by Rush, Olivia
“Sorry about that,” I said, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “Should’ve turned it off. Force of habit.”
“No worries,” she said. “I am—was—a small business owner, remember? I know what it’s like to be glued to that thing.”
“Anyway, go on with your story,” I said.
“Oh yeah. So, I was in my study group with these other girls who were almost as nerdy as I was. I say ‘almost,’ because they managed to at least get dates. And one day, one of them found out I had a crush on—”
My phone vibrated again in my pocket. Without taking my eyes off Chelsea, I reached down and hit “silent” again.
“—Jason Whittaker, one of the hottest guys in school. Well, of course they—”
Another vibration. Someone was calling and not stopping. As much as I hated to cut Chelsea off, I realized that this could very well be an emergency.
I held up my hand. “Sorry,” I said, “but someone’s calling over and over again. Might be an emergency. I’m afraid I need to take this.”
“Oh, OK,” she said, a tinge of disappointment in her voice. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”
I got up from the table just in time to feel another call coming in. Once back in the apartment, I took my phone out of my pocket and checked the screen. It was a local number, but not one in my contacts.
“Hello?” I asked, shutting the balcony door and raising the phone to my ear.
“Good evening, Ducky!” spoke a posh, British accent on the other line.
I winced. The pet name I hated, the accent, the inopportune call—it could only mean one person: Felicity Hargrove, my ex.
“How is it that you and I dated as long as we did and you never picked up on how much I hate that name?”
A lilting chuckle sounded from the other end. “Seeing you get all worked up when I call you that is half the fun,” she said. “Though the effect is lost when we’re on the phone, I’m afraid.”
I shot a quick glance back at Chelsea, who was absentmindedly poking at her food.
“There a reason you called so many times?” I asked. “You got me thinking someone died.”
“I certainly hope that’s not the case,” she said. “I’ve been in the loveliest mood all week. Hate to have someone up and die on us to spoil that.”
She was being evasive, as usual—playing coy in order to wring as much attention as possible out of a conversation. Just one of her many charming qualities.
I took a deep, patient breath and spoke. “You want to get to it?”
“Always to the point,” she said. “Never one for idle chatter. Anyway, I just wanted to know if you were planning on coming to the Harrington Charity Ball this weekend. Heard it was going to be a lovely affair.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Wait,” I said. “You’re coming? Aren’t you in the middle of filming some movie?”
“Netflix series, to be precise, and yes and no. The director and a few of the producers are having a little spat over the creative direction of the show, so we’re at a bit of a standstill until they get matters sorted out. So, I figure I can have a little fun in the meantime. And what’s more fun than coming to your city and making the rounds?”
A tight knot of frustration formed in my stomach.
“You know, Felicity, for someone who cheated, you’re always chipper as hell about seeing me.”
“Oh, Ducky,” she said. “Just because we had our differences doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.”
“‘Having our differences’ is an interesting way of putting ‘screwing your costar for two months while on set.’”
She let out a scoffing laugh.
“Well, shame on me for not wanting to live in the past,” she said. “Does this mean you’re going to give me the cold shoulder this weekend? I don’t think my poor little heart could take that.”
“I’ll be there,” I said. “But I can’t say how glad I’ll be to see you.”
“Well, this event is too important for us to bring our baggage. As much as I wish you’d leave our past in the past, I simply wanted to let you know that I’ll be there and looking forward to seeing you.”
“Likewise,” I said, the knot of frustration tightening.
“I’ll let you get back to it, Ducky. Until then!”
The line went dead.
Part of me wanted to whip the damn phone against the nearest wall. It was just like Felicity to make sure that I was properly keeping her in my thoughts, to make sure that I’d be ready to lavish attention on her despite the circumstances of our breakup.
And I could only guess how she’d react to my and Chelsea’s engagement.
Once I’d calmed myself down, I stepped back out onto the balcony, the evening air fresh on my skin.
“Everything OK?” asked Chelsea as I slid into my seat.
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Now, let’s hear more about that embarrassing story of yours.”
Chapter 9
Chelsea
“He looked like I’d just asked him if he wanted to come with me and join the Navy or something,” I said. “Like the idea of him going out on a date with me was so incomprehensible that he couldn’t even wrap his mind around it, let alone figure out a nice way to let me down.”
Bryce sat back in his chair, his glass of wine raised in front of his chest.
“What did he end up saying?”
“That’s the worst part. Jason couldn’t even form words. He just looked at me funny and made this weird sound that I think was him trying to say ‘No, bye,’ but ended up coming out like ‘Noby,’ before hurrying away. And you can guess what my nickname for the rest of the time in that study group was.”
Bryce laughed.
“And I’m guessing you wouldn’t be too hot on me calling you that either?”
I smirked. “Hey, you can call me whatever you want. Just as long as you’re fine with wearing that pork as a hat.”
He chuckled again.
