Chapter 7: The Deal

Michael and I are indeed in a "business marriage." Six years ago, when my mom remarried that rich guy named Mr. West, his construction project’s funding ran into trouble and everything stalled.

The house was full of tension, the kind that settles into the drywall and hums in the air whenever you walk into a room. My mom didn’t understand business. Neither did I. But for love, she was willing to let me try and make mistakes.

"Rach, your Uncle West has no kids. He treats you as his own. Can you help him?"

"Mom checked—young Mr. Michael on the client side likes bright, lively girls like you."

"I heard he’s invited a bunch of people on a yacht tomorrow. Can you go too? Beg him to give Uncle West a little more time..."

She cried and begged me over and over. That year, I was a senior at Ohio State, already drowning in finals and ramen noodles, six months from graduation.

I wanted to refuse, but I didn’t. Because I saw a photo of Michael. Saw that face—three or four tenths like Jason. And from then on, I couldn’t stop.

The Michael family was rich and powerful. As the only son, Michael never lacked for women—he was the kind of guy who always had a plus-one at every tailgate. But none of them were as persistent, as hard to get rid of, or as shameless as me.

"Suck-up." He let his friends call me that. Because if he asked me to take shots for him, I’d obediently drink until I got sick. If he called for supplies at midnight in a hotel, I’d bring them in the rain.

Even when his first, second, third, and fourth "female assistants" mocked, splashed wine, and humiliated me, I didn’t care. For six years, I was always there at his beck and call. Wine splashed down my dress, staining it the color of cheap merlot and humiliation.

So, when Uncle West’s business finally improved and his net worth soared this year—Michael condescended to agree to the "marriage."

Whether he was happy or not, I didn’t know. My mom was very happy. Yesterday, she threw a big engagement party. She even told Michael the code to my apartment.

Even though he didn’t show up at the engagement party, she was still overjoyed. She persuaded me, "Rach, we’ll have to rely on the Michael family a lot in the future. Men have their moods. You have to keep him happy..."

Before today, I was willing to do it. But looking at the angry Jason now, who wanted to twist Michael’s head off—and then at Michael, who was finally left speechless by me—I realized, they weren’t alike at all.

As expected… There’s only one Jason in this world.

With a soft sigh, I lowered my eyes and stubbed out the cigarette. Then I walked up to Michael and pulled the photo from his hand.

"Wipe the lipstick off your neck. It’s gross. You know, I never used you."

My voice came out steadier than I felt, but as soon as the words hung in the air, I felt lighter than I had in years.