Twisted Affair: The Complete Series Box Set

by Parker, M. S.

  I managed a smile. “Morning.”

  She flushed as she straightened, smoothing down her clothes. “Good morning.”

  I figured I'd get the elephant in the room out of the way. “This is awkward.”

  She laughed, a soft, low sound. She stood. “I do not know what you remember from last night.”

  “Not much,” I admitted.

  “You passed out while I was running your card for your tab,” she continued as she pulled her hair out of its ponytail. Her curls tumbled over her shoulders. “I could not wake you, so I had a taxi bring us here. You paid.”

  I was aware I was staring at her, but I couldn't stop. She'd had my credit card, but had only used it to pay my bill at the bar and then for a taxi? I would have to check my account to be sure, but I didn't see where else she could've used it.

  “And you stayed?”

  She gave me a stern look, the kind that I'd seen Hannah give her kids. “No one else was here and I could not leave you. What if you had become ill?”

  Now I started to wonder if I'd guessed her age too young before. She sounded much more like my mother than some sexy model wanna-be.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate you doing that for me.”

  She nodded and looked around. I wasn't sure what she was looking for until she picked up her coat. I wasn't sure why I was surprised that she was getting ready to go. She'd stayed because she'd wanted to make sure I didn't get sick. Now I was awake. Problem solved.

  “So, um, did you drive?” That was a stupid question. “I mean to the bar. Do you need to go back there to get your car?”

  She shook her head. “I take the bus.”

  “I can give you cab fare,” I offered. “I don't know when the next bus runs.”

  “I will wait,” she said. “I do not mind.”

  “Livie, right?” I said as I stood again. “You could've taken everything out of my wallet and sent me to the drunk tank, but you didn't. Let me at least send you home in a cab so you don't have to wait in the cold.”

  I could see on her face that she was debating the offer. She didn't want to stand at a bus stop in February, but there was pride on her face and I knew she was thinking of it like charity.

  “Think of it as payment for baby-sitting me.” I gave her my best charming smile. Or at least the best one I could muster in my current condition.

  That got me a partial smile. “Thank you.”

  I pulled out my wallet and handed her a few bills. I didn't even bother to see how much I gave her. She followed my example and didn't count it. She put it in her pocket and picked up her purse. We looked at each other and I realized she didn't know how to stop the awkward silence any more than I did. Should I tell her I'd see her later? Thank her again?

  I was saved from having to figure things out when someone knocked on the door. I went to it, wondering who it could be. As soon as I opened it, however, I wished I hadn't. I wished I'd just pretended I wasn't home.

  “Blayne.” My father's voice would've made it clear that he wasn't happy with me, even if I hadn't been able to feel the disapproval radiating off of him. He stepped past me into my apartment without waiting for an invitation.

  I supposed I couldn't really blame him. I wouldn't have asked him in anyway.

  “Good morning to you too,” I muttered as I turned and followed him.

  “I called you.”

  “I turned off my phone.” I wondered if I could get Livie out without her having to hear whatever shit it was my father would say. That hope vanished the moment he stepped into the living room.

  “Is she why?” He pointed at Livie, like she wasn't even there. “Is this the reason you fucked everything up for our family?”

  “Dad,” I hoped interrupting him would work.

  “No,” he snapped. “I will not let you stand here in an apartment I'm paying for and watch some good-for-nothing gold digger ruin everything!”

  “She's not a gold digger!” I didn't know much about Livie. Hell, I knew practically nothing. What I did know was that she was kind enough to take care of a complete stranger and expect nothing in return. What I said next, however, came out of nowhere. I hadn't thought it at any point and I sure as hell hadn't planned it, but I said it anyway. “She's my fiancée.”

  Chapter 8

  Livie

  It was a good think that Blayne's father wasn't looking at me, because he would've seen on my face that nothing his son had said was true and that I had absolutely no clue why Blayne was saying it. I remembered what he'd said last night about his father forcing him to get married, but that still didn't explain why he'd decided that the best answer to that problem was to tell his father I was his fiancée. I was shocked that he'd even remembered my name.

