all for the money

Married for A Million Dollars:

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Chapter 9: all for the money

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“You need new shoes.”

They had just stepped onto the curb where Williams’s sleek black Mercedes was parked waiting for them—from the looks of it, it was probably triple the value of Ariana’s house. Williams had held the door open for her to slip into the back, only to hold her back with a light hand on her shoulder.

She glances up at him, annoyed. “What?”

“New shoes,” Williams impatiently repeats and gestures towards Ariana’s Chuck Taylors. “We’re going to one of the most notoriously expensive jewelry stores in New York and you’re wearing a pair of Converse that look like they’re begging for mercy. How will they expect you to afford it?”

“That’s the thing. I can’t afford it.” Ariana shoots him a look and gets in without another word.

Williams rolls his eyes and moves over to the front passenger seat. The driver’s wheel is occupied by a silent buff guy concealed behind sunglasses and a bluetooth earpiece. He barely spared them a glance when they entered the car.

He doesn’t acknowledge the driver yet and instead twists around in his seat to glare at Ariana. “I am buying it, jeez. The least you could’ve done was look like someone who deserves it.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” Ariana scoffs. “Firstly, you’re just pissed because I don’t look like someone your rich ass would want to be seen with. Well guess what—I’m not. My brain’s slightly bigger than my ass and that wounds your standards. Secondly, there you go being a judgemental dick again. No one should give a fuck whether I wear sneakers or not.”

“It’s not judgemental, it’s basic protocol.” He turns to the driver and exchanges a few words—words along the lines of Swarovski and New York spilling out of his lips—and then returns back to her. “Otherwise known as etiquette. You know, something that still exists in society?”

Ariana furrows her brow at him.

“It’s a good thing you’re my fiancée, otherwise they won't waste a minute to criticise.” Williams continues, looking up front as the driver weaves out of the lines of parked cars. “Who knows, they might be nice enough to think that you’re only slightly bizarre and not completely whack.”

“Right. Bizarre. That’s the word you use to describe rich, crazy people. I would’ve thought you were bizarre too if it wasn’t for your dull imagination.”

They pull into traffic and Williams briefly looks over his shoulder. “I have a fantastic imagination, thank you.”

“You can’t even stand a pair of Converse,” Ariana says exasperatedly. “You don’t think of stuff like casual looks or contemporary fashion or coffee dates on a rainy day or anything else that could be associated with my sneakers. But no, the only thing you think of is etiquette."

“That’s the only thing I said out loud. It doesn’t necessarily mean I haven’t thought of anything else,” he retorts. “Just because my brain-to-mouth filter prevents me from speaking everything on my mind—unlike someone—doesn’t mean I’ve got any less of an imagination than you.”

A corner of Ariana’s lips tug into a smirk. “Yeah? Why, what do you fantasize about? Sliding the sneakers off of someone and appreciating the way their leggings hug their curves and accentuate their long, slender legs?”

Her grin grows wicked as Williams’s gaze flickers over to Ariana’s thighs, his eyes darkening for a mere second before she clears her throat and crosses a leg over the other. His faintly tinted cheeks are proof of how far his imagination could go.

So Williams Montenegro’s not only a dick, but a horny fucker. She decides to let that slide.

Now that she mentioned sliding sneakers off, Ariana can’t help but imagine Williams peeling away his layers of clothing, revealing a chiseled body carved to perfection and a sexy smile. Even with him wearing a bomber jacket to both meetings, Ariana can tell he’s been blessed with broad shoulders and an impressive body.

Before she knows it, she’s envisioning Williams flexing his muscular arms and showing off all his hard abs glory.

As Ariana’s eyes roam across his back to his waist, her gaze narrows. “Why aren’t you wearing your seatbelt?”

“The drive’s short and you can barely speed in New York,” Williams says snootily, sounding like an immature teenager. “It’ll be fine.”

“Um, no. It will not be fine. Put your seatbelt on.”

“Ariana, I know what I’m doing—”

“Williams Montenegro, put your fucking seatbelt on!” She snaps back at him. “Are you seriously stupid enough to think that you’re made of steel? What’ll happen if you fly out the window and get run over by a sixteen wheeler, huh? Won’t be fine after that, will it?”

Williams’s jaw clamps at that—probably to shoot some smart-ass remark—but instead shuts his mouth and stretches the belt over himself.

“Thank you.” Ariana mutters and turns back to the window, pent up frustration draining from her body with every turn.

Silence occupies them for a good moment, the sound of different honks peppering them from various directions.

It isn’t long before Williams breaks the pregnant pause.

“That’s how your dad died, right? Driving in the pitch black on a bridge unattended and without a seatbelt on.”

A blunt stab of pain eventually slices through her. But just because it felt repetitively dull didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. Ariana chooses not to reply.

“He flipped out the window when the car skidded off the bridge and landed into the lake where he died on the spot,” he continues, oblivious to the silence. “And when they found him, his blood-alcohol content was discovered to be over fifty percent.”

Ariana makes no move to stop him. At this point, she’s not surprised at the thorough research. Then again, it’s not even a personal matter anymore. The details of the accident were discussed publicly via the news, so it only made sense that he got a hold of it.

“Right?” Williams glances at him for confirmation.

