I bet he doesn’t indulge in much of…anything. Well, maybe sex, but even that he does in a cool, concise manner. He never keeps a woman around for any length of time. I mean, why bother? That would just disrupt his schedule.
I assume he works, he exercises, he eats right, he works some more, and then he gets four hours of sleep before he’s up and back at it again. The same thing, day by day. Boring, boring, boring.
Not my type at all.
Though if I’m being real with myself, I’m not quite sure what my type is…
Mr. Gaines glances at his wrist, and I swear I can hear him growl with irritation. Or maybe I just imagined the sound since I’ve heard him growl more than once during our interactions. The sun glints off his dark hair and more than one woman turns her head as he walks past them.
He doesn’t even notice.
I stop when he stops. He pulls a keyless remote from his pocket and presses it, the blinding white Tesla parked at the curb beeping as the doors unlock. He opens the passenger side door and tosses the bag inside, then shuts the door, rounding the car before he slips into the driver’s seat. He starts the car and lets it idle, most likely checking his phone.
While I check him out.
Breathing deeply, I press my lips together, knowing I need to head back to Bliss. I’m sure Marlo is wondering where I am, and Bethany is probably floating on a cloud since she got to ring up Mr. Gaines instead of me. I remain rooted in place though, unable to move, caught up in watching the most infuriatingly gorgeous man I’ve ever met do something as mundane as check his phone while he sits in his car. I should be bored out of my mind.
But I’m not. I could watch him all day.
Ugh. I hate myself so much right now.
He suddenly lifts his head, his forehead creased in confusion. Like he can feel me watching him.
And maybe he can. His gaze finds mine immediately and I freeze. A single word keeps running through my head over and over again.
Caught.
Caught. Caught. Caught.
Yet I can’t move.
We stare at each other, people passing by on the sidewalk cutting off my view for a moment but then he’s there again. Still sitting in his expensive car, still watching me, though that single, sexy eyebrow is raised, like he’s asking me a silent question. What does he want? He parts his lips, mouthing the words…
Come here.
I shake my head. No way. I know if I walk over there, he’ll most likely insult me because I bailed out on him mid-appointment. He might even yell at me, though he’s never yelled before. In the past, he’s barked out a few orders like a drill sergeant, but I’m used to that. Sometimes he says the worst things.
Like the absolute worst.
But it’s as if my feet have a mind of their own because despite my reluctance, I’m heading toward his car, coming to a stop by the passenger side. The window slides down and he’s leaning over the console, his expression unreadable.
“Why didn’t you finish our transaction, Miss Harrison?” he asks, his voice cold. So incredibly cold I almost shiver.
“Family emergency,” I say weakly, wincing when I see how his eyes narrow in disgust. Clearly he doesn’t believe me. Whatever. “My sister needed me. She’s, uh, sixteen, and very dramatic.”
Damn it, why am I trying to explain to him what happened? He probably thinks I’m making up an excuse. Sometimes, I wish I could kick myself.
“Really.” His voice is flat, his gaze full of irritation. “You have a sister.”
I nod, suddenly too nervous to say anything more.
“With an emergency.”
I nod again, wondering where he’s going with this.
Sighing, he looks away, seemingly watching people as they pass by on the sidewalk. He’s certainly not paying attention to me. “I have a younger sister. I know what that’s like.”
I blink at him in surprise. Are we…are we actually relating to each other on a human level? I didn’t know that was possible.
“I suppose the two of you are close?” He’s watching me again, his gaze direct, and I shift from one foot to the other, wondering if I should answer him.
It feels almost too personal sharing information with him, out on the street like this. Like we’re just two people having a conversation versus the client and employee relationship we normally experience.
“Very close,” I admit, my voice soft. I’m tempted to tell him about my parents and how we lost them, but I clamp my lips together before the words fall out of me.
No point in spilling my secrets to this man. He doesn’t care.
