Be mine for 8 days

By C. R. Scott

He will give you a great career. But in return, you must act as his fiancée for eight days.

Skye gets the opportunity of a lifetime when her boss assigns her to write an article about Ethan Huntington. Everyone wants to know what makes the handsome entrepreneur so successful, and what could possibly appeal to a man who already owns everything. But Skye's encounter with Ethan turns out differently than planned. Completely different! Out of the blue, he asks her to pretend to be his fiancée for eight days. In return, she gets a full home story. But why would someone like him need a fake fiancée? And why, of all things, for eight days? Complete emotional chaos erupts! And there is something about Ethan's crazy offer that not even he knows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Dec 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9783963573576

Book preview

Chapter 1

~ Skye

For the umpteenth time, I frown as I look at the recording. For the past half hour, which seems more like half a day, I've been doing research for my next article, which is to appear in the upcoming print issue and online. I wouldn't believe it to be possible, but now when I think about the so-called sources I have to deal with this time, I realize my job has reached a new low.

Speechless, I stare at the monitor and watch the Instagram video of a young, up-and-coming French pianist to the post's bitter end.

Hey guys! she greets her followers in a shrill voice. She appears to be strolling through a park as she records. Guess what, it finally stopped raining and I'm meeting up with my friends to chill out! What are you guys doing right now? Let me know in the comments! A thousand kisses for you! To emphasize her words, she directs an air kiss to the camera for all the viewers.

I sigh sadly and mutter to myself. Can you believe it?

"Believe what? chimes Ray's soft voice, and he joins me, arms folded in front of his chest. He looks cute, doesn't he?" With a nod, he points to the next video I'm watching by now—an Instagram account by a young man known for blogging about his favorite books.

I glance briefly at Ray. He's wearing a brightly colored, floral patterned shirt and matching suspenders again today. That's exactly what my next report is about, I reply and look at the monitor again.

About cute boys?

"About this." My mouse pointer targets the bunny ears, the strikingly soft-lined face, the red-tinged cheeks, and all the hearts dancing above the book blogger's head.

Hey, Ray says, giving me a determined pout.

I don't look at him.

This doesn't stop him from continuing. If boys want to be cute bunnies, it's their right, isn't it? Honestly, Skye, I would have expected more tolerance from you. You don't have a problem with my bisexuality. If I remember correctly, he adds, you thought it quite funny yourself when we fought over the same guy in the bar the other day. It ended up being a draw and neither of us got to approach him, he recalls with a laugh, but we had a nice evening with an apple martini or two, didn't we?

I turn in my chair to face him. First of all, the guy in the video isn't a boy; he's already of age—albeit just barely, because he recently turned 21. And second, my point isn't that he's male, but in general that more and more people are using these cat and rabbit filters in their videos.

As he realizes what's bothering me so much, the expression on his narrow, fine-featured, made-up face changes. Oh, so you're annoyed by those Instagram filters then?

Yes!

He waves this off. It's just a silly fad.

Perplexed, I stare at him.

And then he finally seems to remember that this is exactly what I write about for Trends & Views. About flashy phenomena that polarize and divide people into two camps. Like skinny jeans that are so tight that it's almost a competitive sport to get your legs squeezed into them. Or T-shirts and blouses that are only tucked into the front of your pants. Some people love it, others get annoyed by it. That's why my column is called Hate it or Love it. It's quite normal that there are trends that you follow or that you find annoying. But … quite honestly? Having to write about them week after week after dreaming of broadening readers' horizons and changing the world with your reports after journalism school is tough.

Uh, I mean … he utters with a grin. Sorry, that's what you're writing about. And … fads like that are important, too. Yes, of course they are. They reflect the spirit of our modern society. Isn't that what the whole magazine is about?

I reward him with a smile for attempting to make me feel better about my column. But I quickly find my way back to a serious expression. Thanks for trying, Ray, but I still dream of writing about other topics. Our whole magazine is devoted to picking up on trends in our society. And I undoubtedly got the silliest category.

"Of course, Skye! You're just the new kid, you know? We all had to go through that in the beginning. Just think about how I started out here—doing obituaries for deceased celebrities! Believe me, I could have imagined something more exciting. But my perseverance paid off, and now I get to report on the charities of gay celebrities, he says with a wink, which I usually get to meet in person. It's a dream come true for me, and it will be for you, too."

But I've been here for three years now! I complain. Three years! And yet my employment contract has only been extended by another year and I have to write about stupid topics like rabbit-eared video filters. How long am I supposed to be the new girl?

He shrugs his narrow shoulders. Right now, we're just busy. Hey, you've got to be above that. Your time will come. Until then, you've got to prove yourself as a reliable writer who can deliver copy on assignment, no matter what the subject. That's what makes a true professional.

I press my lips together and take an audible breath. Yes … Then I rub my eyes. You're right.

Always, sweetie. Always. He winks again, turns on the heel of his dark brown designer shoes, and strides away with a swing of his hips that might even be better than mine. Keep your chin up! he calls to me as he makes his exit.

With another sigh, I look after him and catch myself feeling all the sadder for his statement.

