The Husband Gambit E-Book

L.A. Witt

• Herausgeber: GallagherWitt Publishing LLC
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Marry me for 1 year. Payment: $1.2 million.

Hayden Somerset is convinced the ad is a joke, but he responds anyway because, hello, $1.2 million. He’s broke, living in a tiny apartment with two roommates, and exhausted from praying his ancient car survives just one more week. His skyrocketing rent and crushing student loans aren’t helping either. At this point, there isn’t much Hayden wouldn’t do for that kind of cash.

The ad isn’t a joke. Jesse Ambrose is absolutely serious. His father, the charismatic patriarch of a powerful Hollywood dynasty, has his eye on politics, and he’s counting on California’s liberals and progressives to elect him. But Jesse knows what his father believes when cameras and voters aren’t around. As the election looms, he’ll do anything to force the man’s hand and show the public who Isaac Ambrose really is.

Anything, including marrying a stranger so his father will make good on his promise to disown Jesse if he ever takes a husband.

Now he just has to wait for his father to take the bait… and try not to accidentally fall in love with his fake husband.
 

Leseprobe

The Husband Gambit

L.A. Witt

Contents

About The Husband Gambit

1. Hayden

2. Jesse

3. Hayden

4. Jesse

5. Hayden

6. Jesse

7. Hayden

8. Jesse

9. Hayden

10. Jesse

11. Hayden

12. Jesse

13. Hayden

14. Jesse

15. Hayden

16. Jesse

17. Hayden

18. Jesse

19. Hayden

20. Jesse

21. Hayden

22. Jesse

23. Hayden

24. Jesse

25. Hayden

26. Jesse

27. Hayden & Jesse

28. Hayden

29. Jesse

30. Hayden

31. Jesse

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by L.A. Witt

Also by L.A. Witt

Copyright Information

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Husband Gambit

First edition

Copyright © 2018, 2022 L.A. Witt

Cover Art by Lori Witt

Editor: Leta Blake

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at [email protected]

ISBN: 978-1-64230-036-9

Paperback ISBN: 978-173070-889-3

Hardcover ISBN: 979-8-36987-820-0

Created with Vellum

About The Husband Gambit

Marry me for 1 year. Payment: $1.2 million.

Hayden Somerset is convinced the ad is a joke, but he responds anyway because, hello, $1.2 million. He’s broke, living in a tiny apartment with two roommates, and exhausted from praying his ancient car survives just one more week. His skyrocketing rent and crushing student loans aren’t helping either. At this point, there isn’t much Hayden wouldn’t do for that kind of cash.

The ad isn’t a joke. Jesse Ambrose is absolutely serious. His father, the charismatic patriarch of a powerful Hollywood dynasty, has his eye on politics, and he’s counting on California’s liberals and progressives to elect him. But Jesse knows what his father believes when cameras and voters aren’t around. As the election looms, he’ll do anything to force the man’s hand and show the public who Isaac Ambrose really is.

Anything, including marrying a stranger so his father will make good on his promise to disown Jesse if he ever takes a husband.

Now he just has to wait for his father to take the bait… and try not to accidentally fall in love with his fake husband.

This novel is approximately 100,000 words long.

Chapter 1

Hayden

“Whoever wrote that ad is either a serial killer or someone making pornos,” Luis declared without looking away from the TV.

My other roommate, Ashton, snorted. “That, or he’s a serial killer making pornos.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “And that’s different from any other ad, how? This is Hollywood, babe.”

Luis frowned. “I’m serious. That’s not a normal ad. Not even in this town. It’s fucking weird.”

“Oh, it is.” I peered at my laptop and the ad I’d incredulously read aloud to my roommates. “But I won’t lie—I am curious.”

Luis just shook his head, still frowning.

“I’d be curious too,” Ashton said. “How come no one ever offers to be my sugar daddy?”

“Because you’re straight, stupid,” Luis said with a laugh. “You need a sugar mama.”

“Hey, look, I’m broker than both of you. I won’t discriminate if someone wants to pay my bills.” Ashton, lounging beside me on the battered old sofa, craned his neck to look at my screen. “Does it say being gay is a requirement? Or could a straight guy—”

“Oh, no you don’t.” I turned my laptop away and shot him a playful glare. “I’ve got dibs.”

“But…” He pouted, then huffed. “Fine.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Luis blinked. “Hayden, please tell me you’re not actually going to respond.”

“No, I’m not going to respond.” I started typing. “I’m responding right now.”

He shook his head and turned back to the TV show we’d all been ignoring. “Enjoy making serial killer porn.”

I chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

In the email, I wrote:

Hello, I saw your ad, and I’m interested. Could you please contact me with details?

It was a benign enough email. The same generic response I’d send to any ad I’d found, but as I hit Send this time, there was an odd flutter in my stomach. Equal parts curiosity, amusement, and… jitters? As if the person on the other end might reply to me, and something might come of this besides them having a good laugh because someone had fallen for it? I couldn’t put my finger on it.

But the response was sent, and all I could do now was wait.

I closed the email, but there was still a browser tab open to the ad, and I couldn’t resist reading it one more time.

Marry me for 1 year.

Payment: $1.2 million.

I’m a man looking for a temporary husband. $100K per month. Cohabitation, legal marriage, and NDA are required. Sex is not. Contact for more info.

Okay, so I could totally see why Luis thought it was weird, but I mean, $1.2 million was $1.2 million. That would pay off student loans for all three of us and still leave enough for, I don’t know, a trip to In-N-Out for burgers or something.

