by Lucy Lambert
My eyes closed. I did my best impression of a pat of butter in the microwave and melted in his arms.
My lips ached when he finally pulled away.
“I’m sorry about everything that’s happened,” he said.
“No. I’m the one who's sorry. You were right. About Suzy. We had it out last night and she told me everything. So really, I think I need your forgiveness...”
He silenced me with another long, warm kiss. His hands pressed hard against the small of my back.
“There was never any question of you getting that,” he said. “This is all done now? Because I want you back. I’ll have my PR guy do up a press release if you want. No secrets, no hiding. Though I think you’d like the parties and socials I go to even less than I do. But they’re yours if you want them.”
“Just you, please and thanks,” I said. My smile hurt my cheeks.
“I can manage that.”
What we couldn’t manage anymore was the tension. The anticipation.
Because I wanted him. He wanted me, just as much.
Neither of us wore a single stitch of clothing by the time he shouldered his way into his bedroom.
He threw me on the bed. Our mouths locked together in that perfect fit we had again.
Then he was on me. Then he was in me. It was raw passion, unleashed in physical form.
I missed him so much, I realized as I clung to him. I’d dreamt about this moment pretty much every single night since that night. And reality was better than fantasy in every way.
We went hard. It was the only way we knew, if only for those few moments. Exorcising that tension and anticipation that had lingered within us both for so long.
It was as though I had a deep itch that only he could scratch. That was the only way I could approximate what I felt in those moments.
We both climaxed at the same time. He grabbed my hands in his and squeezed. I squeezed back.
Then he lay beside me on that big bed of his, both of us watching the sunlight dapple the ceiling. We still held hands.
“Now what?” I said. My body trembled. My insides were a throbbing mass. In a good way.
I glanced at Neil. He looked just as spent, his well-sculpted chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he took.
“Now whatever we want,” Neil said.
Except not quite yet, I realized. My phone rang, breaking me from my reverie. I remembered that I had a real life outside of Neil’s bedroom. As much as I didn’t want that life, it was there.
I got up and found my jeans just outside the bedroom door. I fished my phone from the front pocket, hoping it was just another of Suzy’s new numbers that I could block right away.
It wasn’t.
I looked back at Neil over my shoulder, “It’s work.”
“Don’t answer,” Neil said.
“I have to,” I replied.
I answered, put the Samsung against my ear. “Hello?”
It was Mr. Diehl’s secretary, “Miss Smith? Don’t you check your email? You weren’t excused from work today. Please come in as soon as you can.”
She hung up before I could say anything.
I turned back to Neil. “I have to go.”
“Do you? Is it that manager again? I could have a word with him, if you want.”
“Yeah it’s him. And no thanks. It’s my life, I’m the one who should deal with it,” I said.
I didn’t want to go, but I knew I had to. I promised him I’d let him know as soon as I was done for the day. We could get together again, then.
I had a feeling much of the next few days would be spent in that bedroom. And I looked forward to them with a longing that went bone-deep.
But I had to take care of this first.
THERE HAD TO BE SECURITY cameras somewhere I didn’t know about.
As soon as I sat down at my desk the phone rang. I answered on the first ring.
“Hello, Rachel Smith speaking.”
“Miss Smith, Mr. Diehl needs to see you in his office right away. Drop anything else you’re doing and come now.”
Another hang-up before I could reply.
“Bye to you, too,” I muttered while I put the receiver down.
My heartbeat picked up when I walked down the hall again. His secretary nodded at me and then at the door behind her, which stood open a crack already.
I went right in.
Mr. Diehl sat there with his fingers steepled again. I wondered how long he’d sat there in that pose, waiting for me to come in.
“Miss Smith,” he said, “So nice of you to join us. I have a question for you: Is work something that’s optional for you?”
I frowned, “Of course not.”
He spread his hands. “Really? Well, that comes as something of a surprise to me. You see, I was shown an email this morning that I believe shows the opposite.”
“Something important came up that I needed to fix right away,” I said. I tried keeping the irritation out of my voice but didn’t succeed.
This pleased Mr. Diehl, who re-steepled his fingers and offered a bloodless smile.
“Well, this is going to be a problem for us,” he said, “You see, important matters are of no concern to us here. They’re for before or after work. Not during. And again I notice your performance slipping. Is this going to be a monthly thing for you?”
I squeezed my hands into fists. “Mr. Diehl, sir, I haven’t taken a single sick or vacation day since starting. I’m still ahead on all my work...”
He held up a hand to stop me. I was really tired of people doing that to me.
“I knew it,” he said, “I knew that you weren’t fit for this job...”