Because …

Does a professional journalist really distinguish herself by having her topics dictated to her?

I know the media industry is highly competitive.

And I'm afraid that in any other newsroom, I would feel the same way I do here.

Just …

Does that make my situation any less dire?

***

The following Monday, all the magazine's editors gather in the conference room, which is located in the center of the floor, surrounded by glass walls. No sooner has the last colleague entered the room than Clark Parker claps his hands. As editor-in-chief, he has no time to waste today and wants to move the meeting along before it has even begun.

Okay, here we go! Lightning round. Where do we stand? Sally, you start, and then we go clockwise. I'm listening!

Uh… Sally has to collect herself and pushes her horn-rimmed glasses higher on her nose—you just never know who Clark will call on first, no matter where we sit. The photo spread on next fall's home ideas is in the can. Ben's working on post-processing, and my new intern Paula will have the captions done this afternoon.

Good, he says, looking immediately at Sebastian seated next to her.

The cover story on the latest developments in renewable energy can go to proofreading, the latter responds without missing a beat. I'll come to your office later with three drafts for the headline, Clark.

Satisfied, our boss nods. What about the perimeter? Do you need more room?

Another double-page spread would be good, of course, Sebastian admits. More and more people are becoming interested in sustainable electricity.

You got it. Clark looks to his seatmate. Anna, your report is unseasonal and will be postponed to the next issue.

But—

You heard me, right?

Of course, she says. What else can she do?

You can pause your work on it and write a short article on a related topic this week that we can put on the website.

Allright! she acquiesces.

What about you, Tom? asks Clark. Have you finally made any progress on the Huntington case?

Right. Ethan Huntington, the millionaire entrepreneur. Tom Devito gets to write about him in the lifestyle section.

Fortunately, yes, replies my colleague. After weeks of waiting, it worked out and I got an appointment.

Hopefully not until next year, Clark murmurs tensely, seeming serious.

No, a last-minute appointment came up for next week.

Next week! Clark's eyes widen, then he laughs. That's great news!

Yes, Tom says. A long-planned business meeting was canceled, so a window of opportunity opened up for us.

How long?

Just 30 minutes.

Too bad, but still 30 minutes.

Tom nods. I'll go over the questions with you tomorrow at the latest.

No, today, Clark demands. And again on Friday, with the final version.

You got it, Tom replies.

Clark sets his sights on the next journalist, and that's me. On with the program. Skye, where are we with the rabbit ears?

Oh, man, does he have to reduce my content to that?

Well, he is unfortunately right …

But does he really need to emphasize that again in front of the assembled team?

I try not to let my frustration show this time either. The text will be ready in time. I have everything I need together.

Perfect. He takes a breath and turns to my seatmate, Ray, to urge him to continue our assignment progresses.

However … I take the floor without being asked.

My boss is already irritated.

But I don't want to be discouraged by that. I push on. I'd also like to get more space in the magazine and go deeper into the subject matter. If I have to write about Instagram filters.

Clark makes no secret about the fact that he is anything but thrilled with my suggestion. Your column always has exactly one double-page spread, Skye. That's the concept. And this format has been around longer than you've been a staff member here, I'm reading in his eyes.

But the potential is there! I plead. These belittling filters are now even used by women whose appearance shouldn't matter. By a very talented pianist, for example.

Skye … he hisses, threatening to lose his patience.

But also from older people! I continue desperately, hoping to change his mind. This points to a widespread problem in our society. Instagram exacerbates the pressure for perfect, cute selfies …

He raises his finger and puts it to his lips in a hushing gesture.

I pause and fall silent. Again, I feel Ray's imploring gaze on me, and so I look at him.

Let it be, he admonishes me wordlessly. Now!

Yes, that's right. We're supposed to call our boss by his first name as if he were one of us, but you can't let that fool you. Clark Parker hates being argued with. Suggestions are vital, but talking back is fatal—for your career. No one else but he sets the tone here. Anna, whose article has been unceremoniously postponed, knows that … and so does everyone who works in these editorial offices.

And so I have no choice but to admit defeat. Excuse me, I even feel compelled to say, so I don't get kicked out the door.

It's all right, Clark growls, as if I had actually committed a crime. He turns his attention to my seatmate again with a look of mild confusion. Where were we? That's right. Ray, my good man! What's the latest on Johnny Starr? Can you meet the fashion designer to talk about his charity?

Yes. Tomorrow I will have an appointment with him on Staten Island.

Clark pauses. Like, at his house?

Correct, Ray proudly states.

Good job!

Satisfied, Ray grins.

I sigh …

How I would also like to meet a person whose work moves numerous people, to write an incomparable profile about him or her …

***

When the meeting is over and my colleagues gradually leave the conference room, Ray puts his hand on my shoulder and sends me a smile that is surely meant to cheer me up … or at least encourage me to grit my teeth and hang on.

I nod gratefully and start to follow him out of the room.

Skye, I hear Clark's raspy voice.

Wide-eyed, I turn to him. Yes?

Do you have a minute?

Uh-oh. I don't like his stern expression! Have I perhaps already maneuvered myself out the door with my suggestion? Temporary contract or not, with the reputation he enjoys in the publishing house, it would be easy for him to dismiss me without notice!

