A Gentleman's Agreement

by Avery, Joy

  When it comes to love, all deals are off!

  Blake Farrington knows exactly who to call when he finds himself needing crisis management. Yes, this task is outside Eunice Howard’s usual realm of responsibilities, but he’s willing to make it worth her time. Plus, she’s ideal for the role. Who better to play his pretend lover than the one woman who knows him almost better than he knows himself?

  The last thing Eunice Howard expects when summoned to her boss’s office is a request to play the role of his new love interest to appease his mother, restless to marry him off. Foolishly agreeing, she ventures with him to Farrington Estates for the Thanksgiving holiday. She thought she’d seen all sides of Blake Farrington, but the man who emerges is a man she could easily love.

  Their agreement blossoms into a connection neither expected—nor are willing to admit. When the lines between make-believe and reality blur, something phenomenal occurs.

  A GENTLEMAN’S AGREEMENT

  JOY AVERY

  A GENTLEMAN’S AGREEMENT

  Copyright© 2015 by Joy Avery

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except for brief quotes used for the purpose of review or promotion. Any trademarks, service marks, or product names are the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference.

  A GENTLEMAN’S AGREEMENT is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First eBook Edition: October 2015

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks—first and foremost—to God for blessing me with this gift of storytelling.

  My endless gratitude to my husband and daughter for your unwavering support and patience. I love you both very much!

  A huge thank you to Lyla Dune, the best critique partner ever! And also a fabulous author. Check out her Pleasure Island series. You will laugh ’til you cry.

  To my friends and family who’ve offered tons and tons of encouragement and support, I express my greatest gratitude. Your support means the world to me.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY JOY AVERY

  DEAR READER

  WHERE YOU CAN FIND JOY

  Chapter 1

  Blake Farrington folded his arms across his chest and tuned out the aggravating clamor behind him. The view from his bedroom window could be summed up in one word: priceless. Glowing lights surrounded the Hudson River and gave the skyline an angelic glow. Staring out at the rippling water in the New York Harbor always relaxed him.

  He’d lost himself in the splendor until a pillow found its way to the back of his head. The force of the blow caused him to stumble forward and into the floor to ceiling window. Regaining his steadiness, he pivoted. “Woman, are you crazy?”

  “I bet I have your attention now.”

  He glared at Sasha—his girlfriend of the past year. “What is your problem?” Now, he added, but only in his head.

  She jabbed a manicured finger in his direction. “You,” she said sharply. “You’re such a freaking momma’s boy.” Her green eyes darkened as her anger swelled.

  Blake slid his hands into his black trousers, shook his head, chuckled, and walked away. This was not how he’d anticipated winding down from his very long, very tiresome workday. He’d fantasized his woman greeting him at the door wearing an extremely sexy and extremely revealing negligee, sporting four-inch stilettos—yellow—and offering him a rum and coke.

  Two hours ago the thought of that happening made him laugh. Recalling it now yielded the same results. What in the hell had he been thinking? Heck, he could barely get Sasha to pour him a glass of water without expecting something in return.

  “Can’t you tell your parents you can’t make it this year?” Sasha said.

  Her words drilled into him like a dull syringe. “Sasha—” He caught himself and softened his tone. He inhaled deeply. “It’s my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary party. Are you asking me to miss it?”

  She shot him an of course that’s what I’m asking glance, but no words confirmed the expression. A weaker man would have yielded to her request. But weak had never been his M.O.

  Blake pulled his hands to his waist and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I won’t tell them I can’t make it.”

  “We went last year, Blake. Who the hell has an anniversary party every anniversary?”

  He ignored the ridiculous question. “Yes, we did go last year, but the trip was cut short because you got ‘food poisoning.’ He made air quotes that—judging by the scowl—pissed her off even more. “Food poisoning that miraculously settled on our flight back to New York. Imagine that.”

  “Imagine it,” Sasha mocked, sarcasm dripping from her words.

  He grunted and returned to the window. “Look, you don’t have to go if—”

  “Oh, I don’t intend to. I’m spending this Thanksgiving with my family. And I thought you were, too. At least that’s the lie you told up until a month ago, when you sprung it on me that plans had changed.”

  She had no idea how relieved he was to hear her say she wouldn’t be accompanying him to Virginia. Their last visit together had been a disaster. By the time they’d actually left to return home, Sasha had managed to piss off almost every member of his family.

  Groaning, he faced Sasha again. “It wasn’t a lie. At the time—”

  “I don’t want to hear your ‘at the time’ bullshit, Blake Farrington.”

  Blake dipped his head, massaging the back of his neck. “I’m tired of arguing about this. For the past month it’s been the same argument.” He met her eyes again and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re wasting your time and your breath.”