It was probably a prank. Or a phishing scheme. I had no doubt just signed myself up for thousands of spam emails. That, or a team of hackers was, as I sat here, breaking into my financials and bleeding me dry. Joke was on them if they were. I hoped they liked In-N-Out, because that was all they were getting with my hordes of riches.

Ugh, I hated being this broke. Why had I let someone talk me into going to school again? Oh, right, because without a college degree, I’d spend the rest of my life pathetic, broke, and living with two roommates in a tiny apartment in a shitty neighborhood. Wait…

But hey, at least our shitty apartment had five degrees on the wall—all of our bachelors’ degrees, plus Luis’s MBA and my Masters in Theatre Arts that had totally not been a waste of time or money. Another few months and we could add Ashton’s MBA to the wall of shame too. After that, we could all celebrate by adding some actual seasonings to our ramen and toasting with whatever store-brand soda was on sale that week.

So, yeah, to be honest, serial killer porn wasn’t as unappealing as you might think.

As long as there were no clowns involved. I was desperate, but a man had to have some standards.

We were halfway through an episode of The Big Bang Theory—oh my God there was nothing on today—when my email pinged. I jumped like someone had shocked me, and sent up the same prayer I always did when I had a new email: please tell me Carmen landed me another audition. That well had been discouragingly dry lately, but hope sprang eternal.

As soon as I’d opened the window, my teeth snapped together so hard I almost bit my stupid tongue. The email was not from Carmen.

Sender: guest_user

Subject: re: Marry me for 1 year.

I had to force back an excited announcement to my roomies that the mystery sugar daddy had responded. Better to see what he’d actually said before I made more of an ass of myself.

Holding my breath, I opened the email.

Thanks for the response. Are you seriously interested?

I swallowed, then wrote back: I need details, but yes.

If I hadn’t been curious before, I was now. If he asked for my bank details, then I’d block the hell out of him, but so far he hadn’t mentioned anything about being a Nigerian prince. Not necessarily promising, but definitely intriguing.

The next reply came in seconds:

Would you be willing to meet? I would prefer not to discuss this via email.

Serial killer porn was sounding more and more plausible. On the other hand, if I was going to be “marrying” this guy for a year, it probably wouldn’t hurt to see him face to face and make sure he wasn’t… like…

A serial killer porn star?

I cleared my throat. “So hey, remember that sugar daddy ad?”

Both my roommates turned to me.

I gestured at the screen. “He responded. He wants to meet to talk details.”

Luis made stabbing motions and mimicked the shrill music from Psycho.

Ashton leaned closer, peering at my screen. “Did he give you any more info?”

“No, he just said he doesn’t want to discuss it via email.”

Right then, my Nigerian prince of sugar daddy serial killer porn wrote back. The email contained the name of a restaurant, an address, and a time.

Tell the hostess you’re here to meet James.

I quickly googled the restaurant, which turned out to be an insanely exclusive high-dollar place in West Hollywood. “Holy shit. I probably can’t even afford the tap water at this place.”

Ashton whistled. “No kidding. So are you going to go?”

Some part of me thought the smart answer would be “Uh, no,” followed by deleting the email, closing my laptop, and never speaking of this again. But in some way, every step I took down this rabbit hole made me curiouser and curiouser. Who was this guy? What was his deal? And who the hell needed to hire a husband—an actual, legal husband—anyway? Was this some sort of romcom sitch where he had to get married in order to stay in Daddy’s will?

“I think I’m going to do it, yeah,” I said.

Luis huffed. “Dude. If this guy’s rich enough to pay someone a million bucks to marry him, doesn’t that tell you that maybe there’s a reason nobody’s been willing to marry him for free?”

“Shut up,” Ashton hissed. “Hayden’s about to get rich.”

“Or murdered.”

“I’m not going to get murdered.” My hands hovered over the keys, though, and I cut my eyes toward my roommates. “But, um, could one of you hang out close by? Just in case he does turn out to be Pennywise the Porn Star?” Oh Christ, there really would be clowns, wouldn’t there?

Luis shook his head. “No way. I’m not having any part of this.”

Ashton rolled his eyes. “I’ll go. My car will actually get you out there without breaking down, too.”

He… wasn’t wrong. My poor clunky beater was one sudden stop away from going to the big parking lot in the sky, but Ashton’s ancient Honda was still puttering along somehow. Seriously, that car was immortal.

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see if I can smuggle out some breadsticks or something.”

Ashton groaned. “Oh my God. Yes please.”

I chuckled and turned my screen. With a little trepidation, a lot of curiosity, and maybe a pinch of excitement, I wrote back:

See you at 8.

“I’m here to see James.” I felt stupid as hell saying those words to the bow-tied hostess at the restaurant’s podium. It reminded me of one of those ads on the radio where they said you’re supposed to “tell them Bob sent you” or whatever, and nobody ever actually did because even as broke as I was, a dollar off was not worth the momentary humiliation.

The hostess didn’t miss a beat, though. “He’s waiting for you in the VIP section. Right this way.”

The VIP section? Whoa.

As if this place wasn’t already gleaming right out of my price range. It was dimly lit, and everything that would have been paper in a restaurant that might have hired me—yeah right—was linen, and every surface that would have been smudged in fingerprints or grease was immaculately polished marble, faux gold, or some other shiny stone or metal that my trash ass could never identify. There was a bar that looked like it only served top shelf, and between that and a fireplace, an actual string quartet wore tuxes and played soft music.

As I followed the hostess past all this class and style, I self-consciously glanced down at my button-up shirt and slacks, and quickly scrutinized my hair in one of the many shiny surfaces. Did I look remotely suitable to be in anything marked VIP? Should I have worn something else? Did I look like a million dollars? Because I was here to convince a man I was worth a million dollars.

