World's Worst Boyfriend: A Romantic Comedy Adventure (Fake It Book 3)

by Carina Taylor

  Fletcher’s behavior the day I’d showed up at Sullivan’s house had been agitated. Nervous. I’d assumed it was his anxiousness over seeing me and over our breakup.

  The reality was he was in the middle of an operation.

  Forget World’s Worst Boyfriend. Enter: World’s Most Unobservant Girlfriend.

  I should have recognized the signs that he was struggling with something other than work. It had become progressively worse as we dated.

  If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was my fault he was so stressed.

  But now I realized I was his one escape from this world. And I’d kicked him to the curb. Because I wanted more attention. I was a selfish wretch.

  A selfish wretch that was going to save his life.

  I pushed the intercom button.

  A gravelly voice answered, “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I don’t know. Is this Sullivan’s address? He gave me his card and I—”

  The wrought iron gate opened up automatically.

  “He’s inside.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and wobbled forward on my usually steady feet. I tugged along the most annoying dog in history. He was not impressed.

  When I reached the oversized front door, I rang the doorbell. It sounded like a gong echoing over the courtyard.

  The door opened quickly, and for some reason I was surprised to see Sullivan there. I’d half expected some man to open the door and point a gun at me, telling me it was all over.

  “Hi,” I said a little breathily.

  “Hi,” Sullivan replied with a smile that I could have sworn was genuine.

  “I’m sorry to just show up on your doorstep like this. But today was like an off day for me. I only had a couple of opinions. Er, I mean meetings. Consultings. Consultations?”

  Sullivan smiled and swung the door wide. “Why don’t you come inside? If you’ve got time, I’d love to take you to lunch.”

  “That sounds great,” I gestured to the runt cowering behind me. “But I have the dog with me. I don’t want to bring him inside if you’re not comfortable with animals.”

  “Me not comfortable with animals?” Sullivan chuckled, but he did happen to shoot a glare at the devilish thing that thrived on making everyone around him miserable. “It’s welcome inside. Looks like your vet was able to help him.”

  I glanced down at the perfectly healthy little dog. I hadn’t thought through that part. There was nothing to do but to brazen through. “Yeah, he’s a tough little one.”

  I followed Sullivan inside and took a deep breath, trying to remind myself that I was doing this for Fletcher. The dog’s toenails clicked on the tile floor.

  Sullivan closed the heavy door behind us, and Ambrosia, the turd muffin, tried to tug me farther into the house.

  “Let me go get my wallet and keys, and then we’ll go get some lunch.” With a wink he disappeared around the corner and I was left in an ornate entryway that was the size of my living room. The ceilings had to be around fifteen-feet tall, and the view across the huge, open living room was directly out over a manicured garden, with large flowering shrubs.

  The living room was gorgeous. The velvet navy couch in front of the large window drew out a rich tone in the midst of the cream.

  My phone chimed.

  Fletcher: You walk out of this house right now and drive away.

  Me: Can’t. I have a sick dog.

  I wasn’t surprised Fletcher knew I was here. He probably had surveillance set up all over the place.

  Fletcher: I swear, Saidy, if nothing happens to you, I’m going to kill you.

  Me: Now you know how I felt when you showed up to my house bleeding. It’s my turn to protect you.

  Fletcher: Then walk away. Or I’ll be tempted to do something dumb.

  Saidy: I didn’t want him to think it was you at my house last night.

  A woman walked into the living room, startling me. I guiltily tucked my phone into my pocket as though she would be able to read our conversation across the large room.

  I guess it made sense that Sullivan had people here in the house with him. It was huge. But I was pretty darn sure she wasn’t his mother. This must be the housekeeper Fletcher mentioned.

  The woman stopped and looked at me in surprise, then glanced around as though she were trying to figure out where I had come from.

  “Hello. Can I get you a drink?” she asked, her accent thick. And then she smiled when she came closer, seeing that I was Latina also.

  “¿Limonada, agua o refresco?” she asked.

  Crap. Agua was going to be the best thing. At least I remembered what that word meant. Despite looking like my Dad, and him and my paternal grandparents being native Spanish speakers, my skills were rudimentary, at best.

  “Es tan agradable conocer a las amigas de Sullivan.”

  She was smiling and I was kicking myself for not spending more time practicing Spanish. This was one time of many where someone had spoken to me, expecting me to understand. I knew enough to know she was talking about a friend of Sullivan’s, but I couldn’t be sure if she was talking about me or someone else.

  “Oh good, you’ve met Esme,” Sullivan said as he reappeared.

  “Yes, she so nicely offered to get me a drink.”

  Sullivan waved her off. “I’m taking Saidy out for lunch. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” He handed her an envelope from his bag, and she nodded.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Ambrosia barked excitedly, and Esme glared at it, telling it ‘no’ sharply. I liked her.

  “Esme, Fletcher said he was planning on giving you a ride home again,” Sullivan told her with a smile.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile before she turned and disappeared down the hall.

  I was left alone with Sullivan. The man my boyfriend was investigating.

  He had a satchel over his shoulder. “Would you feel more comfortable driving yourself?”