Bryce was doing his best to stay calm and cool, but it was easy to see that the phone conversation he’d just had upset him. There was a rigidity to him now, as if a small part of his mind was focused on something else.
As curious as I was, I didn’t want to pry. The evening was pleasant so far, and I didn’t want to ruin the mood by making him dredge up anything he didn’t want to talk about.
“Speaking of pork,” he said, setting his glass down, “I’m all done here. What do you think about dessert?”
“I think very highly of it,” I said. “As a general concept.”
“Then stay put. I’ll be back in a second.”
Bryce headed back into the apartment, taking both of the plates with him. As he was gone, my mind went right back to the phone call he’d had, trying to puzzle out who he’d been talking with. It couldn’t have been a business matter, because he didn’t say anything to that effect, and I couldn’t imagine him being evasive about something like that.
No, it was something else. Something he wasn’t telling me because he didn’t want me to know.
Bryce returned a few moments later with two plates and set one down in front of me. On the plate was a scoop of light orange ice cream, perfectly half-circle-shaped. Sliced peaches were fanned out on one side and artfully broken pieces of what looked to be toffee with seeds in it were scattered here and there.
“What have we here?” I asked.
“That would be peach and ginger sorbet with a flaxseed crisp. Not sure what a flaxseed crisp is, but it looks good.”
“Agreed,” I said.
I tried a spoonful, a broad smile spreading across my face as the sorbet melted on my tongue. It was fresh and delicious, the ginger adding a slight bite that complemented the open sweetness of the peach, the flaxseed crisp living up to its name and giving the whole dessert a wonderfully crunchy texture.
“Absolutely delicious,” I said, closing my eyes and savoring the treat.
“I’m in total agreement,” he said.
The two of us a
te our desserts in silence, the meal so tasty that neither of us could manage a word. When we were all done, we finished the last bit of wine.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m about beat.”
“Same here,” I said, the wine and the sugar and the richness of the pork making my eyelids feel as though they were weighted down.
“Let me show you to your bedroom before I fall asleep here at the table.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
I stood up, my legs feeling weak underneath me. As Bryce led me back into the apartment, I considered how tired I was, but as my eyes drifted down and lingered on his ass, perfectly shaped and accented by his trousers, I thought I might be able to scrape together some extra energy if Bryce was in the mood for a second dessert.
I scolded myself for the thought right away. This was going to be professional from now on. No more screwing around, no more sex. Bryce was my boss, and the two of us were going to pull this fake marriage thing off without making the matter any more complicated.
Besides, Bryce had said that our little slipup before was just to break the sexual tension, to get any such thoughts out of our heads so we could focus.
Focus—that’s what I needed.
“Right this way,” said Bryce, leading me down one of the hallways.
We arrived at a door at the end. Bryce opened it up, revealing a small, cozy bedroom, complete with a small terrace and a view of the city.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, “but just make sure the door is locked if we have any guests. Might look a little bad if the new fiancée has all her things in the spare bedroom.”
“Not a good omen for the marriage,” I said with a smile.
“Let me know if you need anything,” said Bryce.
The two of us locked eyes. Neither of us said a word as we stood inches from each other. The tension in the air built by the second. Without thinking, I opened my lips slightly, as if beckoning Bryce to move in for a kiss.
“Good night,” he said abruptly before turning and heading down the hallway.
I watched him leave, sensing that he’d picked up on the heat of the moment. Did he want to get away before he succumbed again?
If so, I knew he’d made the right call. But that didn’t mean I would’ve been unhappy if he decided to give in to what we were both clearly feeling.
But he hadn’t. Bryce vanished around the corner, and I was alone.
* * *
The next morning at the office passed by without incident. That is, until Bess found me during lunch and asked if I had any plans for the weekend.
The question hit me like an arrow. I hadn’t even considered how I was going to discuss the matter of my fake engagement with friends and family.
To lie or not to lie?
“I do have plans,” I said, tension forming in my stomach as Bess sat across from me. “Plans with, um, Bryce Carver.”
The name came out in a blurt, as though it was all one word—“Brycecarver.”
Bess squinted a bit and cocked her head to the side, as if she’d simply misheard me and needed me to repeat myself.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “What was that? Who do you have plans with?”
I leaned in as if I was about to let her in on a conspiracy.
“Bryce Carver,” I said.
She pointed up, like Bryce was living in the ceiling.
“Is there someone else who works in the building with the same name? Because there’s no way you’re telling me that you’ve actually got a date with Bryce Carver, as in ‘the guy whose name is on the front of the building.’”
“Shh!” I hissed. “I don’t need everyone in the world knowing.”
It was a silly thing to say. After all, when this weekend was over, everyone in the city would know.
“OK,” she said, her eyes going wide. “I’ll keep it a secret. But you’d better tell me right now how this all happened.”
I put my lying skills into overdrive, telling the story of how he and I had met in the elevator. I made little adjustments here and there, omitting the minor detail of how he and I had agreed to a fake marriage. Instead, I changed the story to him calling me up to his office to ask me out on a date where we hit it off immediately.
