Pretend Married (A Billionaire Love Story) (4 page)

M
ichael had gotten
in late last night from his gig at Louie’s and was snoring so loudly I could hear it through his bedroom wall. I tried to be as quiet as a mouse while I finished toasting my bagel and making my coffee. Today was the big day: The reading of Grandfather Armani’s will. Edward requested that I be present in case there was any type of public relations matter to handle. I had a hard time picturing what exactly that could be, but with Edward’s uncanny penchant for trouble it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Instead of turning on the noisy TV for my morning news, I opted for a quieter version on my phone.
San Francisco Weather 68 degrees and cloudy…….. New York Stock Exchange up 12 points…… Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) strike begins
………Wait! Huh? Are you kidding me? A transit strike? Oh hell no! Please not today! I needed to get clear across town again by 9AM!

I knew I couldn’t call jerk-wad Edward. He would be annoyed for sure and give me the usual, “Figure it out Julia! That’s what I pay you for!” Plus I still had the nagging feeling that my job was hanging by a very loose thread. Shit! I had to think of something quickly.

Suddenly I remembered that Michael had recently gotten a car sharing membership. Tempkar was a much cheaper alternative to owning his own van. He mostly used it when he needed to transport his drum set. I ran into his room and nabbed his Tempkard off his dresser. Chances were good I’d have it back to him before he even woke up. I downloaded the app to my phone and looked up the closest location to our apartment. There was a car lot over on Stanyan Street - only four blocks away. The app prompted me for a car preference. I put in my request and secured the subcompact car.

I scrawled Michael a quick apology note and dashed out the front door. I told myself to relax. I had 90 minutes to get to the estate lawyer’s office. That was plenty of time. The small lot on the corner of Stanyan Street had eight Tempkars in it. I found the blue Ford Focus and followed the app’s instructions. I held Michael’s card against the card reader in the windshield until I heard the beep. It worked like a charm! The door unlocked, the key was inside and I was ready to go! Simple as could be. I was so excited until I remembered that I hadn’t driven a car in about two years. And not in city rush hour traffic either, it had been a nice easy cruise along a coastal road. I psyched myself up with a pep talk: “You got this Julia! Don’t worry this is a piece of cake!”

Just as my nerves started to settle down, I made a horrible discovery: A 5-speed stick shift on the floor between the seats. Oh no! A manual transmission? For the love of God! Now I was really freakin’! I had no idea how to drive a stick. Shit! Why on earth did they give me this? I didn’t have time to mess around with a new reservation. I decided to just go with it………how hard could it be?

Luckily, I didn’t have to try to find reverse gear. I could just pull straight out of the lot. The car screamed loudly down the street, apparently because I should have changed gears as I accelerated. I slammed on the brake with my left foot as I searched for the clutch. I popped the clutch out and the car bucked forward several times before dying. What is this?! Oh my god! I started it up again and lurched my way through the neighborhood streets scaring several children on their walk to school.

Eventually I made it out onto Market Street and almost hit a homeless woman pushing a grocery cart piled high with all her worldly belongings. She was in the crosswalk when I pushed in the clutch instead of the brake and came within inches of her. She called me a stupid bitch and threw a rotten orange at me. Hey! I did not deserve that!

I honestly felt sorry for the poor little Tempkar. I had such trouble shifting the thing it sounded like a coffee grinder on wheels going down the street. Turning onto Van Ness Avenue, I was struck with a horrifying sight: A hill! I was screwed… San Francisco was full of hills! What would I do on a hill to keep from rolling backward if I got stopped at a light? Do I hold down the brake and the clutch at the same time? How do I give it gas too? What in the world do I do with three pedals when I only had two feet?

As I approached the top of the hill I kept my fingers crossed that the light would stay green but it didn’t – it turned red at the last second so I closed my eyes and blew through it! Oh my God I was sweating buckets! Thankfully I had finally arrived at the estate lawyer’s office complex. I limped the sad little Ford Focus into the parking garage, got out and patted it on the hood. I’m so sorry little car! I made up my mind then and there that I was not going to drive it back to the lot near my place. After the meeting I would call Michael and see if he could retrieve it. I didn’t have time to think about it now. The meeting was starting in ten minutes and I still needed to make a pit stop at the ladies’ room to make sure I hadn’t soiled myself!

