“You like her,” she says matter-of-factly as she gathers her nail polish in a sparkly pink cosmetic bag. “When people like each other, they get married.”
“Says who?”
“Oprah.”
“Oprah, huh?” I rest my chin in my palm, making sure to keep my still wet thumbnail away from my face. “What happened to taking advice from more age appropriate women like Cinderella and that chick with fins.”
She gives me a sharp side-eye. “You mean Ariel.”
“Right. Ariel.” Whatever. She’s a fish with big tits.
Sophie stands and pops her hands on her hips. “Are Disney princesses really the role models you want for me, Daddy?”
“Oh?” I ask, trying hard not to laugh. “We’re revolting against princesses now?”
She rolls her eyes as if I should talk in grunts and walk around with my knuckles dragging the ground. “Ariel gave up her voice to run around on the beach after some dumb boy she didn’t know—one who liked her just because she was pretty. Is that the happily ever after you want for me?”
“Go to bed,” I tell her, pointing down the hallway. “No more television for you.”
A half hour later, I sit staring at my phone mulling over either texting her tonight or waiting until tomorrow. I try to convince myself that my rush isn’t about wanting to see or talk to her again, but more about wanting to get the logistics nailed down so when we arrive at the gala, there’s no question as to how committed we are to each other. It has nothing to do with me wanting to hear her voice again. That would make me a spineless douchebag.
It also has absolutely nothing to do with the way she looked at me while licking the ice cream off that spoon, her clear blue eyes focused on me with inquisitive interest as I spoke.
Outwardly, she looks like the typical girl next door, but Laken Cavanaugh has a sarcastic streak a mile wide that entices me just as much as her incredibly tight body.
And that’s saying something.
She’s as American as apple pie, the Fourth of July, baseball, and the Star-Spangled Banner. The perfect American sweetheart to be the Irishman’s fake fiancée. At least for one night.
I’m getting ahead of myself. My focus needs to stay on the prize. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had no idea Laken Cavanaugh existed. This is a business arrangement that benefits both of us. That’s it. End of story. The minute the gala is over, we’ll part ways. If I can uphold my end of the bargain, I’ll possibly see her around the office, and that will be that.
It has taken me eight years to get over the hell of Sophie’s mother leaving us for money and the promise of a better life. The last thing I need is to think about someone else with the same ideals. Besides, I need to remind myself the only extra thing I want off Laken is a good time and an empty bed in the morning.
So why the hell can’t I get her off my mind?
5
Laken
At this point, all I can safely say about how I handled the situation is that I have some sort of deep-rooted death wish. The ability to stop myself from landing my ass in a whole lot of trouble rerouted from my brain to my mouth. It’s the only way to explain walking away from Niall Mackay and not correcting him about Preston.
Being dick glamoured by way of a sexy Irish accent is no excuse for lying. That’s exactly what you’re thinking, and you’re right, Even though we’re concocting one big lie together in the first place.
But more on that in a minute.
After dropping Preston off on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, I make my way back home to Bed-Stuy after spending a good half hour arguing with Lady Hammerle over the ice cream stains on Preston’s shirt. The only time the woman gives a flying shit about her son is when it benefits her to use him as a prop in public. She may have given birth to him, but she’s no mother.
I can feel judgment here, and if eye rolling burned calories, you’d all be a size double zero. I know exactly what you’re thinking.
“Hey, Laken, if it’s so bad, then quit. No one is forcing you to work for a bitch.”
Watch Preston and his mother together for five minutes, and you’ll know why I do it.
After realizing she’d be no help in getting my foot into Trask and Payne, I was fed up and ready to quit within the first couple of months. It was like trying to work a miracle with Rachel Trask’s sister, Heather all over again at NYU, except at least Heather had been pleasant.
I even typed up my resignation letter and carried it with me every time I showed up at the estate to pick up Preston. But how do you walk away from a little boy who clings to you on his sixth birthday and tells you that his wish is for you to be his mom?
