by Lulu Pratt
“Mordecai,” he said, turning to the driver, “show these kind people to their rooms.”
“At once, sir,” Mordecai replied with a sharp, military click of his shiny heels. To us:
“Follow me, please.”
No sooner had we met Charles than we were being whisked away into the belly of the house by the driver — Mordecai, apparently. The halls were lined with flowing velvet curtains, vast mirrors and intricately carved tiles that looked to be pilfered from ancient Italian churches. The majesty of it all made my head swim.
“Every one of your party has their own room,” Mordecai explained as we whirled around one corner after another.
“Oh that’s not necessary,” Amy began, “my husband and I—”
“The master prefers if each person stays in their own room,” he continued. “He believes it makes people more… efficient.”
I wrinkled my forehead at this, but didn’t question it further. Nobody got that wealthy without some crazy ideas about productivity and Charles struck me as the type of man who was old-fashioned in some ways. All the better for you, my inner voice prodded. That means you won’t have to share a room with whatever lollygagger Joe’s arranged for you.
My brain had made a good point, so I kept my objects about Charles’ preferences to myself.
Mordecai deposited Joe and Amy at their rooms before at last taking me to mine.
“Here you are, miss,” he said, stiffly opening my door. “Please ring the tasseled bell beside the fireplace if you should require any assistance.”
With that, he offered me a stiff bow, laid my bag at my feet and disappeared down the hallway.
The room, in keeping with the rest of the house, was the height of glamour. The king bed was covered in a four-poster canopy, and the carpet was so thick my heels sunk into it. There was a gorgeous writing desk on spindly wooden legs, and a black lacquer tray covered in an array of waters and sweets. It was, without a doubt, the most fabulous place I’d ever set foot in. The fireplace was marble and longer than my laminated kitchen counter. I certainly wasn’t in Fort Myers anymore.
But there was no time to fantasize about the artwork that covered the walls — there was just enough time to unpack and get changed before hors d’oeuvres, which Mordecai had informed us would be served at five o’clock sharp. I guess that, despite his hardiness, Charles was still technically an old person on an old person’s schedule. I carefully hung my clothes and laid out my toiletries, arranging everything just so before selecting a simple red sheath dress. As I zipped it onto myself, I admired how it clung to my every curve perfectly. It had a modest neckline and hem, but the way it hugged me was positively sinful.
I threw on some hoop earrings, ran a brush through my hair, and swiped on a fresh coat of mascara before slipping into a pair of black stilettos.
My phone buzz. It was a text from Amy, saying, Come downstairs. Your date’s here. He’s HOT. I’ll point him to you when you get down here.
I laughed aloud. Maybe Jacksonville wouldn’t be half bad. I gave myself a final once-over in the enormous mirror trimmed in wooden rosebuds.
“Not too half bad yourself,” I said to my reflection.
With that, I grabbed my evening purse and phone and left the room, shutting the large oak door behind me and hoping that I’d be able to find my way back through the labyrinth of corridors later that night with a couple of drinks under my belt.
I followed the sound of clinking glasses and tinkling laughter down a flight of stairs and past several rooms before arriving in a grand ballroom. Candles illuminated the space and cast my colleagues in a flattering pallor. I realized that Pillers had pulled out all the stops — half the company, well over a dozen other people, and their significant others, most of whom I am sure Tom and Joe did not have to “set up,” had made the trip to Jacksonville just for this pitch. Most I didn’t recognize — I assumed they were from Tampa — but everyone waved at me in welcome.
Maybe this would be a good chance to network with everyone, get to know one another — like a company retreat but with a really hard, high stakes team-building challenge at the end.
From across the room I spotted a mirrored end table boasting a pyramid of Champagne glasses. Perfect.
I made my way to the pyramid, the clacking of my shoes drowned out by strings of Beethoven being piped in from unseen speakers. The chandeliers overhead sparkled dizzyingly and I breathed deeply to remind myself that my nerves were going to be a-okay.