  Sasha cocked her head to one side. “So, I’m supposed to just show up at my parent’s house alone after I’ve already told them you would be with me? Do you realize how stupid I’m going to look?”

  “It’s your family. How are you going to look stupid, Sasha?”

  “Because for the past six months I’ve been assuring my parents that we would be there this year. Especially since we spent last year with your family. Now,” she tossed her hands in the air, “I’m going alone. Arriving on American Airlines instead of a private jet,” she mumbled, just loud enough for Blake to hear.

  The muscles in his neck tightened again. “Now I get it. You don’t care about us spending the holidays with your family. You just want them to know you arrived in my private jet.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” He chuckled. “You’re serious right now, huh?”

  “I’m high maintenance. I make no apologies for that.”

  And maintaining her was getting really old. Not only was this entire conversation beginning to fluster him, it couldn’t have come at a worst time. Piling right on top of the shitty day he’d already had. “You know what...” he paused, “if you travel to your parents�
��, that’s exactly how you will be traveling. On American Airlines and alone.” He hadn’t meant his words to sound so callous. Or maybe he had. He spent his days listening to whining athletes. All he’d wanted when he arrived home was a little peace and quiet. That wasn’t happening.

  Sasha sneered. “Alone? Really? Or perhaps I’ll just find someone else to escort me.”

  Blake opened his mouth to speak but reconsidered. He released a humorless laugh, rolled his eyes and ambled away.

  On his heels, Sasha continued. “Oh, that’s funny to you?”

  When he didn’t answer, she dug her razor-sharp claws in even deeper.

  “I’ll have you know that I get hit on four, five times a day. So, don’t you for one minute think that I couldn’t—”

  He swung around to face her. By the way she flinched, the move caught her by surprise. “Couldn’t what?” His tone revealed his increasing irritation. A lot he could ignore, but listening to her confess how easily he could be replaced—which she’d done quite frequently lately—was not one of them.

  Sasha recovered quickly, dousing all signs of weakness. “Don’t raise your voice at me. I’m not a damn child.”

  “And I’m not a damn punching bag.” The statement held double meaning, but he focused on one. He pointed toward the window. “So let that stunt you pulled a few minutes ago be the last time you ever put your hands on me.” Technically, she hadn’t laid a finger on him, but she had placed all of them on the pillow that she’d used to clock him in the back of the head.

  Sasha studied him for a moment, her demeanor softening. “Where is this relationship going, Blake?”

  Fine crease lines moved across his forehead. “Where did that come from?”

  She closed her eyes. “Just answer the question. Please.”

  He had a good idea of where this conversation was headed. Lately, it was where all of their conversations eventually led. Marriage. Ever since Sasha’s best friend married a man she’d only dated roughly two weeks, Sasha had become crazed, borderline obsessed with marriage. Jumping the broom was nowhere in his near future, and he thought he’d made that perfectly clear the fifty previous times she’d worked it into a conversation.

  He danced around the question. “I don’t know. I’m not a psychic.”

  “Are you seeing someone else? That girl at your office. Eunice,” she said as if the name tasted sour in her mouth. “I see the way she looks at you.”

  Here we go again with the paranoia. “Why do you ask me that every time we have an argument? Maybe I should be asking you that question. You’re the one who’s always thinking I’m cheating. Maybe you’re just trying to cast suspicion off of yourself.”

  Sasha wrapped her arms around her petite frame. “You’re so absurd at times.” She sighed softly. “I don’t want to lose you, Blake. But lately, I feel like that’s exactly what’s happening.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  And the water works begin. In the year they’d dated, he’d learned her like a book. He could almost time to the second when she would start to cry during an argument. Even though the tears were for nothing more than show, he hated to see her cry. He hated to see any woman cry. Apparently, she’d learned him, too.

  He fell into routine, moving toward her and wrapping her tightly in his arms. He dipped his head and pushed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere. You know I love…having you near me.”

  Sasha tears stopped as if on cue. She pushed him away with so much force he lost his balance and fell backwards. Luckily, the bed broke his fall. “What now?” he asked in a less than enthusiastic tone, despite already knowing the critical error he’d made. At this point, playing dumb was his best strategy. It always seemed to work well for so many of the athletes he represented when they were caught in the media crossfire.

  Well, actually, his unofficial public relations coordinator slash unofficial assistant slash all around go to woman, Eunice, could also be credited for getting his clients out of hot water. That woman was a damn charmer. Eunice. A warm sensation washed over him. But Sasha’s icy words cooled him off instantly.

  “You love having me near you?”

  The question was rhetorical, but he nodded. He could have padded it by adding something along the lines of “I can’t imagine my life without you,” but it would have been obvious he hadn’t meant it.

