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Our small office shared the back lot with a junk yard-slash-recycling center. When we had first moved in, we’d walked around the back and seen four guys wearing helmets with baseball bats in their hands trashing everything in sight. Televisions, old radios, glass bottles, junk cars that no longer ran, the list was endless. They had handed each of us a bat and we’d gone to town. It was genius. Having a tough day? Grab a sledgehammer and smash some shit.
Which was exactly what we did for the next hour. Some people went to yoga to relax and release stress. Not us. The only yoga position I knew was the corpse pose. No, here at The Shiver Box we liked to smash old computer monitors and beer bottles to make us feel better while everyone else in the yard cheered us on.
I couldn’t sleep that night, even though my body ached for it. Have you ever tried smashing a toaster oven with a baseball bat? It takes a lot out of you, but I highly recommend it. The events of the day kept running through my mind. The more I thought about it, the faster my heart beat. I gave up on sleep around midnight and pulled out the folder Riddick had given me.
There was a non-disclosure agreement and a contract. I skimmed through the documents, flipping page after page. It was pretty cut and dry, I guessed as simple as you could make a fake fiancée agreement. They hadn’t been kidding when they’d said they would pay me. They were willing to pay a lot, more than necessary. But I didn’t care about the money. Rubbing their money in my face only annoyed me.
They would also cover any expenses, including shopping and meals, deemed necessary to play the part of fake fiancée, and I could keep everything afterward. It would last no longer than four months, which sounded like an eternity in fake fiancée time. Just a few dinners and events, a picture for the press now and then. They made it sound so simple, like there was nothing morally wrong with doing something like this. And in return? I would get my lease back, along with a lot of extra money I hadn’t had before.
I tossed and turned, tangled in my bedsheets, and at five a.m. realized sleep wasn’t in the cards for me. I tugged on black leggings and a white hoodie and made a huge pot of coffee. Twenty minutes later, I was back at the office with a bag from our favorite pastry shop, ready to kick some ass. We were busier this year than last. It was a good thing, a great thing to be exact. I’d never dreamed when Juliet and I started this business three years ago that we would be where we were today.
I was completing a design we had come up with, a stimulator in the shape of a pineapple that suctioned onto wherever you placed it. The leaves rotated at various speeds, causing extra stimulation. We had released one like it last year in the shape of a rose, and people had gone crazy for it. But our number-one bestseller was the Octopussy, a silicone toy with lots of tentacles and ridges that produced one of the best orgasms of your life. I should know; I’d tested out the prototype. Thoroughly.
Juliet rushed through the door an hour later carrying a tray of coffees and a second bag from the pastry shop. “Oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh, did you see that email?” She placed the bag down on the table without looking, and I reached over and grabbed it before it could fall.
“Calm down, Jules.” I giggled and pulled the cups out of the coffee tray. “How much coffee have you already drunk this morning?”
“Focus, La Roux! Did you see that email from La Madam Orgo?” She pulled her laptop out of her bag. “They sold out. They want triple this time!”
I peered over her shoulder and read through the email. “Five thousand? They want five thousand roses? This is our biggest order!” My hand flew to my chest, my mouth hanging open. We screamed at the same time and grabbed each other’s arms, jumping up and down like it was Christmas morning and Santa had not disappointed.
Owen walked in at that moment, carrying a third pastry bag and three more coffees. “What in the world is going on?”
Juliet yelled, “Five thousand!” We opened our arms, beckoning him to come join in on the jumping action. He gladly did, because Owen Fitzgerald was a team player. That was what we loved about him.
We calmed down and reread the email to Owen as he unpacked the pastries from the bags Juliet, he and I had brought in—apparently we’d all had the same idea today. He handed me a cheese Danish and Juliet a cherry one before grabbing the blueberry for himself. “Guys, we have a problem. They need delivery within sixty days. We need to contact the manufacturer now, but we don’t have anywhere to store or package all of those orders if we don’t have that new lease.” Juliet opened her mouth and shut it when Owen shook his head. “I know what you’re going to say, but forget about it. They won’t store them for us. Ricky said no more favors after last time.”
I stopped mid-chew and groaned. How could this be happening? Not now, not after we’d worked so hard to get here.
Juliet cleared her throat, and I glanced over at her. She scrunched her nose up as she gave me a pointed look. I knew what she was thinking. She didn’t even have to say one word.
I groaned and threw my head back. “No, no, no,” I pleaded, not to anyone in particular, just to the universe. “You can’t make me do it.”
Owen quirked an eyebrow at us. “Huh? What’d I miss?”
“Well…” Juliet squeezed her eyes shut. “There might be a way to get the lease back.”
I held my head in my hands, my foot bouncing uncontrollably. There had to be another way. Anything other than taking Ryzen’s deal.
The room remained quiet, and Owen took that as his sign to leave. He shook his head as he walked out with his coffee and pastry. “One day, I’ll understand these silent conversations you guys have. And then you will be powerless against me.” He grinned and shut the door behind him.
“OK.” Juliet paced back and forth in front of the table. “We can’t cancel this order, Nova; it would ruin all our hard work.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “We could ask for an extension. That would give us more time to find a place.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes. “No, that wouldn’t look good for us either, Jules.”
It was silent for over two minutes, both of us not saying what we knew had to be said.
“I’m going to have to sell my soul to the Devil, aren’t I?” I opened my eyes and found Juliet standing in front of me.
“I mean, how bad could it possibly be? It’s only a few months. You will get a ton of money, plus our lease back. Look, we both know you hate being controlled, so we just don’t let him control everything. We make our own demands and add them to the contract.” She stood with her hands on her hips, grinning from ear to ear. “This is fate, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Having our business ruined so I can be a fake fiancée to a rich asshole is fate? I certainly hope not. Besides, you think everything is fate.”
She scoffed and tapped her foot. “I do not, you whore. Name one time I said that.”
“Hm, I can name at least four. When that case of wine fell off the shelf at our feet, and the cute guy came to help us. That time our Uber got that flat tire and we had to take the subway, and those guys gave us their seats.” I rubbed my chin and looked at the ceiling. “Oh, and when I got locked in the bathroom at that sketchy bar downtown, and the hunky security guy had to save me…and the masked guy at the club.” My face heated and I fanned myself with my hand.
“Oh. But you know”—she smiled slyly—“that mask guy, that was definitely, without a doubt, fate.”
