by Anna Durand
"Well, I---uh---" Fuck, I'm tongue-tied again. I use sitting down and putting food on my plate as an excuse to take a moment to get hold of myself. Not that I ever have much luck with that. Not when I'm in the same room with Rika. Or the same building. Or the same world. "Does it really matter why?"
There. I spoke five unbroken words.
Rika studies me for a moment while she finishes off her egg roll. "I can't believe you have trouble getting dates. I mean, you're gorgeous, smart, sexy, and super nice."
She thinks I'm sexy? Of course, she's not saying she wants to have sex with me. Or have a normal relationship with me. A woman of her caliber deserves better than a man who talked her into engaging in a fraud.
"I don't have room in my life for a real relationship," I say. "The re-launch is...complicated and time-consuming."
"You do seem stressed."
"There's a lot to do. Frankly, I have no bloody idea how to do most of it."
"But you ran your own company before signing with Bonsoir."
"That's true, but..." I focus on my plate and shift food around on it with my fork. "I had one small factory with twenty employees, and I was in charge. I hired Reese to do a single marketing campaign with online advertising. It was Chance's girlfriend who made my business a success by talking about it on her blog. Now I work for the second-largest cosmetics company in the world and have to do whatever Celeste tells me to do."
"Reese says you underestimate yourself and give everyone else the credit even when it's you who really made your company profitable."
I stare at her. Reese said that? I love my brother, but he's normally sarcastic and never says anything like that to me. The closest he ever came to giving me a compliment was when he slapped me on the shoulder and said with a smile, "Well, congrats on not cocking it up." That had been on the day I sold my ten thousandth device.
But he's told Rika I underestimate myself. I have no idea what to make of that.
"In those wedding videos," Rika says, "you were laughing and grinning. You even made a toast in which you said lots of words without a hiccup. So I know you can be well-spoken and charming. I don't buy that the only reason you don't want a real girlfriend is because you're too busy."
Should I tell her the actual reason? It's not a complete lie that I don't have time, but mostly, I got so bloody sick of women telling me I'm boring compared to my devices. The last girl who said that was not the first to criticize my bedroom skills. I couldn't stand it if Rika reached the same conclusion about me. Why can't you be as exciting as your toys?
"Maybe there is another reason," I say, "but we don't know each other well enough to talk about that."
"Okay, you're probably right." She consumes a bite of sesame chicken, eying me with curiosity. "It can't be a problem in bed. You're way too hot for that, a fact I can attest to since we've kissed twice."
She'll probably change her mind about that if we ever do have sex. Which is why we won't. Not ever.
We eat our dinner and talk about inconsequential things, like Rika's favorite places in New York and what Eddie Masters' house looks like. She describes his video recording studio in great detail. She's clearly excited about her new job and enjoying the challenges of working for a fitness guru.
I work out, but not as much as I'm sure Eddie Masters does. I've never seen the man, much less spoken to him, but I can tell Rika thinks he's impressive. Especially when she says those exact words right after I've thought them.
"Eddie is one impressive guy," she announces. "An entrepreneur who turned his life's passion into a successful brand." She pokes my chest with her finger. "Just like you."
"I don't have a brand yet. Celeste explained to me how a brand is different from a line of products, but I honestly can't remember half of what she said. It's all too bloody complicated." I grumble and, I suspect, make a petulant face. I don't mean to, but this re-launch and branding rubbish makes me feel like a child being led around by his mother. "Apparently, a brand involves my face on the sodding package."
"Celeste will give up on that idea, trust me."
"What makes you think that?"
"She's a good person, but sometimes she goes overboard. I've gotten to know her over the past six months, since I became good friends with her granddaughter. Eventually, Celeste will realize she needs to give you some space."
I hope she realizes that soon. Tonight would be brilliant, but I'll have to wait until Monday to find out if she's seen reason yet.
"I like Celeste," I say. "But you're right. She can be a bit too...enthusiastic."
