by Anne Harper
Get a win for the bar? Check.
Keep the Robertson family from growing their ego even more? Check check.
“How long are you in town for?”
“I have a wedding to work in three weeks,” she answered. “My bosses are okay letting me lie low here until then. Plus, I work remotely when needed.”
“Perfect. Then that will be our timeline. For three weeks, we can play at being a couple. After that, we come up with a reason for our split and make it public. Something that doesn’t make me look like a jackass.”
“Or make me look like the most awkward person alive.”
Brady felt his eyebrow rise. “Does that mean you’re in?”
Sloane looked around the clearing—for what, he didn’t know—but then she heaved a long sigh.
She stuck out her hand. “If this helps, at the very least, to get Carol off my back, then I’m game.”
Brady placed his hand in hers. It was soft and warm and small. Just like her.
They shook.
“Then it looks like we have a deal.”
Chapter Four
This time, Sloane didn’t have the luxury of blaming her bad decisions on drinking too much. No. This time she’d made the bad decision with a mostly clear head and a slightly intrigued libido.
Pretending to date Brady in exchange for giving his bar some of the limelight had seemed like a straightforward, simple idea at the time. It wasn’t until the next morning that all the holes in that plan became glaringly obvious.
First of all, Sloane didn’t know Brady. Not in any way that counted.
She’d stalked his social media profiles the night before to the best of her ability, all the while ignoring the onslaught of notifications, messages, and friend requests through hers. The most interesting thing she’d found was his apparent love of the John Wick movies and a few tagged photos of him with people she recognized but didn’t quite know. His profile picture was also interesting but for different reasons. He was wearing a white button-up, dark blue blazer, and tie that had been loosened at his neck. It looked like a candid picture, taken of him talking to an equally dressed-up Dixon. There was a carefree air to it. Just a normal moment frozen in time.
Sloane saved it to her desktop. It made sense to have her beau’s picture saved somewhere, right?
The second but equal problem adding to their plight was the fact that Brady didn’t know her. How could they possibly fool anyone into believing they were a couple? He didn’t have a clue about her current life, never mind the good, the bad, and the heart-shattering of the past.
The third problem, and not even the least, was the one that had Sloane’s stomach knotted up the most.
Their lie that he was Guy wouldn’t just affect her life while she was in Arbor Bay. It would also cement her chance at having literary agent Rizzie Caplan represent her and the blog.
Just as much as it would jeopardize it.
Rizzie had been endeared by the blog as a whole but, like most, had focused on the girl who had been too afraid to tell a boy she had feelings for him. However, she’d been the first to address Sloane about it with a slightly different opinion.
“It needs an ending. It needs closure,” Rizzie had said in her email. “Whether that’s a happily ever after with Guy or a happy for now with yourself, readers want an end as much as they want to ride along. At least when it comes to love. It’s an uncomfortable itch to stay in Limbo.”
The agent had also been very candid about the fact that the chances of selling a book in which Sloane took an inspiring chance would be a lot better.
So lying and telling Rizzie that she’d not only told Guy about how she’d felt but also landed him?
Well, there were things to gain from the arrangement, sure, but there was a lot more to lose if it went south.
Public humiliation.
Online humiliation.
Lying awake at night, alone in bed humiliation.
Who would trust Sloane after that? She couldn’t imagine the buttoned-up, professional Agent Caplan would. Not to mention her being dishonest had to be some kind of breach of whatever contract she would sign with Rizzie.
No. Sloane’s image of being honest and awkward would turn into being a liar who just so happened to be awkward.
Never mind the fact that one of the main reasons Sloane was excited about a possible book in the first place was because she wanted to use the money she might earn to buy into Mrs. Baker’s florist shop. Then, after that? She could finally start her event-planning business.
But if she ruined her chances of that book and two dreams by getting caught lying through her teeth?
Was saving face really worth that risk?
Sloane looked up at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom and decided, right then and there, that it wasn’t. She’d rather tell Carol it was a joke and suffer the consequences.
But then you don’t get to kiss Brady anymore.
The thought popped into her head so fast, Sloane felt mental whiplash.
That was another detail she and Brady hadn’t pinned down in their clandestine meeting in the clearing behind the bar. What exactly it meant to pretend to date.
Would they go to the café for morning coffee together? Hold hands while strolling down Main? Kiss across the bar top at Cassidy’s like they were in some kind of movie?
Spend the night together to keep the charade going for the neighbors?
Sloane couldn’t help the heat that started from somewhere south of her waist. It traveled up her neck, laughing at her attempt to stay cool.
Kissing Brady again wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. Admitting that to herself was the adult thing to do, she decided.
Yes. Very adult of her.
Sloane threw her legs over the side of the bed and John McClaned her toes into the carpet. She’d call Brady first, then send Carol a message on Facebook, then stay in Callum’s house and sulk for three weeks straight, Emma be damned.
Was that an adult thing to do?
Well, if you were the right adult, she supposed.