  Wow. Was my nervousness that apparent? It probably was.

  “Sure. I’ll follow you there if that works. With the dog and all too…sometimes he gets car sick, even on short rides, and we wouldn’t want that in your car. Plus, I have to go check in on a project after lunch, so it’d be great if I could take off straight from there.” I tried to play off the fact that I was driving myself and that I was simply a workaholic. Not a scaredy cat who was convinced he’d murder me if given half a chance.

  He smiled and opened the front door. “There’s a little bistro in town I like to go to, if that sounds all right with you. It’s not the Italian dinner I had in mind, but it’s a decent place.”

  A bistro sounded nice. Non-threatening. It was like he was going out of his way to make me comfortable. Which was strange. He’d been pushy the night before. Now he was being downright reluctant to push my boundaries.

  I wasn’t going to complain though. If I could distract him from Fletcher, maybe I could keep him safe.

  I followed Sullivan’s big SUV to the small bistro. I recognized it as a little restaurant my mom and I had tried before—and enjoyed. It had outdoor seating in the front and the back, along with a few small tables inside.

  I stood at the door waiting for Sullivan to get off the phone and come inside.

  Ambrosia was busy running circles around my legs as I stood outside the bistro’s entrance.

  A couple minutes later and Sullivan climbed out of his car and made his way over to me. I wasn’t sure who made me more uncomfortable at the moment: the criminal or the dog who was trying to chew the back of my shoe.

  “Sorry to make you wait. You know how business is. It never ends.” He glanced down at the dog. “It’s coming with us?”

  I pointed to the sign that showed that dogs were welcome.

  “In that case.” He held the door open for me, the satchel still over his shoulder. We ordered lunch.

  Actually, he ordered us both lunch because I couldn’t seem to get my words to work. Then he
led us to a small table on the back patio.

  A few fumbling attempts and I managed to tie Ambrosia’s leash to an extra metal chair.

  When I sat down, my elbow knocked the metal chair to my right, sending a shooting pain straight to my soul.

  “Are you all right?” Sullivan asked with a concerned look on his face. “I even heard that hit.”

  I rubbed at the sore spot, and in the process knocked my big purse onto the ground.

  “I’m just fine. Just fine,” I assured him as I quickly leaned down to pick up my purse.

  My forehead connected with the edge of the table and I groaned.

  Sullivan leapt up and hurried to my side. I leaned back quickly, accidentally kicking a table leg and sloshing water out of our cups.

  Sullivan’s low chuckle made me want to run.

  “Here. Why don’t you sit still a minute?” He slid my chair backward—with me in it—a few inches, then he knelt down and picked up all the contents of my purse, putting them away. I cringed as I watched him pick up my personal items that had fallen out and stuff them back into the purse, then he set it down on the chair Ambrosia was tied to.

  I held my breath as he turned around and studied me. He leaned closer, and I could feel the sweat rolling from my armpits. If he were a movie supervillain this would be the part where he killed me for my ineptitude.

  “Doesn’t look like you’ll have a bump at all.” With that, he sat down and began unwrapping his pasta salad.

  Sullivan wasn’t going to kill me in public. It seemed like he really was here to eat lunch. If I stopped acting like a nervous goose long enough, I could appreciate this lunch, maybe even learn something useful for Fletcher. Or better yet, convince Sullivan to not try and hurt Fletcher.

  After my clumsiness from earlier, the lunch date felt very much like a lunch date. He asked me polite questions about my work, and we shared innocent stories of working with difficult clients.

  “So, this broker business of yours, do you enjoy it?” I asked.

  He took a drink of his sparkling water before answering. “You know, there are challenges I enjoy. And of course, some things I don’t. But in the end, it’s what I’m good at.”

  He studied the label on the glass bottle with great interest. His eyes downcast and his lips pulled tight.

  He seemed…sad. Which I knew I shouldn’t feel anything for this man but disgust, but I couldn’t help but wonder how he had ended up where he was.

  “You know, I’ve had some great revelations lately.” Deciding it couldn’t hurt to just talk with him, I continued, “What other people think you’re good at, and what other people think you should do, isn’t always the path you should follow.”

  I laughed when he looked at me with a confused look. “I made that come out in a jumbled mess. Let me try again.”

  He smiled lopsidedly at that.

  “I run an interior design business. And I’m really good at it. Everyone tells me I need to expand the business because I’m so good at it. That I should hire a crew and expand my reach. My brothers. My friends. My grandmother. Everyone has been telling me I need to do this.”

  “And are you?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Is there a life lesson you’re trying to impart here?” he teased.

  I pushed the pickle around on my plate. “No, I don’t think so. Only that I believed them. A year ago, I’d toyed with the idea of expanding my business because everyone else told me I needed to. But I personally didn’t want that. I like being the one to work with each of my clients. I like having a small personal feel to my business. I don’t want to be the head of some big business or corporation. And now I’m rambling.”

  I laughed a little too loudly. “What I’m trying to say, is sometimes you don’t have to do what’s expected of you. Sometimes what you believe you have to do just isn’t true. I love my small business. I love doing the work myself. I don’t need to change it.”

