The Billionaire's Temporary Bride (Scandal, Inc Book 3)

by Avery James

  "Do you have him now?" Jack asked.

  "I left him back at the house," Charlotte said. "It's not like we're staying the night."

  "I was meaning to talk to you two about that," her mother said, coming back to the table and taking the open seat next to Jack. "Did Charlotte tell you that we're pressing cider in the morning? You could meet the whole neighborhood, Jack. Would you two like to help?"

  Charlotte wished her mother would turn to see her death stare.

  "It would give us a chance to get to know you a little bit better before we walk our daughter down the aisle. You're not part of the family until we've conscripted you into manual labor," Ellen said, touching Jack's arm.

  "I think dad took care of that when he asked Jack to climb up on the roof to do the decorating," Charlotte said. She waited for silence before continuing. "I wish we could stay, but Jack and I are planning on heading back tonight. He has a full day tomorrow, and I don't think he can get out of any of his commitments.

  "I texted my scheduler already," Jack said. "I had her push everything just in case tonight went longer than planned. It's just a few fundraisers and a staff meeting. My chief of staff is making an appearance at the only real engagement I have for the day. He loves that stuff anyway. It gives him a chance to wield his authority. Give him a meeting to run, and he's like a dog with a bone."

  "You don't have to do that, honey," Charlotte said. "My parents understand how busy you are. They're just being polite."

  Charlotte just wanted to head back to DC and figure out what was happening between her and Jack. He had kissed her. After ignoring her all week, he had kissed her, and she had enjoyed it. In fact, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. All dinner long, she kept thinking about the way his kiss lingered on her lips, the way the memory of his touch made her long to wrap herself up in him again.

  The last thing she wanted was to hang around her parents' house for another night while pretending that everything was hunky-dory between her and Jack. She couldn't just haul him into the other room and ask her fiancé where they stood. Her parents might overhear and wonder what the hell was going on. Then there was Jack's story about their engagement, and how he had fallen for her. It sounded almost believable enough to be true. "Nonsense," Jack said. "We'd love to stay. Tell me what I can do to help, and I'll do it."

  "Then it's decided," Ellen said. "You two can sleep on the pull-out in the den, unless you think you can both squeeze onto the one in Charlotte's room."

  "Are you sure you can make this work?" Charlotte asked Jack, turning away from her parents so they wouldn't see her don't-make-this-work look.

  "Of course," Jack said. "I can't think of anything I'd rather do."

  "Well, I don't want to rock the boat. You can take the den, and I'll sleep upstairs," Charlotte said.

  "Charlotte, it's not like you're sneaking him in through the window. You're an adult. He's your fiancé, and we should get used to the two of you sharing a room when you stay over. Think of all the holidays we'll get to spend together as a family. Plus, if we're ever going to have grandchildren," Ellen said, leaving a pregnant pause in the air, "you'll have to sleep in the same bed at some point."

  "You did not just say that," Charlotte groaned. It was bad enough to think that her parents were acknowledging that she and Jack slept together, but it was even worse to think that they already were starting to talk about grandchildren. They were already starting to get attached to him. This was exactly what she had feared.

  "Jack, you can help Pete clear the table, and Charlotte and I will go get some fresh linens," her mother said.

  Charlotte looked at Jack and gave him her best attempt at dagger eyes before she followed her mother into the hallway.

  "They say it's never polite to discuss politics at the dinner table," she heard her father say, "but they never said anything about what you can discuss while scrubbing dishes." At least Jack was in for an earful.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Charlotte's mother pulled her aside by the arm. "He's nice," she said. "And he's handsome."

  "I know he's nice and handsome. I'm the one marrying him, Mom."

  "It just seems a little fast."

  "I know."

  For the first time that night, Charlotte figured maybe she could use her true feelings to her advantage. She just wished she could tell her mother the truth and ask for her advice, but how could she say, I think I'm falling for my fiancé; what should I do?

  "I just feel swept up in it," Charlotte said. "I've never felt this way about anyone. It's just hard to describe."

  "It's a little fast," her mother repeated. "Are you pregnant?"

  "Mom!" Charlotte said. "I haven't exactly checked, but I'm pretty sure I am not pregnant."

  "Oh trust me," Ellen said, "you'll know when you are. I still remember the morning I realized I was pregnant with you. I thought I had food poisoning. They call it morning sickness, but that's a lie. For me, at least, it was morning, noon, and night. And anyway, I only ask because it would explain the hurry. I mean, we're meeting him for the first time tonight. You've only known him for a few months."

  "Well, I don't know what to say. I wasn't expecting him to propose when he did, but he did, and I said yes."

  "We just want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons," her mother said. She patted Charlotte's shoulder as she finally let go of her arm and headed over to the linen closet, grabbing a set of sheets for the sofa bed.

  "I'm sorry you didn't met him sooner, but he's just so busy, and things were going so well, and I didn't think he'd propose so soon, but he's head over heels for me."

  "If it weren't for that, I'd be giving you a much sterner talk. For a politician, he doesn't have a very good poker face," Ellen said.

  "What does that mean?" Charlotte asked.

