Fake Love Rich Boss Series

by Peterson , Sloane

  The first thing that I do is slam my hands on the wheel and let out a frustrated scream, likely looking insane to everyone walking by. I have to admit...I feel a little better after the scream.

  Reaching into my purse, I grab my phone and call my mom. I ask if she can just watch Lucy for the night.

  “Is everything alright?” she asks, concern clear in her voice.

  I don’t often leave Lucy for sleepovers. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve had my mom watch her for a night. It feels awful like I’m just pawning my child off so I can catch a break. But I deserve a break. Especially after tonight.

  “I just...I need a night to myself.” I find myself admitting, feeling ashamed.

  On the other end, Diana breathes a sigh of relief.

  “You take all the time to yourself that you need. My baby girl and I are going to have the best sleepover ever. Don’t you dare worry about us tonight.”

  I can hear the smile in her tone. I’ll forever be grateful that my mom adjusted to being a grandmother so quickly. It’s like she was born for the role.

  “Thank you. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Cass,” she says before we hang up.

  I’m left in the parking lot, trying to figure out my next move. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I want to scream or cry or do something.

  I think about calling Michael, asking if he wants to come over and drink. But while we’re just friends, I worry he’d get the wrong picture. Don’t get me wrong. I like Michael, I trust him. I just don’t know him that well.

  Instead, I decide to do something that’s likely an even worse decision.

  I text Oliver.

  I’m beginning to memorize the path from town to Oliver’s cabin on the outskirts. I pull up the gravel driveway, hearing the rocks crunch underneath the tires. I come to a stop right behind his black rental car and get out, grabbing my things and bringing them with me.

  I don’t have to knock on the door, he’s already standing on the stairs.

  His blonde hair is messy like he hasn’t bothered to fix it all day. He’s wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants and an olive-green thermal shirt. He’s barefoot, concern on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  The worst part of having a history is that Oliver knows me. He can tell when something is wrong with me, when something is on my mind. He can read my emotions. It makes me regret having such an expressional face. Sometimes I can hide it, but usually, not around him.

  “I had a really shitty day,” I answer.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I want to drink.” I push past him, our bodies brushing one another’s as I do so.

  Oliver closes the door behind me, walking with me into the kitchen. He’s silent as he watches me make myself at home in the kitchen. I place my purse and the bag I picked up from the liquor store on the counter and begin to search the cabinets for glasses.

  “You had to come over to drink?”

  “I don’t want to drink alone,” I say, pausing what I’m doing to turn to look at him, “is that a problem?”

  “Not a problem. Just making sure I’m aware of what’s going on here.”

  He walks over to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

  “I bought this in case things went sour down here and I needed to drown my sorrows.”

  “Oh,” I make a little face. Reaching into the bag, I pull out another bottle of whiskey. “I bought you some in case you didn’t have anything,”

  A smile pulls over his lips, “I appreciate it, Cassidy.”

  We fix our drinks in silence. I pour some pineapple juice into a glass and add some tequila with it. It’s a hell of a lot harder than what I generally drink. I don’t remember the last time I drank something this strong, but I feel like I deserve it. Even if I don’t deserve it, I definitely need it tonight.

  Once our glasses are fixed, we walk out to the back deck of Oliver’s cabin. It overlooks a little stream that cuts through this side of the mountain. In the distance, there’s a perfect view of the other mountains that surround us.

  We take our first sips in silence. The alcohol stings the back of my throat, making me cough. Around anyone else, I’d be embarrassed. Around Oliver, I don’t care. I see him glance over at me with an amused grin, but he doesn’t say a thing.

  “Are we going to talk about what’s going on?” he asks, breaking the silence as I’m halfway through my drink. “Or am I not supposed to ask about it?”

  I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to tell Oliver about how something that was going so well for me turned sour so quickly. It’s embarrassing. I feel ashamed, but who else am I going to tell this to?

  “You’re not going to get it,” I finally mutter.

  “Obviously I won’t unless you give me a chance to, so, give me a chance.”

  I down the rest of the drink in my cup before extending it in his direction.

  “Make me another drink and I will.”

  He looks at me, looks at the glass, and then shakes his head.

  “Whatever you want, Cassidy.”

  He sets his glass down on the table before he takes mine and stands, walking back into the house.

  It gives me a moment of silence to think about what I’m going to say, how much I’m willing to tell him. It also gives me a moment to realize how strongly the alcohol is already flooding through my system. My skin feels hot, my head feels a little spinny.

  I’m not drunk, but I know that I’ll be there shortly.

  Oliver returns with his bottle of whiskey in one hand and a refilled cup of tequila and pineapple juice for me. He hands me the cup before sitting back down, refilling his own glass.

  “So, are we going to talk about it?”

  “I was out with Elias.”

  Talking about dating and whatnot with Oliver feels awkward. It feels like I’m discussing something that I shouldn’t be. I don’t want to rub things in his face or make him feel weird. Hell, our entire situation has always been ‘weird’, I guess.

  “Uh-huh,” he says, trying to appear nonchalant.

