“That’s some friend. I wish I had friends like you,” she says sarcastically. “I hate to ask, but are those even real?”
I’d probably ask too, if Bethany suddenly appeared in a pair of Louboutins one day. We know each other well enough. “I’m not sure,” I say, my voice hesitant. “She said she got them on eBay.”
I hate that I’m lying, but how can I tell her the truth?
“Fake,” Bethany says with all the authority in the world. “I mean, I hope they’re real, but you have to be really careful with anything you buy on eBay, you know? There are so many scammers out there.”
I say nothing. I’m tempted to ask her about her interaction with Jared the other day. What did he do? What did he say? Did she give him my address?
But I remain quiet. Just watch her as she walks away, heading out into the store, most likely off to fold panties and rearrange bras.
I decide to wait a few minutes, going to the cracked full-length mirror that hangs on the wall. It used to be in one of the dressing rooms, but once it broke, Marlo brought it to the back room so we could use it. The crack runs along the right side, so it doesn’t interfere too badly when you want to check yourself out.
And I am blatantly checking myself out. My outfit is freaking on point. My hair looks good today too. I washed it the night before last, and it always holds curl better when it’s a little dirty. Thank God for dry shampoo.
Smiling, I enter the store and head for the front, keys dangling from my fingers. “Are we ready?” I ask Bethany as I pause in front of the doors.
Bethany adjusts a pale pink bra on one of the displays before answering, “Yep. I’ll go turn on the music.”
She’s gone by the time I’ve unlocked the doors. I push one of them open to check the weather. Gray skies. Misty. Dreary. Welcome to the Monterey Peninsula, where you can almost always count on fog to greet you in the morning.
I’m about to shut the door when I notice a woman carrying a giant bouquet of flowers headed in my direction. They’re gorgeous. One of those farmhouse flower arrangements I always see on Instagram. I don’t know how else to describe them. They’re in an extra tall mason jar, a straw bow wrapped around the top of the glass, the flowers bursting in a multitude of colors and sizes. I spot sunflowers. Roses. Lilies.
It’s beautiful. Whoever is receiving the bouquet is going to be so happy. If the woman were delivering them here, I’d guess the flowers are for Marlo. She receives bouquets on occasion. From clients. Other businesses. Mystery people she won’t tell us about.
“Hey!” the woman calls when I’ve got the door more than halfway closed. “Can you hold the door open for me?”
I do as she asks, surprised when she enters the store. Maybe I was right and they’re for Marlo. “Are you delivering the flowers to someone here?” I sound incredulous, because I am incredulous.
“Yeah.” She makes her way to the counter where the register is, setting the arrangement down before she turns to face me, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She taps away at the screen, squinting. “Does a Sarah Harrison work here?”
My mouth drops open and I squeak. I can’t help it. I sound like a mouse. Or an idiot. Actually, it really doesn’t matter what I sound like, I am in complete shock and cannot form words.
The woman stares at me for a moment. “Are you Sarah Harrison?”
I nod, still unable to speak.
“Here.” She thrusts her phone toward me. “Sign on the line with your finger.”
I do as she asks, keeping my gaze averted so I can’t see the flowers. Or the card nestled within them that’s taunting me.
“Thanks. Have a great day,” the woman says before jetting out of the store.
Releasing my pent-up breath, I turn and study the arrangement. They’re even prettier up close. And so fragrant. I don’t have to lean in to breathe their scent. I can smell them from where I’m standing.
I take the card from its little holder, anticipation curling through me as I clutch it between my fingers. I almost don’t want to open it. There’s something to be said for waiting…
“Whoa. That arrangement is, like, ginormous,” Bethany says when she reenters the room. She approaches the counter, reaching out to drift her fingertips across the flower petals. I’m tempted to tell her to back off, but I remain quiet. “Whose is it?”
Somehow, I find my voice. “Oh, they were sent to Marlo. Aren’t they gorgeous?”