  “She's your what?”

  Mr. Westmore's voice was flat, but even I could see that he was holding himself back. I tried to stay very still

  “My fiancée,” Blayne repeated, a stubborn set to his chin.

  My eyes widened. I'd really thought he'd change the subject so he wouldn't have to repeat the lie and make things worse. Mr. Westmore's expression was one of barely restrained fury.

  I needed to get out of there. I hadn't done anything wrong, but I doubted Mr. Westmore would believe that I had nothing to do with the lie. He had called me a good-for-nothing gold digger, after all. I may not have been able to speak perfect, unaccented English, but I understood it quite well. There was no positive spin on those words.

  I wasn't sure what I should do. Just walk out and not say a word? It wasn't like I owed Blayne anything. He had given me cab fare, but if I was honest, I didn't feel it was entirely undeserved. It seemed fair enough compensation for going above and beyond my bartending duties. I didn't know how much he'd given me, but I doubted it was even close enough to what staying around would be worth. But I also didn't like the idea of making things worse for him by acting as if he and his father didn't exist.

  My internal debate was quick as I decided upon the right course of action. I raised my hand slightly, hoping the movement would catch his attention. It did and he glanced over at me. I gestured toward the door and he nodded. Our eyes met and held for a single moment and I could see the unspoken apology for making me a part of this. I nodded in acknowledgement and headed for the door.

  As I rode the elevator down to the lobby, I realized that I hadn't checked my phone for calls from my sister. I also hadn't checked in last night. I pulled it out of my purse and saw that she'd left a text message. In typical Katka fashion, she'd simply said I guess you got lucky. Do everything I would do. Love you.

  I smiled and shook my head. My little sister exasperated me at times and angered me at others, but I loved her. She was the only family I had left, but I would have loved her even if that wasn't the case. She was the kind of person who everyone loved. People couldn't help it. She was carefree and fun, charming and sexy. Everything I was not.

  She scolded me when I said that, but it was true. I wasn't jealous of her for it though. We had been through so much and I loved that she could still smile and dance.

  I climbed into the cab and gave the driver the address. We lived at the edge of Fishtown, in one of the cheaper apartments. We had gotten a good discount on it because the owner of the building came from a family who had emigrated back when our country had been Czechoslovakia. The grandmother had wanted someone to come speak Czech with her. Once a month, either Katka or I visited for tea and spoke to the woman in her native language.

  I looked down at the bills in my hand. I wondered how Blayne was faring with his father. At least I was respectable looking and hadn't spoken. I could only imagine what Mr. Westmore's reaction would have been if I had been dressed like the other bartenders I had seen or if he had heard my accent. I was sure he would have assumed I was after a green card as well as money.

  I did have my application in, but I refused to do things what Katka called “the easy way.” She had suggested finding someone to marry when we ha
d first come to this country and I had immediately vetoed the idea. She still occasionally brought it up, but I was never sure if she was serious.

  My sister was, for all of her flirtations, a hopeless romantic. She believed in the fairy tale happy endings. I was a realist. Blayne was a perfect example. Katka would no doubt believe that fate was bringing us together. I saw things for how they were. He'd been desperate and I had been there.

  Still, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be engaged to someone like him. To be a part of that world. I knew he was wealthy the moment I had seen his address, but after I'd entered his apartment, I realized that I'd underestimated things. His father's presence this morning, coupled with Blayne's drunken ramblings at the bar last night, told me that he wasn't just rich. He was part of a world I would never be a part of, no matter what happened with my determination to become a fashion designer.

  I paid the cabbie and climbed out of the car. I shivered at the brisk February air and hurried to get inside. Katka would probably be at work. She was a waitress at some bar somewhere, or at least I thought that was what she was doing now. Her jobs changed so often I didn't try to keep track anymore. I never needed to go there to talk to her and the money she earned went into the account we shared since her money managing skills were all but nonexistent.