  “Things have been going really well between the two of us,” I say, refusing to make eye contact. I stare out at the mountain range in the distance, taking a sip out of my glass. “Like a lot better than I ever expected them to.”

  “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

  “Well,” I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes. I wonder if Oliver is going to think I’m crazy. What if I really am overreacting and I threw away something really great tonight? What if he gets upset that I’m proposing introducing our daughter to somebody?

  “I was thinking it may be time to introduce him to Lucy,” I speak softly, finally stealing a glance over in his direction to see his reaction to my confession.

  It’s brief, but I catch it. It’s pain. He takes a long drink from his glass, no longer looking in my eyes. Once he puts his glass down, he runs a hand through his hair, a very typical stress response from Oliver Windsor.

  As quickly as the pain was apparent on his face, it’s gone. Replaced with a stone-cold expression, nothing on his face.

  “Right. Well, if that’s your choice, Cassidy. I can’t tell you not to. I don’t have a right.”

  I swallow, taking another drink from my glass. I’m going to need a refill before I continue with the story.

  “You have a right to feel something, Oliver. You’re still her father, no matter what.” I run a hand through my hair. “However, that’s not the point. So, I brought it up to Elias. I told him that since we’ve been spending a lot of time together that maybe it would be a good time to introduce him to Lucy. No pressure. No expectations. Just like breakfast together or something.”

  “Right,” Oliver isn’t looking at me any longer. He’s staring off in the distance, sipping from his glass. He’s almost on the verge of needing a refill, as am I.

  Maybe this was a dumb choice.

  I sigh, taking a deep breath.

/>   “Well, Elias said he didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s not looking to be a stepfather. He wants to keep things between us ‘fun’ and something about it just rubbed me the wrong way. Like, if he were to say something like ‘not yet’ or ‘I’m not ready for that step’, I would have taken it better but...” I trail off.

  Oliver still isn’t looking at me. He places his cup down on the table and pours more whiskey into it.

  “So, he just didn’t take it well? I do agree that he could have worded things better.”

  I nod.

  “He made me feel like I’m just dating to find a stepfather for Lucy. He made me like just a ‘mom’. And...I know that I’m a mom. I love being a mom, but I’m more than a mom. I’m a person. I’m a woman. I want to date to find companionship. But Lucy is a part of my life. Lucy is my life. If they can’t accept Lucy, they can’t accept me. I don’t want things to just be ‘fun’.”

  I down the rest of my drink, my head feeling even more swimmy now. I definitely need another one.

  Oliver sighs, “I don’t know what to say, Cassidy. I don’t know the words that will make you feel better. Because a deep, dark part of me is selfish and I don’t want you to find love with somebody else. But I know that’s not what you need or want to hear so...I’m sorry. I’m sorry you thought you found something, but you didn’t. I’m sorry Elias was kind of an ass,” he says, running another hand through his hair.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  I’m glad he’s honest with me. I’m glad he’s not forcing himself to say or be something that he isn’t because I know how Oliver is.

  “It just makes me feel like I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life. Like somehow being a mom negates me ever finding someone else in my life again. I know how dumb it sounds. I know it’s not likely...but I just thought I found something,” I add on.

  Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe I just put too much hope in a relationship with Elias, got too excited about finding someone that I was interested in and who seemed to be interested in me.

  “You’re not unwanted, Cassidy. You being a mom shouldn’t negate anything about your femininity, and it doesn’t. Some men just don’t want to accept responsibility. Take it from me, a guy who’s been around a lot. In the past, I would’ve had no problem sleeping with a single mom. I probably wouldn’t have wanted to step up and be a stepfather though. That’s because I’m a selfish ass, we both know this. What you need to do is find a guy who isn’t a selfish ass.”

  It feels weird, talking to Oliver like this. We’ve never quite spoken about past relationships or his past of being a playboy. It’s never been something I cared to hear about. The very idea of it always made me feel uncomfortable. But I guess all of that is off the table now that Oliver and I are...whatever we are.

  “Easier said than done. I guess selfish asses are just my type in men.”

  “You should probably do something about that,” Oliver grins over at me like we’re on this level of joking.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” I stand up from my chair. “I’m going to go get a refill. You need anything?”

  “I think I’m good.”

  I step back into the house, stumbling slightly. I’m unsure of how I feel now. I don’t know if talking to Oliver about Elias fixed anything. I don’t know if listening to Oliver tell me that he would’ve done the same thing helped at all.

  I guess I can just be thankful that I hadn’t slept with Elias before I learned he wasn’t all that I thought he was.

  In the kitchen, I start to mix another drink. I know that this should be my last, but I don’t have any plans of slowing down tonight. I just need this. I need something to make me feel better.

  I step back outside, sliding back into my chair.

  “I know that I should focus on being Lucy’s mom, y’know? She’s still young. I can start dating when she’s in school...but I don’t want to ruin the last few good years of my life. I want to still be able to be young. Is that wrong?”

  “Cassidy, you have many ‘good’ years left. You’re still young. And it’s not wrong for you to want to date,” he sighs.