“Amazing.” She leans in and sniffs. “They probably cost a lot of money.”
I can’t even fathom how much this arrangement must’ve cost. “I’m sure they did.”
“You going to take it back to her office?” Bethany reaches for the mason jar, ready to lift the arrangement but I shake my head and start to babble.
“No, no, no. I don’t want to take them to her office yet. Let me tell her about them first. Don’t you think that’s a good idea? Maybe she’ll want to keep them out in the store?” At Bethany’s questioning look, I continue, “Or maybe you’re right, and she’ll want them kept in her office. I don’t know. Let me ask and then I’ll let you know.”
I go to the back room before Bethany can question me any further, still annoyed with the stupid things I said to her. I’m still clutching the card in the palm of my hand, so hard the sharp edge is digging into my skin and making me wince in pain.
Ugh. See what this man does to me? Sends me beautiful flowers, makes me trip over my own tongue trying to explain them, and now he’s actually hurting me. Well. The card he sent me is hurting me.
Same diff.
I rush into Marlo’s tiny office and collapse in one of the chairs. “I need your help.”
She keeps staring at her iMac screen. “With what?”
“I have a situation.” She glances up, her gaze curious, and I go on. “Someone sent me flowers. They were just delivered. Here.”
Marlo tilts her head, waiting for me to explain further.
“And I told Bethany they were for you.”
“Lucky me.” She presses a hand to her chest in mock surprise.
“But they’re not. They’re for me.”
“Right.” She nods.
“So I don’t want you to tell her they’re mine.” I send her a pleading look. “Can we keep the flowers in your office for the day? Please?”
“Of course.” She doesn’t even hesitate and doesn’t ask questions either. God, I love my boss.
“And you won’t let it slip that they aren’t yours?”
“Not at all. I’m a most excellent liar when I need to be.” She purses her lips. “Not that it’s a skill anyone should be proud of. But I do know how to keep a secret.”
“Great.” I rise to my feet, the card still clutched in my hand. “Thank you.”
“Who are they from?” Marlo asks as I’m just about to exit her office.
I glance at her over my shoulder. “What?”
“Who are the flowers from?” She raises a brow. “Anyone I know?”
I am not a most excellent liar. I’m not the best at keeping secrets either. Should I tell her? Probably not. “Um…”
“A secret admirer?”
“I know who it is.” My palms start to sweat, and I swear the envelope is getting damp.
“But you don’t want to tell me?”
I send her an apologetic look. “It’s probably best that I don’t.”
“I see.” She leans back in her chair, her assessing gaze drifting down the length of me. “Don’t you look extra professional today. Very polished.”
“Thank you.” It’s a rare and wonderful thing when Marlo compliments your outfit. She is a paragon of fashion.
“And those shoes.” She tips her head, her gaze locking on my feet. “Louboutins?”
Gosh, now my entire body is sweating. “They’re fakes. From eBay.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Those are the best fake Louboutins I’ve ever seen.” She waves a hand, shooing me out of her office, and I really hope she doesn’t question me further. “Go bac
k out there before Bethany sets a negligee on fire.”
A laugh escapes me as I leave, and then I’m pausing in the back room a few seconds later so I can tear into the envelope and see what Mr. Gaines is saying now.
* * *
Call me
JG
* * *
Huh. Like I’m going to call him. I mean, seriously, what I am supposed to say? “Gee, thanks for all the expensive gifts! No, I am not going to sleep with you on the first date”?
That I’m contemplating going on a date with him, let alone many dates, tells me I’m taking his expensive seduction into consideration.
This isn’t like me at all.
I shove the card into my purse, take the bouquet back to Marlo’s office and set the vase on her desk, then purposefully start my workday. I clean like a fiend. I rearrange every single one of the bra drawers in record time, something Marlo has been nagging all of us to do for weeks. I dust with a vengeance. I greet customers like they’re my long-lost friends and I’m dying to help them find the bra or panties of their dreams (weird). I ring up purchases and do my best not to react when men try to flirt with me.