Stopping in front of the pyramid, I reached for the topmost glass, my fingers encircling the stem. That was when I felt a large, masculine hand fall on my shoulder. It must be my date, I thought with a twinge of interest.
Turning slowly, glass in tow, I began to say, “Hi there, I’m—”
And then I saw the eyes.
That’s when I almost threw my Champagne right in his stupid face.
Chapter 4
Sierra
“WELL, HELLO to you too,” Jacob said with a smirk, totally unfazed at my response.
If I had to name the absolute most annoying thing about seeing him face to face, and there were many, it was that he still looked like a damn model. Or like a cross between a model and a cowboy. Either way, I would’ve hoped the two years apart had made him balder and redder, but instead, they seemed to have only sharpened his cheekbones and deepened the twinkle of his eye.
It was seriously unfair.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hissed, looking quickly around to see if anyone was watching us. This was a scene I didn’t want any witnesses to. The coast seemed to be clear, which gave me the confidence to redouble my fury.
He looked sideways, apparently confused by the question. “Uh, working? What the fuck are you doing here?”
My mind went blank with horror. “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “That can’t be.”
“You’re right, I just wanted to crash the cocktail party. I’m a robber. You caught me.” His smirk grew wider, and I briefly wondered what the company policy was on physical violence.
“Jacob,” I growled.
“Really,” he said, holding his hands up in a show of surrender. “I’m working, God’s honest truth.”
“For who?! Satan?”
He looked at me like I might be a bit slow, his thick brown brows rising. “Pillers,” he enunciated. “You know, the company whose people are currently filling this entire ballroom. Are you here for, I dunno, catering?”
“Okay, one, I have never in my life been an even halfway decent chef and I know that you know that,” I hissed back. “And two, I’m here with Pillers. I’m in managing.”
He shrugged. “Catering, managing, big difference. So you work for Pillers, got it.”
“So you can’t work for them, too.”
“I already do, hun.” He licked his lips in that way he had, tongue darting across to moisten them. Stupid, kissable lips. Gah, did I just think that? Shut it down, Sierra, shut it down.
“Why?” I retorted, nearly incoherent in my anger.
“Because I like making money,” he replied. “What’s your excuse?”
“Shut up,” I shot back, loudly enough to draw the attention of a waiter walking by with a tray of food. I smiled innocently in his direction, then turned back to Jacob, focusing my Medusa-like wrath on that handsome damn face. “I haven’t seen you in two years, not since—”
“I know.” His voice lowered an octave or two, and an unrecognizable expression came over his features. Like I said, I hadn’t seen him in two years, so I no longer knew what to make of the change, and he wasn’t giving hints. I had to press on.
“And now you have the nerve to show up here?”
“Okay, enough of this,” he said, rolling his eyes. He laid a hand on my forearm and tugged me a few steps away, my high heels skidding over the marble. Without another word, he pressed me into a nearby alcove, some kind of butler’s entry, secluded from the rest of the ballroom. It was shadowy, the only light com
ing from a single bulb down the long hallway. Evidently, the entrance wasn’t in use tonight — or they just didn’t understand decent lighting layouts.
Jacob’s body moved in close to mine, too close, his taut muscles looming over me. He didn’t threaten me, but he did make my blood boil and my senses swim. He was wearing the same cologne that he had always worn and the scent made me nostalgic for a moment. I backed up an inch, then another, until I was up against a wall. There were only a few breaths of space between us — the hall was tight, and Jacob had extraordinarily broad shoulders. The familiar heat of his form in closed quarters made my pulse race. With anger, that is. I didn’t want him to be here, I wanted him to be on the other side of the damn planet. Or at least, my brain felt that way. My body was having an entirely different, rather betraying reaction.
I opened my mouth, desperate to spit out words before I let my primal instincts overtake my clear thoughts. I began, “Jacob—”
He laid a finger on my mouth, stifling my next tirade, and unfortunately reminding me of how gorgeous those strong fingers were. “I work for Pillers too,” he explained, his chocolate brown eyes boring into mine. “You probably didn’t see it on the roster because I operate under my company’s name, Got Wood Inc., not as an independent contractor.”
