Fake Love Rich Boss Series

by Peterson , Sloane

  “I do,” I finally say, my voice quiet.

  Oliver turns to look at me then and I think he realizes that he struck a nerve. He doesn’t say anything else before he starts to rummage around in the fridge.

  I watch as he pulls out ingredient after ingredient.

  I try not to peek, letting him keep it as his surprise. He cooks in silence, and I don’t try to break it. There’s nothing to say between the two of us right now because we both know the topic that needs to be addressed. It’s a conversation neither of us really wants to have because it can only lead to pain. It’s digging at old wounds at this point, but I can’t let it go.

  When Oliver speaks again, it’s to tell me that dinner is ready. He sets two plates on the island. They both contain scrambled eggs, toast and one has a significant more amount of bacon than the other.

  “It’s not the best culinary dish and I’m really glad I’m not trying to impress you,” he laughs and I think I detect a hint of nervousness in his voice. “But it contains bacon.”

  I glance down at the plates again, reaching out to pull the one with more bacon towards me.

  “That’s all that matters to me. It’s a win,” I grin, taking a piece of bacon off the plate and popping it into my mouth.

  We eat in silence and I savor every bite. It’s delicious, and I don’t know whether Oliver has a real skill in the kitchen or if it’s because I’ve been craving bacon. I down every bite on my plate before getting up and search the fridge for a bottle of water. When I sit back down, Oliver is finished and starts to wash the dishes.

  “Should I take you home?” he asks, not looking over at me.

  I can’t tell if he’s upset about our silent dinner or not. Oliver becomes so damn unreadable sometimes that it makes me nervous. I find myself racking my brain, trying to figure out what he’s possibly thinking.

  “Do you want to take me home?” I finally ask.

  He stiffens. He stops washing the plate in his hand, instead just holding it.

  “I want to do whatever makes you comfortable, Cassidy,” he says it slowly like he’s reading a script or trying to force the words out of his mouth.

  “Oliver,” I say his name, but I don’t have the words to follow.

  I realize now that I can’t continue doing this the way I’ve been doing it. I can’t continue to keep a boundary between us that’s becoming thinner and thinner. It seems I’m only keeping it there when it benefits me.

  In the moments that I let this wall down, I notice how much easier it is between us. I don’t overthink everything, I just let it happen. Can I stay in this constant state of bouncing between things for months?

  Am I a hypocrite if I don’t stand my ground? It’s not like Oliver and I are actually dating again. It’s not like I’m going to let him touch me in any intimate way. It’s not like anything is going to really change and if it does, it’s all pretend.

  He places the plate in the sink, turning to look at me now. He’s waiting for me to finish what I’m saying, but I don’t even know what I’m going to say. His face is completely unreadable, emotions hidden behind stormy grey eyes.

  I swallow hard, taking a sip of my water, and finally force myself to speak.

  “Oliver,” I start again. “I think we should spend some time together.”

  He arches an eyebrow in my direction, “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” I sigh. Does this man have to make everything so complicated? “Meaning you don’t have to take me home immediately.”

  “Cassidy, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I realize that you broke off our relationship for a reason. While I thought it was a rather dumb reason, I respected that decision - and you. Now you’re being forced to pretend like things are fine between the two of us, but we both know they’re not. We can either continue pretending or we can get to the bottom of all of this.”

  “Pretending is easier,” I say.

  “Pretending makes things tense and strained between us,” says Oliver.

  “Things between us were tense and strained in the end anyway.”

  “We were under a lot of stress.”

  I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I no longer care about appearances in front of Oliver. I’m no longer trying to impress him. I don’t want to do this, not here, not now. But I know that we need to.

  “Right, because you ghosted me for a while, confessed that the murder was all your fault, paid off a jury, created an elaborate story on the witness stand, and then expected things to go back to normal.”

  He’s leaning back against the counter now, hands gripping the counter behind him.

  “So, that’s the issue. We never discussed any of that?”

  “We didn’t need to discuss it, Oliver. I didn’t want to have a conversation about it. I found out what I needed to know.”

  “And that was?”

  “You’re not who I thought you were.”

  Haven’t we gone through all of this before? Isn’t this practically the same conversation we had when I broke up with him?

  “Who did you think I was, Cassidy? And who am I really? Please enlighten me.”

  He’s getting pissed. And he’s not trying to hide it anymore.

  I think a lot of people would back down, but I won’t. I’ve never backed down from Oliver, I’ve always told him exactly what I thought, especially when I was cornered.

  “I thought you were amazing, Oliver. A misunderstood rich boy who grew up with so much pressure on him. I thought you were softer than you let on to the people around you” I explain. “Who are you really? You’re not who I thought you were. You’re darker. You have a side to you that scares me. You did something unforgivable for reasons I don’t quite understand.”

  Oliver stays looking at me. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, and I feel uncomfortable in it.

  I feel like I need to fill this gap with something, but I don’t know what, so I don’t.

  He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

  “Cassidy,” he says my name quietly. “I understand that I messed up. I get that. I made a choice and maybe I didn’t fully understand the consequences when I made it. I fully understand them now and I can live with that choice.”