"You mean bossy. Go on, you can say it." Rika leans toward me, her face so close to mine that I can feel her breaths tickling my skin. "Celeste Arnaud is a bossy, bossy woman. Repeat it with me. Celeste is---"
"Why would I want to repeat that? You're being ridiculous."
"Maybe. But you need some serious stress relief. Why not spend the weekend at a spa?"
"A spa? Only if you come along to help me relax."
The second those words come out of my mouth I know I've made the biggest blunder yet.
"Sorry," I rush to say. "I didn't mean---That wasn't---Ah, bollocks."
Rika smiles, like she doesn't mind my faltering speech. "Don't panic. I know you weren't suggesting we go to a spa together for a weekend of Reiki and hot sex."
I stare at her for several seconds, and my eyes start to burn because I've stopped blinking. She can't mean she wants to... No, she's making a joke. Because, obviously, the idea of her sleeping with me is ludicrous.
She pats my chest and leans back. "How about dessert?"
"I didn't think to buy dessert. Sorry."
"That's okay." Her mouth opens on a big yawn. "I've got some Oreo truffles in the freezer."
She starts to get up.
I hold up my hand to stop her. "Let me get it. I think I can manage to find the Oreo truffles on my own. I imagine they're round?"
"Yes. Round, white balls with chocolate streaks on them. They're in a plastic bag. I made them myself. The insides are full of crushed chocolate chips and white chocolate, mixed with cream cheese. Totally decadent and delicious." She licks her lips. "I love feeling those big, succulent balls in my mouth. Mm-mm-mmmmm."
"All right. I'll find them." I hurry into the kitchen because her description of how good those truffles are has roused my cock. Why on earth would she describe candy as "big, succulent balls" that she loves to feel in her mouth? Is she trying to drive me insane?
I rummage in the freezer until I find the large, plastic bag full of big, white balls. My balls will be blue in thirty seconds flat if Rika describes these truffles to me again.
After dumping the truffles onto a plate, I go back into the living room. I've just sat down on the sofa again, and I'm about to speak, when I notice her eyes are closed. She still sits sideways on the sofa, angled toward me, but her cheek rests on the back. Her breathing has become even and shallower.
Rika is asleep.
I pop a truffle into my mouth and chew it. The flavors of the semisweet chips and white chocolate merge on my tongue, and the cream cheese makes the truffle, well, creamy. It tastes delicious, like Rika said it would.
After returning the truffles to the freezer, I hunt around until I find a fleece throw, then I lay it over Rika's shoulders. She looks so beautiful sleeping, her mouth curved into the faintest smile, her face and body completely relaxed. I envy her for that. When was the last time I felt at peace? Or took a day off? I can't have a spa day or do anything else that might in the slightest resemble relaxation.
I'm too fucking busy.
Chapter Nine
Rika
I wake up after midnight and realize I'm still on the sofa, but someone has put a blanket over me. Though the floor lamp is still on, I don't see Dane anywhere. Rubbing my eyes, I yawn and sit up, looking around like I think Dane will be waiting in the armchair or something. Of course he's not. I fell asleep, so he left.
But I see a piece of folded paper that stands upright on the coffee table like a little tent. My name is written on the paper in Dane's handwriting.
Yes, I recognize his handwriting. Though I only worked for him for a few weeks, I memorized a lot of things about him. He has elegant, crisp penmanship. I envy him that because my cursive absolutely sucks.
I pick up his note and read it. Sleep well, it says, we can have those truffles another time.
A yawn overtakes me, so I carry Dane's note into my bedroom and set it on the nightstand where I can see it, then I crawl into bed. I'm gazing at the note when I fall asleep.
The next day, I decide I really ought to make sure Dane isn't holed up in his big hotel suite all alone, like the creepy loser our fake relationship is supposed to ensure nobody thinks he is. Yeah, that's the reason I wind up at the Four Seasons Hotel at ten o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. I'm making sure we keep up appearances. It has nothing to do with the fact his sweetness last night gave me a warm glow all over.
