Faking It

by Diane Albert

  She lifted her phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Is your fiancé still in town?” Rodgers barked.

  Stephanie sat up straight. “You mean my fake fiancé, sir?”

  “Is he or isn’t he?”

  “He is.” She sighed. “Why?”

  “We have another meeting scheduled tomorrow. A lunch. Make sure he’s at the Plazo at twelve sharp.”

  She ground her teeth together. “You do know eventually he’ll have to leave. He has a life elsewhere.”

  “Then you’d better hurry up and seal the deal.”

  Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Let me lick your boots while I’m at it, sir. “Can’t we just say he’s away on business?”

  “Wheeler requested him specifically. He has to be there.”

  Wheeler was starting to get on her damned nerves. There was respect for family values, and then there was nosy obsession. It was like he was trying to catch her in the lie, and just setting up chances for her to slip up.

  And Derek had already gone above and beyond anything anyone could have asked of him.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she muttered grudgingly.

  “You’ll do more than that. This is long-term, Ms. Miller. Find a way to make that man stay, or pack your desk. Do what you have to. If Wheeler finds out we lied, we’re finished. Not just the Weyland Project. If this goes public, the media will overhype it as a scam or investment fraud—which will kill our market share. Understood?”

  She hated how he always asked that. She wondered if he understood that this entire situation was his fault—the lie, all of it. But he was making her take the fall, and putting the responsibility entirely on her shoulders.

  She clenched the phone tight and pretended it was his neck. “Yes. Sir.”

  He hung up on her. She came close to throwing the phone across the room. Sighing, she glanced at the time. God, it was eight thirty in the evening, and she was still at the office. She fished out her cellphone and texted Derek.

  Busy?

  He responded within a minute.

  Aaron. Beer. Still at work?

  Yes.

  Sounds like you could use a beer yourself.

  I’ll be there in twenty.

  She made herself presentable in the office bathroom, then took a cab home long enough to stop by her landlord’s apartment. He answered before she even finished knocking.

  “Rent?” he grunted.

  “All paid up.” Stephanie passed the check over—and got a door slammed in her face for her troubles. She sighed.

  Charming.

  At least that was one monkey off her back. She’d had to sell a few of her nicer dresses, holdovers from her college days when her scholarship money had seemed infinite and she’d thought she’d needed pretty things for job interviews. A few of her paintings, too, had gone to the pawn shop. Combined with her meager paycheck, she had enough to cover her rent, groceries, and utilities, while leaving a few bucks to donate to the local food bank. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  But if something didn’t change soon, she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to scrape by on a temp’s salary. She needed to seal this deal. That meant she needed Derek.

  She took her time on the walk to the bar. She couldn’t help twisting the ring on her finger. It was a constant reminder of her lies. A constant reminder of the one man she couldn’t seem to get out of her head.

  That man was currently sitting across a table from her brother, with a frothy, nearly untouched mug of beer in front of him. Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he had to be on his fifth or sixth, from his bleary eyes.

  When her brother saw her, he perked up and opened his mouth, but she plunked down in a chair and cut him off with, “Don’t talk. Just order up.”

  Derek raised a brow. “Something wrong?”

  “Everything is wrong.” She dragged her hands back through her hair, pulling it loose from its bun. “I spent all day working on the damned proposal and getting nowhere. Now I have another meeting tomorrow. We have another meeting tomorrow, full of useless chit-chat that will accomplish absolutely zilch.”

  “Not necessarily. Remember, it’s all part of the game.”

  “I’m tired of the game! I don’t even know what I’m playing. Chess. Checkers. Parcheesi. Shuffleboard. Fuck the game.”

  Aaron grinned muzzily. “Mama doesn’t like that word. I’m telling.”

  “You’re drunk,” Stephanie said. “About as drunk as I need to be.”

  Derek signaled the waitress. “All this over another meeting?”