  "The way he was looking at you at dinner. The way you were looking at him. You two seem so smitten. I just think you'd be wise to slow things down and get to know each other a bit better before taking the plunge. A long engagement might be just what you need."

  "Didn't you and dad get married right out of college?" Charlotte asked.

  " Your father is a wonderful man, but he wasn't a public figure. We were able to build a life together. That's different from entering into someone else's world. I just want to make sure you're not rushing into anything." Ellen handed Charlotte the sheets and looked at her for a moment with tears welling up in her eyes. She pulled her daughter in for a big hug. "My Charlotte is getting married. You're so grown up now."

  As she hugged her mother, Charlotte couldn't help but think of all the layers of their relationship. Her mother was trying to reason with her as another adult, but at the same time, Charlotte knew she'd always be her mother's little girl. She'd always been able to talk to her mom about stuff like this, and her mom had always been able to guide her without preaching or pandering. Charlotte wanted advice, but she just couldn't ask.

  "Mom," Charlotte finally managed to say, "everything's fine."

  Her mother patted her back. "Alright, enough of the mushy stuff. Let's go put these sheets onto the pull-out and get you ready for bed."

  If there was one thing about home life Charlotte had forgotten, it was how early her parents went to bed. Shortly after ten, Emily headed back home, and their parents headed upstairs, leaving Charlotte and Jack alone. "I'll finish getting the room ready," Jack offered.

  "Sounds good. I'll be in in a minute," Charlotte said.

  She headed upstairs to her bedroom and grabbed a t-shirt to sleep in. When she walked back downstairs, she was careful to avoid the creaking floorboards in the middle of the hallway and the bottom step of the stairs. Jack was her fiancé, and yet she felt like she was sneaking away to be with him.

  The den was half-dark when she stepped inside. Jack was already in bed. The air was still, and she could hear the clock ticking on the far wall. She felt rooted in place, like she couldn't take another step if she wanted to. She felt her blood pres
sure start to rise. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? She and Jack had already shared a bed. She could lie down next to him. She didn't have to give in to temptation.

  A light outside cast shadows in through the window, and she could see Jack's bare chest. Just a few weeks ago, she had stood against a door, wondering what Jack was thinking on the other side. Now she was alone with him, and she had even less of a clue what he thought or felt. She wasn't sure what she thought or felt.

  She clicked the lock shut behind her, took a slow breath and headed across the room.

  ***

  Charlotte's mind raced as she slipped under the covers and into bed. She hadn't been planning on staying the night at her parents' house, but she hadn't planned on falling for Jack either. Yet, here she was, on the pullout in her parents' den wondering if she should kiss him.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder and she felt that instant thrill. A warm shiver traced its way up and down her spine.

  What am I doing?

  "We need to talk," she whispered.

  "I'm sorry if you didn't want to stay," Jack said, "but I really didn't want to drive back, and I'd like to get to know your parents a little better."

  "You shouldn't have done that. They like you, Jack. They think you're going to be part of the family." Charlotte tried to keep her voice to a whisper, but she found it hard not to get worked up about it.

  "Is that really what you're mad about? We discussed this. No one else can know about the contract, and everyone has to think it's real. You said you understood that."

  "I do," Charlotte said.

  "Then what's the problem?" Jack asked.

  "You kissed me."

  "Is that really a problem?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because I liked it."

  Jack's hand massaged her shoulder soothingly. "I don't get how that's a problem."

  "I'm not your toy, Jack. I have feelings, and you can't just go kiss me whenever you feel like it. It isn't fair."

  "I thought you wanted me to kiss you," Jack said.

  "I did," Charlotte said, "but that isn't the point. We need rules about this. We can't just go back and forth between being whatever we are and whatever we're supposed to be."

  "What does that even mean?" Jack asked. "I like you. I like you a lot. And I like your family, by the way. They're kind, and they're funny, and they treat me like a person instead of some kind of celebrity or royal who needs to be coddled and praised. I like this house with all its books and quirky pictures on the walls, and I like that this is where you came from. Charlotte, you dropped into my life like an artifact from a distant world. I had no idea what to make of you. You were smart and beautiful and you didn't care who I was, or who I knew, and you didn't seem interested in money or power or any of that crap and I like that. I like it a lot. And if you're mad at me for wanting to kiss you, then you'll have to stay mad at me, because the feeling isn't going away any time soon."

  Charlotte lay there, speechless. She had expected some flippant joke or some quick remark, but how could she have prepared herself for this? Her heart raced and her mind reeled. "Why didn't you say any of this before?" she asked.

  "You said you didn't want to think about what any of it meant, so I left it alone."

  Charlotte raised a brow. "Are you just trying to get me to sleep with you?"

  Jack grinned. "I mean, that would be a nice side benefit, but that's not my goal right now."

  Charlotte smiled. She shook her head. This was crazy. Jack Coburn was lying on the sofa bed in her parents' den telling her he had feelings for her, telling her that he wanted her, that she was beautiful, and that he, the man who didn't believe in love, saw something in her that he liked enough to want more.

  Charlotte could feel Jack's body against her as she moved slightly under the sheet.