“That’s—nice.” He looks away, staring straight ahead, and I get the sense he’s uncomfortable. Perhaps I’m the one who’s stepped over the line, bringing my personal life into our professional relationship. “Though you should’ve completed our transaction. The customer always comes first.”
And just like that, he’s done a complete one-eighty.
“But—”
He cuts me off. “Goodbye, Miss Harrison.” The passenger-side window slides up and I step away from the car, startled when he pulls away from the curb and merges into traffic.
I watch until his expensive car disappears before I head back to Bliss, telling myself what just happened between me and Mr. Gaines was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Four
I work all day, then on my way home I stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things, get gas for my crappy little Mazda and finally make it to the house around six. I open the door to find Andie lounging on the scratchy plaid couch, noting her bored expression as she watches the world news on TV.
Normally, she doesn’t even watch TV, especially the news.
Andie catches sight of me and leaps from the couch, her expression going from bored to excited in approximately five seconds.
“You got a package,” she says, looking like she might start bouncing up and down at any moment.
“Awesome,” I say wearily as I kick the door shut behind me and head for the kitchen. I drop the bags on the counter and pull out the half-gallon of milk, placing it in the refrigerator. “It’s probably from Amazon.” The three of us are always ordering stuff from Amazon.
“It’s definitely not from Amazon.” She enters the kitchen holding a narrow brown box. “There’s not even a return address.”
“What? Give me that.” I shut the fridge door and grab the box out of her hands, staring at the address label with a frown. Andie’s right. There’s no return address. There’s no FedEx or UPS information on the label either. It’s almost like someone hired a courier service and had this package hand delivered to me.
Odd.
“Open it!” Andie squeals.
“I need to put the groceries away first,” I tell her as I set the box on the counter. My stomach bubbles with nerves and I look away from the box. Something tells me I should be wary of opening it. Not that I think it’s filled with anything dangerous—that’s a bit extreme. But whatever is in there, I might not like it. Or I might not like who it’s from?
My intuition is going haywire right now.
“I’ll put the groceries away.” Andie hip checks me, so I move out of her way and immediately dive into the giant reusable bag. “Did you pick up tampons?”
“Yes,” I say with a sigh. I’m tired. My feet hurt. I kick off the heels and blow out a ragged breath, twisting one foot around and flexing my toes before doing the same with the other foot. Those shoes pinched like a mother.
“Open the package,” Andie urges again as she moves about the tiny kitchen and puts everything away. I’m grateful she’s helping me. Usually she’s locked away in her room and I have to put everything away.
After grabbing a pair of scissors from the knife block next to the stove, I cut the tape away, popping open the lid to see a smaller box nestled inside. It’s covered in shimmering pink wrapping paper and topped with a white gauzy bow. I’d recognize that wrapping paper anywhere.
It
’s from Bliss.
My heart in my throat, I slowly untie the bow and remove it. Then I flip the box on its side and run my finger under the tape, undoing the wrapping paper as neatly as possible. Andie’s watching me out of the corner of her eye, impatience written all over her face, and when I pull the paper completely off and start folding it, that’s when she loses it.
“Oh my God, just open the damn box!”
Sending her an irritated look, I pull the lid off the box, staring at the carefully folded pale pink tissue inside. Did Marlo send me something? On occasion, she’ll give the associates a gift, but she’s never sent one home before. With a frown, I peel back the tissue, a gasp escaping when I see what’s waiting for me within.
The cherry bra and matching panties set that a certain Mr. Jared Gaines purchased earlier.
What. The. Hell?
“Oh, that is super cute.” Andie leans over my shoulder to peek at what’s inside the box. “Did your boss send that to you?”
“Uh…” I scramble for words as my little sister scoops the panties up and holds them in front of her. Now she’s the one who’s frowning. “Wait a minute, these panties are one-sided.”
I snatch the panties out of her hands, my cheeks on fire. “It’s a cutout. On the butt.”