  “It’s more than just a meeting.” She folded her arms on the table and dropped her forehead onto them. “Wheeler asked for you. Rodgers was…oh, he was just a poop about it. I told him you’d have to go home sooner or later, and we couldn’t keep this up forever, but he said I had to find a way to make you stay.” She groaned. “I don’t know how to make him see it’s not possible for you to just…be at my beck and call—”

  “I can do it.” A light brush of his hand coaxed her to lift her head. “I own my own company. I can work remotely.”

  She stared at him. “That’s insane. What if he wants you around until the project is finalized? That could take weeks.”

  “Then it takes weeks.” He shrugged.

  Aaron sniggered, weaving in his seat. “You’ve got it baaaaad.”

  Stephanie sighed. “Aaron…” God, her brother. She smacked her face into her palm. “Derek, I can’t ask that of you.”

  “You can. It’s a moot point. You need me.” He met her eyes, his voice dipping low with promise. “I’ll be here for you.”

  Stephanie almost protested. Almost. But she’d told him no so many times already, and right now she wondered if he was right. If she let her pride get in the way of the obvious solution, just so she wouldn’t have to accept help.

  Just so she wouldn’t look weak in the eyes of someone whose respect she wanted more and more every day.

  “Thank you,” she made herself say. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He smiled. “Your thanks is more than enough. I have only one condition.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Why no,” Aaron said dryly, “this isn’t awkward for me at all.”

  Stephanie shot him a look. Derek ignored him and said, “I get to pick the next date.”

  “Deal.”

  Their eyes locked. She couldn’t look away, and bit down on her lip. What had she been about to say?

  “The meeting,” she managed. “The meeting is tomorrow afternoon at twelve. In the Plazo.”

  Aaron snorted. “Yes, please, make googly eyes right on top of me. I’m not here at all.” He propped his chin in his hand with a mournful sigh. “Googly eyes. I graduated from Quantico so I could say ‘googly eyes.’”

  “Yes, dear, you’re a very powerful super spy.” Stephanie patted his arm. “No more beer for you.”

  She snagged his half-finished glass and dragged it away. He grabbed for it with a mournful sound, but she kept it just out of his reach.

  “No fair,” he said. “How am I supposed to endure the two of you without being drunk off my ass?”

  There is no “the two of us,” Stephanie started to say, but something about the way Derek was looking at her stopped her. Something that said he hadn’t run away last night because he wasn’t interested.

  “No,” Aaron said firmly. “No. No eye sex in front of me. No.”

  Stephanie started to snap at her brother, then stopped. He never got this drunk. Ever. He hated losing his calm self-control, the icy composure that made him the portrait of the fearsome, emotionless FBI agent…with everyone but her. Something was wrong, she thought, and just as quickly thought now wasn’t the time to talk about it. She probably didn’t need to ask.

  He’d probably been thinking about her again. The woman he’d almost married.

  Under the table, she reached for Aaron’s hand. “I’m calling you a cab.”

  “Don’t need a
cab.” But his fingers gripped tight to hers, and he was no longer grinning.

  “You need more than a cab. You need water, aspirin, and a good night’s sleep.” She stood, slipping an arm under her brother’s shoulders.

  “I’ve got him, love,” Derek murmured, and supported Aaron from his other side, his arm across his back. Stephanie froze, staring at him over her brother’s lolling blond head.

  He’d just called her love.

  Her heart rocketed about madly. She made herself breathe. She was reading too much into this. It was just an idle comment, just a…a…

  At some point, the waitress had left a fresh beer for her. Derek nodded at the cold-frosted glass absently, his attention mostly on getting Aaron on his feet, and pulled her brother along for a few staggering steps. “Stay and enjoy your beer. I’ll get Aaron home. I’m used to this.”

  “What? But—”

  “I’ve got it, Stephanie. I’ll see you tomorrow. The Plazo.”

  She trailed after them. “Derek, he’s my brother.”

  “And I’ve got this.” He gave her a fierce look. “I’ve seen him through this before. Just let me handle it.”

