“Honey, I don’t know for sure. But I really want to figure it out. With you.”
That’s enough for me to stop resisting and let him pull me to him again. He looks so fine in that suit, but all I want to do is tear it off him.
And then I catch a glimpse of something that makes me freeze. I see Bryce walking back toward us. This time, he’s with an older gentleman who looks a lot like Ford.
17
Ford
I’d been at this insufferable event at the Millennium Biltmore hotel for just over half an hour when I spotted my Hula Girl. I was so happy to see her that I forgot to be shocked for a moment. But there she was, across the main foyer, standing on her own and looking distracted. And beautiful. So incredibly beautiful in her body-hugging black cocktail dress, her lips painted kiss-me-red, and her hair shiny and falling down her back.
Besides happiness and attraction, the next thing I felt was amusement. Shaking my head, I realized there was only one reason she would be here. Turns out she is the thing I have grown to despise: a lawyer. At least it explains the suspicions I’d had those few times the real world came out in our conversations.
But I sure as hell never expected to run into her. I don’t remember ever meeting her when I lived here, either. She must practice a different kind of law. Still, she’s hard to ignore.
And so, I watched the person I recognized as having phoned her back-to-back when we were having breakfast at her hotel approach her. Even from my distance, I could see he was on his way to being drunk. Their body language made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. I was inordinately relieved by that.
When he kept ignoring her obvious signals to back off, I strode right over and inserted myself. Claiming to be her fiancé was a bit much, but I didn’t think it through. I remembered that she said this guy hadn’t thought she was marriage material, and so it seemed a perfect way to stick it to him. For him to realize he’d make a big mistake by letting her go.
But there is more to consider with this spur-of-the-moment game than I originally thought. I know that now that my father and Bryce are headed our way.
“Ford,” Senior says, “Bryce here was just telling me how surprised he was to learn of your engagement.”
Shit. I recognize the steely look in Senior’s eyes. It’s the same look I came to know all too well as a rebellious twelve year old. With just the hardening of his gaze, he can convey a stern warning that’s basically him saying, “You’d better not test me. Because there will be consequences if you do.” I’m less concerned for myself than I am for Ava. She has no idea how cut-throat he can be. This has just gone from harmless screwing around with Ava’s ex to opening her up to Senior’s wrath.
If I admit that it was all a joke now, Senior would be furious. Appearances matter might as well be his mantra. That’s why I’m here in the suit he bought for me, after all. Trying to project the image that I’ve returned to the fold, that I’m an active part of McAvoy & Partners again. All to appease my father for as long as it takes to get past the board meeting. Well, that and also to buy myself the time I need to leave on my own terms.
So, if I piss him off now by admitting to this fake fiancé ruse, it’s very likely that he’d be angry enough to want to fire me. But he can’t. Not before the board meeting. And so, if he can’t go after me, he might just go after Ava to get at me. The last thing I want is for her to get caught up in the war I’ve got going on with my dad. In that split second, I decide the best thing to do is let the clock run out on this game I’m playing. The only question is whether Ava will shut it down or go along with me.
“Well,” I say with a forced laugh, as I try to steer this whole thing in a different direction. “I guess Bryce can’t be blamed for being a little jealous. He is Ava’s ex-boyfriend, after all.”
“Is that right?” Senior eyes Bryce with new distaste.
Outing Bryce as a jealous ex was a good move. My father does not like losers, which is exactly how he’ll view Bryce now. And it will remind Ava of the gentle payback this gives her.
“Well, I really just wanted to give you both my congratulations,” Bryce says, fumbling but sober enough to know that he does not want to get on Senior’s bad side.
“Oh, we appreciate the congratulations,” I say and wrap my arm around Ava, squeezing her shoulder and hoping she understands this is the best way to go.
“Congratulations for what?”
An elderly man has joined us. He’s tall with silver hair and has a dignified manner. I recognize him as being a fixture in our circle for years, but before I greet him, my father speaks.
“Ah, Randall,” he says, “how are you?”
The two shake hands and exchange pleasantries before Bryce puffs out his chest and makes a show of greeting Randall like they’re old pals.
But I sense some discord between the two. And when Randall looks at Ava, there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes me suspect he’s got a soft spot for her. I like the idea that he’s protective of her.
“You remember my son, Ford?” my father asks Randall.
“Can’t say that I do,” Randall replies, smiling and holding out his hand genially.
I’m surprised that Randall doesn’t remember me because he’s been at my father’s house before for various dinners and parties. We’ve met more than once. I suppose it has been a while since one of those meetings, though.
“Well, that’s odd,” Bryce says. “What with he and Ava being engaged.”
All eyes turn to Ava, and I hold my breath.
“We wanted to keep it a secret?” Ava explains, her voice coming out as more of a question than a statement.
“And now the proverbial cat’s out of the bag,” my father says with a chuckle. “Anyway, we were planning on making the dinner party at my house in a few days into a sort of surprise engagement announcement. Isn’t that right, Ford?”