I
was embarrassed
to enter the lawyer’s conference room at exactly 9 o’clock straight up. It was unprofessional to arrive at the last minute. I prided myself on being punctual and feared being perceived as a disorganized flake. Edward looked agitated and shot me an angry glance as I took a seat across from him at the table. The Armani family estate lawyer, Raymond Bidwell, was alternately rifling through his stack of papers and typing into his laptop. There were some other people seated at the table too, but I had no idea who they were. I assumed they were members of the law firm but for all I knew they could have been Edward’s kitchen staff!

What were they waiting for? I set my phone to silent while I took out a legal pad and pen just in case I needed to jot down some pertinent information. Doodling out of boredom would be more likely! Hopefully, this wouldn’t take too long. Edward was fidgeting in his seat. Hmmmm……that was not like him at all. He was usually pretty cool, calm and collected. Did he suspect a possible stab in the back by his “Nonno”? Raymond Bidwell cleared his throat in an attempt to get everyone’s attention. He was ready to start.

After about 20 minutes into the proceedings, I regretted not having some form of caffeinated drink in front of me. Raymond Bidwell had to be the most boring speaker I had ever heard. To make matters worse, his voice had a thick nasal quality about it that sounded like he had major sinus congestion. Oh my God you’ve got to be kidding me! He was actually reading the list of Armani assets – one by one. It was positively mind numbing. We would be lucky if we were done by lunchtime!

As the dull little man droned on in legalese I had to restrain myself from doodling a caricature of him on my notepad. He had such cartoonish features: Crooked pointy nose, skinny sinister lips, a pathetic comb over, and shifty eyes. He looked like your stereotypical villain! Very trustworthy face! NOT! I wondered what I could do to make the time pass more quickly for myself. Would it be obvious to those around me if I was making out my grocery list? Probably……..

I zoned out for a while until I heard Raymond Bidwell say the name Edward Armani III. Then I knew it was all over: Edward’s grandfather had left him everything. Just as expected. The whole ball of wax. No big shocker. He got the company, the real estate holdings including the Armani Building, the damn yacht, and all the money. To sum it up: Edward Armani III was the sole heir and beneficiary of the entire Armani family fortune worth about ten billion dollars.

Naturally Edward was ecstatic. He had an ear-to-ear smile plastered on his face that would probably have required a surgeon to remove. I felt his foot joyfully rubbing up and down on my shin underneath the table. I gave him an obviously fake smile. I wondered how long it would take for the other shoe to drop – the one that would kick me into the unemployment line.

And out of Edward’s bed…

The writing was on the wall now: With his grandfather gone, what would he need me for? He had everything. He no longer needed to give a shit about Nonno’s or the public’s opinion of him. It was hard to believe that less than a week ago I was all concerned about simply getting a raise in salary and now I would be lucky to still have a job at all.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was 11AM. Almost an entire morning pretty much wasted on the inevitable inequities of life. At this point my eyes were completely glazed over from listening to the tedious legal details that were still being discussed ad nauseam. I tried hard to hide my disgust as I contemplated Edward’s inheritance. It was frustrating and unfair in so many ways:

Grandfather Armani had always had a great love for humanity and worked tirelessly for many different causes that were near and dear to his heart. In fact, he sat on the board of at least a half dozen nonprofit organizations. Unfortunately, it was impossible to inherit a caring heart. Edward was not a philanthropist. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about charitable work. And that’s where I came in. I had been trying my best to show him all the ways he could make a difference in this world with his money; all the ways that his
fortune
could help others who were
less fortunate
.

With the old man’s passing, the real heart of the Armani company was gone. Sadly Edward would squander the opportunity to truly continue Nonno’s work. He was no longer accountable to anyone except stockholders. I knew I could have made him a better man if only I had had more time to steer him. After all, I knew his every secret and his every
need
. I was helping to shape him into the man of my dreams, and the man who would make a real difference in the world. My diligence and hard work had largely gone unnoticed, and now it seemed destined to remain that way. It had all been for nothing. He would never see past his own giant ego.