  Her ping-ponging heart bounced to a halt and refused to move again. Of course. Of course Derek had been there for Aaron when Stephanie hadn’t. Stephanie was the charity case, the little sister who always needed help, who was never there when anyone needed her.

  Derek couldn’t know how much that stung. Couldn’t know how much she still hated herself for not being there for Aaron all those years ago, after his fiancé had died. She’d been wrapped up in college, wholly self-absorbed, while Aaron had been grieving. Derek had been there. Derek was here now.

  And neither of them needed her.

  She watched them go without another protest. There was a brotherhood between them, apparent in every movement, that ran deeper than blood. She wanted to hate Derek for it. She knew she was being emotional, irrational. She hadn’t just been usurped. Derek wasn’t taking her place…because it had never been her place to comfort Aaron. She’d always taken, never given.

  She thunked down heavily in her chair and stared at the abandoned beer glasses. She’d been trying so hard, but she’d failed. She was still so dependent on both Aaron and Derek. She had to pull away. Had to stand on her own, and learn not to need either of them.

  If only she could figure out how.

  Chapter Eleven

  Derek straightened his tie and walked into the restaurant. He hadn’t spoken to Stephanie since last night at the bar. When he’d texted her this morning, she’d sent back a terse reply. Gone was her usual bubbly warmth, which communicated even in text. She hadn’t mentioned anything else about the meeting. Refused to say anything she didn’t need to, and hadn’t picked up the phone when he’d called. Something was wrong.

  Or he was being paranoid.

  He made his way across the room, scanning the tables until he found Stephanie seated in the back of the restaurant, with Rodgers and Wheeler. Rodgers was sneering at Stephanie like she was his next meal, while she fidgeted with her water glass. Derek wove swiftly through the tables. Rodgers made him uneasy. While Derek understood the politics of business, men like Rodgers went above a little diplomatic manipulation and business courtship. Anyone who would force a subordinate to cover their lie was despicable, and he wished more and more he’d been more delicate in his attempt to woo Stephanie to his company—even if he wanted her as far more than an employee.

  He still remembered the look on her face when she’d realized her blunder in taking him to a Mexican restaurant. He’d wanted to kiss her right then and there. Her heart had been in the right place. It only made him want to show her the reality of Caribbean-influenced Puerto Rican culture—all the traditions and food and beauty that remained in his memory, warm and pure, even though his mother was long gone. He’d neglected that side of his heritage for so long, and her simple questions had made him want to rediscover himself. Rediscover an entirely missing half of his family tree.

  But not without Stephanie at his side.

  He reached the table and shook hands all around. “Mr. Rodgers, Mr. Wheeler. Sorry I’m late.” He kissed Stephanie’s temple. “Afternoon, love.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Something was definitely wrong. “Hey, you.”

  “You’re not late,” Wheeler said. “We’re early.”

  Derek settled into his seat. “Then can I count myself as fashionably on time?”

  Stephanie gave a nervous laugh. “You’re never fashionably late, that’s for sure.”

  He watched her. She avoided his eyes. “Everything all right, love?”

  “Fabulous.” She turned her smile on Wheeler. “After we order, would you like to go over some numbers?”

  “Perhaps.” Wheeler folded his napkin in his lap. “Tell me, Derek, what did you think of the performance the other night? I think my favorite was the soprano. Her voice brought tears to my eyes.”

  Bored to tears, perhaps. “I couldn’t agree more. She was mesmerizing.”

  “About the proposal…?” Stephanie knotted her hands together in her lap. “I spent the last few days—”

  Rodgers sat forward. “The tenor was my favorite.”

  He eyed Stephanie. She looked down at her lap. Derek gently nudged her foot under the table. He knew she wanted to get to the point and was tired of running in circles, but patience would serve her better here.

  Derek draped his arm around her shoulder. “Which was your favorite, love?”

  She shot him a seething sidelong glance. “The tenor. The lead actor. He was good.”