Sloane sighed, somewhat content with the plan, just as the doorbell rang.
She eyed the old Sailor Moon alarm clock on her nightstand. It was just after nine in the morning. Her phone was next to it, flipped upside down as she ignored the online world. She waited for it to vibrate with a new call or text.
It didn’t.
Which meant whoever was at the door was either weird, rude, or didn’t have her number.
Or Mrs. Jane, who lived across the street and was all three rolled into one.
“Joy.”
Sloane hoped Mrs. Jane wasn’t still a stickler about what was deemed appropriate for a young woman to be wearing when greeting company. She was still smarting from the long-winded, heavy-handed speech she’d been given at seventeen when she’d had the audacity to go to the mailbox wearing a crop top. If it was Mrs. Jane now, Sloane doubted she would approve of her current pajama set. The top read Down with the Patriarchy, and the pants were patterned with cats wearing glasses.
Very adult of her indeed.
The peephole had been fogged over since the Bush administration, so Sloane ran a hand through the frizzy mess that was her hair and opened the door, hoping for the best.
Well, it wasn’t Mrs. Jane. That was for damn sure.
“Hello, sweet cakes.”
It also apparently wasn’t too early for Sloane’s libido to go from slightly intrigued to Sherlock Holmes on the case.
Brady Knox was wearing a simple tee, gray shorts, worn red Chucks, and a smirk that woke her up faster than coffee. Sloane’s face flooded with heat. Then her stomach dropped as she realized he wasn’t alone.
Carol Freaking Robertson was standing next to him. In spandex.
“Hi?” Sloane grabbed the door and tried to hide her body b
ehind it. Carol’s gaze had already dropped down to her cat pants. Then she was all perfect white pearls. “What are, uh… What’s going on?”
Brady shook the to-go coffee cup in his hand.
“Well, I was at the café and called to see if you wanted a coffee. When you didn’t answer, I thought I’d surprise you with one anyway.”
Sloane was so confused, she accepted the coffee while still trying to keep the door covering as much of her as possible.
“Oh, thank you.”
Brady nodded toward Carol. “And Carol here just so happened to be on her daily run when I was walking out. So we both decided to walk here. Together.”
Carol reached over and gave Brady’s arm a squeeze. She did one of those light, airy laughs. “Good thing I came along, too. This one here got lost. Twice! It was like he’s never, ever been to your house before. How weird is that?”
Brady shrugged. Sloane watched the two like it was a tennis match.
“Well, I explained that when I come to see you, it’s usually at night after the bar closes.” He laughed. The sound was hitting all the right notes down south, despite the situation. “For bartenders, the day is a wild, new world. I’m actually surprised you knew where it was, though, Carol. It was almost like you asked around so you could stop by out of the blue.”
For a moment, Sloane was sure both had forgotten she was there at all.
Then she was mentally backtracking, calculating the distance between the Main Street Café and the house. It had to have been a ten-minute walk at least. Why not drive? And why the hell was Carol there, anyway?
“Sloane and I were friends when we were younger. I came to a birthday party once or twice.” But had she? Sloane could neither confirm nor deny. Things were getting too weird out on the front porch. “As for you not knowing how to get here, well, now that the two of you are ‘out,’ you won’t need to sneak around anymore, so that won’t be a problem, will it?”
“It certainly won’t.” Brady’s smile had the power to heat Sloane up. Carol’s? Bucket o’ ice water.
Sloane’s stomach absorbed some of that cold as she cleared her throat. It was time to pull the rip cord on their “harmless joke” before the passive-aggressive comments killed them all.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that, Carol. About us, I mean.” Sloane took a quick breath.
Come on, Lizzo. Grant me strength.
Brady, however, was quicker to the punch.
He pushed the door open wide and turned around so he was shoulder to shoulder with Sloane. Cologne, strong and delicious, flooded her senses as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. ’Twas mouth-watering. Hump-inducing. Take-my-clothes-off-so-I-can-feel-it good.
Too much strength, Lizzo. Too much strength.
“We want to officially accept your invitation,” Brady said instead. “We’ll be there with bells on.”
Carol’s eyebrow arced high. Sloane’s nearly did the same.
Where the hell was there?
“Really?” Carol shared a look with Sloane, who in turn shared a look with Brady. He squeezed her shoulder.
“Really. Sounds like a blast.”
Carol perked right on up. Her smile went to her standard megawatt bright. She actually clapped. The movement made the screen on her smartwatch come to life. She glanced at it.
“Great! Then we’ll see you in two hours!”
“Two hours.” Sloane meant the repeat to come out as a question, but Queen Bee took it as a statement.
“Good! See you two lovebirds then!”
Carol became a flash of spandex and blond hair across the sidewalk, back toward Main Street. When she was out of sight, Brady dropped his arm and sighed.
Then he swiped the coffee cup from Sloane’s hand and moved past her into the foyer.
“I think Carol drugged me.”
“What?”