Instinctively, my attention drifts back to Ray.

It was nice to have known you, his look seems to tell me before he walks out the door and has to leave me behind. But perhaps my fear is getting the better of me.

Of course, I say and put one foot in front of the other to make my way back to the center of the conference room—not to say the lion's den. I take a breath and want to give the impression of a calm person. Or as Ray would now say, a professional. Yes?

Lightly pressing his lips together, Clark wears a worried expression that reinforces my uneasy feeling. Listen, if you're not happy here …

No! It shoots out of me. It's not that! One thing I realize very clearly: I don't want to be terminated! On the contrary—I want to develop further in these rooms!

So you're happy here?

I mean … That's when I decide to try honesty one more time. Granted, I would be happy to get another rubric at some point …

"But someone has to take care of Hate it or Love it. The short news stories about polarizing phenomena are as much a part of Trends & Views as any other category."

Okay. I guess there's nothing we can do. He's not planning on transferring me anytime soon. Not to mention promote me. And if I'm not careful now, my contract won't even be extended, let alone converted into a permanent one.

Absolutely, I agree with him. As I said, at some point it would be nice …

Of course, Skye. We have the best opportunities for advancement here. No one who puts in the work will be overlooked.

Don't I put my back into it? At least, as far as my frustration allows …

Unfortunately, magazines like ours are struggling with declining sales and tremendous competition online, he continues, as if he heard my question. For that reason, there hasn't been a change in our staff for quite some time.

I nod.

But at least no one has had to leave in the past few months.

Yes, that's true, is all I can say.

Just keep sticking to the concept, okay? he asks of me—again without sounding like I have any choice at all. That's what's worked for me. And I promise you, as soon as something comes up, you'll get your chance.

My eyes widen. All right. Yeah, that sounds only fair. Thanks, Clark.

All right. You can go now. Back to work. He laughs.

Of course.

Well.

Even though I've been waiting for said chance for over a thousand days—oh, yes, I'm counting …

Clark is not a bad boss, and I'm lucky to even have a job as a journalist in this day and age to pay my rent here in New York.

I'm afraid I'll have to settle for that in the future.

If necessary, for the next thousand days.

Chapter 2

~ Skye

See? she says to me as she finishes tying the double knot. Concentrating, she keeps her undivided attention on the red yarn, radiating composure. We've already finished another row.

No, you have a new set of knots ready, Mom. My tone is warm as I speak, gentle with her. But I don't do patience games like that, sorry.

Don't be sorry, dear. I figured friendship bracelets weren't your thing. Still, I wanted to show you the new things I've learned. Satisfied, she points to the zigzag pattern of rainbow colors.

I think it's really neat that you're crafting so much now! And while I may not be interested in knotting bracelets like this myself, you know I wear mine every day, and I love it. I lift my arm up to bring the braided jewelry of dark brown faux leather so she can see it. It was one of the first bracelets she finished when she discovered this hobby for herself. It is a symbol of how close we are to this day.

She laughs happily. It seems to be holding up well, isn't it?

Yes, it's really sturdy. And beautiful. It does have a few blemishes, since it was one of Mom's first crafting attempts, but just knowing it came from the heart makes it perfect.

Nevertheless, if at any point it starts to crack, I'll make you a new one right away.

I wave this off. I'm sure it will last quite a while.

It wasn't too long ago that Dad cheated on my mom with his tennis partner and accidentally got her pregnant, at which point there was no more basis for discussion for my mom and she filed for divorce. As a result, she realized not only that he doesn't want to fight for her one bit, but that he also wants to raise the unborn child with his new wife. So I'll have a half-sister or half-brother soon, somewhere here in New York. On paper, anyway. Whether Dad wants me to form a relationship with the child, and whether Mom would be okay with that, and how it will feel to me, remains to be seen.

Anyway.

In order not to fall into a mental hole, my mother has taken up one or two new pastimes. Making her own jewelry is one of them. Only privately, for herself, relatives and friends, because she is still happy with her job as a nurse, she says. She also now goes to the nearest soup kitchen twice a week to help out. Not only does this allow her to do good for others, which is obviously in her blood, but she has already made several new friends, she said.

But of course, Dad's affair surprised her at least as much as it did me and must have affected her deeply. In that sense, it wasn't out of mere impulse that she made the breakup happen. And we haven't talked about him much in the past few months. We are close, and I quickly realized that she would cope better if we devoted ourselves to other topics of conversation. Everyone deals with such a loss differently. Seeing her become more active and socialize more made me feel good. I wanted to trust that Mom would eventually say something about the divorce on her own. Nothing big, just something … final.

And she did. Just recently. Once, out of the blue, she told me that Dad made it easier for her to forget him with his impossible behavior. I understand that. And just the other day, she told me that she likes being single at the moment and living her own rhythm. The way she looked at me saying that and living her life now, I immediately believed her. My mother, Sandra Beaufort, is an independent woman who can manage without a man. I am very happy about that. She also doesn't let her anger at Dad eat away at her, so she hasn't taken back her maiden name, but keeps the same last name as me.

And you, dear? she