I take a private elevator all the way up to the penthouse suite. When the car stops and the doors open, Dane is standing right outside the elevator waiting for me.
"Rika, what are you doing here?" he asks. "I saw you on the camera, but you didn't ring me first to say you'd be coming."
"Um, what camera?"
"This suite has three elevators and cameras in all of them."
"Wow, that's a little spooky."
Naturally, he's wearing dress slacks and a dress shirt. At least he isn't wearing a tie, though he does have shoes on. Shiny loafers. And he has a belt too.
I remember Elena telling the story of how, the first time she visited Chance in his big hotel suite, he answered the door wearing nothing but a towel. Why couldn't Dane do that? I'm in serious need of man candy. But no, he looks like he's about to hold a meeting with foreign diplomats.
"Shouldn't you be happy to see your girlfriend?" I ask. Leaning in, I whisper, "Even if it is a sham, we should make sure everyone sees us together. Don't you think?"
"I suppose you're right."
Dane steps aside so I can walk past him.
Holy moly. I've never seen a hotel room like this one before. We're up on the fifty-second floor, with a fabulous view of the city and its skyscrapers with a blue sky as the backdrop. I wander through the huge suite, taking in the jaw-dropping views from the four glass balconies. I stop in what looks like a library. I mean, it has books on shelves, so yeah, it must be a library. The room has gorgeous golden-brown paneling, two sofas, and two chairs, not to mention a baby grand piano---and one of those glass balconies.
Dane comes up beside me, his expression neutral, like none of this opulence affects him in the least. "What should we do? To show the world we're a couple."
"Hang out, I guess. If I stay here for a while, everyone will probably assume we banged each other all day long."
"I'm not sure---That's, ah---" He scrubs a hand over his mouth. "Do we really want to give people that impression? You're not my mistress."
"Sure I am." I turn toward him and wave my hands at my body. "Arm candy here, remember? I'm just an ornament to help you prove your manliness."
"I don't like that description."
"Neither do I, but that's the deal. Right?"
"Yes, but---" He scrunches his whole face in the cutest expression of frustration and annoyance. "I don't want the world to see you that way."
"Ugh, Dane." Now I sound frustrated and probably look it too, like he had a second ago. "You can't have it both ways. I'm your fake girlfriend, but you don't want to use me as a body ornament. That's the point of this charade, isn't it? I mean, you told me this would be a business arrangement because Celeste insists you must have a woman on your arm at public events."
"You remember exactly what I said? That sounds verbatim."
"It is. I have an excellent memory."
"Yes, I can tell." He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and ambles over to the glass balcony. While he gazes out at the view, he sighs and removes his glasses. After staring at them for a minute, he puts them back on and slumps his shoulders. "This sounded like a good idea when I suggested it."
I approach him, slipping my arm under his. "Well, you can always fake dump me."
"Would you mind not making jokes about our...arrangement?" He hunches his shoulders, his gaze veering down to the floor. "I don't like to think about it."
"But you have to. We're in too deep to back out. You got me a new job and everything."
Maybe I'm secretly afraid I won't see him again if he calls off our phony relationship. I work in Connecticut now. Dane has a new PA. He won't need me anymore if we're not pretending to date. I love spending time with him, like last night when he'd brought me dinner and we sat on the sofa talking. He even put a blanket over me when I fell asleep.
He groans. "I know we can't back out of it. The wheels are already in motion. I told Celeste first thing yesterday that you and I are dating and that's why I needed a new PA." He scrunches up his face again. "I'm sure Celeste has already told Reese to start a new marketing campaign all about you and me and a lot of bollocks about how well I satisfy you in bed."
Maybe he would satisfy me---if we had sex.
Not maybe. He absolutely would fulfill my every desire. Those two make-out sessions heated me up in all the right ways. No man who kisses like that could be anything less than stellar in bed. It's not "bollocks."