  “Yes, he was.” He kissed her temple, then turned his head to whisper in her ear. “Relax. Slow down.”

  She tensed, but only smiled and picked up her water, her composure perfectly in place. “I adored the little boy, too—the one who played the son? He was too cute for words.”

  “He was. Reminded me of my grandson.” Wheeler chuckled. “How many kids are you two planning on?”

  Stephanie stared into her glass, her cheeks pink. “I have no idea.”

  Wheeler tsked with a teasing smile. “I know that look. You’ve thought about it. It’s something you two should talk about before the wedding. What if one of you wants six, and one of you wants none?”

  “Three,” Derek said quickly, at the same time Stephanie answered, “Three, I think.”

  They froze and looked at each other. Derek smiled, but Stephanie’s brow knitted. She quickly turned away with a lighthearted laugh. “See? No problems there.”

  They ordered their food. Over braised veal and marinated shrimp, the conversation turned, for once, to business. Derek let himself drift. The conversation was lost on him when Stephanie refused to let him so much as look at the proposal.

  “Mr. Rory?”

  Derek snapped back to attention. Rodgers was watching him with shrewd eyes. Wheeler’s chair was empty; a quick scan found him across the room, heading for the men’s room. Derek returned his gaze to Rodgers.

  “Yes?”

  “I assume you’ve reviewed the file with Ms. Miller?”

  “There was no reason for me to, no.”

  Rodgers’ mouth pressed tight and he turned a condescending look on Stephanie. “You mean to say that you are engaged to the—”

  “Not engaged,” Stephanie bit off. “Pretending. Big difference.”

  Rodgers’ eyes narrowed. “The point is you have an invaluable resource here, and you haven’t made use of him. You’re engaged to the most successful man in the global marketing sphere, the son of an outright financial genius and the head of Rory Enterprises. You should have been groveling at his feet for help. God knows you don’t have his insights.”

  The implied insult to Stephanie was infuriating—but the invasion of his privacy was worse. Derek gritted his teeth. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “I prefer to know who I’m dealing with.” Rodgers sipped his scotch. “It’s my job to know men like yo
u, and I thought your name sounded familiar. The scandal in Time when you publicly refused to take over your father’s company, if I recall. Not the best move, but you’ve made it well enough on your own.”

  “I live for your approval,” Derek bit off.

  Rodgers gave him a cool smile. “Control your expression. I know you’re angry. Most people are when they’ve been outmaneuvered, and I have you exactly where I need you. I arranged this so Ms. Miller could use you as a resource. It simply baffles me that she hasn’t.”

  Derek closed his eyes. He’d walked right into this. He’d been so absorbed in Stephanie that he hadn’t even thought he was more than a bit player in this, a prop in the play. He should have guessed. He was the fallback plan. Rodgers was counting on the fact that if Derek cared enough about Stephanie’s job to play at being her fiancé, then he cared enough to actively take part in winning the project—even if it meant taking the project out of Stephanie’s hands or, if Wheeler backed out, stepping up to take on the role of investor himself. Rodgers was probably also counting on Derek being the same kind of businessman he was.

  Rodgers was wrong.

  Stephanie made a little noise in the back of her throat. “Derek, I swear I had no idea he intended to use you this way.”

  “I know,” he said. He’d never spoken to Stephanie about his father’s business, or their conflict over it. So unless she was better at playing innocent than he’d thought, this was all Rodgers. He didn’t take his eyes from the man. “Since you’re controlling this game, sir, it’s your move.”

  “It’s simple. Review the file before Wheeler gets back. Contribute to the conversation. Convince him, since Ms. Miller has failed.”

  Stephanie tensed. “I can do some more research on my own. Come up with the pretty answers Wheeler wants. I don’t need—”

  “This job, apparently.” Rodgers smirked. “You are patently unsuited for this business. You don’t have the slightest clue how to focus on what matters: the money.”

  “The money?” she spluttered. “What about the people who could die without assistance—”