  "What do we do now?" she asked.

  "When we get back to DC, we should have a real conversation about what's going on, how we can spend the next year together without driving each other crazy," he said.

  "How do I know what's real and what isn't?" she asked.

  Jack ran his hand against her cheek.

  "There, that's real," he said.

  He placed his hand over hers and held her palm against his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart.

  "That's real too," he said.

  Charlotte leaned against him and felt his warm breath against her skin.

  "I have to know something," she whispered.

  "Anything."

  "Will you promise to never lie to me?"

  "I never will," he said, brushing back her hair.

  The words hid in Charlotte's throat for a second before she could work them out. "What's happening between us?" she asked.

  "I'm about to kiss you," Jack said with a smile. He kissed her cheek, right next to her ear. She closed her eyes and turned to meet his lips.

  ***

  The next morning, Charlotte woke to the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen. Jack was already out of bed. In fact, judging by the dishes in the sink, he had already eaten breakfast and was out in the driveway, helping Charlotte's dad set up the apple press before the guests arrived later that morning.

  "Your dad looks thrilled to have some help," Ellen said, from her seat in front of the window. She blew on her tea as she watched her husband and soon-to-be son-in-law set everything up. "He must be explaining the whole process to Jack. You know how your dad likes to explain things."

  Charlotte watched as her father yanked on a lever without moving it an inch.

  Ellen put her tea on the window sill. "Maybe I should go out there and do the explaining before your father hurts himself."

  Charlotte laughed. The cider press had been in her mother's family for generations, but her father had never quite gotten the hang of using it. Her mother pulled on a sweater and headed outside.

  Charlotte watched the scene safely from inside. Her mother turned the wheel on the side of the press that crushed the apples and turned the bar on top to press the juice out for Jack. Charlotte couldn't help but wonder if the smile on Jack's face was genuine or forced. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Either way, it looked like he might need backup to deal with the Crowleys. Charlotte decided she should head out and help.

  After another half an hour, the antique press was all set up next to a few buckets of water for washing the apples. Jack cheerfully followed Ellen's orders, washing and preparing the apples for the arrival of all the neighbors.

  "Ellen, will you help me understand what we're dealing with here?" Jack said, looking over the whole production line. "I don't want to screw anything up."

  "These are drop apples. We buy them off of a local orchard in bulk at the end of the picking season," Ellen said. "We probably have a few hundred pounds of apples here. We clean them in bleach solution first, then you wash them in the water buckets. Once to get any traces of bleach off, and again because Pete's squeamish."

  "We've been at this for decades and the extra step hasn't harmed us yet," Pete called from the garage.

  As they moved the last bushel of apples into the driveway, the neighbors started to arrive. A few cars parked at the end of the driveway, and before she knew it, she was crushing the first load of apples with Jack as the Millers and the Kowalskis from down the street gawked at her ring and asked if she and Jack had set a date. People Charlotte hadn't seen since high school were pitching in, cleaning apples, and discussing the Crowleys' newest holiday decorations.

  "Charlotte," her mother called from somewhere behind the next-door neighbors, "put some pep in your step. We have hours of pressing to go."

  Charlotte slipped her hand against Jack's and helped him turn the press. He tangled his fingers through hers and smiled. The look on his face was pleasant and genuine, as if saying, See I told you we should stay.

  The sweet smell of apples clung to the air like perfume. The sun had burned through the morning clouds and hung bright ab
ove the neighborhood, spreading a warm, rich light over the scene, as if it were casting everything in amber. Charlotte liked that idea, holding this moment in time and preserving it.

  When she had arrived at her parents' house, Charlotte had wanted more than anything to turn around and go back to DC. Now she just wanted to make this moment last. So often, figuring out which side of Jack was real confused Charlotte, but she knew the sort of man he was when he was pressing cider with all her childhood neighbors was someone she could imagine as her fiancé. The way he had held her the night before, the way he looked at her now, it all just felt so right.

  Charlotte grabbed an apple and dunked it into the cold water. She followed it with another and another. Within a few minutes, her hands were numb, and her shirt was soaked up to the elbow. One by one, Jack moved the apples into the next bucket, while friends and neighbors took them to the press. Soon the cold had soaked through her, and Charlotte realized that she'd need to change into something warmer.

  "I'm going to grab another shirt from inside. See if you can keep pace without me," she said.

  Upstairs, she found an old flannel shirt and pulled it on. It was good to be home again. It was good to be there with Jack. Charlotte walked over to the window and peered out at him. He was standing next to her mother, helping the neighborhood kids dunk the apples. As she watched, she felt a strange wistfulness rise up inside her chest. She hadn't realized how much she wanted Jack to be the man she saw now, like he was part of her family.

  She was getting ahead of herself. He was just good at public relations, and that's what this was, more PR. Charlotte turned from the window and headed back.

  A few hours and more than a few hundred apples later, Charlotte surveyed the scene. The last few bees of autumn buzzed around the pomace left over from pressing, and the whole yard had that shabby, ruffled look everything has after a party. Everyone else had gone inside the house, with neighbors and friends trading cider for a late lunch.