Now trust me, I don’t think I’m a special case. They flirt with all of us at Bliss.
I’m so caught up in my focus-on-work-and-nothing-else mode that when the phone rings, I answer it in the most efficient, brisk tone I can muster. “Good afternoon, thank you for calling Bliss. Sarah speaking.”
“Well, well, well. Miss Harrison.” My heart drops. I know exactly who this is. “You are a very hard woman to get a hold of.”
Hearing his deep voice makes every single hair on my body stand on end. Oh God, now he’s the one calling me? This can’t get any worse.
Turning so my back is facing anything and everything, I whisper into the phone, “Please don’t call me at work.”
“I don’t have your phone number so there’s no other way I can get a hold of you.” He sounds so completely logical I almost want to agree with him. Almost. “Did you like the flowers?”
“They’re beautiful.” I clap a hand over my mouth.
Why the hell did I just say that?
“I knew you would like them.” His tone is smug. The bastard. “I also told you to call me.”
“I’ve been busy.” This is the truth.
“So busy you can’t manage a thank-you call?” He exhales loudly. “You’ve hurt my feelings.”
“I’m sorry.” I can’t believe I just apologized to him. “But I might know other JGs. If you don’t sign your full name, how am I supposed to know you’re the one I should thank?”
He ignores my question. “You didn’t thank me for your other gifts either.”
I clutch the phone tighter. “I don’t want them.”
“Really.” His voice is flat. Like he doesn’t believe me.
How can he tell that I’m lying?
“Yes, really.”
“Then why are you wearing the shoes I sent you?”
A gasp escapes me and he laughs. Oh my God, he is such an asshole. “Are you—are you spying on me?”
“Of course not,” he scoffs, like I offended him. I swear I hear him chuckle. He’s not one to laugh, so the sound is shocking. “Just a lucky guess. And don’t bother denying that you’re wearing those shoes. Your gasp gave you away.”
I really need to learn how to control myself. Especially around him.
“Why are you doing this?” I need to know. Is he just toying with me? It feels like it. There’s nothing serious behind his extravagant gestures. He’s the type of man who can waste thousands of dollars on a woman and then forget all about her a week later.
“Why am I doing what?”
“Sending me such expensive gifts. Paying attention to me.” I hesitate, unsure if I should say the rest. I decide to go for it. “It’s almost as if…you suddenly like me.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Contemplating my words? Or planning on what he would say? I’ll never know.
“I’m giving in to my urges, Miss Harrison,” he finally says. “Don’t you think it’s time you did as well?”
“When it comes to you, I have no urges.” Ah, maybe I am a most excellent liar.
“Liar.”
I say nothing. Neither does he. This goes on for approximately thirty seconds—which is a long time, trust me, when he finally breaks first. “I’d like to meet with you. Soon. At the store.”
No. No, no, no. I can’t take an appointment with him right now. He was just here. And I can’t face him, not yet.
“I’m afraid all of my personal shopping appointments are booked into next week.” Again with the lies. Marlo would be so proud.
Or totally pissed because I’m desperate to turn down business from one of our best clients.
“Bullshit.” He has zero problems calling me on my bluff. It’s always been that way between us. “Tomorrow at one. You are working tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I admit, my voice weak. I don’t even bother protesting the appointment.
“Perfect. See you tomorrow. One o’clock. You know how I feel about punctuality, Miss Harrison.”
“Uh huh.” He’s a sucker for punctuality. I think he gets off on it. The pervert.
“And one last thing,” he says right before I hang up the phone.
“What?” I sound exasperated. Annoyed. Defeated. I am feeling all of those emotions, along with a healthy dose of nerves, excitement and anticipation.
God, what in the world is wrong with me?
“Wear the shoes.”
He ends the call before I can manage another word.
Nine
When times get tough, you have to call in reinforcements. That means begging Caroline to skip out on her dinner date with her sexy boyfriend so she can be at the apartment she shares with Stella. That way I can come over and share my problems with them.