I grit my teeth before quickly forcing a smile. Senior has gone all-in on this thing. He wants to appear to have known all along about this pseudo engagement rather than cause a minor scandal with word getting out that he didn’t know that his own son was planning on getting married. There’s no turning back now. Telling the truth would be messier than just going with the lie.
“Well, now that it’s out,” I say, “maybe we can forego all the spectacle of a party.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” my father says smugly. He may not know the whole story of this “engagement” but he knows he’s got me in an awkward spot. And he’s enjoying it.
“And I’m going to make sure my schedule is clear so that I can attend,” Randall says, his eyes fixed on Ava. There’s a flicker of something wild in his expression, something he takes pains to get control over and dismiss.
“Great,” she says meekly.
“I’d love to attend if you have room,” Bryce says.
Thankfully, my father seems to have a good read on Bryce and says dismissively, “Why don’t you call my secretary, Doris, and see what she thinks. She’s handling all the details.”
“I’ll do that. First thing tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes at Bryce’s eagerness.
“We have to get going,” Ava says, surprising me. “We have that thing, babe, right?”
“Uh, yes. That thing. Gotta get to it,” I reply.
We say hasty goodbyes and she pulls me urgently away. She doesn’t stop until we’re past the pre-function area outside of the cocktail reception and down the grand marble staircase. It’s then that she turns to me and crosses her arms over her chest, leveling a hard stare at me.
I hold up my hands in a “don’t shoot me” gesture. I don’t even know where to start with this. It all got out of control so quickly that I’m still trying to process what we’re dealing with. I do know one thing: she’s hot as hell when she’s mad. I can practically see the smoke rising off her.
“Don’t you dare look at me like that right now,” she says, tossing her long hair back over her shoulder.
“Like wh
at?” I can’t help but laugh.
“Like you want to fuck me right here.”
“Jesus,” I say, pulling her to me by her waist, “I so do want to fuck you right now. You’ve had me turned on since I saw you across the room.”
She puts her hand on my chest and presses but I don’t let her push me away. “We need to get out of here.”
“Yes, we do,” I reply, dropping my voice an octave.
Exasperated, she says, “Not for that. So we can talk.”
“Talk?” My mind is still on the idea of finding some nook in the lobby where I can have her to myself.
“Yes. Talk about how you just screwed up my life.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” She pulls away from my grasp. “Now, let’s go.”
Swallowing, I nod and follow after her.
18
Ava
I can feel the weight of Ford’s expectation as I storm out of the hotel and down the street, but I don’t say a word. I don’t explain to him that we’re going to my place. I don’t explain to him that I live on Spring Street, near enough to walk. I don’t explain to him that I’m grappling with how unreasonably betrayed I feel by all the half-truths he told me in Maui.
I’m in my own head, compiling the things that just don’t add up when I realize he’s no longer by my side. Glancing back, I see that he’s a half-step behind me. With his eyes on my behind.
I come to an abrupt stop and he nearly runs into me. Turning to face him, I see his crooked smile.
There are plenty of people moving in both directions on the sidewalk. They’re likely heading home after work, or meeting friends for a drink, or ducking into shops like The Last Bookstore, which happens to be catty-corner to the building where I live. There’s been a huge effort to revitalize downtown Los Angeles into a place where young professionals like myself want to live. To a certain extent, it’s worked. It can be a lively place, especially during the week. But on weekends, it still becomes a veritable ghost town. I’ve never minded, as the only reason I bought the place I live in is to be close to the office where I spend six days a week. The quiet on the one day I take off is usually of no concern since I’m more often than not at my mother’s house, spending the day with her to check over her business’ bookkeeping, catch up on neighborhood gossip, and eat the kind of made-with-love food only she can make.
Now, however, I’m conspicuously aware of the people rushing past us with impatience. That crooked smile on Ford’s face makes me lose my own patience.
“You think this is all a joke, don’t you?” I ask.
“What?”
“Do you even realize the damage you’ve done to my professional reputation? Do you even care?”
“Wait a second,” he says, his expression going serious.
Before he can continue, I tell him, “No, of course you don’t. All you care about is watching my ass walk down the street. God, I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you right now.”
Looking away from him, I eye the door to my building. It’s only two storefronts down the block, just past the hipster barbershop. But Ford doesn’t know that. I could just send him on his way right now, wait until he’s out of sight, and then go up to my loft. That would be one way to fix all this—shut down this insane attraction we have to each other and truly go our separate ways. I can tell Randall that I was playing along with Ford’s silly practical joke, that none of it was true, that I barely know him. I wouldn’t even be lying if I did that. And then I could get back to my normal life. I could get Ford out of my system and go back to my usual routine of working my ass off rather than letting him ogle it.
“I do care,” he says.
I reluctantly meet his eyes.
“Please, can we go somewhere to talk? I’ll buy you dinner. Anywhere you want.”