  I’m kind of starting to feel guilty. I feel like I’m rubbing salt in old wounds for Oliver. I feel like I’m just throwing it in his face that we don’t have a chance for a romantic relationship any longer. But...should I feel guilty about it? He’s the one who’s practically been single for three years, nothing holding him back from doing whatever he wants. How do I know what he has or hasn’t done?

  I shouldn’t feel guilty at all.

  I take a sip from my drink, using it as an opportunity to dwell on what to say next.

  “It definitely feels like it. This feeling just really sucks, Oliver.”

  “I’m sorry, Cassidy. You deserve better than you’ve been dealt these past few years.”

  He has a far-off look in his eyes, staring at the views on the horizon.

  It leaves me wondering. How does he really feel? I know what he says, but I know one can’t take Oliver at face value. What he says isn’t always what he feels. I’ve noticed a change in him lately and I hate to say that I can’t tell whether it’s just a show, or if it’s an actual change.

  How does one even ask that?

  “How have you been?” I ask, deciding to broach the question lightly. “Have you been okay?”

  He sighs again, a deeper one this time. He finishes off what is left in his glass and then places it on the table, not going for an immediate refill.

  “Okay’s the best way to describe it. It’s been rough lately, but I can’t complain. Most of this mess is just things that I got involved in by myself. Losing my father just feels weird. It feels like he should be here.”

  Oliver still isn’t making eye contact, staring away from me. I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out what the right thing to say would be. I don’t know what the best way to comfort him is. Before I can say anything, Oliver continues to speak.

  “I know that he and I never really saw eye-to-eye, but he was a major form of support in my life. Maybe to a fault. He led me down many wrong roads, but all the choices were still my own. I wish that I had always been strong enough to make my own choices, to do what I thought was right and not fear his response. That’s a lesson I learned a little too late, and it’s my own fault.”

  I’m taken aback. Part of me is wondering if I drank way too much and this is a hallucination. I’ve never heard Oliver admit anything like this. A lot of the time, everything has always been his father’s fault. His father was always forcing his hand, he never meant to do ‘x’, ‘y’, or ‘z’. But this is a breakthrough for him.

  “I think it’s good to acknowledge that your relationship with him was unhealthy at times,” I say, stealing a glance over at him, “but he is still your father. He still cared and I think that a lot of the time, he truly had your best interest in mind.”

  I think a lot of what Alan did was to protect the family name. Alan was always worried about image, keeping the family empire secure. He put that pressure on Oliver for his entire life, that the family empire was the most important thing. It raised a heartless, cold future CEO who struggled with personal relationships a lot more than most people do.

  “I know he did,” Oliver says. “But...I wish that he would have been able to meet Lucy. I know that he would have loved her. I think he always wanted to be a grandfather, and I think that he was excited about it. I know it’s not my place to want to introduce Lucy to anyone but –”

  I cut him off.

  “Oliver, I would have loved for Alan to be able to meet Lucy. I know that he and I were never on the same page. I definitely wasn’t his biggest fan most days, but I could tell he was excited when he found out it was going to be a girl, so I wish that we could have given him a chance to be a grandfather.”

  I don’t believe that Alan would purposely manipulate his own granddaughter, at least not until she was older.

  The silence lulls between us again. Oliver refi
lls his glass, continuing to sip from it. By now, I can tell that we’re both really feeling the alcohol flowing through our systems. It’s been a while since I’ve been this close to drunk – and I don’t think that I’ve ever seen Oliver drunk before.

  Just before I can take the last sip of my drink, I feel water hit the bare skin of my arms. It starts as a light mist, but as mountain storms typically do, it turns into a complete downpour. Within seconds of feeling the first misting, the storm is pounding raindrops down on us.

  I hear Oliver curse as we both rush to get up from our chairs and gather our drinks, while the rain plummets down and we stumble around drunkenly. Oliver gets the patio door open and we get inside, our hair and clothing dripping onto the hardwood floor.

  The first thing we do is look at each other and laugh because this feels like a completely ridiculous situation. Oliver sets his glass and bottle down on a table and reaches out, taking my glass from me. He sets it next to his.

  “I should go get us towels,” he says. “And warm clothing. The last thing I want is for you to get sick.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Cassidy,” he says my name in a deep voice, almost close to a growl. It sends a shiver down my spine – one that I know isn’t because of the cold rain dripping off of my skin.

  “Fine. You’re right.”

  “I know, stay here.”

  With that, he disappears, leaving me standing there, shivering. He returns moments later, multiple towels draped over his arm.

  “Try to dry off the best that you can, and we’ll go from there,” he instructs as he dries off his hair. It’s soaked, sticking to his forehead in ways that I’ve never seen before. His thermal is soaked through, sticking to his sculpted frame.

  I have to tear my eyes off of him so I can grab a towel and proceed to dry my own self off. I start with my drenched hair, knowing that any of the previous style that it held is long gone. I then focus on my skin before quickly realizing that it’s a loss. My clothes are soaked, sticking to my skin, and I feel completely uncomfortable.

  “Do you have anything I can change into?” I ask, dropping the towel on top of the one he just finished drying himself off with.