“Yes, and I know how stupid it is. Falling in love with Brock Ford, perpetual bachelor, is one of the stupidest things I ever allowed myself to do.” Erica told her about how he’d seemed to alternate between hot and cold and then said, “So I don’t know. Maybe he’s feeling a little something for me, too? But that wasn’t our agreement.”
Camilla laughed. “It’s not something either of you counted on. Give him some time. But…”
“But what?”
“When can I meet him?”
“Um…never.”
“No, seriously, Erica. I’ve got to meet the guy who captured my bestie’s heart—even if she’s going to demand it back.”
“You’re gonna hate him.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t know how you can’t. He’s nothing like me.”
“Then his qualities will complement yours.”
Erica laughed then. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“Nope. You can’t always win the Stubborn Olympics, girlfriend.”
She sighed. It seemed that everyone, Brock included, wanted to prolong the agony. Even her parents asked how he was doing every time they chatted on the phone; once in a while, they even asked in a text. There was no winning when it came to Brock. She just hated being the loser in this stupid match.
* * *
Brock had said he’d love to meet her friends. “All part of the game.” He had no clue that Camilla knew their secret, and Erica was perfectly happy keeping it that way. Gary was in the dark, and that would likely make Camilla’s acting more believable.
They met at seven thirty at a trendy restaurant downtown, one that required searching and paying well for good parking—but Brock managed to get a reservation for four. From the outside, the restaurant didn’t look very big but it was like a cavern inside. Brock held the door for Erica and she stepped inside a room that wasn’t much brighter than the outdoors illuminated by street lights. As her eyes adjusted, though, she saw a hostess dressed in black with accents of white standing at a huge wooden podium in front of what looked like a mirrored hutch. Brock told her they had a reservation and she said their friends had already arrived and were seated in the bar.
She’d fetch them after seating the lovely couple.
They walked through a sea of young professionals who looked like they were unwinding after a long day—but they couldn’t party too much, because tomorrow was Friday and would demand their continued attention. As Erica looked around at all the suits—on men and women alike—she was glad she’d chosen to wear a little black dress. Hers was a little different from the standard, and Brock had yet to see the whole thing, but the top, while long-sleeved, was lacy, and midback had a diamond-shaped cut from the bottom of her shoulder blades to just a few inches above her ass crack, making it slightly on the sexy side. Not that little black dresses needed much modification. But she’d also worn her hair down and anticipated having fun with her dear friend, whether or not their men were involved.
As always, Brock looked hot—suit without a tie, a little more form-fitting than his day wear. His facial hair was peeking through his skin, making him look a bit more rugged—and desirable, damn him. Erica could imagine alpha males hating him because he looked ready to take them all on without a word—and the sense was that he would win, so why bother?
After they were seated in the booth against the back wall, away from most of the frenetic activity of the yuppies bouncing back and forth from tables to bar and back again, Erica looked around. Across the room were huge windows facing the sidewalk and, although the traffic had eased up, there was still a steady stream of cars dashing down the street. On the wall were large framed abstract prints in monochrome, the dark grays and blacks matching the décor of the restaurant.
A few seconds later, the hostess was leading Camilla and Gary to the table. Camilla looked lovely as always in a light gray pantsuit with a bright yellow blouse, making Erica feel like Cam was telling nature, “Fine, winter’s here, but it’s always spring in my heart.” She stood to hug her friend and felt Brock sliding out of the booth seat behind her, but she saw him shaking hands with Gary before she gave him a hug as well.
Gary’s outfit was simple like Camilla’s, only he wore a black sweater with dark gray slacks. Erica noticed that he was as tall as Brock, but his blond hair contrasted with her fake fiancé’s darker locks. Brock’s hair was part of what made him sexy.
No. She had to stop that.
