Lose Your Shirt (The Londonaire Brother Series Book 2)

by Amanda Aksel

  Her jolly smile returns. “Mr. Bonnaire, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Poppy Herrington.” She almost sings the words as she stands and takes my hand. “When I was specifically requested to be your assistant, I was positively thrilled. It’s great to no longer be in the post room. I’m sure that I will love it here.”

  Poppy takes a step back and looks me over like she’s my tailor. Who is this woman? She came from the post room? “And look at you. Such a handsome fellow. You remind me of someone.”

  “Your grandson?” I ask.

  She twists her face into a knot, puckering her mouth and accentuating the fine lines around her lips. “Heavens, no! How old do you think I am?” Before I can even register that I might have offended her, she continues. “No, you remind me of Trent Landon. He’s a character in my favorite book I Just Want You.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I Just Want You. It’s a bad-boy-billionaire-meets-good-girl-princess romance novel.” She giggles like she’s sixteen.

  “Sorry, did you say romance novel?” I raise my brow. This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had with a new employee.

  “Yes. I love to read romance. I live for it.” Poppy touches her hand to my arm in a harmless way, but I still flinch. Dad’s rules. “I read at least four or five every week. Nowadays with the internet, I can get romance novels ‘round the clock. It’s as if there’s always something new to read.” She grins, batting her eyelashes, and I can almost see the hopelessly romantic glimmer in her eyes.

  “That’s great, Poppy.” I give her a thin smile, knowing that the only way to get out of this conversation is to leave the room. “I have to make a phone call, but it’s good to have you on board. If anyone rings for me, tell them that I’m in a meeting.” I turn away and walk quickly toward the door.

  “But, Mr. Bonnaire—”

  I shut myself inside the safe and quiet space, leaning my head against the door. Inhaling a deep breath, I look out onto the cloudy London skyline. This day could not get any weirder if I were dreaming it all up. A lawsuit, a prohibition from even touching the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met, and the threat of losing everything if I don’t comply with Dad’s rules. Guess I’d better call Dahlia so I can add fake fiancée to the list.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and take a seat. It’s almost 3:00 a.m. in Los Angeles, and Dahlia’s kind of a night owl. Not sure she’ll be up this late, but I’ll take my chances.

  The phone rings and rings. I’m fully prepared to leave a voice message when she finally picks up.

  “Kent?” she mutters in a groggy voice.

  “Dahlia, darling. How are you?” I fake a cheery tone. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  She yawns. “No, it’s all right. I just went to bed. What’s up?”

  My gut tenses at the thought of saying the words pretend engagement. “Oh, nothing, just wanted to see how you are. How are the auditions going?” I tap my pen against the yellow pad on my desk. It’s my “tell.” Rarely am I nervous, but when I am, there’s a direct correlation between my angst and the speed of my pen taps.

  “You called me at 3:00 a.m. to ask about how my auditions are going?” She sounds much more alert as if she’s already caught on to my ruse.

  “Yes,” I say, unsure of myself.

  “Kent,” she sounds like my mother, “what’s going on?”

  Cheap talk aside, I’m usually a charmer with words. However, in this moment though, I’m at a total loss. “It’s difficult to say.”

  “Well, maybe you should call me back when you find the words. Goodnight—”

  “No, wait. Don’t hang up.” I clear my throat. No point in holding off the inevitable. I force my voice to sound cheerful again. “I have a role for you. Call it live acting.”

  “You mean theater? I haven’t done theater since high school.”

  I smack my palm against my forehead. “Not theater. It’s more real than that. But not for real, just . . .”

  “Kent, are you drunk?”

  I wish. “No. Sorry, this is hard for me to say.” Or impossible.

  “Just say it then.” By this point, she might be too irritated to say yes.

  “I need you to come to London and play the role of my fiancée.” I spit out the words, then slap my hand over my mouth as if I’ve involuntarily told a secret.