  I loved my sister, but I couldn't deny that I enjoyed having quiet moments to myself. Katka was never quiet. She was always talking about something, singing, dancing, doing something. One would think that a person nicknamed after a creature that spent most of its life sleeping would be less restless.

  There was only one problem with the silent apartment that greeted me. It left me too much time with my thoughts. Thoughts that were consumed entirely too much by the handsome man with the sandy hair and dark gray eyes. I'd never seen eyes like that before, and certainly never had them look at me the way he had.

  When I'd taken him back to his apartment last night, I'd written off his flirting as too much alcohol, but this morning, I saw the way he looked at me. I wasn't foolish enough to think it was anything other than admiration, but to even have someone like him think I was attractive was a heady thing.

  Very much against my better judgment, my thoughts kept turning back to the curve of his mouth. The way he'd smiled. The softness of his lips when he'd been sleeping. I'd let myself look at him last night as I'd sat in the chair and waited for him to wake up. I could never do that when he was awake. Risking him believing I was interested in him wasn't an option. Even if he was attracted to me, he would never want anything other than a night of sex.

  Not as if I was looking for something romantic or sexual. I didn't have the time to be involved with anyone, even for a night. It had been foolish of me to even spend the few hours I had getting Blayne home and making sure he was safe. Every waking moment I had needed to be spent either making the money required to start my own business or working on designs. No sex was good enough to make up for the time I'd have to make up to stay on track.

  I had a plan, a schedule. I was twenty-three now and I fully intended to gain my citizenship and have enough collateral to get a business loan with a good interest rate by the time I was twenty-five. I would start small, selling exclusive pieces that would, by the time I was thirty, garner enough attention that I could secure a larger loan to take my business to the next level.

  Perhaps after I had done all that, I would begin to consider marriage. Katka had pointed out that if I wasn't careful, I would be fifty and single with no children or husband to care for me as I passed middle age. I had countered that she had enough sex for the both of us and I wouldn't need children or a husband to care for me. I would have money enough to hire people. And I always had her.

  It wasn't that I disliked sex or didn't want it, as Katka had often suggested. I just preferred to take care of sexual tension the same way I did everything else. By myself.

  My thoughts took a dangerous edge, teasing me with images of Blayne. I never pictured anyone I knew when I masturbated, but it was tempting to let him star in my future fantasies. To wonder what it would be like to wake up in that apartment after having spent the night. To find his muscular arms wrapped around me, his broad chest bare. I hadn't seen anything inappropriate last night, but my imagination was doing plenty to fill in the blanks. One of the disadvantages to the way my brain worked was that I could look at an outfit on someone and generally have a good idea of what was underneath. With Blayne, my mind's eye could easily create a chiseled body that would challenge even my self-control.

  “Do not be foolish,” I muttered to myself as I went into the small kitchen area to find myself something to eat. “Put him from your mind.”

  I grimaced as I bent to retrieve a bottle of juice from the refrigerator. My muscles were more sore than I'd realized. The chair had been comfortable as pricey chairs went, but still not the best place to sleep. I needed to take a hot shower to work out the kinks and then get some real sleep. I had a late shift again tonight and I didn't want to be tired. Mixing drinks that way wasn't a good idea. I knew there were plenty of people who did it, but I wasn't a natural bartender. I had to concentrate to make sure I got everything right. One little mistake could cost me a tip and a single tip could mean the difference of weeks or more in starting my business.

  No, no matter how appealing it was to indulge in a fantasy of rich and handsome Blayne whisking me away into a world where money was never an issue and everyone could work on their dream, it was only a fantasy. And it was pointless to waste time on something that would never happen. I needed to stay focused on reality, keep my eye on the prize. And that prize certainly didn't include a man, even one like Blayne.