Oh, sweetie, some voice inside my head tsked. You look like twelve bucks in wrinkled bills.

Great. This felt like every audition and interview I ever did—blown before I walked through the door.

There was still time to hightail it out of here, right? It wasn’t like anyone knew me, so—

The hostess opened a door with VIP in gold letters, and she waved me inside. “Your party is in here. A server will be along to get your drink order.”

“Oh. Um.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”

She shut the door, and I was in the VIP lounge, and there was only one other person in this room, and James was… oh my Lord, James was not what I had envisioned.

Between reading the ad and walking into this room, I’d painted a mental picture of him that involved scraggly gray hair (assuming he had any left), fucked-up teeth (assuming he had any of those left), and a skin-crawly perma-leer. I mean that wasn’t technically fair, but it was hard to ignore Luis’s comments about what kind of guy was loaded and still had to buy a spouse. It hadn’t taken long for my imagination to build a James with Mafia ties, dragon breath, and some serious toenail fungus. Clown hat optional.

So I was utterly unprepared to walk in and see someone that gorgeous looking back at me.

Sitting at a small booth, leaning back against the leather seat with a half-empty glass in his hand, was a tall white man who belonged on a magazine cover. His light brown hair and fair complexion brought out the startling blue of his eyes, and a dusting of five o’clock shadow framed gorgeous full lips. There was no expression on his face—he was studying me intently, but I couldn’t have guessed what was on his mind.

He’d worn a gray button-up shirt that wasn’t any fancier than the cranberry one I’d worn. That made me feel better about being underdressed, at least until I noticed the two-tone Rolex peeking out from his cuff. I wasn’t a watch connoisseur or anything, but my brother had been given a similar one by his coach after he’d qualified for the Olympics the first time, and I knew at a glance that was a ten-plus thousand dollar watch. So much for not feeling underdressed.

James cleared his throat, and I realized with no small amount of mortification that I’d been just standing there staring. As he rose, so did my pulse, and when he extended his hand, I almost forgot what to do with it. “You must be Hayden?”

I swallowed, and mercifully remembered how to shake hands. “Yeah. I assume you’re James.”

The expressionless façade broke, and I was again startled, this time by a soft laugh that sounded… shy? Really? “James isn’t my real name. Just a name I use for…” He waved toward the door.

“So like a code name?”

“Kind of, yeah.” He met my gaze, and a smile lingered on his lips. “My name is Jesse.”

“Oh. Okay.”

We locked eyes for a moment, and then Jesse gestured at the table. “Have a seat. We can order drinks and discuss—”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t afford more than water in this place.” I glanced around. “Might not even be able to spring for that much.”

His smile warmed. “I’m buying.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“You answered my ridiculously cryptic ad, and made it past all the emails that probably sounded creepy.” He chuckled self-consciously. “After all the cloak-and-dagger, the least I can do is buy you dinner.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “Okay. Sure.” My stomach growled, though I hoped it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear. After months of eating whatever garbage I could afford, I was getting dinner in a place like this?

Well, hell. Bring on the serial killer Nigerian prince clown porn.

Chapter 2

Jesse

I’d posted the ad because I hadn’t known how else to find someone for this arrangement, but I hadn’t had high hopes about getting a response. It was true that in Los Angeles—land of dreams and disappointment—people would do a lot of things for money. Wave six figures in their faces, and most reservations evaporate. Make it seven, and, well, that was the only explanation I could think of for why certain actors took certain roles.

So I guess I wasn’t really surprised that someone responded. I just hadn’t expected… him.

As Hayden slid into the booth opposite me, I stole a moment to drink him in. He had to be an actor or a model. No one in this town was that pretty and didn’t get in front of a camera. Maybe he was a struggling one—after all, he was considering my offer—but I didn’t imagine his big break was far off. Unless he was a terrible actor or something. But even then…

I shook myself and shifted my attention to the menu I’d already read a dozen times. I’d never been able to pull off acting either, but the prospect of pretending to be this man’s other half wasn’t what I’d call daunting. He was just… my God, he was gorgeous. That was a face that would never need my professional assistance to look good on camera. Contouring would be overkill on cheekbones that high. Mascara would be redundant on lashes that long. He had sun-kissed skin that wasn’t overcooked or sun-damaged and would probably be perfect on-camera without any help from me. Eyebrows that were flawlessly shaped, lips I could stare at all damn night, meticulously styled dark hair—I could think of a dozen casting directors who would take one look at him and have him lined up with work until he was ninety.

Pretend I’m married to him for a year? Yeah, I can swing that.

But there were some details we needed to work out first. As silly as my proposition had probably seemed on the surface, it was serious for me, and I wasn’t taking chances. So, after the server had come and gone with our orders, I reached for the manila folder sitting on the bench beside me. “Okay, before we go any further, I need to have you sign the non-disclosure agreement.”

Hayden’s eyebrows climbed. “Um. Okay?”

I slid the document across the table. “I need everything we talk about to stay between us. There’s a bit too much on the line for me to take anything for granted.”

His eyes widened, and he drew back just slightly. I could practically hear the second thoughts banging around in his head.

“You’re not committing to anything,” I said. “Just that whatever we discuss doesn’t leave this room.”

Hayden considered the folder for a moment. Then he opened it, and silence hung between us while he read it over. Smart man—he didn’t just sign a document without reading it. Not even with a cool million on the table.

After he’d gone over it, he quietly asked, “Do you have a pen?”

I handed him one, and he scrawled his name at the bottom of the NDA. I put aside the papers and pen, and looked at him across the table. “All right. With that out of the way, I guess we should start with a rundown of what I’m doing.”

Hayden nodded. “Okay.”