"Basically.” Ariana bites out, indicating the end of their conversation.

“Sorry. I know it’s hard to lose a parent, no matter the situation.”

She snorts without meaning to. Suddenly the grip on her seat grows tighter. “Especially when they leave you to clean up after their shit. It's like their death is nothing but a wake-up call.”

It happens so abruptly that if she blinked, it would’ve felt like nothing had happened at all. But she feels it and she doesn’t try to hide the stutter in her breath when Williams’s large hand squeezes hers for less than a second.

The warmth lingers around as he quickly pulls away.

Ariana’s not sure how to react to his unexpected kindness, considering she never prepared herself for a even an ion of it. All she equipped herself with was her embarrassingly fiery temper and a bundle of harsh comebacks.

“We’re here,” Williams informs her as the driver parks in front of a grandiose building crafted of glass. Two doormen make their way over to their car and escort them both to the impressive entrance.

Inside is even more striking. Ariana’s eyes slightly bulge at the sight of the obnoxiously vast and lavish interior decorated with endless rows of glass display cases that flaunt an array of diamond and crystal jewelry. Not a single semi-precious metal is in sight.

That’s when Williams’s complaints dawn on her and she starts feeling a little self-conscious about her appearance. It’s not etiquette nor basic protocol—fuck that—but it would’ve been better to step out wearing something visibly nicer.

Suddenly Williams’s advice doesn’t sound as ridiculous as it did in the car.

Whatever. Don’t feel bad—no one can intimidate you besides yourself.

“You okay?” He murmurs, slipping an arm around her waist and doesn’t bother to pull back when Ariana twitches at his touch.

The beaming man who welcomes them at the entrance bows so deeply Ariana almost thinks he’ll fall into prostration.

He straightens and sends them a full-patented, toothy grin.

“Mr. Montenegro, welcome! Welcome. It’s so good to see you again,” he eagerly waves Williams’s hand before turning to Ariana. There’s no doubt that the man’s ear-splitting smile curls downward in distaste as he gives her the once-over.

Luckily he returns to his polite demeanor and offers his hand. “And you must be the lucky girl who snatched this equally lucky young man—he’s one of our most generous customers. I’m Jay Brandon, at your service.”

Ariana flashes him a sickeningly sweet smile, eyes curving as she grasps his hand and squares her shoulders. “Ariana Gillies. It’s a pleasure working with you, Jay Brandy—I mean, Brandon. An absolute pleasure.”

The subtle squeeze at her waist causes Ariana to frown up at Williams, only to find him biting back his smile. He eventually schools his features into a straight face, but his hazel eyes are lit with humor.

Williams clears his throat. “Jay, about those exclusive designs you mentioned in our call. We’d like to see them. Gives us a moment before your staff brings them out—don’t forget the special item as well.”

“Of course, sir.” Brandon steps aside and gestures towards the room ahead. “Please follow me.”

Ariana holds his arm as they follow the man into a private hall. When they’re a good foot or two behind him, she tugs at his arm and leans closer to whisper in his ear, “Guess who I feel like right now?”

“Who?” Williams whispers.

“Lee Ji Eun in Homespun Tale when Yook Sungjae went shopping with her.” Ariana grins. “All the employees were making a big deal out of impressing her even though she was trying to impress him. Remember when the manager was so desperate he even gave her his own necktie?”

His lips curve into an innocent smile. “Oh so you watch korean dramas too. I also remember the part where she waits for him at home in nothing but that tie. Should I be expecting something like that tonight?”

Ariana flushes and she playfully elbows his stomach, startled at the contact of pure muscle underneath. The last thing she needs is to think of what’ll happen if Williams did walk in on her wearing nothing but a flimsy tie on.

He’ll probably tell you to put some clothes on like a good Montenegro and then walk back to his smoking hot model with those jeans that accentuate their every curve.

“You wish,” She rolls her eyes. “That was Yook Sungjae after all. Seoul hunks over egocentric billionaires—always.”

Williams’s gaze narrows as he looks ahead, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Pity you’re marrying an egocentric billionaire instead of that kid Seoul hunk, huh?”

Another thing to add on the list of new profound discoveries of Williams Montenegro. He gets butthurt easily.

Ariana scoffs. “Oh please—you’re like, what? Seventeen?”

Now it’s Williams’s turn to flush as he steers her into the display room where Brandon is already pulling their seats out.

“I’m not seventeen,” he protests. “I just turned twenty two.”

Despite them sharing an age gap of two years, Ariana can’t help but wrinkle her nose at the idea of marrying someone so young. Like, fresh-out-of-college young.

If he even finished college, that is. One more reason why Walter’s idea sounds crazier by the day.

Looking up close, the age gap starts to lose its prominence. Not only does Williams possess a pretty face and boyish charm, there’s a sense of professionalism to him that makes him sound and seem older. His handsomeness contains depth in his personality and the dignity he was raised to hold would make him stand out from a group of young adults like him.

In fact, he could’ve said he was a minor and Ariana would’ve been just as smitten.

She must’ve been gawking at him longer than necessary because Williams’s frown slowly turns smug. “I guess you don't give a damn about my age from the way you're checking me out."

Way to ruin the moment.

Ariana scowls. “Why should I care about the person I’m marrying if I’m just in for the money?”

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TBC

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