Brock wasn’t interested in her as a girlfriend, wife, or real fiancée—he was only interested in how she could help him move into the position he wanted by pretending to be his betrothed, and she knew, no matter how real it seemed at times, it was all just make believe. So thinking Brock was handsome, sexy, witty, charming, good in bed—all that shit was off the table.
That also meant that, aside from the most superficial pretense with her pretend fiancé this evening, she was free to focus on her best friend and the food. Brock did not require anything else from her…nor would he get it.
Erica was the only one at the table who knew everyone there, so she asked them all to introduce themselves. Once that was done, Brock asked if anyone would mind if he took the liberty to order a bottle of wine—“unless,” he said, “anyone is planning on eating red meat.”
No one cared and Brock ordered something he promised would go well with anything fish or fowl. So everyone perused the menu and, when the waitress stopped by, she took their orders. Shortly thereafter, a man in a tux came by with a bottle of wine in a bucket that he placed beside the table. After opening it, he poured them each a glass and then left.
“Brock, just so you know, Camilla is my closest, dearest friend, and because I don’t ever see that changing, I thought you should meet her.”
Her friend giggled. “Well, that and I demanded to meet the man who captured my bestie’s heart!”
Camilla was playing it just right—not too pushy or overly dramatic, but cute and sweet. Brock fell for it, and Erica was grateful for that, because she imagined he often had to assess the veracity of certain people on the stand. Then again, he wasn’t expecting to meet any liars tonight, so he might have been off guard—and that was fine.
“I am a very lucky man,” Brock said, turning his head and kissing Erica on the temple.
She felt like digging her three-inch heel into his foot or kicking him underneath the table. He was so full of shit, it wasn’t even funny—and she was nearing the end of her rope. Instead, she smiled as warmly as she could muster and leaned her head against his shoulder, hoping it looked loving.
Of course, Gary was the only person she had to convince…since Camilla already knew. And the way her friend smiled at her, Erica nearly lost it, because Cam was actually holding two secrets instead of one—not just Brock’s but Erica’s as well, the one of falling in love with the man who didn’t deserve her.
Probably eager to change the subject, Brock asked, “What is it you do for a living, Gary?”
“I’m a software developer. When I first got into computers as a kid, I always imagined myself in a job surrounded by them—and I am—but it’s not nearly as exciting as I’d thought back then…and it’s also not just about computers. We’re talking phones, videogame systems, and other things you’d never think of.”
Brock nodded, sipping his wine, and then Erica said, “And Camilla works for the same company, but in marketing.”
“Ah, do I dare ask the company?”
Camilla laughed. “Not in public!”
Erica couldn’t quite read the look on Gary’s face. It was one of concern, confusion, and doubt, and she had no idea what that meant. “What is it you do, Brock?”
“I’m the son of Brady Ford of Ford & Associates. I’m a partner—as are my brothers—but my father is getting ready to hand the entire practice over to us soon.”
Gary raised an eyebrow, but he
now wore a mask, as if he was hiding his emotions. “So you practice law?”
Brock, ever charming, smiled. “Every chance I get.”
Setting down his wine glass, Gary asked, “Do you happen to remember a man by the name of Judd Fleming?”
“Hmm. That name seems a little familiar but I don’t know why. Is that someone I should know?”
The waitress popped up for just a moment, long enough to deliver the appetizer. Instead of getting salads, they’d opted for little chicken bites with a variety of sweet and spicy sauces for dipping. Camilla asked if any of the sauces had nuts in them because of an allergy and, once the waitress assured her all the sauces were nut free, she was on her way and everyone grabbed a piece of chicken and began dunking.
Brock asked if Gary was into sports and Camilla’s fiancé admitted that he had a weakness for pro football—so he was enjoying himself right now. Camilla rolled her eyes as if telling Brock, Thanks a lot, but she smiled and it gave Erica a chance to chitchat about stupid stuff for a few minutes.