I sipped my iced tea, then folded my hands on the table and took a deep breath. No one had gotten this far yet. A few nibbles via email, but Hayden was the first to meet me face to face and the first to sign the NDA. He’d be the first to hear this, and I was suddenly terrified of how it would sound to an actual person.

No time like the present to find out.

“Are you familiar with Isaac Ambrose?”

Hayden tensed. “People living under rocks are familiar with Isaac Ambrose.”

That was the God’s honest truth.

I shifted, staring down at my folded hands. “Okay. Well. He’s my father.”

Hayden made a sound like he’d choked on air, and when our eyes met this time, he was staring at me like I’d just told him I’d had sex with the Pope. “You’re… you’re Isaac Ambrose’s son?”

I nodded, and said with a bitter laugh, “One of the sons that isn’t an A-lister, which is probably why you haven’t heard of me.”

Hayden gulped, but said nothing. Now that I thought about it, it was entirely possible he had heard of me. Dad occasionally mentioned me in passing in interviews, and my name sometimes drifted into those lengthy multi-page articles about him in Vogue, Vanity Fair, and People. Kind of ironic considering I was the only one of his five kids who’d been nominated for an Oscar and an Emmy, but as far as Dad was concerned, the hair and makeup categories didn’t count. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make a big deal about his son being nominated in those categories.

Clearing my throat again, I sat back against the seat. “The super condensed Cliff’s notes version is that my father is planning to run for governor next year. On a liberal progressive platform.”

“So, what?” Hayden thumbed the edge of the leather placemat. “He wants a happily married gay son to push his whole ‘family man’ image?”

I snorted. “No. If I marry a man, he’ll disown me.”

Hayden froze. “Um. Come again?”

“He portrays himself as this progressive, pro-equality liberal because let’s face it—that’s what Southern California voters want these days.”

“Yeah, I guess so, but I always thought he was pretty conservative.”

“He is. He’s very conservative. But most Republicans see him as a member of the Hollywood liberal elite, and he’s managed to alienate the rest by being staunchly pro-choice. They’re not interested in him.”

Hayden laughed dryly and rolled his eyes.

“So, he’s been carefully painting himself as someone liberal voters will back, but behind closed doors?” I shook my head. “A few journalists have tried to show who he really is, but honestly, there aren’t many media outlets left that’ll butt heads with him unless there is indisputable evidence to back up anything they say.”

Hayden’s eyebrow rose. “I feel like that answers my question about why you haven’t just done a tell-all instead of, uh…”

“I tried. Believe me. And some industry rivals and estranged family members have tried in the past, but it always blows up in their faces. Half the time they’re pulling it out of their asses, and the other half, Dad has some kind of dirt on them and a bulletproof defense for himself, and it winds up reflecting a hundred times worse on them than him.” Sighing, I shook my head. “It would be a lot easier, believe me, but there’s no way anyone will listen to me.”

“Damn.”

“Right?” I rubbed my forehead. Just talking about this exhausted me. “Doesn’t help that he’s put extra effort into looking like the liberal he’s pretending to be. He’s always putting on bullshit fundraisers for everything from AIDS research to feeding starving children.”

Hayden shifted, eyeing me warily. “He’s… he’s not funneling that money into something else, is he?”

“No, no.” I shook my head. “But he’s very quietly funneling his own money into things like preventing queer people from adopting kids. He told any camera he could find that he supported marriage equality, but I know for a fact he donated tens of thousands to campaigns to ban it.”

“Aren’t political donations public, though?”

“They’re supposed to be, but if you run the money through enough shell companies and anonymous channels, tracing them back is almost impossible.”

Hayden whistled. “Wow. I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised someone that powerful is corrupt, but…”

“Everyone in Hollywood is corrupt,” I grumbled. “Especially the ones who go into politics.”

“Yeah. You don’t say.” He took a drink and rolled it around in his mouth for a moment. “So, does he know you’re gay?”

“He does. And…” I hesitated, wondering if I should tell Hayden the whole story now or later. I decided he deserved to at least hear the pertinent parts, and made a mental note to pour myself something strong as fuck when I got home tonight. I sat up a little and folded my arms on the edge of the table. “I came out to the family when I was fifteen. Dad was ready to cut me off and throw me out that day.”

“When you were fifteen?” Hayden sputtered.

“Yep. My mom stepped in, thank God. She convinced him that booting me out like that would do some serious damage to his reputation. Which… I mean, it was almost twenty years ago, so he might have gotten away with it, but Mom could see that society was shifting. Even if he got away with it at the time, it would come back and bite him in the ass later.”

“So he kept you in the family because he wanted to protect his reputation?”

I half-shrugged. “Hollywood.”

Hayden nodded and gave a quiet grunt of understanding. Amazing how much a single word could explain to anyone who’d spent any time in this city and its deceptively glittery industry.

“Anyway, the end result is they came to an agreement that I could stay in the house, and they’d tolerate me discreetly dating men, but Dad would cut me off if I ever got married.”

Hayden’s eyebrows quirked with confusion.

“It was…” I sighed, waving a hand. “Dad needed to have some kind of line so he’d still be in control—so he’d still win—and Mom figured I’d never be able to get married anyway, so she agreed to let that be the bar.” I sat back, fatigue pressing down on my shoulders after mentally reliving that hellish week of tense negotiations between my parents. “We all kind of figured it was settled, you know? But then Canada legalized gay marriage, and I happened to be seriously dating someone at the time. My mom pulled me aside and told me not to even think about it. She said if I wanted to go quietly elope or something, fine, but don’t tell my father, don’t wear a wedding ring around him, don’t change my name…”

“So she thought he was serious. That he really would jump at the opportunity to kick you out, even all those years later.”

