Seems unfair." He hadn't thought about that. Then again, he'd never imagined someone coining a term for his…his…
The mind boggled.
"The world is unfair, bro."
He supposed that was true.
"I'm going to have her come in tomorrow to sign the prenup," Reese said. "Then we'll have the hard part of this deal over with." And he could take a breath. The rest would be scheduled and orchestrated, and he could go along with the motions. Few things in life were so easy.
"Take her out for dinner before you meet to sign this contract. She's probably nervous as hell. Help ease her worries."
Reese's face pinched. He hadn't thought about Merina being nervous. He hadn't really considered her feelings, assuming this would be a deal like any other.
"She's a businesswoman with something to gain," he told his brother. "I think it's best if we sign first and then meet with my PR person."
"PR person?"
"We need guidance to ensure we convince the press."
Tag made a face. "Wow. Are you this clueless about women?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I have a reputation for doing quite well with women." He pointed at Tag's phone. "Someone is posting odes to my rocket."
"Oh, you're a pro at hookups," Tag agreed. "But Merina Van Heusen isn't going to be a one-nighter you can palm cab money in the morning. She's going to be your wife."
At the word wife, Reese's breathing went shallow. Of course, marriage and wife went together, but phrased that way, he was reminded of another long-term relationship that hadn't panned out.
"It's a business arrangement," he reminded them both before he puked. He had this. He didn't have to fall in love with Merina; he just had to show up at a few public appearances with her.
"Armande." Tag stood and snapped his fingers.
"What about it?" Reese's neck prickled. Armande was an upscale fusion French/Italian restaurant known for its romantic mood and special menu made up entirely of aphrodisiacs.
"That's where your first big date should be."
"Armande isn't exactly subtle," Reese grumbled. He needed media attention, not overkill.
"Neither is Reese's Rocket," Tag answered.
"It can't look like a stunt."
"Then I suggest you be convincing. I'll tell Bobbie to book you for dinner. Tonight good?"
"Tag—"
"Tonight it is." His brother opened one of the office doors. "Trust me, man," he said, "Armande is the perfect place to introduce the city to your future bride.
Even if he didn't want to do it, maybe a dinner with Merina before they inked the deal wasn't the worst idea in the world.
"Bobbie, gorgeous," Reese heard Tag say as the doors swished shut.
With a sigh, Reese pressed a button on his cell phone, and regarded Merina's message again.
FINE.
Maybe dinner at Armande would be the best way to ease her concerns. Or maybe, he'd have another publicity nightmare to contend with.
As long as it wasn't #ReesesRocket, he was good with that.
* * *
Angling around a housekeeper who smiled as she passed with her cart of fluffy white towels, Merina tapped the screen of her ringing phone. THE CRANE HOTEL, the display read.
Oh, fantastic.
"Merina Van Heusen."
"Ms. Van Heusen, this is Bobbie from Mr. Crane's office," came the curt voice. She didn't wait for Merina to respond before she plowed forward. "Mr. Crane has requested you arrive at his private boardroom for a noon appointment tomorrow."
To sign the prenuptial contract, no doubt.
"Of course," Merina answered with fake bravado. She heard the sound of a pen scratching on a notepad. The sooner she signed those papers, the sooner she could move on to Phase 2 of "Operation Arranged Marriage."
"Also, he has scheduled a dinner with you at nine p.m. this evening at Armande. He'll send a car to your residence at eight."
Merina stopped in the middle of the lobby, realized she was in a guest's path to his room, and smiled politely before moving to a section of uninhabited chairs off to the side. She noticed Bobbie didn't ask if she was available for dinner. And Merina didn't like that at all.
Partially because she didn't like conceding control and partially because Reese Crane—her future husband—should be the one doing the asking.
"Tonight's no good for me," Merina clipped. Total lie. She had no plans tonight other than her usual poring over reports and e-mails. Catching up on work over a glass of merlot. "Perhaps if Mr. Crane could call himself, we could find a time that worked for both of us."
You know, like normal human beings.
"Ms. Van Heusen, Armande is the most sought-after restaurant in the city. Securing a reservation is not easy. Many exceptions were made."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but—"
"The car will be at your house by eight p.m. Do you require a stylist?"
"No, I do not 'require a stylist,'" Merina huffed, insulted on too many levels to count. Bobbie was her least favorite person on the planet, second only to her future husband. "I can dress myself."
"The restaurant is formal and known for its—"
"I know what Armande is, Bobbie." Not because she'd been there, but because it was lauded in the Trib as the premiere place to see and be seen. Especially for couples. Especially for celebrity couples.
Not that Reese Crane was a celebrity, but he was as close as it came to a local one. And now they'd be seen together in Armande. She could only guess this was part of the "whirlwind romance" ruse. If that was the case, and this was a suggestion by his public relations person, maybe Merina shouldn't be difficult after all. Evidently six months of biting her tongue started now.
"Eight o'clock is fine," she clipped.
"Nice to hear," Bobbie said. "I'll e-mail you a packet of information. Please review it carefully and let me know if you have any questions. Good day, Ms. Van Heusen."
And she was gone.