This time I held up my hand for him to stop. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
“No! There isn’t anyone else more fit for this job than me. Why do you think I was hired? You don’t like me because I’m young and I’m a woman, neither of which describes you. And that’s fine: you don’t have to like me. But you do have to respect me.
“I’m not going to break myself for this job anymore. But I’ll continue to do my job, and do it well. So no more of this making me work every hour of every day, waiting for me to underperform so you can get rid of me. Yes, I know what game you’re playing. Do you understand?”
My shoulders heaved, I could hardly get enough breath. I hadn’t meant to rip into him quite so venomously, but it all spilled out before I could contain it.
“I’m afraid, then, Miss Smith, that I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As I feared, the rigours of this job are just too much for a woman. Thank you for proving my point.”
“You can’t fire me,” I said.
“I can, actually,” he replied, the bloodless smile returning.
“You can try, but not before I drag you through HR for wrongful termination and discrimination,” I said.
I pulled my phone out and played back the last part of our conversation.
The rest of his face went as bloodless as his lips.
“I’ll take that to mean we have an understanding,” I said, “May I leave, or is there anything we need to discuss?”
“No,” he said, snapping back to attention, “You can go. Back to your desk, I mean.”
“Good, thank you,” I said.
For the first time ever, I left the office of Mr. Diehl with a smile.
EPILOGUE
“What should we do today?” I said.
I was over at Neil’s condo. My fingerprint opened the lock on the door, and the doorman always let me in now.
We spent a lot of time together in this place, but I still kept my apartment back in Bushwick. I liked having my own space, and Neil was happy to not interfere with that.
Several weeks back, he also suggested that I didn’t need to work anymore if I didn’t want to, strictly speaking.
I liked to work, though. It was rewarding and satisfying. And I think he liked that about me, too.
He sat down at the breakfast table. I liked the
way the V-neck of his undershirt gave me a little preview of his well-sculpted pectorals.
“Well, how about dinner in Paris tonight?”
“Are you kidding?” I said.
“I never kid about Paris,” he replied, “And I also know you’ve never been over to Europe. I also happen to know you have a couple of weeks of vacation time banked. Say yes.”
We’d been together for months now, and I was still getting used to the freedom of being with someone like Neil.
“We can’t just up and go to Paris!” I said.
“We can,” he replied.
“Okay, but I’m paying for my own ticket. I’m insisting,” I said.
He stood up. He came over and kissed me on the forehead. “I thought you might. So say yes. I need to hear it nice and clear.”
“Yes! Yes, okay?”
“Good, I’ll go book us right now.”
He turned to go. I stopped him by hooking a finger into his pants pocket.
He turned around again, eyebrows raised in a question.
“I love you, Neil,” I said.
That earned me another kiss. On the lips this time.
“I love you, too,” he replied.
THE END
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Plea from the Author
Hey, Reader. So you got to the end of my book. I hope that means you enjoyed it. Whether or not you did, I would just like to thank you for giving me your valuable time to try and entertain you. I am truly blessed to have such a fulfilling job, but I only have that job because of people like you; people kind enough to give my books a chance and spend their hard-earned money buying them. For that I am eternally grateful.
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Lucy just loves to write romantic stories filled with steamy scenes. She hopes her audience enjoys reading them as much as she enjoys writing them.
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The Pretend Girlfriend: A Billionaire Romance
Chapter 1
Gwen rushed inside out of the rain. Water dripped in tiny rivers from her umbrella as she wrestled it closed, and she tried not to see her reflection in the door, knowing what the moisture did to her hair.
The rain soaked right through her flats, and she could feel her toes getting all pruny.
So, shifting the big messenger bag on her shoulder to try and stop the strap from biting even more deeply into her, Gwen went and checked the mail. Janice, her roomie, usually got it, but Gwen still liked to check out of habit.
Junk, coupons, junk, junk... And one white envelope stamped URGENT! in a shade of red Gwen might have also called urgent. It was from the property management company that owned her apartment.
"Probably raising the rent again."
"Pardon?" Gwen said. She turned around, water droplets spraying in a ring from the bottom of her coat, to see an old lady sat on the bench outside the manager's office, her hands resting on her aluminum cane. The woman nodded at the envelope, indicating it with thin, grey eyebrows.
"They're probably going to raise your rent, dear. They like to do that. Everyone's always just in it for the money, now. No sense of community..."
Gwen smiled politely, agreeing. Something about that URGENT stamp tickled her insides with anxiety. And the prospect of even higher rent sent her thoughts to her latest bank statement, and the balance (or lack thereof) therein.