I nodded slowly as I swallowed bile. “She knows he is, and he confirmed it, too. The day marriage equality became law in this country, he told me that everything from when I was fifteen still stood. I marry a man, he will disown and disinherit me. It’s the only way he feels like he’s in control of the situation. He’s a man accustomed to having his way no matter what, and he has zero tolerance for defiance. Especially from his own kids. Honestly, the line in the sand could have been anything as long as he could use it to control me. It just happened that mom suggested marriage and he agreed to it.”

Hayden’s lips parted. He watched me for a long moment, then moistened his lips and took a breath like he was about to speak, but before he could, his phone beeped. “Shit. Excuse me a second.” He took it out, and as he typed, added, “My buddy was waiting outside in case you ended up being a creeper.” Beat. “No offense.”

“None taken.” I liked that he was this cautious. He’d read over the NDA instead of just signing it, and he had a backup plan since he’d had no idea about me before he’d come in here. That was encouraging—this was someone I could expect to take things seriously and go in with both eyes open.

“Okay. Sorry.” He pocketed his phone. “Just needed to check in with him so he didn’t think you were chopping me up in a back alley or something.”

I laughed. I could have made a joke like “not in this part of town” or “we haven’t even had dinner yet,” but that didn’t seem appropriate right now. Hayden had every right to be wary of me and my intentions, so I kept the wisecracks to myself.

“Anyway.” Hayden folded his hands on the table, mirroring me. “So, are you saying you want to pretend to be married so your dad will disinherit you?”

“Yes. If California decides they’re okay with a governor who will disown his gay son, then…” I shrugged. “There isn’t much I can do about that. But they should know who he is before they vote.”

“Jesus.” He paused. “Then… why is the contract for a year? Wouldn’t it be enough to just show him a marriage certificate? Or even just tell him you’re engaged?”

“I wish.” I took a deep swallow from my drink. Not that it helped. “He’s smarter than that, though. And… um…” I dropped my gaze. “He’ll definitely be suspicious because it’s me doing this.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’ve tried to out him as a homophobe before.” I watched my nails tapping on the table, then finally looked at Hayden through my lashes. “I’ve tried to get him to say something incriminating in front of people. Encouraged a journalist I knew to ask him certain questions. Acted out in front of important people in ways that I hoped would get a reaction. That kind of thing.”

Hayden ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “So he knows it wouldn’t be below you to do something like this.”

“Exactly. Which is why it has to be a long game. Dad is absolutely going to be suspicious of any move I make that involves my sexuality and could be interpreted as an attempt to provoke him. If I say I’m planning to marry a man, he’ll take it as an act of rebellion at first. Just something to push his buttons. He’ll hold out until he’s convinced it’s real. So I need it to be real long enough to convince him. And when he is convinced it’s real, he won’t be able to laugh off or ignore my defiance of his red line, and then he’ll act. He will not, under any circumstances, let me ‘win’.”

“I can’t decide if that sounds more like a staring contest or playing chicken.”

I managed a laugh. “Probably a little of both.”

He folded his hands on the table and stared at them for a moment. “Okay, so, let’s say he takes the bait, decides you’re serious this time, and he disowns you. He doesn’t have to actually put that in the… I don’t know, whatever papers he issues, right?”

“No, he doesn’t. But I know him. He can’t stand when someone—especially an underling or one of his kids—defies him, and he’ll make sure I know this is why he’s cutting me off. He won’t put it on paper, but he’ll get me one on one, and he’ll say it.”

“And you’ll be recording it when he does, won’t you?”

“You better believe it.”

Hayden drummed his fingers on the table. “And you’ve tried recording him? Just getting him to say… something? That has to be easier than going through getting married and all that shit.”

“I’ve tried.” I exhaled hard. “Enough that he figured out what I was doing. Like I said, though—he’s too careful. He’s got a lot of practice being careful what he says too—all it took was one reporter recording him and then leaking some scoop about a new film, and he learned to keep his mouth shut. Even around family members, and especially now that smartphones are a thing. The only way he’s going to let his guard down and say something like this out loud is if someone really provokes him.”

“Like if his son marries another man.”

“Exactly. I need to push him hard enough to lose his temper and say out loud that he’s kicking me out of the family and why, and given the warnings from both my parents over the years? This is the best weapon I have to make that happen.” Hayden’s expression screamed skepticism, so I added, “Trust me. He’ll make sure I have a piece of paper declaring me disowned, disinherited, and cut off from any and all of his financial resources. He’ll tell me verbally—not in writing—exactly why he’s doing it. All I have to do is make the papers and the recording public.” I hoped. There was every chance my father would use his political smooth-talking to tell me why without outright telling me why, but I hoped in the heat of the moment he wouldn’t be able to resist absolute clarity.

“And you think it’ll be enough to convince voters to reject him?”

“If they care about queer rights, it will be. If they don’t…” I trailed off because that was a reality I couldn’t let myself think about. I had no control over what people actually did with the information I was turning my life upside down to give them. All I could do was show them who my father was and hope that wasn’t who they wanted.

Hayden was silent for a long moment, and I didn’t push. This had to be a lot to process for someone who hadn’t spent his entire life marinating in Ambrose dysfunction. I chewed the inside of my cheek, worrying he might be having second thoughts about this whole arrangement, so I was unprepared when he finally said, “Do you think a year is long enough?”

Oh thank God. He’s still in.

I cleared my throat. “I hope it is.” I unfolded and refolded my hands on the table, wondering when they’d started sweating. “If it isn’t, we might need to renegotiate.” I paused, then quickly added, “‘We’ being whoever agrees to this. You or whoever.”