More like my one particular problem.
It didn’t warrant a full-blown girls’ night out. I’d have to explain too much to the gang, and I bet some of my friends would think I’m a total idiot for wearing the shoes, accepting the gifts, meeting with him, etc. etc. Which I probably am. Actually, I can admit that I am. But I don’t want to face that situation right now. I’d rather wallow in my idiocy with my two closest friends and ask their opinions on it.
Once Stella has finished blending us delicious margaritas and we’re all settled—me and Caroline on the couch, Stella on her papasan chair from World Market—I recount to them the twisted tale of Jared Gaines and his many abundant gifts.
“Where are the flowers?” Stella demands to know when I’m finished.
“I told Marlo to take them home.” I take a sip of my margarita and wince. It’s icy cold, tangy—and chock full of liquor.
“Total waste,” Stella mutters, shaking her head.
“You should’ve brought them here,” Caroline adds.
I stare at both of them, fighting the irritation that wants to burst forth. But it’s too large to contain. “Seriously, guys? I tell you what’s going on and you can only focus on the stupid flowers?”
The flowers weren’t stupid. They were beautiful. And I should’ve taken them home and enjoyed them, but Andie would’ve asked about a billion questions, and Brent would’ve too, and I don’t have any explanations to offer them that don’t sound sordid. It’s not every day that a client of mine sends me freaking flowers.
So I gave the gorgeous arrangement to Marlo. Because yet again, I’m a total chicken. I’d rather avoid what’s going on than deal with the truth.
“Sorry, sorry.” Caroline sits up straighter, takes a deep breath, and contemplates me with that questioning look she’s so good at. “You want my opinion?”
That is the entire reason I’m here. “Please.”
“He’s trying to seduce you.”
Stella nods her answer, since her mouth is currently full of slushy margarita. She even offers a thumbs-up when Caroline looks over at her.
I roll my eyes
, disappointment washing over me. “I already know this.”
“Then why are you complaining about him to us? Do you actually want him to stop with the gifts?” Caroline asks.
“I don’t know how I feel about the gifts,” I admit, though I’m not being one hundred percent truthful. “I love everything he’s sent me. But I don’t feel right in keeping it all.”
There it is. I want to keep everything, but I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Yet I’m wearing the shoes. I gave the gorgeous flowers away to my boss, and I doubt I’ll give him back the lingerie any time soon.
God, what am I doing? I’m so confused.
“Do you think he’s trying to—buy your services, so to speak?” Caroline asks, leaning over so she can rest her hand briefly on my knee. A reassuring gesture from my touchy-feely friend that makes me more emotional than I care to admit.
When was the last time I had a man hug me? Kiss me? It’s been forever. No mom or dad to hug me either. Oh, Andie will throw herself at me on occasion and give me one of those brief, tight embraces she’s so fond of. My friends are an affectionate bunch too.
But it’s not the same.
Is that why I’m attracted to Jared? Am I so deprived of any sort of sexual contact that I’m drawn to this man? Who’s possibly showering me with expensive gifts for the sole purpose of getting into my pants?
Is that really all he wants from me?
“She’s not a hooker, Car,” Stella drawls, making all of us laugh. She looks at me, our gazes locking. “This is his way, right?”
“His way?” I wrinkle my nose.
“From what you’ve seen, when he comes to Bliss, he’s buying lingerie as gifts for the women in his life,” Stella explains. “Right?”
I nod.
“I’m assuming he’s doing the same to you. You got lingerie. Shoes. Flowers.” She smiles, her eyes twinkling. “What’s next? Jewelry?”
“Ooh, that would be awesome.” Caroline rubs her hands together. “Maybe he could go into Amelia’s store and she could help him pick something out.”
Amelia is part of our friend group. She works at a fine jewelry store that’s in the same shopping complex as Bliss.
Fake Date Page 6