You don’t.
Preston needs me, so I stay and avoid the bitch to the best of my ability. In a year and a half of working for the woman, I’ve had exactly four run-ins with her. Two of which have now happened in the same day.
Throwing my shit on the couch, I plop down and run a hand over my face. Why does the universe hate me? There’s no good reason for doing what I did. Why in the hell did I let Niall think Preston was mine? Correcting him would’ve been so easy.
“While I’ll agree to lie to the very people I’m trying to work for, Preston isn’t my kid. I’m a twenty-four-year-old grad student, presently involved in the destruction of my own life.”
What made me shut my mouth and pretend to be a struggling single mom while accepting the most asinine proposal of a lifetime? Who does that?
Me, that’s who. He said the magic words that caught my attention and stomped my conscience into a pile of dust.
“Hell, I could ask a lot of other women and they’d do it just for the chance to walk into a Trask and Payne party.”
Telling me he had a freezer full of blonde co-eds with big mouths would’ve shocked me less than knowing he worked for Trask and Payne.
Niall Mackay is my in. Five rejection letters would only lead to a sixth, and that bitch I work for would sooner wrestle in a cobra pit than help me. My only option left sat across from me, dangling a once in a lifetime opportunity like a carrot.
Knowing what I’m about to do, I start rationalizing my actions. Sure, it’s technically a lie of omission, but it’s not like I’m willingly deceiving him, and it’s not like he’s a shining rose of innocence in all this. I never told him Preston was mine; he just assumed. It’s his fault for assuming, right? I never actually verified his assumption; I just didn’t deny it.
Technically, that isn’t a full-blown lie. It’s more like a lie-ette. You can’t come back from a huge lie, but lie-ettes are explainable. Besides, this isn’t just about my career gains. Niall is getting something out of this charade too, and despite our unconventional meeting, I kind of like the guy. I’m interested in what he has to say, and not just listening to that sexy Irish accent—although I really wouldn’t mind hearing it while horizontal and sweaty.
Hell, I don’t even recognize myself around him. I smile. I lean into him. I bat my freaking eyelashes. When was last time I batted anything at anyone? Did I even do it right, or did he think I’d lost a contact lens?
No, this is wrong.
I squeeze the life out of my phone, staring at it like it has all the answers in the world. I know it’s wrong. A decent person would call him, blurt out the truth, cancel the date, and then change their number.
That’s brave, right? Certainly not the chickenshit way out.
But if he only knew how hard I’d worked—how one word from someone on the inside could change the rest of my life—he’d understand. He seems sympathetic to my plight as a single mom, and this ruse of ours hurts no one.
Honestly, where’s the harm in it?
I know I’m not really a single mom. There’s no plight. Okay, there’s a plight, but it’s me and my aversion to panhandling for crusts of bread.
I sit and mull it all over. The longer I hold my phone, the more I know what I need to do. I’ve waited too damn long for this and worked too hard to ignore an opportunity when
it falls into my lap.
I’m going to accept the invitation to attend a Trask and Payne gala with Niall Mackay as his fiancée. It’s a win-win. Niall needs me on his arm to keep the vulture lady away, and I need to be on his arm to get a foot in the door to my future. I’ll figure out the rest along the way.
I hope.
The next morning, I stare at the text, my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth as toothpaste foams around my lips.
To make this look good, we should get to know each other a little better. What do you say we go out just the two of us? No kids.
This is where life throws a curveball I don’t expect. I know I willingly gave Niall my number, so, logically, the fact that he followed up with a text shouldn’t shock me. However, I’m still wrapping my head around the idea that I’m now someone’s fake fiancée. Nobody said anything about dates. And without kids? Forget it, Preston is my safety net.
Rinsing out my mouth in the bathroom sink, I wrap my long, curly hair into a messy bun on top of my head and secure it with a clip. I need reinforcements, but, unfortunately, only one person comes to mind. With my heart pounding in my chest, I tear down the hallway, screaming for Shelby at the top of my lungs.