“And your boss sent these to you?” Andie shakes her head in disbelief. “That is freaking weird.”
“Marlo didn’t send them.” I toss the panties back into the box, shove the lid back on and push it away from me. “I don’t know who they’re from.” Lie. I glance around the kitchen, looking for something to put away, eager for a distraction, but for once, Andie already took care of everything.
“Sarah.” My gaze meets Andie’s. The knowing look on her face is obvious. My teenaged sister is way too perceptive for her own good. “Then who is that set from? And why is he sending you cherry lingerie? Does he want to pop yours?”
Andie starts to laugh at her joke.
I start to fume.
“You shouldn’t assume it’s from a ‘he’. And for your information, my cherry was popped a few years ago.” I grab the box and clutch it to my chest, fighting embarrassment at the semi-crude way I just said that. “Not that it’s any of your business.” Please, we’ve had more sex talks this last year than I ever got in my teen years. My sister is fully informed, unlike me at her age. “And I have no idea who this is from.”
I head toward my bedroom, ignoring Andie’s laughter, how she calls out, “Yeah, right! Be real with me, Sarah! You have a secret admirer? Some pervert regular who’s always at Bliss? Tell me!”
The bedroom door slams, cutting off the rest of her scarily accurate words, and I toss the box on my crappy double bed, staring at it with disdain. Like there’s a snake coiled inside, ready to strike and kill me dead.
Yeah. Now I’m the one feeling dramatic. Yet I can’t help it.
Why in the world would he send me that set of lingerie? The set he bought for one of his many mistresses? Is he trying to imply that he…that he wants…me…to be…one of his…
Mistresses?
My blood starts to boil and I take a deep breath, reminding myself I need to calm down. I collapse on the bed and open the box once again, pulling the bra out, then the panties. I lay them out on top of my comforter, running my fingers along the hand-embroidered cherries, pressing my lips together.
It’s such a beautiful set. One I would willingly wear. Could he sense that I liked the lingerie? I pretty much like everything I show him, so I doubt it. We had some flirtatious moments though. I saw interest in his eyes more than once. The questions he asked me. The conversation we had by his car…
I still don’t understand though.
Why, why, why did he send me this? I pull the tissue out, my heart leaping in my chest when I hear the distinct sound of a card hitting the bottom of the box.
Written correspondence. From Jared Gaines himself.
With shaky fingers, I grab the tiny card and attempt to open the envelope, then tear the single notecard out and study the bold handwriting. He must’ve wrote it. This doesn’t look like an assistant’s handwriting. It’s too strong, too brash, too confident.
Yes, even his handwriting is confident. Ridiculous, right?
The note is simple. Simple to the point of being annoying because I still don’t know if it was actually meant for me or not, even though it says:
For you
JG
That’s it. Perhaps his sending me this—present was a mistake? Maybe he meant to send it to one of the many mistresses he has on hand. Because he probably has a ton of them. So many, he doesn’t know what to do with them all.
Frustrated, I tuck the card into the envelope and drop it back into the box. Then I carefully place the bra and panties inside, wrapping the tissue around them. I slip the lid on. No way am I going to bother to rewrap the box, though. I’ll just somehow give this—gift back to him. Let him know his mistake and return the items without question.
But for the life of me, I can’t shake one niggling thought.
How in the world did Jared Gaines get my home address?
Five
Receiving mysterious gifts calls for getting together with your friends so you can discuss said mysterious gifts, and that’s why I’m sitting at a table in a restaurant surrounded by my friends, who are all watching me, waiting for me to explain exactly why I gathered them here at the last minute in the first place.
It’s not like me to call on my girls. My friend Caroline lives for this sort of thing. We are her support group and when she needs us, she never hesitates. We get a text, a DM, and on the rare occasion, even a phone call. A lot of the other women who are part of our friend group do the same thing too.
