O Magnet: A Fake Engagement Romantic Workplace Comedy (Titans of Tech Book 2)

by Tessa Layne

  My mouth goes dry.

  As if saying "fuck you" to the establishment, she's wound her thick black and pink hair into two donut buns on top of her head. The pink gem glitters at her nose, and she has similar understated pale pink rhinestone studs on her ears. Her makeup is minimal, except for her dark-lined eyes and a swipe of pale gloss that's screaming to be kissed away at the first opportunity.

  I can't help the dirty thought that jumps into my head as I stare at her mouth. I'm dying to know if it tastes like pink bubblegum. I make up my mind to find out as soon as humanly possible.

  "You can stop staring now. It's not like you've never seen a woman wearing a dress."

  I crack a smile. She is perfectly, unapologetically, undeniably herself, and while my mother will be appalled, I can't imagine her dressed any other way. "You look incredible, Penny."

  It's too bad my mother won't be able to overlook Penny's lack of convention. Penny's as understated as she is, and just as classy - just in a different way.

  "Don't sound so surprised."

  "I was half expecting-"

  "Goth girl?" She makes a face, then narrows her eyes. "I can play the game when I have to."

  Her comment is loaded, but we don't have time to unpack it right now. The last thing I want is to be late for tonight's event. I wait while she grabs her purse and locks her door. Then, hand at the small of her back, I propel her toward the elevator. My driver Edward is waiting on the sidewalk, and while Penny stays cool, I don't miss the surprised gasp when she sees the town car, or the tiny smile she fights to control, or the sideways glance she shoots my direction, as if quietly asking if I remember. We've been in this car a hundred times, at least. Probably more. But except for one time, always with our noses buried in laptops. I'll be the first to admit, calling on my driver when my apartment building is literally across the street from hers and the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art is ten minutes south, is a bit ridiculous. But I'm a Forde, and this is one of those events where style is more important than substance.

  She throws herself into the far corner, just like always, but fidgets the entire ten-minute ride.

  "Missing your laptop?" I ask when we hit 43rd.

  She turns to me, eyes filled with concern. "This is bad, isn't it? That we can't talk about anything besides work?"

  "Relax, Penny. We're not dating. And we like our work."

  A shadow flickers across her pale features. "But we are... dating, I mean. We're supposed to be engaged. Which means I should know what color your underwear is, and what order you eat your breakfast, and whether or not you hate mustard on your hotdog at the ballpark."

  "You know that one," I remind her dryly.

  "Right. Everything. Like a Chicago dog. But the rest?" She eyes me with something close to panic. "What kind of coffee maker do you have?" Her brows knit together and she skewers me with a wild-eyed glare. "Don't you dare leave me alone with your mother until we've discussed all this."

  I reach over and cover her hand. "You'll do just fine, Penny." Touching her like this takes me back to the only other night we've ever been together socially. My heart lurches at the memory. That night... changed everything. "I promise, I won't abandon you."

  She sucks in a shaky breath and squeezes my hand. I like it. Far too much. The car slows and pulls into a long line of vehicles waiting to drop off their VIPs at the front of the building. I reach into my suit pocket. "I almost forgot. Will this do?" I pull out a small velvet box and open it so she can see the ring inside.

  Her gasp dissolves into a giggle. "Ohmygod, you didn't."

  My answering grin is all the confirmation she needs.

  "Oh my god that is hideous and glorious. I love it." She reaches for the ring, and my chest puffs at her reaction. More than it should, because this is just a transaction.

  I pull the ring from the case. "Hold out your hand," I say, voice suddenly rough.

  It's just pretend.

  This is all just pretend.

  But it feels strangely normal, putting a ring that by any other standards would be considered ugly as fuck on Penny's hand. And when I slide it on her third finger, my chest pulls tight. But before I can think too much about it, she pulls her hand back and surveys the way the facets catch the light. The center stone is a one-and-a-half carat pink heart-shaped diamond, flanked by clear diamonds and set in rose gold. The band is titanium inlaid with alternating pink and white diamonds. It's expensive enough she should have security but gaudy enough it looks like vintage costume jewelry. And on Penny's hand, it's apropos.

