The Transient Wife

Chapter 2

"Let me tell you something you may not know, Mister," Cassandra tried very hard to spit out each word separately, with a few decent milliseconds interval. "You don't play funny pranks on drunken women."

He peered down at her, his blue eyes narrowed. She was in an awkward position with her upper arms resting on the table, her lower ones framing both sides of her face, and her hands lazily making motions over her head as she spoke.

"You're drunk?" his voice asked with disbelief.

She gave out a throaty laugh and buried her face down her arms. "Oh god, you're such an idiot," she said, her voice muffled by her limbs. She was almost kissing the cold table.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," she answered, lifting her head once more to glance up at him with squinted eyes. "Please find someone else to propose to because I'm not just up to it. If this is a part of a television program where you have hidden cameras somewhere, give me a freaking talent fee or get lost."

He was about to speak up when her coffee arrived. She gave her thanks to the lady who hastily left to go back to the counter. She savored the feeling of warmth the hot liquid offered when she took a careful sip.

"As I've said before, I'm here to talk to you," the stranger said once again—this time with a forceful, patient tone.

Her vision was getting clearer now and she had time to study the man. She straightened on her chair looking at the quite handsome creature in front of her. She guessed he must be in his early thirties, his hair was brown and everywhere—it was like messy but not at all because it gave him a rugged-clean look. His nose was just perfect and his lips were just plain edible. His divided chin was cleanly shaven she could even smell his aftershave. Overall, his rugged face and his formal attire—dark blue tie and black coat—gave off an aura of power and confidence. She scratched the preacher guess and went with the television host. But if this was a crazy show, she didn't want to be a part of it.

"What? About marriage?" she said with a chuckle, finally remembering what he said earlier about some offer he had for her. "Nah-uh, not gonna happen."

"Really? But I was just being nice earlier when I said I have something to offer you because in fact, you don't really have a choice."

"What do you mean I don't have a choice? And what's your name again?" She leaned on her arms. He was acting way too cool for a TV show host.

"Philip Strindberg," he answered. The name vaguely sounded familiar but Cassandra did not have enough time to assess it further as the man leaned forward, their faces were inches apart, and added, "And yes, you don't really have a choice. The contract is sealed."

Cassandra's face contorted in confusion. The coffee finally had its effect for her vision cleared instantly. She looked around. There were no cameras. They must have hidden them really well. But the man was looking really serious. "Wait, stop right there. What contract?"

Philip Strindberg smiled in contentment upon seeing her reaction and leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "A contract your father signed before we made the deal," he said with an expectant look on his face.

Okay, maybe this was not a TV show after all. "My father? Deal? What are you talking about? And how did you know my father?" That time a rush of panic and doom started to rise up her gut. The mention of her father made her realize that the man sitting in front of her may not be playing some kind of prank. "What deal?" she repeated.

For a moment Cassandra saw confusion flash across his face before he covered it with his arrogant mien and a more arrogant shrug. "We are business... partners." He paused to gauge her reaction and sighed. "Considering the look on your face, you have no idea." When she did not utter a word, he shrugged once again. "Your father and I stumbled into a very good bargain, one that will benefit us both," he said. "In exchange for my help, he offered you as my transient wife while he works out how to actually pay me back."