“Right.” Hayden shifted, avoiding my gaze. “Wow. Jesus.” He started to say something else, but right then, the lounge’s door opened and our server entered with our meals. Neither of us spoke while the plates were arranged in front of us, but I swore I heard a groan of pleasure escape Hayden’s lips at the sight and probably smell of his richly-seasoned and garlic-filled pasta. When he took a bite, he looked like he’d just tasted the most amazing thing on the planet.

“Like it?” I asked.

“Oh my God, yes.” He twirled some sauce-drenched noodles around his fork. “I’ve been basically living on ramen and cereal since forever, so…”

“You have?”

He met my gaze, and after he’d swallowed the next bite, he dabbed his lips with his napkin. “Look, you seem like a nice guy and all, but I’m not gonna lie—it was the $1.2 million part that made me respond, not the ‘marry me’ part.”

I laughed. “I figured it would get people’s attention.”

“Mmhmm. It did.” He inclined his head. “That part wasn’t bullshit, was it?”

“No! No. Definitely not bullshit.” I chased a piece of cauliflower around in the marinade from the chicken breast. “Also a bedroom in my condo, a car if you need it, paid travel if we go anywhere together, and any other expenses that come up.”

Hayden nearly choked, and he stared at me incredulously. “Holy shit. Don’t tell me there’s medical and dental too.”

“Um, actually—”

“Dude, I was kidding.”

“Okay, but I’m part of a union.” I shrugged. “If you’re married to me, you do qualify for benefits.”

He blinked. “I… really?”

I nodded.

He arched a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. Then he cast a slow, sweeping glance around the room, his mouth working as if he were tonguing one of his molars.

“What?” I asked.

“There have to be cameras,” he whispered. “This has to be a reality show joke.” He faced me again. “If I’m being punk’d just tell me now so I can—”

“You’re not being punk’d.”

“I’m not?”

“No.” I put down my fork and looked him in the eye. “Hayden, I need someone to help me prove who my father really is before he gets enough power to start fucking people over.”

“And you’re sure he will?”

“I’m positive. This isn’t a personal vendetta for me. I know what he’s capable of and where his loyalties lie. I’m asking someone to pretend to be my husband for a year to stop him from ever being in a position to work his bigotry into laws. Whatever makes that worthwhile for the man who’s helping me…” I waved a hand. “I’ll spare no expense.”

“What’ll it do to you financially, though?”

Now there was a thing I’d thought about, but didn’t really enjoy thinking about, so I plastered on a smile and waved a hand. “It’ll hurt, but I have savings and a job.”

“Oh.” He swallowed hard, and he studied me for a long moment. “You’re serious about this whole thing.”

“All of it. Including the dental benefits.”

He put his fork down too, and released a long breath as he sat back. “Whoa.”

“You don’t have to make a decision tonight. If you need some time, then—”

“No.” He met my gaze again, and the shock had vanished in favor of sheer determination. “No, I’m in.”

I straightened. “You are?”

“Fuck yeah. If it’ll get me out from under my student loan debts, get me out of that godforsaken apartment, and keep a homophobic jackwagon from getting voted into office where he can shit all over my rights?” Hayden nodded emphatically. “You’re damn right I’m in.”

A relieved breath rushed out of me, and I smiled. “Awesome. I was honestly afraid I wouldn’t be able to find anyone to take me up on this.”

“Please.” He picked up his fork again and speared a piece of shrimp. “For that price? Someone was bound to come along.”

“Yeah, but I like the enthusiasm for the cause.”

We exchanged smiles, and we both continued eating.

After a while, Hayden looked at me again, some renewed nerves in his expression. “So, um, about the non-disclosure?”

“Mmhmm?”

He fidgeted. “My roommates know about the ad. They don’t know anything we’ve talked about, but they know I’m here talking to someone about an ad for a temporary husband. Once we start, uh, dating or whatever, they’ll put two and two together. Maybe not why we’re doing it, but that it’s not real.”

“Hmm.” I chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then swallowed. “Honestly? As important as this is for me, I’ll pay them each to sign one too.”

“You… you will?”

I nodded. “How many roommates do you have?”

“Two.”

“Okay. Ten large apiece if they’ll keep it under their hats.”

Hayden’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?”

“Like I said.” I half-shrugged and started cutting off a piece of chicken. “This is important.”

“Yeah, I… I get that. It’s just… that’s a shitload of money.” He paused. “I mean, for us it is. I’m pretty sure we have two hundred dollars between us until next Friday, so…”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” He shot me a good-natured smirk. “Not all of us come from Hollywood dynasties.”

“You’re luckier than you think, believe me.”

I totally expected an eyeroll followed by some comment about how horrible it must be to live such a privileged life. I probably deserved it, too—I had no idea what it was like to stretch two hundred dollars between three people for days on end—but the financial security I was currently gambling with only did so much to alleviate the toxicity of the world I’d grown up in.

To my surprise, Hayden nodded. “Yeah. I’ve heard the rumors.”

I was the one to roll my eyes. “Let me tell you—it’s awesome having your family’s business in print all the time. That… that might happen to you, by the way. I’m not really on the press’s radar like my older brother and sister, but if this turns into an actual scandal…”

He waved a hand before dragging a piece of shrimp through the creamy sauce. “Eh, my brother had the press on his ass for a while, and they were always looking for dirt on the rest of us just for a dramatic story. Been there.”

“Your brother?”

Hayden popped the shrimp into his mouth. After he’d swallowed it, he said, “My brother is Brian Somerset.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why do I know that name?”

“He was a figure skater. Went to the Olympics twice.”