  “Choice? Oliver, somebody died.”

  “Matthew wasn’t a good person.”

  “It wasn’t your job to decide that Oliver.”

  He sighs, running a hand back through his hair.

  Now I can tell that it’s really beginning to bother him. I don’t know how to solve this issue between us.

  “Cassidy, it’s in the past. I cannot change what happened. All we can do is choose to move on from it.”

  “And like I told you before, I don’t know if I can move on from it.”

  He steps towards me. I feel strangely uneasy, like I’ve been poking at a bear for far too long. He approaches the counter and walks around it, coming to stand in front of me. I stay where I am. I don’t flinch, I don’t pull back. Reaching out, Oliver takes my hands in his own, and I allow him to.

  His skin is warm against mine and I’m once again reminded just how much I miss his touch.

  “What if I promise to never make a mistake like that again?” he asks, looking down at my hands. “What if I promise to spend every second of every day making it up to you, Cassidy? Will that fix anything?”

  The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know if anything he can do will ever change what I know about him. I look down at our hands.

  “I can’t give you an answer to that now, Oliver. Because I don’t know. I think right now we should focus on our child. The baby comes first. Then we can focus on ourselves and our relationship. Can we do that?”

  He takes one look at our hands for a moment before he lets go.

  “Absolutely. I don’t mean to pressure you.”

  I don’t know if this conversation cleared the air between us at all. I don’t know if it fixed or changed a single thing. All I can do is hope that I won’t feel pressured to
keep a wall between us any longer. I don’t want to continue this “relationship” over the next few months while wondering if I’m doing a good job at maintaining my boundaries.

  “Okay,” I say softly, suddenly missing the warmth of his hands on mine.

  “So, should I take you home?” he walks back to the sink and finishes up the dishes, shoving them into the dishwasher. Just like that, the serious part of the conversation is over.

  “I could hang out a bit longer - if you want me to,” I tack on the latter part because I’m not quite sure what to do or say. I don’t want to overstep, especially after a conversation that was emotional for Oliver, someone who isn’t always emotionally available.

  He looks back over at me and smiles. Soft and sweet. If he’s hurt or holding a grudge, I can’t tell.

  “Alright. There’s a part of the manor that I could show you,” he walks back over to me and extends his hand in my direction.

  I take it, pulling myself to my feet. I don’t let go of his hand and he doesn’t pull away.

  “Is it a dungeon?”

  He laughs.

  “Perhaps.”

  With our hands entwined, Oliver leads me out of the kitchen. He takes us back through the dining room and down the hallway full of fine art photos. We walk past the entryway, to a side of the house I haven’t been in before. I see the side door to Alan’s study, but we walk past that to a wooden staircase leading downstairs.

  “Oliver, I was joking when I asked if it was a dungeon.”

  “Cassidy, I promise you’re not going to a dungeon,” he takes a step onto the first stair, looking back at me. “Trust me.”

  I sigh, making a show of rolling my eyes.

  “Desperate for my trust today, aren’t ya?”

  He laughs as I follow him down the stairs.

  I’m know that I’m not going down to a dungeon, but my heart is pounding because I don’t know where I’m going. Ever since I found out that I was pregnant, it feels like my senses are heightened. I’m more concerned about danger and getting into dangerous scenarios. I now have another person to think about.

  There’s not a dungeon at the bottom of the stairs, believe it or not. It’s a small circular room, with red theater chairs in a line in front of a giant screen. The lighting is dim, just like a theater.

  “I didn’t know the manor had a theater room.”

  “It doesn’t get a lot of use,” he says, still holding my hand. Oliver leads me to a chair, and I take a seat. “But I thought we could watch a movie together. It’s relaxing. Doesn’t require a lot of conversation.”

  He winks at that part and I find myself laughing.

  “Alright. Sure. What movie did you have in mind?” I ask as he walks over, going through the movie selection.

  “I don’t know. Guess we’ll both be surprised,” he winks at me again and I find it ridiculously endearing.

  Oliver isn’t like this all the time, so seeing him like this is amazing. It’s one of my favorite parts of whatever our relationship has always been. He feels comfortable enough to let his guard down around me, and I love that more than anything. He settles on a movie, putting it on. Walking behind me, he turns the dim lighting off before coming to take a seat next to me.

  The music hits and I realize that we’re watching a movie I’m only vaguely familiar with from my childhood.

  I turn to look at him, perking an eyebrow in his direction.

  “A children’s movie?”

  He shrugs.

  “It was my favorite growing up. I was feeling nostalgic.”

  “I don’t think I ever watched it all the way through,” I admit to him. “If I did, I certainly don’t remember it.”

  “You’ll love it,” he says so sure of himself that I know if I don’t, I’ll pretend like I did. Just for him.

  We sit back together, watching the movie as it plays out on screen. The movie is colorful, animated with that delightful hand-drawn style that I’ve always found endearing. Halfway through the movie, I realize the chairs lean back. I kick the legs up and lean back in the seat.

