Spring Fling

by Claudia Burgoa

  “It’s my purse,” she protests, hugging her oversized bag.

  “It is,” I confirm. “She carries her entire life in there.”

  I’ve seen her pull out clothespins, lollipops, Legos, markers, all kinds of snacks, even drier sheets. It’s like Mary Poppins’ bag.

  Claire tilts her head, giving me a nasty glare.

  “Either way, she’s sitting in the first row,” the flight attendant says with an apologetic voice. “Your belongings go in the overhead compartment. Same goes for you, sir.”

  I extend my hand toward Claire. “Let me help you. I’ll fetch it for you once we’re allowed to move around the cabin.”

  Claire blinks twice and hands it to me, that’s when I say, “If you want, you can take the window seat.”

  She twists her lips from side to side and says, “This seat was empty earlier when I checked-in. Are you stalking me?”

  “Sir, we have other passengers. Would you mind taking your place?”

  “Claire, honey, take my window seat,” I insist.

  Her eyebrows shoot up and then she narrows her eyes before she speaks. “I’ll take it, but I’m still not working during my trip.”

  “I give you my word.” I smile reassuringly.

  Once she’s settled, she asks, “Why are you following me?”

  “I’m not following you. You happen to be traveling to the same place where my sister is getting married,” I explain.

  “Would you like something to drink, sir?” Another flight attendant approaches us.

  “Water for me.” I turn to Claire. “Juice, water, or more wine?”

  She twists her mouth and huffs. “Red wine, please.”

  “Two glasses of wine and water, please.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  As the passengers continue boarding, we receive our drinks and finally settle in.

  “Sorry about the Emperor thing,”

  “You wounded me.” I set a hand on my chest feigning hurt. “I always believed myself to be more of a Han Solo, but I guess sometimes I come off as an asshole to some of my employees.”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve heard worse than Emperor Palpatine. My position in the company is complicated. Making friends isn’t my goal.”

  “It’s making money and sucking the life out of your employees.”

  “Are you calling me a vampire or Hannibal Lecter?”

  She scrunches her face, suppressing either a smile or a laugh. But those brown eyes are shining with humor.

  “Instead of Han and the Princess, we can be Clarice and Hannibal.”

  “Ha!” she says. “Look at you, making jokes.”

  “I have some charm.” I wink at her. “You could find out more while we’re in Cancun.”

  “Won’t you burst into flames if the sun hits your skin?” She gasps and covers her mouth. “Oh my God, I think I left my filters at home.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  “While you’re defending your constitutional rights, can I ask you a favor?”

  She makes a growling sound and her body turns toward me. That’s when the plane begins to taxi and she automatically reaches for my hand.

  “Sir, I need you to adjust your seat.” The flight attendant takes away our glasses and I make sure Claire has her seatbelt on.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I don’t like when the plane takes off or lands,” she says, clutching my hand unapologetically.

  “What is this favor you need from me?”

  “My sister is getting married.”

  “What is it with people getting married, moving in together, and having children?” she asks a little annoyed.

  “Do you have something against relationships?”

  “I’m not a fan. So far, they haven’t worked out for me. My mom says it’s because I haven’t found the right guy.”

  “You’re still young,” I reassure her. “How old are you? Twenty-five?”

  “Almost twenty-eight,” she corrects me. “But that’s not the point of this conversation, is it?”

  “Right, my sister is getting married and my family is expecting a plus one.”

  Claire looks around and then at our entwined hands. “Clearly, you don’t have a plus one,” she says, snatching her hand away from mine. “Why don’t you just tell them she canceled?”

  The plane pulls forward and just as my chest feels the compression of the take-off, I notice Claire closing her eyes. I grab her hand and say reassuringly, “It’s okay. We’ll be up in the air soon.”

  “I don’t like the feeling. It’s weird,” she says in a low voice.

  “Why don’t I distract you with my proposition.”

  She remains silent while I tell her about yesterday’s conversation.

  “Why would you lie to your mother?” she asks once I finish talking.

  “You’ve never lied to your parents?”

  “Nope. They’re too intrusive, and Mom knows everything.”

  The flight attendant walks over with our lunch. I ask for another glass of wine for Claire.

  “As you can see, I need a date.”

  She chugs the glass of wine and then takes mine. “I’m still trying to decide if this is a dream or a prank.”

  “Neither one,” I say.

  “Don’t you get that this is my vacation?”

  “Yes, but I’ll only need you for a few events. The rehearsal dinner, a brunch, and the wedding ceremony itself.”

  “Am I not invited to the reception?” She gives me a mischievous glare and laughs. “Kidding. I don’t care much either way because I’m not going.”

  “Please, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “I’m not good at lying,” she says with a firm tone. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  “You’re great at selling,” I remind her. “I’ve seen you work an entire room of people and convince them to hand over funds right on the spot.”

  “What would I be selling?”

  “Us. As a couple.”

  She gestures at me and then at herself. “You and me? A couple?”

  Claire laughs, then drinks all her wine.