Edward was signing a huge stack of papers and still smiling like a paroled convict being released from prison. He probably felt like one actually. He was free now. Free to do whatever he damn well pleased without a care in the world about what anybody thought of him. He could fuck as many nurses as he wanted to now.…….. in a different children’s hospital every day of the week if he wished. And why stop there? Think of all those potential secretaries out there with their “remarkable qualifications”. Woohoo!

The whole thing was disgusting. Now that I had taken off my rose-colored glasses Edward was not so appealing to me. Let those other low-life women have him. I had too much self-respect. Julia Jones deserved better! I decided to turn my phone to vibrate since the meeting appeared to be almost at an end. Just in case Michael called. Uh oh! Looks like he
already
called……three times! And he sent four texts too. They all said the same thing:
Julia! Do you have my Tempcard?

Oh Shit!

I
was literally
on a fucking cloud! I couldn’t believe it! Nonno had come through for me in the end! I had earned his trust enough for him to leave me every last fucking dime he had. At last I was a 30-year-old billionaire in my own right with no strings attached. I guess the old saying was true; Money and power were the ultimate aphrodisiacs. It was all I could do to keep my dick from jumping out of my pants and cheering. What an awesome morning! I had thought Julia would have been happier for me though. She just sat there staring into space like a zombie.

Having signed the last piece of paper in the leather folder, I automatically thought the meeting was finished. Julia and a couple of others had already gathered up their things and were milling impatiently toward the door. But then surprisingly Raymond Bidwell asked everyone to kindly take a seat at the table once again.

What the fuck is going on now?

He set the leather folder aside and pulled a narrow metal box out of his briefcase. It appeared to be a steel strong box – the type people keep at banks. It had a handle and a combination lock on it. Bidwell typed something into his laptop and then referred to the screen several times while turning the dial to the lock. He was accessing the combination from an online file. He turned the lock three times to the right, two times to the left and one time to the right again before the top sprung open. My curiosity was getting the best of me. I looked across the table at Julia. She was sitting on the edge of her seat and chewing on her thumbnail. Why was
she
so nervous?

Everyone at the conference table had their eyes glued to Bidwell’s every move. He reached into the box and removed a folded piece of paper. As he opened it, he pushed his eyeglasses up onto the bridge of his nose with his index finger and quickly examined the document in his hand. His expression was blank and gave no clue as to the content of it.

“Edward it appears your grandfather left a codicil to his will. In laymen’s terms that means an amendment to his original will. He made the change quite recently too… Just six months ago. Had he mentioned anything about it to you at all?”

“No he never mentioned any details of his will to me. When you say ‘change’, what do you mean exactly? Did he or did he not leave his entire fortune to me?”

“He did indeed! Every penny is yours. But his codicil adds two highly unusual stipulations. In fact, I can’t remember ever encountering anything quite like this……..”

“Well what the fuck is it for Christ’s sake?”

“According to your grandfather’s wishes, there are two conditions to your inheritance. The first condition is that you must be married by…..…Halloween.”

I immediately hopped up out of my chair and slammed the palms of my hands on the highly polished wooden table.

“Married?! Married?! But I don’t want to be married! That’s absurd! Is that even fucking legal for him to require something ludicrous like that? And by Halloween? Why Halloween?”

“Yes I’m afraid it is legal. Halloween was your grandfather’s birthday remember? Plus it’s a holiday known for playing tricks and scaring people. Given the circumstances, it seems like an
appropriate
deadline to me.”

“That crazy fucking old man! I’d kill him if he wasn’t already dead! Where the hell am I supposed to get a wife? From a Sicilian mail-order bride catalog?”

“That’s just the first condition. There’s still one more……..”

“Well it surely can’t be any more preposterous than the first one! What is it?”

“Edward your wife also needs to be pregnant by that same deadline – October 31rst.”

I was completely stunned. Like somebody just hit me in the side of the head with a two-by-four board. Was I dreaming? This had to be a nightmare. The whole thing was just too unbelievable!

I lunged across the table at Raymond Bidwell and snatched the document out of his bony fingers. I had to read it for myself. Why would my own Nonno fuck me over like this? Was this his idea of a joke? If it was, then he was one twisted sick fuck.

There it was in black and white. Every word of it was just as Bidwell said. I read my grandfather’s codicil over and over. How could he do this to me?
Why
would he do this to me? Obviously that old shit-head still wanted to control me……..from his grave!