But after the meal arrived, a sort of reverent hush fell over the table. The food was presented more exquisitely than Erica was used to. It was so beautiful, in fact, that all four seemed to want to admire it before eating. Finally, though, Erica said, “I’m doing this.” Camilla followed suit before the guys joined in.
Halfway through the meal, the wine settling and the food filling like it should, Gary repeated an earlier, seemingly forgotten, question. “So, Brock, I can’t remember what you said. Did you say, yes, you remember Judd Fleming?”
Brock shook his head, cutting into the last of the tilapia on his plate. “The name tickles something in my brain, but I don’t remember anyone specifically.”
“He’s a cop. He was a detective, with the force for over a decade.”
Brock nodded. “And how do you know him?”
“He’s my cousin.”
“Why do you think I know him?”
Gary’s forehead creased in a frown before he answered. “There was a trial several years ago. A kid—some punk—stole something from a pawn shop and Judd was on patrol in the neighborhood. The kid had just jumped out the window when Judd came around the corner, but the kid ran down the alley. Judd cornered him and the kid pulled out a gun—so, after telling the kid to drop the gun twice, Judd fired.”
Brock raised an eyebrow. “It’s coming back to me. The kid—Theodore Walton was his name—had a gun in his hand, but it wasn’t loaded.”
“It was a gun he’d stolen from the pawn shop, one that linked him to another crime.”
Brock nodded. “I remember.”
“Well, do you happen to remember how you grilled Judd? Tore him up one side and down the other on the witness stand? Humiliated him?”
Erica could honestly say she’d never seen Gary this bent out of shape about anything before. Granted, she didn’t know him that well, but he didn’t seem to be the kind of guy to go overboard. He was genuinely upset, though, and she wanted to hear her pretend fiancé’s explanation.
“I did what I always do. I questioned him.”
“Badgered him is more like it.”
“Look…Gary. I am sworn to defend my clients to the best of my abilities. I don’t half ass it. It doesn’t matter who I think is innocent or guilty. I have to do my best to represent my client.”
“And just how did that guy wind up getting you as an attorney anyway? Don’t you charge a pretty penny?”
“My father has always made my brothers and me take at least one pro bono case a year. Theo just happened to be my lucky guy.”
“And Judd the unlucky one.” Gary set his fork down on his plate with enough force that it made a loud clinking noise. Erica hoped he continued to keep his cool, but he felt like a volcano ready to blow. “Did you know my cousin takes antidepressants now? And he pushes papers today. He can’t bring himself to work a beat anymore. He even sees a therapist.”
Brock threw his napkin on the table and pushed his plate away. “And how’s that my problem, Gary? I was just doing my job.”
“So was Judd. He’s an honest guy trying to protect the citizens of Colorado and—”
“Look…you seem like a decent enough guy. I could go over all the particulars of the case if you wanted. I could go back to the office, dredge up the file, go over the minutia. I doubt you know the whole story but I can tell you this—if your cousin is still grappling with that trial from years ago, maybe he shouldn’t have become a cop. Maybe he’s not suited for that line of work.”
Gary’s face and neck had turned a shade of pink that was just this side of red, and Erica began to feel frightened that he might ask Brock to step outside—not that the man didn’t deserve it. He sounded more like a callous asshole than she’d ever heard from him before and she was feeling more than a little repulsed at the moment.
Gary stood. “I think I need to leave, Camilla. I hate to do that, because I know you haven’t seen Erica in a while—”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Sorry, Erica,” he said, addressing her directly. “I know you and Cammy are close, but I cannot go to your wedding. It’s the principle of the thing.”
Why the hell did Erica feel so embarrassed? It wasn’t like she was really going to marry Brock.
Just because her heart had fallen for him…
She simply nodded while Camilla said, “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” She gave another bob of her head but she was feeling a little speechless.
Gary looked at Erica one last time. “My bosses are always looking for an on-staff lawyer or two. If you decide you’re tired of working for a family with questionable ethics, let me know and I’ll put in a good word for you. You’ll probably do half the work for twice the pay—and you’ll be able to sleep at night.” He threw down several bills before he and Camilla sped out of the restaurant.