  “What?” She giggles like I just slipped on a banana peel, which is about as ridiculous as I feel right now. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

  “Yes.” My cheeks must be redder than the dress she wore when I met her four months ago. “I’m perfectly serious.”

  “Hold on. Are you asking me to marry you? Because that makes no sense. Not to mention—”

  “No, Dahlia, I’m not asking you to marry me for real.” I lower my voice. “I’m asking you to play the part of my fiancée. Just for a little while. It would really help me out, plus I’ll pay you. Handsomely.”

  “I’m listening.” Her tone perks up. I should have led with that. Money talks, they say, or at the very least gets them to listen. “Why do you need a fiancée? Is it about a girl?”

  I roll my eyes, thinking of Sophia and what could’ve possibly possessed her to sue me. “Sort of.”

  “What’d you do?” It’s like she already knows I did something wrong. But I didn’t. At least, I don’t think I did.

  “Nothing. I’m sort of revamping my image, giving the impression that I’m a settled family man or something.”

  “Yeah right. You? Settled down?”

  “Well, I know that and you know that, but it’s complicated. I’ll explain later. So, what do you think? Wanna come to London and play engagement?”

  Silence hangs on the line to the point that I think the call has dropped. “Dahlia?”

  “I’m thinking.” She’s quiet for at least another thirty seconds.

  I can’t stand empty silence. “If you want to sleep on it, you can call me back in the morning—”

  “I’ll do it,” she says.

  A breath of dense air releases from my chest. She said yes. I never thought I would be so happy to hear a woman agree to marry me. Even if it is for show. “Really? You will?”

  “Yeah, why not. I’ve got nothing better going on. Maybe I’ll take some classes while I’m there. Brush up on my skills. Besides, I’ve always wanted to sightsee London from a helicopter.”

  “That’s brilliant, Dahlia. Thank you. I really appreciate this.” I decide not to tell her I don’t have a helicopter. She’ll figure it out soon enough.

  “When do you want me to cross the pond?” she asks.

  “Soon. My dad is taking this very seriously, so our family lawyers will have to get involved. I’m sure there will be non-disclosures to sign, things like that. They’ll call you soon, at a much more decent hour. I promise.”

  “Good, because I’m almost thirty and I need my beauty sleep.”

  “And I need to get back to work, so I’ll talk to you later.”

  Dahlia yawns. “Okay, cheerio, old chap.” She always says that before we hang up. Only this time she doesn’t bother with the accent.

  “Goodnight.” I end the call and pray that Dahlia remembers this conversation when she wakes up later. I really don’t want to fake propose twice.

  FIVE

  Liz

  Either the espresso finally kicked in or the surprise of seeing Kent again caused that burst of energy that I needed. I still can’t believe it. What are the odds that Kent would end up being my venture capitalist? Then again, I was at that event to meet with Kent’s associate, so it’s not totally farfetched that he would be there. Still, out of all the people I could’ve connected with last night, he was the one.

  When it comes to business, I’ve always followed my intuition. It’s one of my greatest tools. I learned it from my mom. She wasn’t around much when I was growing up—sort of a spiritual adventure seeker. She introduced me to new-age philosophy, yoga, meditation, healing crystals—stuff like that. Considering t
he source, my unreliable mother, I didn’t buy into most of it. But there were two things she taught me as a small child that stuck: listen to my intuition and watch for signs. My gut told me to go with Bonnaire Capital. And I’m a firm believer that when something, or in this case someone, comes into your life on two or more occasions, it’s a sign to pay attention.

  That afternoon, I arrive at the Bonnaire Enterprises Tower for the second time. My body buzzes with a mix of nerves and excitement, but for a different reason than when I arrived this morning. Kent has that heart-stopping smile, and when I look at him, it’s hard not to think about his hands under my skirt last night. Once on the sixth floor, I follow the hall and find a woman sitting behind the desk in front of Kent’s office. “Good afternoon,” I say, getting her attention.