I barely turn the corner when her bedroom door flies open and she stands in the doorway, one palm braced against the frame and the other holding a lamp like a sword. Her shoulder-length red hair is matted and sticks to her lips as her eyes widen and scan the room for something to smash.
“What? Fuck, is someone in the apartment? Are you hurt? Don’t just stand there, Laken! For God’s sake, get the phone and call the cops!”
“Huh? No, it’s him.” I hold up my phone as if that explains everything.
Shelby lowers the lamp, raking her hair out of her face as she blinks at me. “Who’s him?”
“I got a text.”
“Is it about the murder?”
I toss her a confused look. “There was no murder.”
“There’s going to be,” she growls, her face darkening.
In the three years Shelby and I have lived together, she has always been the level head to my neurotic. Our friendship is contractual. I pay half the rent and so does she, ensuring we both don’t sleep on a bench in Central Park. Shelby doesn’t have time for things like girl talk, smiling, or pleasantness in general. We’ve never been particularly close, and she never misses an opportunity to point out my flair for the dramatic. However, I need to confide in someone outside the situation who’ll give it to me straight.
“I have a problem.”
“Shocker.”
“I’m serious, Shelby.”
“You have five minutes.”
“Does renting myself out make me a whore?” I ask, chewing my cheek.
Replacing the lamp, she rests her hands on her hips and sighs. “What the hell have you been doing while I’m at work?”
Bracing for her reaction, I squint one eye and let it rip. “I’m engaged.”
She reaches for my left hand, and after finding my ring finger bare, she tilts her head to the side. “Come again?”
Shelby listens quietly as I relay the entire story from the park. She nods at certain parts and raises an eyebrow when I show her Niall’s texts and she sees his contact name is My Big Dick Fiancé.
When I finish, I take a huge breath and throw my hands out to the side. “Well?”
“This is going to backfire on you, Laken. Lying is never a good idea. Eventually that shit comes back to haunt you.”
“I know,” I admit.
“But still,” she says thoughtfully, “it’s an in with Trask and Payne, and God knows you’re never getting an interview by yourself.”
“Your confidence in me is astounding, thanks.”
“Well, it’s not like the guy is a creep, right? He has a kid. That has to count for something.”
“Sure, I mean, we shared a few stories, and I managed to not end up a missing person on the evening news.” Pressing my thumbs against my temples, I frantically pace the room. “But I don’t know him. Shelby. He could still be a homicidal killer hell bent on stuffing me down a well and making a woman suit out of my skin.”
She rolls her eyes and shoves past me into the living room. “You’ve been watching Silence of The Lambs again, haven’t you?”
I wave a hand, dismissing her. “That’s beside the point.”
“Okay, you agreed to this fake fiancée crap, and this is your chance to get in with Trask and Payne.” Flouncing onto the couch, she props her feet up on the coffee table. “You’re not actually marrying the guy. What are you really scared of?”
“I don’t know. Yesterday it seemed like a good idea, but today… I don’t know.”
“He’s not really roping you into the whole ‘till death do you part’ stuff. You know that, right?” she offers as I sit down beside her and throw my head against the back of the couch. “Besides, he sounds like a hot guy with a good job. How bad can he be? The man just wants to get your stories straight, and from the sound of it, you need to get laid more than you need to worry about the consequences of what you’ve already agreed to.” Grabbing the remote control, she turns on the television, ending our conversation by pressing the volume button up until I can barely hear my own thoughts.
With my phone in my hand, I think about what she said and it starts to make sense. What exactly do I have to lose? All I need to do is get to know the guy and lie to my future employers that I’m head over heels in love with him.
Piece of cake.
Besides, if there’s a little side action along the way, that’s just a bonus.
As some talk show host rambles on at a decibel about to shatter my eardrum, I text Niall back and hold my breath as I hit send.
No kids—no fiancée. What kind of woman do you think I am? You think you can just put a ring on my finger and I’m that easy? Oh, wait. That’s right. You didn’t. Meet me at Heckscher again at noon—with Sophie.