  Her husky laugh ripples through the space. "This is perfect. I love it."

  Our car rolls to a stop, and I wait for Edward to come around and open our door. I step out, then turn around to help Penny. Touching her hand sends electricity racing up my arm and my heart pounds a little harder. I lace my fingers through hers and lean down. "I only drink coffee at the office. I drink an energy shake on the way to our team's early morning workouts. And I don't cook."

  At the top of the stairs, we step into the line of guests waiting to enter and I pull the invitation from my jacket pocket. I can feel the tension radiating off Penny, and I give her hand a squeeze. "There's a photographer from Kansas City Magazine just inside, taking pictures of the guests. Then we can grab drinks and go find my mother."

  Penny's smile tightens. "Oh joy."

  "It will only be for a few minutes. She'll want to circulate before the dinner portion."

  "What's this all for again?"

  "Every year the Forde Family Foundation sponsors a class of debutantes-"

  "You're kidding me."

  I huff out a quiet laugh. "Not at all. It's a tradition that goes back to the fifties. You're marrying into old money, Penny."

  She wrinkles her nose, scowling. "Isn't this a lot like dressing up sheep before they're led to the slaughter? I mean, where are the male debutantes? This is all about parading pretty young women around so they can catch wealthy older husbands."

  "Maybe that's what it used to be, but every woman here is headed off to college and will receive a four-year scholarship from us."

  "And how many of them actually need it?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean just that. How many of these women come from single-parent households? Or wouldn't make it to college except with the help of your family's scholarships? How many of these women attended Lincoln Prep?"

  I open my mouth to protest, then promptly shut it. She's absolutely right and I don't like how it sits with me. The young women who will be honored here tonight come from the most prestigious high schools across the metro. Their families can afford to send them anywhere. "It's not like that," I finish lamely, knowing that's exactly how it is.

  Her scowl turns into a glare. "You're throwing money at young women who don't need it. Way to go, big guy. Pat yourself on the shoulder." She shakes her head in disgust but before I can formulate a strong counter-argument, we step onto the red carpet.

  I hand the photographer's assistant my invitation. "Stockton Forde and Penelope Anne Fischer." She cringes when I use her full given name.

  "Ooh show us that ring, hon," crows the photographer. "Step in closer, hand on his chest."

  I put my arm around her and tuck her into my side. Her arm slips around my backside, and just as the flash goes off, she pinches my ass. Hard. "Brat," I murmur through my frozen smile.

  "One more?" The photographer asks.

  "Sure," says Penny before I can refuse, pinching my ass again.

  I dip my head as we move off the carpet. "You'll pay for that," I growl.

  "I'm so scared," she tosses back dryly, before gasping as she takes in the giant black marble pillars that make Kirkwood Hall so magnificent.

  "Stunning, isn't it? Have you never been here?"

  "I work a lot."

  A pang of guilt twists my belly, and I decide to bring her here for lunch next week. Although the idea of leaving work at six every evening makes my skin itch, Penny's probably
right. I could pull the cybersquad off R&D and into more of the day to day operations, and if Penny is serious about gamification of hacking, I could move her to R&D. But I immediately dismiss that idea. My office won't be the same without her in it. I pull two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hand one to Penny. "Cheers." I want to say more. I should say more. But anything I say will come off as cliché or too loaded with meaning.

  We clink glasses and Penny holds my gaze as she takes a sip. There's a lot to unpack in her intense green eyes, the flare of unexpected heat most of all. My body responds all too readily, heat settling low in my belly. I drain my glass. "Come on. Let's go find my mother."