He’s dropped the sex fiend act and looks contrite. The fact that his hair has reverted back to its usual unruly state and he’s undone the top two buttons of his dress shirt have nothing to do with the fact that my anger is dissipating. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
Okay, so I’m not really ready to shut this down. I want answers. I want to know what the hell just happened. And I wouldn’t mind being in close proximity to the heat of his body while I do so.
Also, I’m hungry. Those events always skimp on food, only offering a paltry passed hors d’oeuvre or two before the wait staff disappears. My first thought is to take him to the little place nearby that offers a limited menu of mouth-watering tacos on house-made tortillas. They serve everything from steak to chicharron to tinga tacos. But it's their spicy specialty taco with four kinds of roasted peppers that always draws me in. Unfortunately, they don’t have a liquor license and after skipping out on the cocktail reception before I could even get a glass of wine, combined with all this craziness with Ford, I really need a drink.
“I know a place,” I say, thinking of my second-choice Mexican restaurant. “Let’s go.”
This time, when I start walking, he keeps pace with me.
* * *
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Ford says once we’ve been seated.
We got lucky, skating by a party of seven to secure the last open table for two. The restaurant is alive with the chatter of a full house, the mood upbeat and a contrast to our awkward unintentional date.
“Listen,” I say, “I can’t even start to talk until I have a drink and some food. I’m too hungry and I’m too irritated.”
He nods and smoothly flags down our waiter, who had until this point been too occupied with other tables to even greet us.
I don’t wait for the waiter to explain the specials. Instead, I ask for an Old Fashioned and an order of shrimp and avocado tostadas. Ford joins me with the same drink and asks the waiter for his recommendation, taking him up on the carne asada entrée.
Taking my earlier warning literally, Ford is silent while we wait for our drinks. He looks around the restaurant, surveying the one long aqua wall, the other brick wall, and the ceiling that’s painted terra cotta between wood beams. In turn, I watch him, trying to decipher what he’s all about.
Tyler was, of course, right. Ford is drop-dead gorgeous. There’s nothing quite like a man who can rock both a business suit and a bathing suit. The way he cleans up is a sin. I can only imagine the impression he must make when he meets a client or shows up in court. I’d thought he was self-assured and entirely comfortable in his own skin in Maui, but seeing how easily he took down Bryce was a whole other level of confidence. It was both him standing up for himself and for me. And it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
He didn’t need to leap to my defense that way. Hell, he didn’t even need to come over to me in the first place. Now that I think of my interaction with Bryce before that, I can imagine what it might have looked like to an outsider. Bryce was crossing the line. He was also drunk. But I could have handled him.
Still, having Ford swoop in was—once I got past my shock at seeing him—incredibly flattering. It was one thing to have his attention when it was just the two of us in Maui, and yet another when he was making a claim over me to my ex. A very compelling thing, especially when I never thought I’d see him again.
And now we’re having dinner together.
Our waiter delivers our drinks and my order since it’s technically an appetizer. Ford takes the arrival of the food and drinks as his cue to speak.
“I’m sorry, Ava,” he starts. “I don’t know why I said I was your fiancé.” He pauses as if he’s fighting to keep from continuing. In the end, he can’t contain himself. “It’s just, that asshole of an ex needed to be shut down. I mean, I know guys like that. I know they think they’re owed the world. And, he’s clearly an idiot if he gave you up, so I was just pointing out the obvious to help him along in understanding his mistake.”
I watch him for a minute, trying and failing to hang on to my anger with him. I can’t help but smile. He’s just so earnest. And sweet. Not to me
ntion gorgeous.
Picking up my tumbler, I hold it out to him. “Cheers to that,” I say.
“Hell, yeah,” he replies, knocking my glass with his.
19
Ford
We drain our first drink, share her appetizer, and order a second cocktail before conversation turns from purposefully surface-level banter to confronting the circumstances we’re in now.
“So, Mr. McAvoy,” she says, the Old Fashioned having taken the edge off her anger at me, “what is this all about? Why are you in LA?”
Taking a deep breath, I let it out as I consider where to start.
“And what is the deal with your father?” she continues. “I thought you didn’t even know him? That he wanted nothing to do with you when you were growing up? But that wasn’t exactly the truth, was it?”
Looks like I was premature in thinking her anger had cooled off.
“I didn’t lie to you about him,” I say. “I just … didn’t exactly tell you the whole truth.”
She nods as if this confirms something for her. As if she somehow knew all along that I wasn’t to be trusted. That rubs me the wrong way because I never set out to deceive her. I wasn’t running some kind of con on her. We both knew what we wanted from each other back in Maui. And we gave it to each other so well. To now turn that around and view our time together as something more calculating is a bit of revisionism.
“Okay, come on, Ava—we weren’t exactly focused on baring our souls to each other. We were focused on more physical things, weren’t we?”
Frozen by my words for a second, she suddenly breaks out into a big smile before laughing. “Oh, I see. Thanks for that, Surfer Boy.”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t a fantastic time. I’m just saying, it wasn’t the time to tell you my life story.”
“Well, now that you’ve got me mixed up in this fake fiancée charade, I think you’d better go ahead and bare your soul to me.”
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