And the paparazzi caught it on film.”

A security guard stepped inside. “We have some big problems. The news crews are parked outside the gate. Looks like they’re camping out. And the reporters want a statement.”

“I’ll handle this,” he said coolly and calmly as ever. “I’ve got to get to the office. Or I’ll be late.”

He walked out the door, and his security guard followed him.

Chapter 8

Harvey straightened his tie and ran his hands through his hair, mussing it intentionally. He didn’t like being summoned to his own building or called on the carpet by the very same board of directors that offered him everything but the moon itself last October if he’d only stay on and rehab the corporation. He was ready for them, though.

He entered the long room, the narrow chrome conference table that had been his own idea gleaming in the glow from the skylights. He shook hands with a dozen people, said hello and asked about children and pets, as friendly as possible.

“Do have a seat, Harvey,” Davis Bellows said. Bellows was the elder statesman of this crew, with two decades on the board. He gestured to a seat as if he were the man in charge of this witch hunt. Harvey obliged, his fingers laced comfortably together on the tabletop as he waited, “As you know, your recent dalliances have been noted in the press. Web sites and gossip magazines in the area have published photos of you partying with various girls. That alone was enough to make stockholders and potential investors question the stability of our leadership, the ethics of our executives. Now this nonsense with Geraldine Brookheimer—”

“I believe you mean Geraldine Montbatten, as she’s taking back her maiden name in the divorce,” he corrected coolly.

“There has been no divorce filed. She and her husband have reconciled. You have been photographed with your tongue down a married woman’s throat. Not just any married woman. The wife of a former board member and current stockholder. Marty Brookheimer is a good friend and a longtime supporter of this corporation. Your behavior—”

“Are shares still up?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hire me to run this company and get it in the black again, or did you hire me to be a celibate?”

“You screw every beautiful woman in sight.”

“Who or what I do should in no way affect you or any other employee of this company. In fact, my private life is not on the table.”

“As noble as that sounds everything is on social media now and honestly, you’re the face everyone associates with this business, and if your face is in a married woman’s cleavage, it soils the corporation and all of its associates.”

“I fail to see any obvious impact of my extracurricular activities on stock prices or investor morale. In fact, I’m sure you’ve heard that there is no bad publicity. Primarily my objection to this scolding is the fact that my private indulgences are entirely my own purview, and my contract has no proviso guaranteeing board approval of my every move. If, for example, I order a shrimp appetizer, do we need to call a vote? Will a quorum do if I want to kiss my date or must all directors be present to cast a ballot on my right to do so? As long as the business is doing well and you have no issues with my on-job performance, I believe we’re done here, Bellows,” Harvey said, his voice even and firm, belying the anger that seethed inside him.

“Your morally questionable behavior reflects poorly—” Bellows began.

“I’m afraid I must interrupt you again, my good man. I’m certain that everyone at this table has a chapter of his or her personal life they’d not care to discuss with their business associates. I am not a reality TV star, and I haven’t invited the public into my bedroom. With all respect, I haven’t invited my colleagues either. I make it a strict policy not to mix business with pleasure, and that is far more information than you are entitled to receive on my private matters,” Harvey continued.

“We can fix your image.”

“How so?”

“Settle down. Pick a woman and stick with her. The PR team can focus some coverage on the romance, and it will endear you and all of us to the business world. I’m thinking a Cinderella story would earn you extra brownie points in the public eye. We need the public to love you, to be a hero in their eyes. Maybe ask out one of your staff or your secretary. It would be greatly appreciated by this team that hired you, and that selfsame team which will complete your performance appraisal in two months’ time.”

“Allow me to clarify. Are you suggesting that with shares up thirty percent from last year’s appraisal, name recognition and public opinion of the corporation on the upswing as well that you would give me a negative appraisal because you don’t approve of who I date?”

“If it were only one, we could deal with who you date, but we both know it’s more than one.”