  Sasha shook her head. “I don’t believe you. We have been dating for a year, and all you can say to me is you love having me near you? Wouldn’t I love you have been more suitable?”

  Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “I—You know— I mean—”

  Sasha sighed, her expression growing sad. “I can count the number of times you’ve told me you love me on one hand. And you know what’s sad about that? All of the times have been during sex. Don’t you find that odd?”

  Blake studied her a moment before shaking his head. “No, I don’t. What better time to express love than while we’re making love?”

  “Making love? Is that what we do?”

  “Yeah…”

  “We screw, Blake. We don’t make love.”

  Damn, she was really going for blood. If her goal was to ruin his night, she was succeeding. Out of nowhere, another laugh escaped.

  “It’s not funny, Blake.”

  “You’re right, it’s not funny. It’s freaking hilarious. You’re counting the number of times I express my feelings? What is that all about? And as far as me only saying it during sex… Hmmm, I’m sorry, but I can’t remember back that far.”

  He’d actually thought Sasha was joking when she’d come to him and said she’d decided they shouldn’t have sex for a while. “It’ll make our bond stronger,” she’d said. Like a fool he’d agreed, believing her decision wouldn’t last past a week. Two, at the most. That’d been a month ago. Most twenty-eight-year-olds loved sex, or so he believed. At thirty-six, he loved sex. Loved having sex. Loved being sexed. Sasha had snatched the one thing he loved away.

  “You used to make me so happy,” Sasha continued.

  He sat forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “Used to make you happy?”

  Sasha rolled her eyes away.

  Blake pushed himself from the bed and moved toward her. “You seemed pretty happy last month when you drove away from the Mercedes dealership.” He waited for a response that never came. “Last week, when I draped that diamond tennis bracelet around your wrist, you seemed pretty blissful then.” Sasha glared at him with squinted eyes, but still remained silent. “And last night, when those first-class tickets to St. Thomas arrived, I would classify your reaction as a cheerful one.”

  “Is that what you do now, toss everything you’ve purchased me in my face? It’s all material shit,” she forced through her clinched teeth.

  “That’s the problem. Material shit is the only thing that seems to make you happy.”

  “That’s a lie, Blake. It’s a lie and it’s unfair for you to say.”

  Blake bit at his bottom lip, then extended his arm toward the door. “When I walked through the front door tonight after a fourteen hour day, the very first thing you asked me was did I get your diamond earrings?” His arm fell to his side. “Not ‘hey, sweetie, you look tired’ or ‘let me rub your back while you relax’ or ‘can I get you something to eat, to drink’ or ‘I’ll run you a hot bath—’”

  Sasha eyed him sharply. “Run your bath water? What am I, a slave now?”

  “Am I one when I run yours?”

  It took her a moment to find her words. “You’re a man. You’re supposed to go above and beyond to make—and keep—me happy.”

  She could say a lot of things about him—most would actually be true: he wasn’t romantic enough, not sensitive enough, not emotional enough, and her list could go on and on. One thing she could never say, however, was that he wasn’t damn good to her.

  “Does that sword not cut both ways?” he asked.

  Sasha’s eyes fell to her feet. “You running my bath water is dif
ferent.”

  “How?” He tossed his hands in the air. “You know what...don’t even bother to answer that. I’m sure your response would only piss me off even more.”

  “You know what, I don’t need you and I don’t need your gifts,” she said, her tan complexion flushing with red.

  “I can’t tell.”

  Sasha turned her back to him. When her body jerked, he realized she was crying again. She’d never attempted to hide her tears before. If anything, she worked hard to make them visible. He briefly considered them to be genuine.

  He stood behind her, resting his hands on the curve of her hips. “I’m sorry,” he said in a tone slightly higher than a whisper. He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing? One thing he was sure of was that this relationship was wearing him down.

  “Whatever. I think I’ll sleep at my own place tonight.” Sasha tried to pull away, but he pulled her back, rotating her to face him.

  “Don’t go,” he said.

  “Why would you want me to stay when clearly all I am to you is just a gold digging, insensitive b-word?”

  “I never said any of those things. You know I would never call you out of your name.”

  “You might as well have. Your words implied it.”

  He sighed. “I’m just tired, Sasha. I had a rough day. I tried to get a sit-down with Fredrick Bass, but Palmer Elliott beat me to it. I think my agency has a mole because Palmer seems to know every move I make. On top of that I—”

  “If you’re tired, maybe you should get some rest.” She freed her hand from his grasp.

  Blake eyed her skeptically, not believing she’d just given him the equivalent of saying “I don’t give a damn about your day” without actually saying the words. “Yeah. I should.”

  Sasha hesitated a moment, then turned and walked away. Stopping at the bedroom door, she spoke over her shoulder. “Blake, I think we need some time apart.”