His response is immediate.
I don’t know; are you that easy? Might be fun finding out for myself. Keep up that smart mouth and you can forget about a honeymoon in Mexico. Oh, and since we’re throwing out demands, make it near the island at Turtle Pond at one p.m. Love, your Big Dick Fiancé.
I let out a scream and throw my phone across the room, because although I’m pissed at him, I know for a fact I’ll be there promptly at 12:55.
With Preston in tow, I show up at 12:45, hoping to scope out a spot and watch him as he arrives. The area of Turtle Pond he selected is a bit secluded, and it makes me wonder if he chose this location for the ease of hauling me off in the van I still imagine he has.
I mean, let’s be honest. I don’t know the guy. If I’m getting myself into this farce, I need to know exactly what kind of man I’m tangling with. This is purely an information-gathering venture. It has nothing to do with wanting to watch the way his muscular body moves with the ease of a man who knows his worth, or the way his mouth quirks up in a crooked smile every time he mentions the word fiancée. And it’s especially not the way his sexy Irish accent just rolls off his tongue.
Shading my eyes from the sun, I glance around and finding no sign of him, I decide to get comfortable while I wait. Completely focused on spreading out the quilt so Preston can play with his action figures, I don’t hear him sneak up behind me.
“Daydreaming again? I wouldn’t make a habit of that in public places, Laken. Anyone can just walk up and take advantage of you.”
Letting out a yelp, I twist around so fast I fall on my ass. I know I have that guilty look in my eyes. You know, like when your roommate knocks on your door seconds before you turn off your Magic Wand vibrator.
Oh, that shit happened to me late last night after having a particularly animated and detailed dream about Niall. I tried to mask the chainsaw sound, but it’s kind of hard to do when you have the most archaic vibrator from 1972 burning your clit off. Okay, honestly, this thing isn’t even a real vibrator and probably needs to be retired, but
I’m not one to just walk my ass into a sex toy store and peruse the aisles like I’m buying fertilizer at Walmart. However, after Shelby narrowed her eyes this morning and asked me if I’d successfully chiseled my way to China, maybe I’ll do some online shopping and see what I can find.
Muscles twitch in my jaw as I stare up at him. “Take advantage of me, huh? Present company definitely excluded.”
He grins and heaves a long sigh as he extends an arm and hands me one of two half-melted chocolate ice cream cups. “Again, you need to work on pretending to like me, Laken. If not, the woman we’re trying to convince is going to see straight through you.”
“Chocolate?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow at the frozen concoction.
“Just keep licking.” His grin widens along with the blatant innuendo. “You’ll learn to appreciate the taste.” The wind picks up, blowing through his messy hair. He runs his fingers through it and then offers me his hand.
Holy fuck.
Okay, time out for a minute. Back to my rom com fetish. There’s a point in the movie where the heroine suddenly sees the hero and a burst of sunlight erupts from the back of her head while cheesy music starts playing in the background. This is the viewer’s clue that this poor dumb girl has finally realized that the geeky guy she’s been palling around with for half of her life isn’t so geeky. He’s got muscles on top of rippling muscles and a ten-inch cock that seems to have grown overnight.
You feel me?
Well, I’ve only known Niall Mackay a day and a half, but cue the cymbals and drums because even though I have no business gawking at him the way I am, he looks too delicious not to fully appreciate. Dressed in khaki cargo shorts, a white graphic T-shirt with what I assume to be some intricate Irish crest on the front, and tan boat shoes, the whole outfit seems casual yet somehow hotter than if he sported a three-piece suit with a power tie.
This is the moment I realize how much trouble I’m in with this so-called arrangement of ours. While I’ve prided myself for six years on being able to keep my eye on the prize and maintain a strategy of not getting hung up on any guy longer than it takes to sneak out of his bed in the middle of the night, Niall Mackay is blowing said strategy all to hell.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 58