  We wind our way through the crowd, to where my mother is holding court near the grand piano. While we enjoy dinner in Rozelle Court, a band will set up where the piano player is. I place an arm around Penny, squeezing her waist for reassurance as we step into my mother's circle. My mother is impeccably coiffed, her ash blonde hair swept into a sophisticated updo, pearl drops studded with diamonds at her ears. She's wearing a champagne-colored silk sheath that highlights the same hazel eyes that belong to me. A gold, diamond, and pearl statement necklace rings her neck. My mother is beautiful, and easily looks ten years younger than her fifty-nine years. It's always been a mystery to me why she never remarried after my father died.

  "Stockton, Penny." Her smile is brittle, but she leans in to give us both air kisses. "Penny, dear. I'd like to introduce you to Robert and Muffy Templeton, family friends of ours." She turns to Muffy. "This is the girl I was telling you about."

  I can't decide if it's a barb or not. I choose to give my mother the benefit of the doubt. I reach out my hand. "Good to see you again, Robert. Muffy, I'd like to introduce my fiancée, Penny Fischer."

  Muffy eyes me coolly. "Yes, Honore tells me congratulations are in order."

  I've been on her personal shit list for the last eighteen months. Ever since Robert and I got swept up in an FBI bust at a late-night poker game my friend Danny hosted on a regular basis.

  "Pleased to meet you," Penny says softly, holding out her hand.

  Muffy takes it. "Well, you must show us your ring." Penny obliges. Muffy's eyes widen. "It's lovely," she murmurs. "So unique."

  She's lying through her teeth. But this group is too cultured to say what they really think. "It's perfectly Penny," I say, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, all the while watching for my mother's reaction like a hawk.

  She pales and her jaw tightens, but her smile stays in place. "Of course it is." She turns to Penny. "You'll have to join us for lunch sometime soon, dear. We really must get to know each other better."

  Oh hell to the no. That would be like feeding Penny to the sharks. "We're very busy these days. It may be a while." Like, never.

  My mother turns the full force of her gaze to me. "I'm sure you can spare your precious Penny for just an hour. After all, you can't expect her to plan this wedding all by herself. She's going to need lots of help."

  I see where this is going but before I can protest, Penny jumps in. "I'd love to," she says mouth widening into a smile. "I can make time next week." I flex my fingers into her hip, sending her a silent signal to knock it off, but she keeps going. "You know, there's a lovely French bistro right around the corner from our offices I haven't had a chance to try yet. Christelle's. Are you familiar with it?"

  My mother's grin looks like a piranha going in for the kill. "Of course I know it. I'll make reservations first thing tomorrow."

  Fuck my life right now.

  The Nelson's event planner, a dark-haired beauty named Marissa who my mother also tried to set me up with at some point, taps her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Mrs. Forde, you asked for a fifteen-minute warning?"

  "Oh yes, darling, thank you." My mother turns back to us. "Finish circulating and we'll meet back at the head table in fifteen minutes."

  That's my mother's dismissal. I steer Penny away and straight toward another server with a tray full of champagne. "I think you should avoid lunch with my mother at all costs," I say, handing her a second flute.

  Penny smirks. "Why? Are you afraid I can't handle myself?"

  "No, not exactly."

  "Afraid I'm going find out about how you ran around naked in someone's front yard when you were four?"

  She pulls a smile from me. "Quite the opposite. I'm worried she'll grill you and pounce."

  A look of sheer determination crosses Penny's face. "Well, then. You'll have to make sure I don't mess up." She swings her gaze up to meet mine. "You'll have to share all your dirty secrets, bad boy."

  "I have no secrets. I'm an open book." Except where Penny's concerned. Some secrets are best kept tucked far away. "C'mon. Let's circulate." I play the role of the heir apparent, taking time to introduce Penny to people in my mother's closest circle. Every time, their reaction is the same - eyes briefly go wide, smiles freeze in place, platitudes are offered. Penny takes this as a challenge. When I introduce her to my mother's next-door neighbors, Constance and Wilson Skinner, she winks. "Well, you know, really, I'm just marrying him for his fine, fine ass."

  I nearly choke on my drink. "C'mon, dear I see someone else I want you to meet. Constance, Wilson, see you soon."