“And then he just invited you out to this ball?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Said he’s going to buy me a dress and everything.”
Bess fell back in her seat, her mind clearly trying to wrap around everything that I’d told her.
“Chels, this is huge,” she said. “I know you’re not exactly a gossip type, but Bryce has all but vanished from the face of the earth. He had that huge breakup with Felicity Hargrove, and that was it—poof! Maybe a few years ago I’d guess he was just picking you up for a weekend fling, but as far as I know you’re the first woman he’s asked out in a really, really long time.”
“What do you think it means?” I asked, playing the role of the flustered girl.
“Means he thinks there’s something special about you,” she said. “Only explanation I can think of.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“What exactly did you do in that elevator to make such an impression on him?” she asked. “I assume that you engaged him in some sparkling conversation, but maybe you did something else with that mouth of yours.”
My eyes went wide.
“Bess!” I said, reaching across the table and giving her wrist a playful slap.
“I’m just joking, Chels,” she said. “You were your normal charming self, and pretty soon that charming self of yours will be charming the pants off him. Literally, this time.”
“You are such a freaking perv,” I said.
“It’s why you love me,” she said with a wink.
I checked the time and saw that I’d spent more time on my lunch break than I’d been planning.
“Shit,” I said. “Gotta get back to work.”
“Sure,” said Bess. “But don’t you dare forget to keep me posted on everything that happens this weekend.”
“I will, I will,” I said.
A sick feeling of guilt ran through me as I said my goodbyes to Bess. She was one of the only friends I had, and I was lying right to her face. But I told myself it’d all be worth it when I had the department back under my control. Hell, if I ended up as CTO there was no limit to the good I’d be able to do.
Just had to keep my mouth shut and go along with the plan.
“Chelsea,” spoke a familiar voice from behind me as I made my way back to my office.
I stopped and did a one-eighty and was face-to-face with Walsh Redman, one of my former partners at my old company. He was a squat man with a horseshoe-shaped balding head of hair and a face that looked decades older than his thirty-five years.
And he was one of the last people I wanted to see. After he sold the company out from under me, part of me wanted to tie a couple of cinder blocks to his legs and toss him into the bay. And the worst part was he never apologized, never told me that he regretted what he’d done in the slightest.
Nope. Even worse, he couldn’t seem to understand why I would even have a problem with what he’d done. As far as he was concerned, the money and the stock options should’ve been all I needed to hear about.
A man like him couldn’t imagine why someone would want to hold onto a company she’d built from the ground up. He knew the business, which is why I’d worked with him to begin with, but he couldn’t understand something like that.
“Yes, Walsh?” I asked, not masking my impatience with him.
“I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but I heard that you’re going to be spending the weekend with Mr. Carver.”
“What?” I shot out, my voice so loud that I caught the attention of nearby employees. “How the hell did you know that? And what business is it of yours if I was?”
He smirked, wrinkles fanning out from his thin lips. “I hear things around the office. Is it true?”
; Part of me wanted to smack the guy. The other part wanted to just get it all out in the open.
“Yeah, it is,” I said. “What of it?”
He paused a second before speaking. “You’re right—it’s none of my business. But I just thought I’d remind you that if you’re going to be spending off-the-clock time with Mr. Carver, you’re in a unique position to represent his newest acquisition. Could be a wonderful opportunity to put in a good word for us.”
“You mean ‘put in a good word for you,’” I said, crossing my arms.
“Not at all,” he said with a half-grin that I didn’t like one bit. “I wouldn’t mind if everyone in the department had Mr. Carver’s eye. And all it’d take would be a little effort on your part to make that happen.”
I knew Walsh well enough to know he was full of shit. Now that the company was part of Carver Holdings, all he cared about was moving up. The asshole knew how pissed I was at him for selling me out, and now he wanted me to network on his behalf. I wanted to tell him off right then and there.
But I couldn’t. I had to keep the peace—at least for now.
“I’ll see what I can do, Walsh,” I said, an icy edge to my tone that I hoped he picked up on.
He smiled.
“That’s all I ask. Good day, Chelsea.”
I shook my head as soon as his back was turned. But as frustrated as I might’ve been, I was shocked that he knew about me and Bryce. If we couldn’t keep this under wraps, it didn’t bode well for us making sure the “fake” part of the marriage stayed a secret.
I remembered that we hadn’t announced anything yet—there was still time to put a stop to this crazy idea before it even began. Maybe I ought to just tell Bryce that this was a ridiculous idea, that we were sure to get caught.
Either way, I had to make a decision. Soon, there would be no going back.
Chapter 10
Chelsea
The text from Bryce was cryptic. It said nothing more than “18th and Church, Six PM.” I felt like I was in some kind of spy movie, like I’d arrive there at the appointed time and take a seat on a bench where some guy in a trench coat would drop off a package or a folder of top-secret information.