One Fiancee To Go, Please. Jackie Braun

the one calling the shots for a change.

      A therapist might say his need for control came from his chaotic childhood, and Jack admitted privately, it could be true. His parents were divorced and rather nomadic, moving often and remarrying with nearly the same frequency. But whatever motive lay behind his goal, Faust Enterprises was exactly the type of company he wanted to own—solid, established, respected. It was relatively small, with just less than four hundred employees, but Jack saw plenty of room for growth with someone more aggressive at the helm. He felt he was just the man Faust needed, and, thanks to the tidy sum Grandmother Maris had left him, Jack had the money to invest. For some reason, however, he got the impression Ira Faust was not quite convinced.

      Jack stared at the stuccoed ceiling and reviewed the meeting. It had started off well enough: firm handshake, plenty of eye contact. Ira had given Jack the speech about how Faust Enterprises remained a family operation despite the fact that he was the only Faust still employed there. Ira and his brother Evan had begun the business in the family garage nearly sixty years before. Evan had died a confirmed bachelor seven years ago. Ira and his wife, Cora, had been blessed with only one daughter, and she had died tragically in a car accident when she was twenty-six. Family. The older man must have used the word more than a dozen times during the interview, Jack mused.

      If he had to put his finger on when the interview began to stall out, it would be right after Ira Faust asked Jack to tell him a bit about himself.

      “You’ve got a very impressive background, Mr. Maris. Graduated with honors from Northwestern. And your references are outstanding. But tell me something about yourself that’s not on your resumé,” Ira coaxed, leaning forward over the wide mahogany desk. He folded a pair of large, blue-veined hands on the blotter and waited for Jack’s reply.

      Jack had told him the standard things: where he was born, what he saw as his strengths, different experiences that made him uniquely qualified for the job.

      As an afterthought he threw in: “I’m single, in excellent health, and I love to golf. Since Michigan has more courses per capita than any other state, I figure I’m going to enjoy working on taking a couple of strokes off my handicap. Too bad the season is so short here.”

      Ira offered a polite smile in return, but if Jack had to pinpoint it, he would say that was when the older man’s demeanor changed. Subtly, sure, but Ira seemed to be mentally crossing Jack off the list of contenders.

      The phone on the nightstand began to ring, and he snatched it up. “Maris here.”

      “Hey, Jack, how did the interview go?” Davis Marx asked. He worked as Faust’s personnel director and had got Jack the interview. The two men had first met in an economics class as freshmen at Northwestern. They had remained close friends over the years, despite living in different states. Jack had even been best man at Davis’s wedding a few years earlier.

      “I don’t know,” Jack replied. “I mean, it started out great, then it just fizzled. Funny thing is, I think I had him hooked until he asked me about my personal life.”

      “What the heck did you say?”

      “Nothing outrageous. Basically I told him I’m not married, and I like to spend my spare time on a golf course. It’s not as if I said, ‘By the way, I deal drugs, don’t believe in paying taxes, and belong to a militia group.”’

      Davis groaned dramatically. “Don’t you ever listen to me? I told you the man all but lives and dies by family. When he asked what you do in your spare time couldn’t you have at least thrown in visits with your sister or parents?”

      “But I haven’t seen any of them in more than a year.”

      Davis groaned again. “I know, but couldn’t you have stretched the truth? Or, better yet, hinted at a serious relationship with a woman? I told you Ira all but did backflips when I tied the knot. Yet you go in there and announce that you’re single and probably gave him the impression you’re not looking for a wife.”

      “I’m not,” Jack said flatly.

      “Yeah, and that’s got Ira thinking, ‘How committed will this guy be to the company I built from nothing when he can’t even make a commitment to a woman?’ Especially when your resumé seems to confirm his suspicions that you move around a lot. Three companies in five years. It doesn’t exactly say steady as a rock, Jack.”

      “What do you suggest I do? Get married and have kids just to prove to the man that I’m stable and planning to put down roots here? I’m willing to invest a sizable sum of money in his company. Shouldn’t that be enough of a commitment?”

      “I’m not suggesting anything, and this conversation is strictly off the record, but I told you Faust is looking for a successor, a surrogate son of sorts who he can feel good about leaving in charge. Maybe it’s not too late to make him think you’re involved with someone. And I mean seriously involved, Jack, as in heading to the altar.”

      “But I’m not involved. I told you, Nancy and I broke it off six months ago. And over this very issue.” Jack thought about the woman back in Boston who had so recently shared his life, and felt a small prick of disappointment over their bitter parting after so many years of amicable co-existence. Yet, he couldn’t keep the sneer from his voice when he added, “She wanted a ring, and she got one, just not from me. She’s marrying the guy who sold her the Volvo.”

      “Marriage isn’t so bad, you know,” Davis said quietly.

      “I’m not saying it is,” Jack insisted, scrubbing a hand over his prickly chin. “No one in my family has managed to make it work, although, God bless them, they just keep trying. But I know it does work for some people.” His voice lowered a notch, sincerity replacing flippancy. “I’d say it works for you and Marianne, but it’s just not in my long-range plans.”

      “Well, you don’t really have to get engaged,” Davis said finally. “Just drop a few hints leaving that impression. Tell him your fiancée is back in Boston and won’t be moving here until she wraps up loose ends. Once you have the job, it won’t really matter. You can say things didn’t work out. Look, Ira wants to see you again tomorrow morning. Officially, that’s why I’m calling. Be in his office at ten o’clock sharp. Unofficially, I’m telling you that one little white lie really could help. Your call, Jack,” he said before hanging up.

      Jack mulled Davis’s suggestion for the next couple of hours. He didn’t like deceptions, but he wondered what one this small, this insignificant, could possibly hurt. He wasn’t lying about his qualifications or keeping some vital piece of information to himself. His private life, after all, was no one’s business but his own. Besides, he did plan to stick around if he got the position. When he became head of Faust, he planned to nurture and expand Ira’s carefully built company, not slice it up and sell it off before he went on his merry way. His conscience duly wrestled into submission, he set the alarm clock and climbed under the covers.

      Jack took several deep breaths, exhaling them slowly through his mouth in an effort to quell his nerves before the elevator reached its destination on the top floor at Faust. Now or never, Maris, he thought as he walked down the corridor to Ira’s office. The receptionist smiled politely as Jack approached her cluttered desk.

      “I’ll let Mr. Faust know you’re here, Mr. Maris,” she told him.

      “Jack, come in,” Ira said a moment later. He held open his office door and waved Jack inside. “I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience to come back today.”

      “Not at all, sir. I hope you’ll excuse my casual attire.” He motioned to the khaki trousers and navy sweater he wore beneath a leather jacket. “I only brought one suit, and, well, it had a little run-in with my dinner yesterday.”

      Ira chuckled as he settled into the chair behind his desk. “What you’re wearing is fine. Shall we get down to business?”

      Jack nodded and took a seat in one of the burgundy wing chairs that faced Ira’s desk. For the next forty minutes they talked about Jack’s work experience. Ira threw out several hypothetical