by Amanda Aksel
The corners of his mouth turn up and he flashes me a grin. “Oh, I remember Sophia.” Then he tenses his grip on the water bottle, almost crushing it. “Wait, she’s not pregnant, is she?” Accidentally getting a woman pregnant is at the top of our list of fears. It’s right up there next to losing our cell phones.
I shake my head. “No. But she did deliver something a few days ago, or the court clerk’s office did.”
Sean tilts his head. “Hold on.”
“Yep, she’s suing me. For sexual harassment.”
“What? She was your girlfriend. Or at least your version of a girlfriend.” Meaning I never get too close. Never been in a relationship longer than a month.
“I know. But the lawsuit is real. And now my father has forbidden me from getting involved with anyone, especially anyone else related to the firm. He doesn’t want me going out at all. He wants me to act like an upstanding English gentleman.”
“Shit, it’s like he’s cuffed your balls to your dick.”
I nod. “Pretty much. And the worst part is, the only woman I have any desire to sleep with right now is my client.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re talking about that redhead with the Angelina Jolie lips.”
“You’ve seen her?” I ask.
“The entire floor has been talking about how gorgeous she is. You better be careful. The rumors are already starting.”
My heart plunks to my gut. “What rumors?”
“Just that you two might have a thing going. Something about the way you act with each other. Is it true?”
Oh, great. Now the entire floor is on to us. “Dammit.”
He winks as if to say it’s our little secret. “You want me to take her?”
I glare at him, balling my fists. “If you try—”
“As a client.” Sean rolls his eyes.
I loosen my grip and shake my head. “No, I’m letting Margot handle it.”
“Good call.”
“I hope so. Ever since my dad told me about the lawsuit, it’s like my instincts are off.”
“It’ll be fine. The sexy redhead will be gone, the lawsuit will settle, and everything will be back to normal again soon.” If Sean had said this to me four days ago, I would have agreed, eager for things to go back to the way they had been. But now, the idea of everything returning to the status quo feels . . . unsatisfying. Maybe it’s Liz, maybe it’s the lawsuit, or maybe it’s having it up to here with my dad, but something has to give. ***
After tennis, I shower at the club and head back to the office. I don’t even make it to my door when Poppy calls to me from behind her desk. “Mr. Bonnaire!”
“Yes, Poppy.”
She smiles and her cheeks turn slightly pink. “Your father’s office called while you were out. He asked to see you in his office as soon as you returned.”
Uh-oh. Did he get word of the rumors Sean was talking about? God, I hope not. Otherwise, I’ll be walking to my execution. I nod and let out a deep sigh.
Poppy’s smile morphs into a wrinkled-chin frown. “Is everything all right?”
“No, everything is not all right,” I mutter in defeat.
“Is there something I can do to help? I’m your assistant after all. But you can think of me as your fairy godmother. Your wish is my command.” She swoops her finger around in the air like a wand.
“Genies say ‘Your wish is my command.’ Not fairy godmothers.”
Now her finger-wand is wagging in my face. “You know your fairytales, don’t you, Mr. Bonnaire?”
“No more than anyone else.” I turn to leave, but she opens her mouth to speak again.
“You know what my favorite fairytale theme is?”
“What’s that?” I ask reluctantly.
“Always follow your heart.”
I nod, trying to appear respectful but wondering what the hell she’s talking about. “Thanks, Poppy,” I say, finally getting away. Following your heart is only good advice in the movies where the outcome is controlled by writers who’ve been trained to tie the ending in a perfect bow. Happily ever after . . . my ass.
On the top floor, I head straight for Dad’s office. Today, Beatrice is wearing a brown tweed suit and the same cold expression she always shows me.
“Good afternoon, Beatrice,” I say, doing my best to muster a friendly smile.
She purses her lips and blinks. “Good afternoon, Kent.”
“Is he available?” I ask, gesturing to the closed door behind her.
“Yes, you may go in.” She waves her hand, shooing me away.
“Thanks.” Gulping hard, I knock on his door before pushing it open. I peek inside, almost expecting to find an actual executioner on the other side. But it’s empty save for my father. And Dad’s stoic expression is almost worse.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Kent. Good of you to finally make it. Why don't you have a seat?”
I sit at the edge of the leather chair with stiffer posture than the Queen’s Guard. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” he says.
“What rumors?” Right then and there, I want to faint, but instead all my sweat glands begin to perspire. My hands are the clammiest they’ve ever been sitting here. This is it. I’m actually going to lose everything over a crush and a kiss.
“The rumor that I’ll be retiring next year.”