"If you're so miserable," I say, "you should talk to Celeste. She cares about keeping her employees happy."
He leans against the glass balcony, his eyes aimed toward the view but his focus clearly on something much farther away. "I'll think about it."
"Okay." I'm pretty sure that when he says he'll think about it he means he's never going to do it. He seems shy about telling anyone how he's really feeling. So I decide to distract him from his worries. "Let's do something fun, like order room service. A whole bunch of totally fattening, cholesterol-laden goodies."
He eyes me sideways. "Is that meant to make me feel better? Getting nauseous from eating too much doesn't appeal to me."
"Who said you have to eat too much? Let's order everything on the breakfast menu and try all of it. No overeating unless you feel like it." I nudge him with my shoulder. "What do you say?"
"All right."
Dane makes the call to order our late breakfast. I already had breakfast when I got up this morning, but I ate light, so I've got room left for a decadent brunch. Besides, Dane needs cheering up. And I want to make him feel better. Want to so much. I would hug him, but I'm afraid that might embarrass him.
Dane says he needs to take a shower while we wait for our food. He looks clean to me, but I figure he needs some alone time. He emerges from the bathroom about a minute before the elevator doors open and a hotel employee wheels a cart full of our food through the suite and out onto the spacious balcony. The polite young man sets our food on a table. Dane gives him a tip and sends him on his way.
We don't talk much while we eat, but we do feed each other. He surprises me by starting it, holding a forkful of pancake to my lips, then slipping it inside my mouth when I open up to accept the food gift. I never would've expected Dane Dixon to do something like that. He acts so serious most of the time, but feeding me pancakes and French toast and eggs Benedict doesn't jibe with that. He knows how to relax. Huh.
When I take a sip of milk, I get clumsy and wind up dribbling some down my chin.
Dane grabs a napkin and wipes the milk off my skin, then he rubs his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
I feed him too, but he doesn't dribble anything on himself. I kind of wish he would so I can lick it off. Seeing him this way, at ease and enjoying our brunch, makes me want him even more than I already do. Okay, pretty much everything he does makes me hot for him. Yeah, I'm still massively crushing on him, and it's still pathetic.
After our meal, Dane tells me he has wor
k to do. I point out that it's Saturday, which means it's the weekend, but he dismisses that with a shrug and a grunt. I let him have his alone time, only because he fed me breakfast, literally, using his own hand and fork.
On Sunday afternoon, I call his suite instead of just going there like I did yesterday. He informs me he doesn't have time for a visit because he has tons of work to do. Jeez, will he never take an entire day off? I don't ask him that. We're not a couple, so it's none of my business.
Why do I have to keep reminding myself of that?
Sunday evening, I'm in the middle of cleaning the toilet, elbow deep in the bowl, when the doorbell rings. I jog through my apartment and pull the door open, realizing too late that I'm still wearing big rubber gloves. At least I remembered to put down the toilet brush.
Celeste Arnaud smiles at me. "Good evening, Rika darling. We need to have a chat about Dane."
"If you've got a problem with Dane, why not talk to him?"
"Because you're the only one who can get through to him."
Me? If she knew about our make-believe relationship, she wouldn't say that. Celeste believes Dane and I are a legitimate couple and that I have some kind of sway over him.
"Come on in," I say, moving out of the way so Celeste can walk inside. "My apartment is messy right now. I'm in the middle of cleaning up."
She walks past me, turns around, and glances at my gloved hands. "Yes, I can see that. If you still worked for Bonsoir, I'd make sure you had a cleaning crew to take care of those jobs for you. Hasn't Dane offered to do that? I pay him enough that he could afford to hire you an entire team of cleaners, housekeepers, cooks, and anything else you need."
She pays him that much? I have no idea exactly how much it is, but I get the picture that it's a lot. My fake honey has no obligation to pay for anything for me. I wouldn't want him to even if we were a couple because it would make me feel weird.
Celeste and I sit down on the sofa, and I take off my big gloves.