  Sullivan glanced over my shoulder toward the alley way. There was a truck idling next to the dumpster bin. “Sometimes people’s advice can actually push you in the right direction though.”

  “But that right direction doesn’t always make you happy, though, does it?” I clenched my hands under the table. Trying to not give away how nervous he was making me with his constant study of the alleyway. “There’s a thousand ways to do something. There’s always another option.”

  “A thousand ways,” he repeated absentmindedly.

  “Yes, ways you can run your business that you are happy with. Something you can live with and be proud of the work that you are doing.”

  Sullivan glanced back at me, his hand still clutching his satchel. “Another option.”

  “Of course! I mean, in my business, I contract out some of the work that I know will be done well and professionally, but by doing that I don’t have to deal with having employees year-round.”

  Sullivan slowly released his hold on the bag. “There’s always another option.”

  He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “You know, that’s something I tend to forget sometimes, so thank you for reminding me.”

  I forced a smile and adjusted the hat on my head. I was regretting my encouraging speech. What if his other options involved something illegal? I could feel the sweat pooling on my brow.

  “I hope you don’t mind if we cut this lunch short, but I have some business to take care of this afternoon.”

  My stomach dropped at the thought of what he could be taking care of.

  He stood up and paused. “Why don’t we do our Italian dinner sometime next week?”

  I nodded. “I’ve been dreaming about pasta for a while.”

  His smile slowly stretched across his face. “For some reason, I think you’ll be getting it soon.”

  With that, he picked up his satchel, took one last long look at the truck parked in the alleyway before he disappeared inside the bistro.

  Ambrosia licked my ankle, reminding me that I still had a companion.

  Hopefully, whatever I said, had distracted Sullivan from Fletcher. My stomach churned at the thought of anything happening to Fletcher. I promised myself if he made it out of this thing unscathed, I’d get him that dog he’d been talking about ever since I met him. I might have to go to therapy to get over my fear of them, but I’d get him that darn dog.

  But first, I needed a nap. All that lying had worn me out.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Saidy

  Fletcher: I’m at your back door.

  I paused the TV and jumped out of bed, running down the hall and flipping the locks on the back door. Fletcher stepped inside and caught my hand before I could flip the lights on.

  “I don’t want to risk anyone seeing me in case they’re out there.”

  I wrapped my hand around his and tugged him inside. I closed and locked the door again.

  I pulled him down the hall after me, careful to avoid the living room with all those windows. My room had black-out curtains which were one of the most brilliant inventions ever.

  “Are you all right?” I asked as I patted his chest and arms. “How’s your hip?”

  “You mean my ass that had a giant splinter in it?”

  “Yes, that. I was trying to be sensitive to your current situation.” I tried not to laugh.

  “Well, it’s sensitive.” He grinned. “It’s not too bad. Still sore and I don’t want to sit on it, but definitely healing faster than if it had been a gunshot.”

  “Here, why don’t you lie down on your good side and get some rest. You need to rest and let it heal.” I placed a hand on his back and pushed him gently toward the bed. The corded muscles along his back were taut under my fingers, testifying to the strain he was under.

  “Because first I’d like to stand here and yell at you for showing up at Sullivan’s today. I’d actually like to wring your neck right now,” he growled.

  I pushed him onto the bed. He landed on his stomach with a bounce
. “You’re in no condition to yell at me.”

  “You could have been hurt!” He snapped as he tucked a pillow under his head. “When I saw you on the security cameras, I almost lost my mind. And then you left with him to go to lunch.”

  “I was only—”

  “He’s a dangerous man!” He leaned up on his elbows and I shoved his face back into the pillow as I climbed onto the bed beside him.

  “I was distracting him from you! I was selling him the story that I was taking care of the dog last night, that I was telling the truth and not harboring an undercover cop, you ungrateful man.”

  His growl was muffled against the pillow. I let go of his head.

  “I sent West to keep an eye on you both.”

  “Did Sullivan seem to believe you afterwards?”

  Fletcher tensed, then mumbled something under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  He flung an arm out to the side and grabbed my waist, tugging me down to lie next to him. “I said that he stopped asking so many questions when he got back. He was less nervous when he went to his office to work.”

  I didn’t even try to hide the smug smile on my face. “So, are you saying it helped?”

  “Don’t push your luck,” he growled, his fingers tightening against my hip, dangerously close to my ticklish sides.

  “Fletcher,” I tried to keep my voice steady as he slid his hand up to my rib cage, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “If you tickle me, I won’t be responsible for any flailing. I might hurt your wound.”

  He sighed and moved his hand away from the danger zone to my lower back, tugging me closer until I was pressed against his side. “Fine. While what you did was incredibly dumb, and something I hope you never do again, your distraction worked. It gave me some time to set up everything for this weekend.”

  I kissed his jaw. “Was that painful to say?”

  “You have no idea,” he admitted.

  Grinning, I reached up and traced a finger around the edge of his ear to the tip of his chin. I stopped when my finger landed on his lips.

  “I just thought of something. If you’re undercover, you’re not using your real name! You’re not Fletcher!” I gasped and sat up, despite his best efforts to keep a grip on me.