  We don’t exchange words. Oliver lifts the armrest between the two of us and wraps his arm around my shoulders. It’s not a firm touch, giving me enough chance to move away if I wanted to.

  I don’t.

  I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. As the movie plays on, nearing the climax, my eyelids start to feel heavy. The exhaustion of the day is beginning to settle in for me.

  I don’t remember the ending of the movie.

  When I wake up, I’m tucked underneath the semi-familiar sheets of the guest room at Windsor manor. The lights are off, the door is cracked, light from the hallway flooding into the room. A part of me wants to curl up underneath the blankets and go back to sleep, but I should get back to my apartment. Staying here just feels weird, brings back too many memories.

  I force myself out of the bed and out into the hallway. In the distance, I see Oliver’s bedroom door cracked open. I walk towards it, peep my head inside and realize that it’s empty. I shrug it off before heading towards the stairs, wondering if he’s down there somewhere.

  Once downstairs, I explore the rest of the house finding no trace of Oliver. I begin to wonder if he left while I was gone. But then I hear it, shouting coming from down the hall. I follow it to Alan’s study. The door is shut, but I can hear voices coming from the other side.

  “Because we can’t lose this contract, Oliver! I sent you there to land us that deal and you can’t even do that.”

  “How am I supposed to change their minds? Would you have me force them into signing a contract?”

  It doesn’t take a genius to tell that this has something to do with business, and I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s none of my business. Curiosity gets the better of me as I linger by the door, just a little bit longer.

  “If that’s what it takes...yes.”

  “I don’t want to mess up again.”

  “If you’re not willing to take risks just because of one slip up, you need to reconsider your position in this family, Oliver.”

  I don’t want to listen to any more of the conversation. It’s beginning to sound too personal. I know that Alan and Oliver have a strange relationship, one that I don’t feel comfortable overhearing or witnessing most of the time.

  I assume that they’re talking about a contract and that Alan wants Oliver to go to extreme measures to land said contract. I don’t want to know what ‘extreme’ means to Alan Windsor. The last time the Windsors did something ‘extreme’ it involved a murdered body on their property.

  As quietly as possible, I sneak back to the guest room and tuck myself back into bed. For the first time, I’m thankful for pregnancy exhaustion because I’m out quickly, and do not have to think about everything else that’s going on.

  I wake up to the obnoxious sound of my alarm the next morning. I force myself out of bed, realizing that I don’t have a change of clothes. All I can do is go to the bathroom and make myself look as presentable as possible for the workday. I fix my makeup the best I can and redo my hair, pulling it up into a bun.

  Almost as soon as I finish my hair, there’s a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I call softly. I hear it push open and a few seconds later, I see Oliver in the mirror behind me.

  “Good morning,” he greets me. He’s freshly showered and put together. I find myself envious of him. “I’m sorry for not waking you up. I know how you feel about hostage situations.”

  He winks playfully to me and I find myself melting.

  “But you seemed so exhausted. You didn’t even stir when I brought you upstairs.”

  Before I went back to sleep last night, I decided not to bring up what I overheard downstairs, knowing that it was none of my business.

  “You’re fine,” I say, turning around to look at him. “I appreciate the opportunity to sleep.”

  “You seemed like you needed it.”

  “I absolutely did,” I pu
rse my lips to the side. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on your movie last night.”

  Oliver shakes his head.

  “No worries. There’s plenty of time to make you watch it.”

  Silence settles for a moment before he breaks it.

  “Are you ready to get to work? We’ll stop and grab breakfast somewhere. Don’t fight me on it. You need food.”

  “Trust me. I wasn’t planning on fighting you on it.”

  Today I am incredibly thankful that I didn’t wake up nauseous. Some days are better than others and today is one of the better ones. The last thing I want is for Oliver to see me hunched over a toilet all morning. I’m sure it’s not a pleasant sight.

  We go about our morning, leaving the manor and getting breakfast before heading downtown to Windsor. As we enter the lobby together, I quickly realize that this cements it. If there were any questions about our relationship status, there shouldn’t be anymore. We clearly look like a couple now.

  As if reading my mind, before we hit the elevator, Oliver leans over and presses his lips to my temple. It’s not a grand gesture. It’s not screaming to the world about our relationship, but it’s intimate enough that people would notice.

  And since Oliver Windsor is standing here, people are bound to see it. They always seem to stare at him when he enters a room. And I don’t blame them.

  The gesture makes my heart flutter. I lean into his lips before we enter the elevator. As soon as the doors close and we’re alone inside, Oliver looks over at me and smiles. I feel myself melting.

  For the first time in a long time, I find myself wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

  Chapter Eight

  Oliver and I are inside my apartment, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. A few weeks have gone by since we started our fake relationship, and at this point, it’s quite believable. That means that in just a short amount of time, we’ll be announcing the pregnancy. I’m nearing the end of the first trimester. I have another doctor’s appointment in a few days and Oliver won’t stop hounding me about it. He’s already cleared his schedule to make sure that he’ll be there.

  Oliver has also taken to researching pregnancy. Each day he’s presenting me with a new fact or something I should or shouldn’t be doing. It’s endearing if a little annoying.