My chest loosens just enough to say, “Oh” along with a nervous laugh. That. Was. Close. “Yeah, those rumors. Sure, I’ve heard them. Why?” I wipe my hands on my pants.
“Well, they’re not true for one,” he says curtly. “I plan on staying around a little while longer.” Of course he does. “But I want you to act as if they’re true without confirming anything. It’ll play into your new persona. Not to mention, when the employees think that a change is happening at the top, they start worrying about their jobs, which means they start actually caring about their performance.”
Not a tactic I would use, but okay . . . “Whatever you want. Your wish is my command.” Who’s the freaking genie now?
He settles into his high-back executive throne, and I’ve got the feeling there’s more to this conversation. “Seems like you finally made a good call in all of this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dahlia Jacobs, your new fiancée. She’s agreed to all the terms, signed the non-disclosures, and she'll be arriving tonight. Dahlia will live with you since you two are to be wed. And with your reputation, there’s no point in pretending that she’s a blushing bride-to-be.”
True. No one would believe that.
I had almost forgotten that I have to do the fake fiancée thing. I was kind of hoping that part of it would just go away, or at the very least, take much longer. The last thing I need is another woman in my life complicating things. Even if she is my friend. “Do you have any idea how long I have to do this? I mean me living with a woman?”
“I know. It’s preposterous.” He smirks and I can almost see horns growing out of his head. “But these are the kind of consequences you face when you mess around with the wrong woman. We’ll review the arrangement after a month and see how things develop with the lawsuit.”
Of course, he loves that this is punishment for me. Don’t get me wrong. Dahlia is a great girl, and I really enjoy her company, but to have her and her stuff lying around my penthouse all day is more company than I want. I haven’t shared space with anyone since university. I didn’t care much for it then. Plus, my life is so hectic, almost always on the go at work and socially. The only solace I get is when I get a chance to sit on the terrace with a glass of wine. Or when I go to my secret hideaway in Surrey, which I never do.
“You’ll pick her up at the airport. We've organized some . . . press to make sure we get the word out that your fiancée is home.”
My stomach churns. I feel like I’m a kid again, standing next to my brothers in our Sunday best. “Smile for the camera, boys! You’re upstanding English gentle
men,” Dad would say. Now I have to put on another show and pretend that I'm in love with someone when I'm not. How am I going to pull this off? I’m no actor like Dahlia, and I’ve never actually been in love.
“Is that all?” Please say it is. I don’t think I can take any more today.
“Yes. For now.”
***
Later that evening, I head out of my office and jump in my Porsche. By the time I arrive on the tarmac, Dahlia’s plane is on the ground. I keep the engine running and step out of the car. An icy breeze swoops around my ears and neck, and I stuff my gloved hands in my pockets. Dahlia proceeds down the steps off the jet, dressed like Jackie O. with her knee-length skirt and black kitten heels. Bursts of light flash around us. Dad wasn't kidding about the photographers. I glance their way, rolling my eyes before I head over to greet my friend. I mean my fiancée.
Dahlia waves wildly with a huge grin as she steps onto the ground. I mirror her smile, happy to see her too. She’s doing me a huge favor. I just wish we could meet under different circumstances.
“Kent!” she calls, opening her arms. We embrace in a hug as if we’ve missed each other very much. “I feel like such a celeb right now,” she says in my ear.
“Sorry it’s such a dog and pony show.” I have no idea what to do next. Do I kiss her cheek? Kiss her on the mouth? Lower her in a dip like it’s the 1950s in Paris?
“No, I like it. Now kiss me for the cameras.” That answers that.
I lean in giving her a kiss as appropriate as the hem of her skirt. I know it’s all for show. Literally. But something about it feels wrong.
After our three-second kiss, she gives me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “What’s going on with you, buddy?”
“Oh, you know, the usual—a little work, a little play, a little—”
“Fake fiancée?” She arches her brow.
“You ready to head to your new humble abode?” I ask as an attendant wheels her luggage over.
She shifts her glance to my car. “Is it as humble as that black Porsche?”
Tossing my head back and forth, I pretend to weigh the comparison. “Yeah.”
“Cheerio, old chap!” Is she going to say that a lot? “I mean, daaaahling.”
The two of us make our way to the car, her bags in tow. “You’re not really going to call me darling, are you?” I ask.
“Only in public.”
The press follows us to the car, and we do our best to ignore them. Dad said press, not an interview. Thank God.
We hop inside the warm car, the radio playing quietly in the background. I smack my palm on my forehead. “Shit.”
“What?” She holds her hands in front of the vent.
“I should have opened the door for you. That probably looks bad, huh?”