  “God, there’s not enough wine on this plane to make me agree to being your girlfriend. I mean, you’re hot. What with your perfect tailored suits, that trimmed beard, your chiseled jaw, and broad shoulders … who would believe that I, Claire, was dating a super-hot GQ model?”

  “You think I’m hot?” I ask, surprised by her bluntness.

  She points to her empty glass. “It’s the wine talking. You’re a ten, I’m like a seven.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re an eleven, and you are out of my league,” I say in all honesty. Women like her are a rarity. “I don’t know where you’re getting those numbers, but I assure you, you’re beautiful.”

  I caress the inside of her hand, enjoying the feel of her skin against mine. I feel calm, all the anxiety about the account we could lose, my family’s expectations, and the future of my company seem miles away.

  “Beauty is more than the shell,” I continue. “You’re a smart, successful woman with a sassy attitude. Gorgeous nonetheless.”

  “You’re a sweet talker, Mr. Archer,” she says softly.

  “Is it working?” I ask, staring into her eyes and getting lost in them.

  “It’s just a couple of meals and the ceremony. This will be over before Monday.”

  “You’re putting me in a tight spot. Why don’t you invite someone else? What happened to the tall blonde you were dating?”

  “Are you keeping tabs on me, Miss Solis?”

  “Dream on.” She serves me a sassy eye roll. “She always came to the office as if she owned the company. It’s been a while since I saw her.”

  “We broke up more than a year ago,” I inform her.

  “Did she realize you were sucking her soul?”

 
; “I like to suck many things, Claire, but never souls.”

  She purses her lips and shuts her eyes tight for a second.

  “Please,” I beg. “Just a weekend.”

  “This would be platonic.”

  “We have to make it believable,” I say, entwining our hands together.

  “That’s not easy. I barely know you.”

  “We have plenty of time to work on the basics. I was born in New York. We moved to Denver when I was about ten. I went to Cornell to study business and did my master’s degree at NYU. You’re acquainted with my best friend.”

  “Why come back to Denver when you could’ve stayed in New York City?”

  “I’m close to my family.”

  “They’ll notice we’re not a couple,” she insists.

  “Trust me. They won’t,” I say, hoping that’s enough. It’s not.

  “I really don’t know you. So no, you can’t say trust me.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll make it believable. I’ll repay you, I swear.”

  “Suddenly I feel like Pretty Woman,” she says and writes in the air with her finger. “Hooker for hire.”

  “This is nothing like Pretty Woman. Though, I will compensate you. You can have whatever you want—within reason.”

  “Well, there are a few ways you could repay me. An increase in salary, the creative manager position, or another week in Cancun. Honestly, I’m hoping for the last one because I want to earn the other two on my own.”

  “Another vacation?” I ask unsure. “We have work to do, Claire. I need you to land me a few accounts before the quarter is over.”

  She narrows her gaze then turns toward the window.

  I hold my breath for several seconds as I wait for her reply.

  “Two weeks during summer and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she finally speaks.

  “One and a half.”

  “Three. In Europe?”

  “Fine, two, but my mother has to believe we’re in love.”

  “Now you’re asking for a miracle,” she says exasperatedly. “We can try, but I can’t guarantee the outcome.”

  “Do we have a deal?

  She sighs and nods. “Tell me about your family, Mr. Archer.”

  “Miller, you have to call me Miller. Remember, we’re in love.”

  * * *

  Claire

  * * *

  “We’re here, sleepyhead.” A tender baritone wakes me up.

  The sound of his voice is like a warm ray of sunshine covering my heart. When I open my eyes I see him, Miller Archer, leaning close to me. So close, I feel his breath on the side of my neck. His fingers grasp my wrist.

  My heart beats wildly, and I have trouble swallowing. Is this a dream? The one where my boss is nice and looks at me as if I were precious? Butterflies flutter inside my chest as I get a whiff of his scent. Woodsy and manly. Emotion swells from my chest.

  For God’s sake, Claire, get a grip!

  It’s been so long since someone has been nice to me that I’m having trouble remembering who he really is.

  “Hey,” I say, my voice sounding gruff

  When I try to straighten up, I flinch. My head pounds as if little gnomes are tap dancing inside.

  “It’s the wine,” he says, handing me a bottle of water. “Do you have any aspirin in your bag of tricks?”

  I shut my eyes, resting my head on the seat and nod lightly.

  “Why do you need a notebook?”

  “Leave my stuff alone. The painkillers are in the side pocket,” I warn him weakly.

  “Breath mints, ibuprofen, allergy medicine … you label them?”

  “Duh,” I answer. “What if I took the wrong medication? Leave my purse alone.”

  “You’re a cross between Mary Poppins and Sport Billy,” he says, handing me two liquid gel pills.

  “Who’s Sport Billy?” I ask after I swallow the medicine and drink the entire bottle of water.

  “You wouldn’t know it. It’s a cartoon from before your time,” he says taking his seat again.

  I sigh and rub my temples, keeping my eyes closed to recover my strength. During the first half of the flight, I lost the ability to see Miller Archer as the asshole who runs the company I work for. A part of me wants to yell at him for putting me in this predicament, the other wants to snuggle between his strong arms until my headache abates.