  She looks up from a paperback book and smiles. “Why, good afternoon! How can I help you, dear?” she says in a sweet tone.

  “I’m Liz McKenna, a new client. I was here this morning.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m Poppy, just started this morning.” She lets out a heartfelt chuckle as she extends her hand. I guess Kent’s other assistant was just sick of the job and quit.

  “Nice to meet you. I have a three o’clock with Kent. Is he ready?”

  She rises from her chair and moves around the desk. “He’s already in the conference room. I’ll show you the way.”

  I hold up my hand. “That’s all right, I know where it is. Thank you.”

  She nods and lets me go. My heart pounds harder against my chest with every step I take toward the conference room. Finally, before I step in front of the glass walls, I stop and take a deep breath, shaking out my trembling hands.

  Okay, Liz. Don’t get distracted. This is business.

  I straighten my posture and walk in there, casual yet confident. Kent sits at the head of the table, reading something on his tablet. He looks up when I enter, flashing me that billion-dollar smile. “Liz. Nice to see you again.”

  My knees start to wobble at the sight of his gorgeous face, but I fake it. “Nice to see you too.” I take a seat two chairs down—distance is what I need now. “I hope you’re ready to get to work.”

  Our eyes meet and seem to latch on to one another for a few moments. Kent blinks, returning his attention back to the screen. “Yes, I’ve learned all about Solids: solid design, solid material, solid American manufacturing, available in loads of solid colors. I was just reviewing all of Jacqueline’s notes and coming up with some of my own ideas.”

  Why does it kind of turn me on to know that he was thinking about my business? I lean forward, resting on my elbows. “Really, tell me more.” My tone is way more flirtatious than I intended. Then again, we made out so . . . the cat’s out of the bag. Lingering looks and flirtatious innuendo could slip out on occasion, and I’m okay with that. And if he were to slip into me, then I’d be okay with that too.

  He interlaces his fingers and gives me an eager look. “I’d like to make some adjustments to the strategy that you and Jacqueline have been working on.”

  “What?” I deadpan.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I like it, but I think we can do better.”

  Slightly insulting, but I’m open to improvements. It’s like that saying “Never let it rest. ‘Til your good is better and your better is best.” And I want the best. “Go on.”

  “I’ve been looking at your sales demographics, online marketing, and so on, and I’d like you to reconsider rebranding your logo.”

  Very insulting. The Solids logo is not only a solid logo, it’s gold. “Excuse me?”

  “I know that’s not exactly what you were expecting to hear, but you have to trust me on this. I’ve done this many times to great success. I know what I’m talking about.”

  And I know what I’m talking about. I searched for months for the right logo and branding elements. I think it’s one thing that works really well for the company, and part of the reason I was able to grow it from nothing. Now he wants to change it. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “I understand. But think about it. There’s a great marketing firm here in London that I want you to meet with. I’ve already set up an appointment for later this week.”

  “Oh.” I cringe, shaking my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He knits his brows. “Why not?”

  “Because Solids is known for its American made clothing. Everything is sourced from the United States. How can I have an English logo on an American brand?”

  “First of all, you don’t have a statement under your logo that says Made in America. And second of all, if it’s so important to you to be completely sourced in the US, then why are you working with a venture capitalist in the UK?”

  Dammit, he got me there. “Touché.”

  He wheels his chair a little closer, pushing the chair between us out of the way. “Look, Liz.” There he goes again, breaking down my walls by saying my name. “I know that when we signed this deal with you, you were working closely with Jacqueline, but you’re working with me now. I’m going to need you to trust me, okay?”

  “Okay.” I nod. The funny thing is, I already trust him more than most people I’ve known a lot longer. “I suppose I can at least see what they have to offer. But I’m not signing off on anything I’m not completely comfortable with.”

  “I would never ask you to do something like that.” The way he says it, I’m not sure if he’s talking about a new logo or something else. Kent averts his gaze, clearing his throat and begins tapping his pen on the table like he’s the drummer of a ’90s rock band.