Sloane shut the door and scurried after the man to the living room, no longer caring about her slapdash appearance. Brady’s attitude with the woman in question was transforming into obvious frustration.
“One second I’m standing in line for my coffee, and the next she has me walking a million miles away with it in this damn humidity to see you.” Brady motioned around the room. “I had no idea in hell where you lived, and I know she knew that. But she just kept talking and walking, and suddenly we’re on your porch and my truck is at the café. She had to have drugged me, right?” He shook his head and took a long sip of his coffee. He made a face. “And now I can’t enjoy my coffee. I’m just too damn hot.”
Sloane tilted her head, waiting to hear the rest of the explanation. Brady, however, started looking around the room instead.
“What is happening?” she finally broke out, throwing her hands wide. “Why are you here? Where are we supposed to be in two hours and why?”
“Like I said, that woman is what happened.” He moved unapologetically to the fireplace and eyed a framed picture on the mantel. Sloane slapped his hand down as he went to pick it up. She jumped between it and him.
“I thought about it a lot and decided I was going to tell her that us dating was a joke,” she hurried. “Not make plans as a couple with her.”
“I figured that’s what you were going to do, but I also figured you hadn’t been online yet today.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and shook it. “Half the reason I needed this fancy sugared coffee was to give me the energy to ignore the messages I’m getting.”
A sinking feeling started to pull Sloane’s stomach down. She abandoned her attempt at a position of power and fast-walked to her bedroom. Judging by the heavy footfalls behind her, Brady followed. He kept quiet as she went to the nightstand and flipped her phone over. That sinking feeling managed to go through the floorboards.
“Thirty-two text messages…” she deadpanned. “And five missed calls.”
“Take a look at your social media. I had a lot of friend requests…and a few too many ‘thirsty’ direct messages.” He took another pull of his coffee. Then sighed. “Some woman called me ‘daddy.’”
Sloane wasn’t even going to look. No way. She’d already turned off her social media notifications on her phone the day the blog had gone viral. And she’d done that for one reason and one reason alone.
It stressed her the hell out.
Sure, she was a social person to an extent. Her jobs required it, first of all. Secondly? Well, she talked to people, and that counted, right?
But the onslaught from people she grew up with to people she barely knew to strangers? It had been too much. She needed to breathe. A hard feat if she stayed trapped in her phone.
“If you still want to back out, we can, but I just thought you should know all the facts first.”
“Like the fact that Carol obviously told the entire world already,” she guessed, scanning the texts and missed calls. “How could she spread it this quickly?”
“Asks the woman whose blog went viral overnight.”
Sloane didn’t take kindly to Brady’s well-made point. Especially when she saw the third missed call.
It was from Rizzie Caplan.
“What is it?”
Sloane looked up. She was startled by how close Brady was. The same heat she’d felt the night before started to pulse through her again. Without meaning to, she dropped her gaze to his lips.
When he’d kissed her in the bar, she hadn’t seen it coming. Not one bit.
Would he do it again?
Did she want him to?
Well, she didn’t not want him to.
Bigger fish to fry, Sloane. Bigger fish.
“Earth to Sloane?” Brady’s voice was smooth and deep and just the right tool for the moment.
She sighed and then leveled with the relative stranger standing in her childhood bedroom.
“If anyone finds out I�
�m lying about you and the blog, I could lose a lot. The risk is too much. At least that’s what I decided. But now? Now we’ve been Caroled. I can’t come clean without looking bad to someone important.”
She groaned and plopped down on the edge of her bed.
Brady kept standing. She met his gaze with nothing but worry currently in her chest.
“Then don’t come clean,” he said simply. “Commit to it instead. Starting with getting ready so I can come back and pick you up in about an hour and a half. Sound good?” He took her hesitation for an answer and grinned. “Good. I’ll see you then.”
Brady turned around and walked out of the room, coffee cup to his lips. Sloane jumped up after him.
“Wait! What for? What did you agree to?”
“Lunch with Carol,” he called over his shoulder. “Which, honestly, sounds like the beginning of a horror movie.”
Sloane followed him to the front door, mind racing for an excuse to get them—mainly her—out of the date, but nearly ran into his back as he stopped with his hand on the knob. Brady didn’t at all try to hide his gaze from sweeping—slowly—up and down her body. Maybe she was destined to never not be blushing when the bartender was around. “I’m all for taking down the patriarchy, but I suggest wearing something a bit breezier. I’ve never eaten in a garden before, but it definitely doesn’t sound like a place with air-conditioning.”
Sloane’s mouth turned into a desert. “Garden? As in…?”
“As in the garden at the Robertson estate.” Brady was downright working his grin now. “Looks like our first date is going to be in the belly of the beast.”
Chapter Five
“Hell’s bells, Brady. This is a shit plan, and you know it.”
Dixon was sprawled out across their apartment’s couch with a dead-on impression of his father across his face. Heavy judgment, slight detachment, always hungry. Even with his disapproval, he snaked a hand out and grabbed the last of the tortilla chips on the coffee table.