Shit. I had seen that go by on a couple of memos, but hadn’t thought anything of it. Stupid Sierra, I scolded myself. Amateur. In the future, I was gonna investigate each memo like it was a piece of the Panama Papers.
“Now, I don’t want to be here anymore than you do,” Jacob continued, shifting his body in the tight space but not managing to put any additional space between us. How convenient.
That I had to laugh at. “Oh really?” I guffawed. “You’re uncomfortable? You dumped me over text after twelve months of dating, no explanation. I’m the one who gets to be uncomfortable.”
“You always were so self-righteous,” he sighed, his large shoulders heaving with visible annoyance.
“Oh my God!” I almost yelled. “How is that self-righteous? You treated me like I was the only woman in the world and then ghosted me. I will not be lectured by your vanishing ass.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand, you couldn’t.”
“Don’t understand why you left without notice? Yeah, you’ve got that right, pal, I don’t understand.”
“Then I won’t try to make you,” he replied, his lips forming a thin line, his expression darkening from forced jest to earnest frustration.
“Why did you even come up to me?” I asked, my tone interrogative. “You could’ve just stayed as far across the room as possible.”
Jacob emitted another heavy sigh. “You’re gonna laugh,” he said, the words coming out of his mouth as slow as molasses.
“Not likely.” Nothing about this situation was funny. Confusing, angering, and maybe a very, very tiny bit arousing, but certainly not funny.
He explained, “Uh, this woman Amy, maybe you know her, she’s Tom’s—”
“Sister-in-law, I know,” I replied impatiently.
“Well, Amy flagged me down in the ballroom, said that you’re the girl I’m supposed to pretend to date this weekend, you know, to woo Charles and whatever, and told me to go like lightly surprise you.” Jacob’s stubble moved as he sucked his cheeks in and popped them back out. “Obviously it was a little more surprise than was supposed to be on the menu.”
My heart thudded into my stomach. “No.”
“You weren’t surprised?” he asked mildly. “I was.”
“I mean no to the pretend dating. I did the real dating, and then I did the real breaking up, so it’s an even bigger ‘no’ to the pretend variety.”
Frustrated, he fired back, “Yes, Sierra, we have to, and I’m fucking mad about it too. You think I wanna hang with my ex all weekend, pretend to be head over heels in love? Because I don’t. But I care about my job and this is my job so whether you like it or not we’re gonna play nice because I need to keep working and Pillers is my biggest client. I made Tom a promise, and I’m not a guy who breaks promises. Deal?”
“You promised you’d never hurt me,” I muttered, thinking back to one special night of many. “That didn’t work out great.”
His warm eyes turned fiery with rage and a vein emerged in his forehead. I could see his square jaw clench. I resisted the urge to slap it. Our bodies hadn’t been this close in years — he was pressed as far away from me as possible, back against the wall of the hallway, but in this space, that wasn’t much at all. It would only take him a split second to hitch me up in the alcove, my shoulder blades pressed into the tile, dress riding up around my thighs—
Oh shit. I couldn’t be thinking about this, not now, not ever. When Jacob had dumped me, he’d ripped my heart out and thrown it to the wolves without even the good manners to give me an explanation or call off said wolves. I’d barely dated anyone since then, at least no one serious, and if I was being brutally honest with myself, it was because of Jacob, and how much a mess he’d made of my emotions.
And now I had to pretend to be dating him if I wanted to keep my job.
Everything about this was a cruel, Shakespearean twist of fate, and I was forced to play a sickening role.
“Well?” he pressed.
I gave in. “Fine,” I replied, my tone haughty. “I’ll be good. But just remember, if I ever look like I’m having fun, or might have forgiven you — it’s all an act. I still hate your guts.”
He laughed, a choked noise that seemed to ill-contain the emotion behind it.