Me? I’m a little more—independent. I don’t like relying on my friends too much. I’m always afraid I might need them too much. And we know what happens when we need someone too much.
We lose them.
“Sarah, come on. Tell us what the hell is going on!” my friend Stella snaps, jolting me from my thoughts.
The other women laugh, then turn their curious gazes on me. Watching. Waiting expectantly.
That’s another thing I don’t like. Being the center of attention. If I had my way, I’d move through life like a ghost. Doing what I need to do, but not wanting anyone to notice me. I’ll leave that up for the attention hogs in my life. Trust me, I know plenty of them.
In fact, I’m related to two of the worst attention hogs I know.
But I’m getting distracted. Again. I need to tell the girls what happened. It’s late, after all. Past eight o’clock. And while I know we’re in our twenties and we should be out partying at all hours of the night, most of us are responsible and have jobs to go to in the morning. Especially Stella, who arrives at work at the ungodly hour of five a.m. so she can serve up her amazing lattes and mochas at the coffee shop/café her family owns.
“Um, remember my weird client?” I finally say, my voice sounding extra loud in the mostly quiet restaurant. Everyone is in the bar at the Italian restaurant, Tuscany, tonight. NBA semi-finals are happening, and the Golden State Warriors are looking to defend their title. Since they’ve been doing this for the past five seasons or so, all I can think is, what else is new?
“Oooh, yes,” Caroline says with a gleam in her eye. I’ve told her the most about a certain Mr. Jared Gaines, though I’ve never told her his name. There are some things I keep private, I guess. Though everyone at this table has heard snippets over the last few months, Caroline knows pretty much all the dirt. “What did he do this time?”
I launch into my story, trying my best not to leave out a single detail. They need to hear it all so they know what I’m dealing with. It pleases me to see how they’re all listening in rapt attention, plenty of nods agreeing with me when I say he’s an arrogant prick.
The ultimate detail is the gift. The lingerie set I sold to him earlier, and how he sent it to me.
“It has to be a mistake,”
I conclude, resting my arms on the table, my fingers linked. I’d kill for a cocktail right now, but money is tight considering it’s near the end of the month, so I can’t really afford one. Stella’s brothers Michael and Tony own Tuscany, and I know they’d give me any cocktail I want for free, but I don’t want to look like a freeloader. I don’t need a handout.
I’ve got this.
When I realize my friends remain silent, I glance down the table, noticing how their gazes are…knowing.
“He sent it to me by mistake, right?” I ask weakly, giving in to my urges and reaching for Eleanor’s mojito, taking a giant gulp. She doesn’t even protest.
“Pretty sure he meant to send you the bra and panties,” Stella says with a nod.
“Absolutely not.” I’m shaking my head. What Stella just said does not compute.
“Yeah, I’m with Stella,” Caroline says, but she’s always with Stella when it comes to stuff like this. It’s like they share the same brain.
“Come on, Caroline. You know what an asshole he is,” I remind her, my gaze snagging on Eleanor’s mojito for about the tenth time. Sighing, she pushes it toward me, and I accept her drink eagerly. “He meant to send it to one of his secret lovers, I’m sure,” I say after I take another delicious sip.
“Are you one of his secret lovers?” Kelsey asks, her tone teasing. She’s the newest addition to our friend group, and I really like her a lot.
With the exception of this very moment. Because hell no, I am not one of Jared Gaines’ secret lovers.
“No,” I practically spit out, picking up the mojito glass and practically sucking it dry. Damn, I’m thirsty. “We don’t like each other. Trust me.”
“Let’s get real here for a minute.” Caroline leans across the table toward me, Stella doing the exact same thing. The both of them look like a pair of police detectives ready to interrogate. Their eyes, their expressions, are one hundred percent dead serious. “Does he make you uncomfortable in any way? Give you creepy vibes? Like, do you think he could turn into a psycho stalker who will terrorize you till the end of time?”
Fake Date Page 3