  I take Penny by the elbow and pull her into a corner. "Too much?" she asks, eyes twinkling.

  "What do you think?"

  "It's obvious what they're all thinking, Stockton."

  "So, let them think it. You're not going to change their minds."

  "Exactly. So I might as well go for shock value."

  "I don't think that's a good idea. We need to stay as low key as possible. If you rock the boat, it will just give my mother an excuse to meddle further. We're supposed to be doing this to keep her out of our hair."

  She gives me a Mona Lisa smile that can only mean she's up to no good. Which is confirmed when I introduce her to my mother's best friend of forty years, Cynthia Hyatt.

  Thirty minutes later, once the salads have been dropped at the table, the chickens come home to roost. My mother slips into the empty chair across from us, face a picture of horror. She glares at Penny. "Is it true you told Cynthia Hyatt that you're marrying my son for his money?"

  Penny smiles and nods, then takes a sip of water, obviously spinning this out. "Mmm-hmm. Stockton's marrying me for my brain. I feel like it's a fair trade. Can you please pass the butter?"

  Muffy and my mother exchange a look, then my mother smiles faintly and passes the butter. Underneath the table, I lay my hand on Penny's thigh, just underneath the hem of her skirt. If she's going to be outrageous, so am I. I give her a warning squeeze before my hand slips scandalously higher. Unfortunately, it only seems to egg her on.

  "I also told your next-door neighbors that I'm marrying Stockton for his incredibly hot bod." She smiles sweetly. "Do you have any other questions?"

  "Young lady, that is not appropriate behavior for an event like this."

  Penny stiffens in her seat and her eyes narrow. I hold my breath. I know that look. She's about to unload. "Oh, and by appropriate behavior, you mean that it's okay to lie to someone's face about how happy you are for them, when really, you think they're making the biggest mistake of their life?"

  Beside my mother, Muffy gasps.

  "Or is it just that you prefer to reserve your ass chewings for martinis over lunch?"

  Robert chokes on his wine and covers a smile. My mother shoots him a scathing glance. Penny's not wrong. I don't know how she's pegged my mother, but she has, and it's brilliant.

  My mother clears her throat. "I won't deny that I think you're wrong for my son. But he's a grown man, and clearly," she swallows then stares right at me. "He loves you. Who am I to stand in the way of such... devotion?" Her mouth smiles, but her eyes shoot daggers. She doesn't believe what she just said for a second, but she knows when she's lost a battle. A ripple of fear works its way down my spine. My mother is a formidable opponent, but then, so is Penny.

  Robert clears his thr
oat. "So tell me about the new pitcher the Kings just signed."

  In a blink, we've moved onto safer territory. I send up a silent thank you to Robert and decide to take him for a drink in the near future. With a final squeeze, I remove my hand from its resting place just inside Penny's silky thigh and wrap my arm around her shoulders. "Well, it's all because of Penny's predictive analytics that we've been able to recognize and recruit top talent earlier than our competitors."

  The conversation remains in safe territory through dinner. As the plates are being cleared, my mother makes her way to the makeshift podium at one end of the courtyard. "I'd like to thank you all for coming tonight. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Honore Forde, chair of the Forde Family Foundation. It is my distinct pleasure to welcome you tonight to the seventy-fourth annual debutante dinner, where we are proud to introduce this year's class of beautiful and brilliant young women."

  She pauses for applause. My mother is in her element in this role, the smiling doyenne of Kansas City society, forming and shepherding the next generation of women into their rightful places. Penny's words from earlier come back to me, and for the first time, I see the scene through someone's eyes like Penny. It leaves an acrid taste in my mouth. I tune out what my mother's saying as I run through the mental math and I wonder if our foundation can be doing better.

  Penny's sharp elbow jabbing into my side pulls me back in time to see my mother's outstretched hand and her expectant gaze as she motions for us to stand. "I am thrilled to present my son, Stockton, whom many of you know and love, and his fiancée, Penny Fischer."