“Oh. Right. I remember reading about him.”

“Exactly. So… I’m not exactly a stranger to the press. It was mostly focused on him, but they did some stories on us too. And a few times people thought I was him, so…”

“Hmm, yeah, you do look a lot like him, now that you mention it.”

“I would hope so.” He winked. “We’re identical twins.”

“Oh.”

“Which… now that I think about it, don’t be surprised if someone sees us together and thinks you’re dating him.”

I laughed. “Eh, I guess I could think of worse things for them to say about me.”

“Well, except he’s married with a couple of kids, so unless you want to be the sidepiece of the married ex-figure skater who everyone knew all along was gay like his twin brother?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, point taken. But you have to admit—it would get my dad’s attention.”

Hayden snickered. “Yeah, but sweetheart, I don’t think you want my sister-in-law thinking you and Brian are dating. Trust me.” He grimaced, but it was a playful expression, so I didn’t imagine there was any actual hostility between him and his sister-in-law.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

He gave a soft laugh, but then sobered again. “So your dad, though. This, um… you really think he’ll bite?”

“I know him. He might put up with it for a few weeks or maybe a few months, but the minute he thinks my”—I made air quotes—“‘husband’ and I are in it for the long haul, he’ll drop the hammer. He won’t be able to help himself. Not after a slap in the face like this. Because believe me, he’ll take this as a slap in the face.”

“Jesus fuck.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Wow. I’m…” He stared, then shook himself. “I’m sorry. I’m just so amazed that a parent would be so…”

“Vindictive? Toxic?” I reached for my drink. “Welcome to the Ambrose family.”

Chapter 3

Hayden

“Hold up, hold up.” Ashton glanced at me from the driver’s seat as he drove us home from the restaurant. “This dude’s going to pay me and Luis ten Gs to keep our traps shut?”

“Yep. Cash.”

“Well, damn. So when’s the wedding?”

I laughed. “No objection at all about signing a—”

“Man, he waves ten grand in front of my face, I’ll say I’ve never seen you before.”

“What? Is that all my friendship is worth to you?”

He shrugged. “Times are tough, amigo. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

I elbowed him and chuckled. “Asshole.”

He laughed too, but didn’t say anything. In fact, neither of us did for a while. Ashton seemed unusually preoccupied, and I couldn’t blame him. On the way to the restaurant earlier, we’d been comparing notes on which gas stations were the cheapest right now, and if it would be worth coughing up the cash for the Sunday paper to get the coupon circular, or if this week’s coupons would be as worthless as they’d been last week.

Three hours later, Ashton was one signature away from ten thousand dollars in cold, hard cash that he might not even have to mention to the IRS. His mind must have been reeling now, trying to comprehend that much money and mentally stretch it as far as possible. Fix his car? Maybe replace it? Textbooks and tuition? Put a dent in his student loans? Sock some away for some actual savings? For any of us, even a windfall of five hundred bucks would have been like something coming along and pushing the iceberg out of the Titanic’s way.

So Ashton was probably trying like hell to make sense of that much money dropping into his lap.

And me? Oh, I could relate. Holy shit, could I relate.

$1.2 million.

Plus a room in a condo in a high class West Hollywood neighborhood.

Plus travel and expenses.

Plus a car.

Plus medical and goddamned dental. I might actually be able to do something about that precariously loose filling in the back of my mouth. Something besides always chewing on the other side and just praying the damn thing didn’t fall off.

I stared down at the folder in my lap. In it was a copy of the NDA I’d signed, plus a longer and more detailed agreement spelling out every inch of the arrangement. I hadn’t signed it yet. Hadn’t even read it yet. Jesse had insisted that I take it home and sleep on it, and we could finalize everything tomorrow.

I didn’t see any scenario in which I didn’t sign this thing. Unless there was something tucked in there committing me to watch Jersey Shore on loop 24/7 or give up Diet Coke for the rest of my life, I—oh hell, who was I kidding? Take my Diet Coke and show me to the TV because hello a million fucking dollars and basically everything I needed.

So yeah, I’d sleep on it, but I was signing the damn thing.

Ashton pulled into the parking lot below our building. He put the car in Park and shut it off. It gave a shudder and made some noises it probably wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t unbuckle his seat belt, though, and neither did I.

For the longest time, he just stared straight out the windshield at the dilapidated building we’d called home for the last six months. Our last place had been nicer—fewer six-legged roommates, not quite so many smells of unknown origin—but the rent had finally climbed to the point we’d had to choose between staying there and keeping our cars insured. We’d even floated the idea of taking the risk and letting insurance lapse, but with the way our luck had been going, one of us would’ve been cited for driving without insurance, one would’ve been rear-ended in a parking lot, and one would’ve had the engine block and wheels stolen. Probably all on the same day.

So that hadn’t been an option. And anyway, Luis commuted to work and sometimes had to drive to job interviews. Ashton needed to drive between work and school. I needed to drive to auditions (haha yeah because those happened so often) and spend the rest of the time delivering pizzas. We needed insurance, cars, and gas.

We’d finally given up on Mediocre Heights or whatever that complex had been called, and we’d moved into this little slice of hell on earth. We obsessively clipped coupons. Drove out of our way to save a dollar on gas. Put off oil changes. Bought the cheapest imaginable version of everything even though we knew they’d fall apart. Hell, the dress shoes I was wearing? Twelve bucks. This was the third time I’d worn them, and they were already coming apart on the inside. My sneakers were even cheaper and I was pretty sure if they ever came untied, they would literally disintegrate. But what was I supposed to do? Buy a three hundred dollar, good quality pair with… Monopoly money, I guess?