  Over the next hour, he proceeds to tell me about all the adjustments he wants to make, and we review the new plan for the week. For the most part, I stay focused, even finding myself getting lost in some of his ideas. Other times, I find myself getting distracted by his eyelashes. Kent has thick, dark lashes. Every time he lowers his lids to look at his tablet, I can’t help but stare at them.

  Then it snowballs, and I begin to study every detail of his face—the way his jaw is perfectly squared, the cupid’s bow of his thin top lip over a full bottom lip, and how his hairline shows no evidence of receding. Yes, apparently even a good hairline turns me on when it belongs to Kent.

  “Are you good with everything?” he asks and I jolt out of my Kent-trance.

  “Yeah, definitely. I was right about you. You’re the best . . . person for the job.”

  He gives a modest nod. “Well, you have a pretty solid business. Pun intended.”

  I giggle, fluttering my lashes, and find that my body is completely turned toward him. So far, I like working with Kent. “So, did you still want to open that bottle of wine tonight?” I flick my brow.

  Kent’s expression morphs into something much more hesitant, even uncomfortable. “About that.”

  Uh-oh. I don’t like how that sounds. “Yes?” I fold my arms, swiveling my chair to face the table.

  “Now that we’re working together, I think it’s best that we keep our relationship strictly business. Let’s just say that getting involved with clients is frowned upon.”

  “I see.” I bet there’s some rule in HR about that. Bummer! “Well, in that case, would you like to have a professional cocktail after this?” Oh, geez. I must really like this guy to put myself out there, especially after he basically told me no. Then again, he’s pretty safe since he lives half a world away. It’s not like it could go anywhere.

  A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t tonight. Rain check?”

  “Sure.” I glance out the large window behind us, watching the cold rain drizzle over the city. “But is there ever a good time to cash in a rain check around here?”

  He turns to the cloudy sky. “Don’t worry. The sun will come out again soon. Come on, I’ll walk you out,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him. We make our way back to his assistant’s desk, walking close but not close enough to touch. I feel an almost electric pulse radiate from his body, especially as he glance
s at me with those sexy, sweet eyes.

  We arrive at Poppy’s desk and she grins as if she couldn’t be happier that we’ve arrived. “How did the meeting go?”

  Kent turns to me and our eyes meet. “Great. Poppy will set you up with a time to come back tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” He nods to his assistant, and I watch him turn away and disappear into his office. I think my gaze has lingered too long because Poppy clears her throat, grabbing my attention. She’s resting her chin on her fist and batting her eyelashes. Was she watching me watch Kent?

  “And send her home with the driver,” Kent calls.

  I turn back around. His handsome face is peeking from his office. He smiles at me then slips back inside.

  “What a gentleman!” Poppy says, her blue eyes sparkling. “And handsome too. Don’t you think?”

  I don’t look her in the eye when I say, “Yeah.” Pulling out my phone, I begin reading the missed alerts.

  “How is tomorrow at ten?”

  Keeping my eyes on the screen, I pull up my calendar. “Yes, that works. Thank you.”

  “Ms. McKenna, did you read fairytales as a child?”

  I almost don’t register the question since it’s so out of the ordinary. I lower my phone and look at Poppy, tilting my head to the side. “Excuse me?”

  “I was just trying to get your attention. If you get too lost in your device, you may miss what’s happening around you,” she says and nods to the room behind me.

  I whip around, thinking that Kent might be standing there but it’s just an office full of people typing on their computers, hurrying from here to there. Not much to miss, but I tuck my phone in my bag anyway and give Poppy my undivided attention.

  “So,” Poppy starts, looking like she’s ready to gossip. “What was your favorite fairytale growing up?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, Jack and the Beanstalk maybe.”

  She waves her hand. “Jack and the—you like that better than Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t read a lot of princess stories.”