  Chapter 9

  Blayne

  I had to fight the urge to clamp my hand over my mouth in an attempt to take back the stupid thing I'd just said. I couldn't let my dad know that I'd just blurted out a fucking huge lie. I risked a look at Livie, hoping she'd understand and not say anything. Her eyes were wide and she looked startled, but not angry, so that was good. I really needed her out of here if I was going to keep up the charade. My father knew me and he'd never believe me if I wasn't all over Livie just to prove my point. Somehow, I doubted that would get the same non-angry response.

  When she managed to excuse herself without blowing my cover, I breathed a silent and short-lived sigh of relief. I didn't know her well enough to say that I actually liked her, but she'd done a nice thing by bringing me home and an even nicer one by not calling out my lie. I didn't want her in the middle of the shit storm I knew was coming.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Dad's voice rose as soon as the door shut. “You don't know that woman. What'd you do? Go find the cheapest whore you could and pay her to marry you?”

  I tried not to think about the offer I vaguely remembered making to Livie the night before. “She's not a prostitute.” My hands curled into fists. He had no right to talk about her that way. She'd never done anything to him and it wasn't like she'd been half-naked when he'd come in. Hell, her clothes were more conservative than some of the ones I'd seen the trophy wives of his friends wearing.

  “Drop the act, young man.”

  Somehow, even though I was twenty-nine, my father could always make me feel like a child.

  “Your behavior at dinner was reprehensible. Unforgivable.” His eyes were flashing. “I should cut you off right this instant.”

  I scowled. “You told me that if I agreed to follow your rules, you wouldn't do that.”

  “Exactly. After you agreed to marry Rebecca, you humiliated her and both families, got drunk and are now making up this completely ludicrous story about being engaged to a woman you clearly don't know.”

  “I never agreed to marry Rebecca,” I said. “I agreed to get a job, to stop getting plastered and doing stupid things. Am I in jail this morning? Did I do something dumb last night?” I really hoped I hadn't or this was going to get so much worse.

  “Don't use that tone wit
h me.” He pointed his finger at me. “You knew exactly what you were agreeing to.”

  “She didn't want to marry me, Dad,” I said. “Rebecca Stirling was being used like a fucking chess piece.”

  “Watch your mouth,” he warned.

  “I meant what I said at dinner.” That part of the night I remembered quite clearly. “It's bad enough that you're forcing me into this. I'm not marrying someone who's forced into it too. That's basically prostitution.”

  “You're on very thin ice here, Blayne.” His mouth twisted into a smug smile. “But you've also just shot yourself in the foot.”

  I frowned. What did he mean? I hadn't said anything new.

  “When I first mentioned marriage to you, you said there was no way you could find someone to marry you that quickly. Then you refuse the engagement to Rebecca, citing all of those nice, noble reasons. Not once, either time, did you mention this fiancée of yours.”

  Shit. He was right. My brain scrambled for a lie that he'd believe. Or at least one that would sound plausible enough he couldn't completely discount it. “Because I knew you wouldn't approve.” Yeah, that was going to make it all better. “Livie's from the Czech Republic and I knew you'd think exactly what you thought. That she's in it for the money.”

  “No, I think it's the green card too.”

  I kept going, pulling bits and pieces together to create something of a story. “She's a businesswoman, Dad. A legitimate businesswoman. I met her a while ago.” I had to make this realistic but not hurt Livie's reputation. The chances of this getting back to her were slim, but she didn't deserve to be subject to malicious gossip. “We had drinks and I tried to get her in bed. She turned me down flat.” That much was moderately true at least.

  “And you proposed?” He raised an eyebrow, the expression on his face clearly saying he wasn't believing a word of this.

  “I kept seeing her in different places and we'd always have a good time drinking and talking, but it wasn't a relationship. She was okay with keeping it casual because I never wanted anything serious, but you're forcing my hand on that one. Last night, after I left, I saw her again. I figured if I had to get married, it might as well be to someone I knew I could get along with. When I told her what you were doing, she accepted.”