Now, sitting in Ashton’s seventeen year-old Honda, wearing thrift store clothes and carrying the skinniest wallets ever because all our cash went to rent and loans… things were about to be different.

I could barely get my head around ten thousand. In Ashton’s battered old Chuck Taylors, I’d have been in shock too.

But I wasn’t getting ten thousand.

I was getting a million.

A million fucking dollars.

Plus most of the things I worried the most about paying—rent, a car, medical stuff—were covered. I was one signed agreement away from not having to worry about money, and I literally had no idea how to process that.

Ashton was the first to speak. He was still staring out the windshield, and he sounded almost drunk: “I’ve never even seen ten thousand dollars.”

“Neither have I.”

“And you’re going to be seeing…” He turned to me. “Shit, was he serious about what he’s paying you?”

I nodded. “Yep. He’s serious.”

“A million dollars? Just to fake like you’re married to him?”

Another nod, but I couldn’t speak. And why the hell did my eyes sting?

Beside me, Ashton sniffed.

I surreptitiously wiped my eyes. “You’re not crying, are you?”

“Shut up. So are you.”

Yeah. We cried. We sat in his junk-ass car in the parking lot of our craphole apartment, and we goddamned cried because we wouldn’t have to stretch two hundred dollars between three people until next Friday, and we wouldn’t have to do it next pay period either.

There was no way Jesse could understand why sleeping on this was a moot point. The Ambrose family had been richer than God since Jesse’s paternal grandmother had been a star in the 30s and 40s, and his mom’s side hadn’t exactly been shopping at Goodwill either. Poverty was as foreign a concept to them as being rich was to us.

It was funny because a lot of people thought my family was rich too. After all, my brother was a famous skater. You didn’t go to the Olympics and come home poor, right? Yeah, turned out that training someone to be an Olympic athlete was stupidly expensive, and it had pretty much bankrupted my parents. There’d been a brief taste of hope that things would finally pay off, but when the world heard Brian’s knee shatter after that disastrous triple lutz landing, my family had heard an investment of hundreds of thousands of dollars going down the toilet. Now my brother was trying to make it in real estate, my parents would be working until they were dead, and I was in Los Angeles delivering pizzas until my mythical big break finally happened.

At least, that was what I’d been doing three hours ago.

Now I was agreeing to fake-marry Isaac Ambrose’s middle son, and I’d have all the trappings of the Ambrose life for a year. Longer if I kept up my painfully frugal habits and saved the hell out of every penny he paid me.

Sleep on what? Show me where to sign, damn it.

Ashton and I finally pulled ourselves together and went inside. Luis was dressed for his security job, and he did a double take when he saw us.

“Uh.” His eyes darted between us. “Have you two been…” He squinted. “Have you been fucking crying? What the hell happened with that rich dude?”

“Oh. Man.” Ashton wiped a hand over his face.

“You going to be home tomorrow?” I asked Luis. “Around noon?”

Luis nodded. “I’ll be asleep, but yeah. Why? What does that have to do—”

“Because my new ‘husband’ is coming by to have you two sign non-disclosure agreements.” I swallowed. “So you don’t talk about the ad or what he and I are doing.”

Luis’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re fucking doing it? You’re marrying this guy?”

“Yep, and he’s paying you each ten grand to keep your mouths shut about it.”

“Ten—” Luis blinked. “You’re… like ten thousand dollars?”

“No, idiot.” Ashton smacked his arm as he walked past him toward the couch. “Ten thousand coupons for putt-putt. Yes, ten thousand dollars.”

Luis stared at Ashton. Then at me. Then at Ashton again. “You guys are bullshitting.”

“No, we’re not.” I gestured with the folder. “I’m signing the agreement with him tomorrow, and he just wants the two of you to stay quiet about it.”

“For ten grand?”

“For ten grand.”

Luis’s mouth worked like a fish’s. Then, slowly, he looked around our shitty living room. Pretty much around the entire apartment—the bathroom, Luis’s bedroom, and the bedroom I shared with Ashton were behind closed doors, but the rest of the place was out in the open. We kept it clean because none of us liked piles of dishes or trash, but you could only polish a turd so much.

Luis seemed to be taking in our polished turd for the first time. Slowly, his shoulders sagged. His knees kind of buckled, and he sank into the crappy recliner he’d been dragging from apartment to apartment. More to himself, he murmured, “Ten thousand.”

I knew as well as they must have that ten grand wasn’t going to last forever, but it was a huge, almost incomprehensible amount of money for people in our situation.

Finally, Luis looked up at me. “So you’re really gonna do it. You’re really gonna marry this guy.”

I nodded.

“Is he at least, like, nice?”

“Yeah, actually. He’s a lot nicer than I thought he’d be.” I grinned. “A lot hotter too.”

Luis chuckled, still sounding a bit dazed. “Good. That’s good.” He paused, and seemed to sober a bit. “I mean, you’re not doing this so we get paid, are you? Because that kind of cash is great, but not if it means you’re going to be—”

“It’s not a bad arrangement. He seems like a good guy, and it isn’t like he’s making me his sex slave or anything.” Though I supposed it wouldn’t take much for him to convince me to very enthusiastically and voluntarily join him for some sex. I cleared my throat. “I’m okay with it. All of it.”

My roommate studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. He turned to Ashton, who looked like he’d been thrown on the sofa. That was kind of his natural state, but tonight he seemed wrung out and exhausted. Like he was going to fall asleep at any moment and stay that way until noon. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

“Who the fuck is he, anyway?” Luis asked me.

“Uh. Well.” I cleared my throat. “Turns out he’s Isaac Ambrose’s kid.”

Luis’s eyes bugged out. “Seriously?”

I nodded.