Brock grabbed the wine bottle and drained what was left into his glass. “Want some?” Erica shook her head while Brock guzzled the drink that was meant to be savored. “Well…that was a little awkward.”
Yeah…
“You not talking anymore?”
“I don’t know what to say, Brock.”
“There’s nothing to say, except that your friend doesn’t get it. I’m not paid to be emotional or care. I’m paid to do a job—one that a lot of other people don’t like to do.”
“You seem to like it all right.”
The waitress stopped by the table with a tray full of decadent pastries, cheesecake slices, and chocolatey concoctions. “Dessert?” She tilted her head. “There were four of you, right?”
Erica nodded. Brock turned to her and asked, “Want anything?”
“No. I think I want to go home now.”
He frowned but said, “Just the check, please.” Then he turned to Erica. “You’re going to have to get a thicker skin, babe. This job’s not easy and it’s not for everyone.”
“You can be a lawyer and not defend bad guys, Brock.”
“Someone’s gotta do it, Erica. Might as well be me.”
Like a petulant child, she wanted to tell him she was ready to go home, that she no longer wished to play house anymore, but they were at the waitress’ mercy. Soon enough, she brought the check on a flimsy piece of white thermal paper. Brock pulled out his credit card while the waitress cleared a few dishes and promised to be right back.
Erica could sense that Brock, being no idiot, knew she was upset with him and she didn’t care. She couldn’t understand how someone could turn his humanity off and on like that. How could he seem sweet and loveable one minute, a monster the next? What was she missing?
In her heart, she knew the answer. This man, the one who’d destroyed the cop named Judd Fleming, the one who’d unapologetically told his cousin it was all in a day’s work, the one who was lying to his parents about a sham engagement just so he could get his fair piece of the pie—that was the real Brock. And so the guy she thought she was in love with—he was a figment of her imaginati
on.
Rather, he was a crafted version of a better self that Brock had no intention of becoming. And Erica had just exposed her heart to him—for no good reason and certainly no good outcome.
Once the bill was paid, they made their way out of the cavernous restaurant, not talking, not discussing, because there was nothing to say. Erica didn’t wait for Brock to hold the door for her, instead storming out before he could get there. She wouldn’t have much of a choice when they got to the car, because he’d need to unlock it first, but she was making a statement. By the time they were on the road and he was driving Erica back to her apartment, he said, “It’s easy to point fingers when you’ve never been in that position. When you defend a person accused of a crime, Erica, you have to do everything in your power to save their skin. You exploit the weaknesses of the other party. In that particular case, if I recall correctly, Fleming had just had another questionable incident happen at work a month or so earlier, one involving a gun. I don’t think all cops are bad guys, honey, and I don’t think Fleming necessarily was, but I did wonder—out loud—if he should have been on the streets. Had he never had to enter a courtroom, I wouldn’t have had to assess his competency as a cop, but as my client’s attorney, I had to put him through the wringer. So I did.”
Erica could no longer hold her tongue. “But what did you say that made him lose his zeal for his job? It sounds like the guy’s just a shell now.”
“I just hold up a mirror, Erica. If they don’t like the reflection, it’s their problem.”
Well…she was being forced to look at her own reflection now and she didn’t much like it—and she had a few decisions to grapple with before the sun came up.
Chapter Sixteen
BROCK HADN’T SLEPT a wink throughout the night, and it was because of that stupid little thing called a conscience. The damn thing had never bothered him before, so what the hell was the point now?
Of all the words Erica’s friend Gary had said last night, the ones that had stuck with Brock the most were when he’d told Erica she could come work for his company so she could sleep better at night. He’d scoffed at those words last night but this morning? Not so much.
Charade (A Fake Fiancée Romance) (Pretense and Promises Book 1) Page 19