  Claire, stop fantasizing. You just need to get laid.

  Note to self, don’t drink and fly.

  “You shouldn’t have let me drink so much,” I mumble under my breath.

  It’s all my fault. I should’ve stopped as soon as I felt tipsy. The entire flight went by too fast. One moment we were discussing our weekend agreement over lunch and the next I agreed to be his plus one.

  “I told you not to switch your liquor. Always stick to the same drink,” he says in the calm voice he’s been using for the past few hours.

  He isn’t criticizing. In fact, he seems worried about me. Since when does he give a shit about others?

  Drop the nice guy act, I want to say.

  Once the flight attendant announces that we can unfasten our seat belts, he stands up fixing his backpack and fetching my purse.

  “I’ll carry this for you,” he says, extending his hand toward me. “Let me help you.”

  The guy deserves a standing ovation for his performance as the perfect gentleman. Like seriously, where did he study acting? I wouldn’t believe he’s the same man I’ve worked for the past three years. Head pounding, body aching, and heart fluttering, I follow right behind Miller who’s holding my hand firmly. I ignore how well our hands fit together. I’m definitely not checking out his firm ass. Nope, that’s not why my eyes are focused on his jeans pockets.

  “Thank you for flying with us,” the flight attendant says and squeezes my shoulder as her voice lowers, “He’s a keeper, honey. Don’t let him escape.”

  Looks deceive, honey. He’s a great actor. I turn to look at Miller, Archer, Milo or whatever it is that people call him, asking myself, why did I agree to be his plus one?

  Right, the villa in Tuscany. He did say he’d pay for my vacation—wherever I choose—with my friends.

  It has nothing to do with his charming personality or how much I actually enjoyed talking to him.

  I suck in a breath when he kisses my hand. He’s taking this a little too far, isn’t he?

  “Thank you, sir,” he says to the pilot. “For delivering my precious cargo safely.”

  For a moment, I’m captivated by his grin and the loving words. No one ever has called me their precious cargo. My last boyfriend didn’t ever kiss my hand at all. In fact, the last time I saw my ex kissing someone, it was one of his colleagues. Cheating bastard.

  I should be careful with Miller. He knows the right words and gestures to make a woman fall.

  He’s a player, Claire, be careful. Pfft, I’m immune to the charm of arrogant assholes.

  “That was a cheesy line,” I mutter once we’re walking toward the gate.

  He stops and winks at me without saying a word.

  “Are you practicing your role before we meet your family?” I ask him.

  “What do you think?” he retorts.

  I tap my chin a couple of times and scan him from head to toe. “You might want to keep it short and sweet. Women buy that over laying it on thick.”

  “So, that’s how you like it?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

  I huff. “Size is irrelevant. No guy can deliver the whole package.”

  “Baby, this package is thick and long. If I delivered it to you, you’d enjoy it.” he says. I want to erase his cocky smile because it’s making me hot.

  “Are you serious?” I fake a yawn. “I’m talking about guys being charming and attentive and—”

  “Who have you been dating, Miss Solis?” He frowns and then chuckles. “I’ll use this weekend to set a new standard for your dating pool. After this, you’ll be looking for real men—not stupid twenty-somethin
g-year-old boys who have no idea how to treat a woman right.”

  “We’ve already gone from fake dating to real dating?”

  “Nah, I don’t do serious relationships,” he reminds me.

  “Casual, platonic, and just to keep your family off your case,” I remind him. “That’s our deal.”

  “We could take it a step further,” he proposes. “You and I both know you’re looking for more during this trip. What is it that you told your friends in the lounge? I’m here to have fun and all the sex I haven’t had since Jordan.”

  “Were you spying on me?” I shriek.

  “Babe, you weren’t exactly quiet.” He flashes a playful, sexy smirk. “Are you always so vocal?”

  “Finally, I thought we’d be stuck on that plane forever,” Madeline says, walking toward us. “You, lucky bitch. Next time, I’m getting the first class ticket.”

  “Maybe on our next vacation,” I say as a way to lead into my change of plans while Miller fetches the bags.

  “We’re planning the next one already?” Courtney’s eyes shine but her shoulders slump immediately. “I can’t afford another trip. Not until next year.”

  “Miller here is paying for a trip to wherever we want,” I announce.

  I recount to them the plan Miller and I have agreed on for the weekend. They don’t interrupt until the end when Madeline says, “You can’t lie.”

  “I told you,” I give Miller an apologetic look. “You are on your own, Mr. Archer.”

  “You don’t have to lie. Just follow my lead. I promise to pay for this vacation too,” he says, adding more incentives to the table.

  “You can do it,” Courtney assures me. “It’s just a couple of days and a free vacation. What could go wrong?”

  * * *

  Claire

  * * *

  When I agreed to the plan, he promised to switch all of us to the hotel where the wedding is taking place. Unfortunately, the hotel was fully booked. We end up dropping Courtney and Madeline off, and then heading to his final destination.

  “Sorry, sir. Our suites are completely booked.”

  “This isn’t what we agreed to,” I protest.

  Miller clears his throat and says, “Ready or not, here she comes.”