His Temporary Wife by Leslie P. García Page B

momentarily at a loss for words. After a brief pause,
     though, he gestured at a nearby bar full of bottles and cut glass decanters. “Something
     to drink? Tea? Water?”
    “No, thank you. Mr. Benton, my aunt asked me to come here to interview for some job
     she thinks I might be interested in. I’ll be honest—I have a profession, and I hadn’t
     planned on working this summer. I don’t think I’m interested in anything you could
     offer.”
    Sparks danced in his eyes,
chispitas
of fire that burned. “Nothing?” he asked, dimples slashing his bronze cheeks. Then
     he shrugged and the slow-burning fire died away as the businessman he had to be took
     over.
    “I don’t know that you’d meet the qualifications, either, but perhaps we should both
     look at the situation. I’m not offering a common job, and I don’t expect the applicant
     to accept a common salary. Because of the extremely complicated situation, I’m offering
     a salary—with expenses covered—which could close in on two hundred thousand. For six,
     seven weeks—maybe two months, tops.”
    She stared at him, shocked. “You’re serious?”
    He nodded somberly.
    “Wow.” Disbelief still clutched her. “This isn’t a joke? I don’t have to hurt or kill
     or destroy someone?”
    This time he shook his head, just as serious.
    “Wow,” she said again, and just stared at him for a long time.
    What kind of temporary position was worth more money than she could make in three
     years as a school counselor? For two months? She ran a hand through her hair, mussing
     it and not caring, then clutched the clunky necklace as if it could answer her questions.
    What would she even do with close to a quarter million dollars? Unbidden the thought
     came:
I could save Tía’s. Couldn’t I?
But …
    “I guess you’ll have tons of candidates to sift through,” she said at last. Why did
     she pretend she could win a job with that kind of salary? It couldn’t be clerical,
     could it? She could do correspondence and she was trained to deal with upset parents
     and children. She’d had training in suicide prevention and CPR. On a purely practical
     level, she didn’t consider herself worth a six-figure income for secretarial work.
     So what did the man want?
    “I’m going to break all the rules and tell you you’re the only candidate I’ve considered
     so far.” He leaned back and locked his hands behind his head, watching her intently.
     “The job I need filled isn’t one I can advertise for.”
    He might have seen something change in her expression, because he leaned forward again
     so abruptly he startled her. “Just to be clear, I don’t necessarily think you’re the
     best candidate. I’d need a lot more information. But I promised your aunt I’d at least
     consider you.” He paused again, then sighed. “Your aunt’s recommendation doesn’t help
     you. You should know that, too. I … we … detest each other. Unfortunately, sometimes
     that’s not reason enough not to deal with each other.”
    She shrugged and shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. “I’m a big girl, Mr. Benton.
     I don’t expect family to get me jobs. I never have.”
    He rubbed a hand over his chin, and she thought he suddenly looked tired. Or sad.
     She couldn’t imagine why he would, though, and so she lifted her eyebrows and gave
     him a tight smile. “Before I give you any additional information, Mr. Benton, shouldn’t
     you tell me what this very lucrative position is? Because there are things I’m sure
     your money can’t buy.”
    “I wish that were true,” he said, more to himself than her, his eyes fixed on his
     cell phone, though she hadn’t heard it ring or vibrate. Then he tossed it aside, straightened,
     and speared her with hard, dark eyes.
    “My money needs to buy
you
,” he told her flatly. “I need to hire a temporary wife.”
    • • •
    I could have handled that better
.
Duh
. He sighed and retrieved his cell phone, checking