“Understood,” he replied darkly. “And—”
Just then, the sound of a glass being tapped with a spoon rung through the room and down to us.
“We’re being summoned,” I observed, attempting to modulate the passion in my voice to something more appropriate for mixed company.
Jacob gave me a long, intense look before carefully holding out his arm. I stared at it, confused.
“Can I help you?” I asked sarcastically.
“We have to look like a couple,” he reminded me, his voice impatient. “Couples touch each other.”
“Fine,” I spat back. “But remember—”
“You hate me. You’d rather be covered in a thousand spiders. Thrown into the sea without a life jacket. Yeah, yeah I get it. Now put your damn hand on my arm.”
“And I’m only doing this because I wanna keep my job.”
“That makes two of us,” he muttered.
With a little huff, I wrapped my fingers in the crook of his elbow. A pang ran through my body as I felt his hard muscles. I’d forgotten, perhaps intentionally, just how perfect it was, firm beneath sun-darkened skin. He was the kind of man who could labor in the fields all day and labor in your bed all night.
We emerged from the alcove and as we cross that threshold, we transformed, looking to all the world — or all the company, at least — like a man and woman in love — my hand wrapped tightly around his limb, a smile shining from my face, his head tilted down to mine. God, he was a stone-cold player. The affection in his eyes was so powerful that for a moment, even I thought it might be real. But just a moment, of course. Logically, I knew better than to buy his whole song and dance.
I saw Joe from across the ballroom — his eyebrows flew up and down briefly. Even he appeared startled by just how convincing our act was. Amy, who was standing next to Joe, gave me a subtle thumbs-up and mouthed, ‘nice.’ She seemed so excited for me, like maybe Jacob and I might really date. If only that poor, sweet woman knew the truth.
Before I could navigate us towards someone else in the room, anyone who could act as a buffer — as opposed to Amy, who would inevitably push us together — Charles appeared through the double doors.
“Dinner is served,” he announced. “Follow me.”
He turned abruptly on a heel and stalked back out the way he’d come. The other company members looked at one another, baffled by his behavior but in no position to question it. If this man w
as offering us millions of dollars to build a retirement community, the least we could do was not interrogate his etiquette, however much it might be deserving of close scrutiny.
Two by two, other company members and their dates followed him through gold-leaf doors. Flashing back to my Southern upbringing, I thought how distinctly like a debutante ball this was, down to the uncomfortable young man whose arm I was on. Apparently, nothing changes.
Jacob sighed. “Oh brother,” he said quietly.
“What?” I shifted, hovering my hand until it barely touched his arm. It was my small way of reminding him that I still hated his guts.
But my movement had distracted him from the subject at hand. He looked bemusedly down at my hand.
“You know I’m not poisonous, right? You can touch me, hon.”
“I’m not your hon. And you’re definitely toxic,” I hissed.
Jacob looked like he wanted to respond — the right side of his cheek was getting jumpy with frustration as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. But instead, he replied, “Come on, it’s our turn.”
With that, he placed a hand on top of mine, forcing it onto his arm, locking our charade back in place.
“It’s showtime,” he muttered.
Chapter 5
Jacob
GREAT. EVERYTHING was just great.
Here I was, at maybe the most important business event of my life, where I had to make a stellar impression, and I would be chained to the side of my ex the whole weekend. And not just any ex — an ex who hated my guts. The girl I hadn’t been able to get over for two years, the one whose memory had kept me from even touching the dating pool, because all I wanted to do was touch her.
And, just a small little footnote — she looked beautiful. Have I mentioned that? Because in my defense, it’s worth mentioning.
Sierra’s huge, blonde pageant curls tumbled over her slender shoulders, which were rigid with discipline and nerves. Her cheeks, dusted with blush, shone with youth beneath the candlelight, and her blue eyes sparkled gaily at colleagues — when those same eyes weren’t busy eviscerating me. And the lips — plump, moist, like a juicy grapefruit just waiting to be sucked on.