Thanking the elderly woman, Gwen called the elevator. She started tapping her foot, but the feeling of the water shifting between her toes stopped her. She made a mental note to make sure and dry them out right away so that they wouldn't be ruined. New shoes were at the bottom of her list, which was topped by things like Rent and Food. All those books she'd had to buy for school (which weighed down her messenger bag so much she started losing feeling in her arm just standing there) cost a fortune!
Finally, the elevator came. She just wanted to get out of these soaking clothes, throw the books into the corner for now, and close her eyes for a few moments on the couch...
Fishing for her keys, she almost didn't see the piece of paper taped to her apartment door, blank side out, over the peephole. She frowned; that was weird. Janice always got home a good half hour before she did. Why hadn't she taken this in?
Gwen took the paper down, shaking her head at the little sticky strip left on the paint. True, it wasn't the nicest apartment building to begin with. Cheaply made, with cream and white walls and awful carpets worn almost to the bare floorboards in spots. But it was all she could afford, even with a roomie.
"Janice? You see this note on door...?" Gwen said, stooping to pull off her shoes while the door closed behind her. It took some real peeling, and she bit down on her bottom lip, getting the feeling that this pair was ruined beyond the capabilities of a hair dryer to fix.
She wriggled her toes, glad at the touch of air once more. They were all pruny, as she suspected.
It distracted her so much that she didn't really pay any attention to the state of her apartment until she gingerly pulled off her coat and hung it on the stand next to the door.
"Janice?" she called out again, looking down the front entrance hall. Directly ahead of her was the door to her bedroom, and to the right of that, Janice's room. You could get into the small kitchen through the doorway on her left, and, going through that, into the cramped den.
Janice liked to keep one of those small, thin hallway tables out here. It always had a small vase with a single fake long-stemmed rose, and a rectangular bowl in which Janice and Gwen threw their keys and whatever change remained from buying their customary morning lattes.
Except Gwen couldn't find the table. Only four marks left in the white carpet where it stood said anything once stood there.
"Hey, what's up?" Gwen called out. Something was wrong, she could feel it.
She knocked on Janice's door, waited, and then knocked again. After a third attempt, she opened it.
Janice's room was empty. Not even curtains. There were little holes in the drywall over the window where the rod had been mounted.
Gwen had a trusting nature ever since she was little. It came from watching all those Disney movies, where everything turned out all right in the end. Sure, people could be mean and evil. But they always got what they deserved, and the good people always won out. She blamed this trusting nature for her first reaction.
Her thoughts went something along the lines of: Oh! We've been robbed! I hope Janice is okay; I should get a hold of her.
It wasn't until she had to shift the notice from the door and the URGENT letter from the mail to her other hand so that she could find her cell phone that she made the connection.
The notice on the door had the property management company's letterhead in bold face, PATTERSON HOLDINGS, INC. Gwen read quickly,
trying to take the entire document in all at once. This, of course, didn't work out so well, so she forced her eyes to scan each individual line, all the way down to, "Sincerely, Mike Patterson."
It was an eviction notice. Apparently, Patterson Holdings had not received a rent check in three months. And, unless Gwen could come up with the $3600 owed in back-rent by the end of the week, in addition to another $173.45 in fees for the bounced checks (it was already Tuesday!) she would have to vacate the unit.
Panicking, Gwen dropped the notice and then tore at the letter.
It was about the same thing, except laying everything out in somewhat more depth.
Gwen's first reaction was thinking she was having a nightmare. She went so far as to squeeze her eyes shut and command herself to awaken. But when she opened her eyes, that partially-crumpled letter still waited in her hands.
Her second reaction was that this was all somehow some big mistake. They'd gotten the wrong unit (even though both the letter and the notice both said Suite 705, her unit). Janice always took care of this stuff right away. Gwen always saw the rent come out of her bank account the next day after giving Janice her check.
She tried giving Janice a call. It went to voicemail. Gwen left a message. Then she texted Janice, just to be sure. Something inside told her that she was never going to hear from Janice again.
At least Janice only took her own stuff. When Gwen realized what had really happened, she rushed frantically through the apartment, checking. All her own stuff still waited in her room. The old TV and entertainment center her aunt gave her when she first went off to school still sat against one wall in the living room. The small breakfast table with its two mismatched chairs still waited in one corner of the cramped kitchen.
Gwen pulled one of those chairs out and sat down. Her wet clothes hugged her skin, but she barely noticed.
She always hated it in movies and TV when characters sat around telling themselves "This can't be happening!" and not doing anything about their problem.