“You might as well enjoy the benefits, and what are those benefits like?”
“No complaints here,” I murmur as I look at my work spread all around me on the desk in the coach.
“One word of advice, brother.”
“What’s that?” I ask, half paying attention, half distracted by the smell of Harlow’s perfume still lingering.
“Don’t let her get attached. You guys are fucking playing house here so it’s going to be super easy for her to think the minute you get back home all she needs to do is slide an apron on and she can be your misses.”
“If it’s just the apron and heels and nothing else, then I’ll eat what she’s serving.” I chuckle, the visual more than stirring my dick to life. Fuck it seems the mere thought of her does these days.
You’d think we didn’t have sex last night the way I’m still horny for her.
“First the apron, and then later today you’ll have ropes. It sounds like my kind of party.”
“You’re not invited.”
“If Robert is so gung-ho about subscribers seeing what real life love is like and promoting a working relationship, make a home movie later tonight of you working her out”—he chuckles—“that might shut him up.”
I laugh and then groan.
“Just think,” Jack says, “Zane Phillips. Business mogul. Entrepreneur. Master matchmaker. And now . . . Reality TV star.”
“Don’t remind me.”
This is not how I want to spend my day.
I’ve dreaded it since the minute I picked up my phone mid-run to find Robert on the other end.
“Selling the fact that you and Harlow found each other on the site has been great, but I think we need to now sell that there’s more to it than the initial lust phase,” he’d spouted. “Think of giving people the feeling that love is worth it. People want to be sold the dream of love, so let’s show them what it takes. And I have the perfect marketing idea . . .”
He went on to explain that we’d shoot small web episodes. Five to ten minutes each. They’d be of me and Harlow working together or figuring out how to navigate different elements together. Some would be challenging and others probably more laid back. Just a small snapshot of life with the two of us.
“And if we get in a fight?” I’d asked.
“Then we show that too.”
“I’m not on board with this.”
“It’s really not a big deal. I’ll email you the details of what I’ve set up for you two this afternoon.
“You’re treading awfully close to stepping over the line, mate.”
“Trust me.”
“Famous last words.”
I look back to the computer screen and groan at the company’s mission statement: Life is full of challenges. Relationships are full of challenges, too. Challenges can be opportunities for personal growth, for trust building, for learning when to lead and when to follow, and for realizing you can lean on your partner when they are weak and vice versa. We, here at Test Your Limits, offer numerous opportunities to build your trust, improve your communication, and push you to prove to yourself that yes, you can, all the while focusing on building your bond as a couple.
Such a crock of shit.
It takes everything I have not to call Robert up and tell him to go to hell. That there’s no way I’m doing this.
I’m used to bucking protocol for the sake of keeping control . . . but fuck if Robert hasn’t been spot on in every move he’s made. This is his forte, not mine. None of my other businesses—mostly investment companies and hedge funds—need marketing on the scale that this venture does . . . and I’m hell bent on winning.
Especially after the little visit from Kostas the other day.
“YOU DOING OKAY?”
I glance over at Zane where he sits beside me. His cheeks are pale, his knee is jogging up and down, and his knuckles are white with tension where he grips the edge of the bench we’re sitting on.
“I’m fucking great,” he snaps at me. “This is such bullshit. Such an overreach of anything I told Robert he could do.”
“I think it looks fun.” I look up to the dizzying array of ropes in the trees overhead. Each of them set to test us in one way or another.
“That’s one way to put it.” He glances up and stares at me. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?
“Because we want to test that bond of yours,” our instructor Tucker—tall, dark, rugged, and handsome—explains. His smile is as bright as the sun and when his eyes meet mine, there’s interest there that I have done nothing to foster.
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Zane mutters under his breath.
“The number one cause of fights in a relationship is stress. It’s our job to put stress on you, put you in unfamiliar situations and then help coach you in how to communicate and help the other.”
“So in other words, cause the break-up prematurely so you can swoop in and steal the girl?” Zane mutters under his breath with an edge of sarcasm.