Dahlia shrugs. “This is the UK, I have no idea what’s normal here.”
“Well, I guess you’re about to find out.” I drive us off the tarmac and away from the airport.
“Can you believe I'm actually here?” She gazes out the window, looking up as we pass the brightly-lit buildings.
“Honestly, no. This is all very strange.” I keep my eyes steady on the road.
“It’s really not that big of a deal. We’re not really engaged. I’ll just spend the day shopping while you’re at work and we can hang out in the evenings if we want to. No funny business.”
I shoot her a wry look. “That sounds like real marriage to me.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Pop open the glove box.” I nudge her with my elbow. “Your engagement ring is in there.”
Dahlia takes a varnished wooden box from the glove compartment and cracks it open. The city lights catch on the seven-carat diamond glistening in her hand. “Holy shit, this is for me?”
“We’ll have to return it, but yeah, for now it’s yours. What do you think?”
“Honestly?” She sneers as she puts it on her finger. “It’s a little ostentatious.”
I shake my head. “Like ring, like engagement.”
Dahlia lifts her hand, scrutinizing the ring. “You know, I’m a firm believer in ‘The bigger the diamond, the worse the sex.’”
“Should I have gotten you a bigger ring?” I joke.
“No, I think you maxed out on this one. I can hardly hold my hand up with all this weight. Geez.”
A few minutes later, I pull into the garage and help drag Dahlia’s bags to the lift. We arrive on my floor and Dahlia steps out. “Oh, my God. This is where you live?”
“No, this is the hallway. I live right over there.” I point to my door.
“You mean I live right over there. This is so much better than my apartment in Culver City.”
We walk over and I quickly unlock the door since Dahlia is bouncing up and down like she has to piss or something. “Welcome home.”
Her jaw goes slack as she walks inside, gawking at every sight. “It’s so nice. And clean.” She drags her hand along the hallway table. “This might be a bad time to tell you that I’m kind of a slob.”
Great. “It’s fine. I’ll pay the cleaning lady double.”
She whips her head in my direction. “You have a cleaning lady? Do you have a chef too?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not home enough for that.”
“Damn!” She snaps her fingers. “It’s a good thing, otherwise, you might not get rid of me.”
I chuckle, but I’m also ready to shut her away so I can go to sleep and forget that this day ever happened. Except for that kiss. Just the kiss. “Come on, I'll show you to your room.”
Dahlia follows me down the hall, and I push open the door at the end. A queen-size bed covered with a white duvet and lots of throw pillows sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by a desk, a forty-two-inch television, and a designer dresser with a vase of fresh flowers—compliments of my cleaning lady.
“Oh yeah,” she says. “This is the nicest this room will be while I’m here.”
“Well, it’s yours for now so make yourself at home. There’s a closet and a bathroom as well.”
“Awesome! I’m dying for a shower.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, pulling on the doorknob and shutting her in.
She juts her foot out, stopping the door. “Hold on a second. You better be awake when I’m done, because I’m dying to know what this whole fake engagement thing is about. Your family lawyers were, um, not so giving with the facts.”
I flatten my lips. Explaining the lawsuit is the last thing I want to do, but I have to tell her. Soon. “I’ll make us some tea then.”
She closes the door and I hear the latch of the lock. My chest gets tight and I try to suck in a fresh breath of air. There’s a woman living in my house. I don't even like to have women sleep over. A faint sound of water running comes from inside Dahlia’s bedroom. And now there’s a naked woman living in my apartment. There’s only one woman that I want showering at my place, and it’s not Dahlia. I close my eyes for a moment, thinking about what Liz’s naked body must look like, the way her waist curves, that gorgeous stomach, those juicy thighs. My dick gets hard just imagining it, but it goes down again when I remember that I’m living in hell and there’s no way I’ll actually ever see Liz that way.
Almost forty minutes later, I’m sitting at my breakfast bar, trying to read the news on my phone. But instead, I’ve been googling Liz McKenna, scrolling through professional pictures of her and wondering what’s she’s doing right now. Dahlia walks into the kitchen wearing an oversized T-shirt, leggings, and a pair of knitted booties. “What’s up, roomie?” Her hair is still wet and her face is free of makeup.
I click out of my web browser and gently set my phone on the counter. “Nothing. You want some tea?”
She nods. As I pour the hot water into the teacups, Dahlia’s gaze moves around the kitchen, studying it.
“Here.” I hand her a steaming cup and take my seat at the breakfast bar, motioning for her to join me.
&n
bsp; Dahlia shakes her head and leans against the counter. “I’ve been sitting all day. Now,” her eyes grow wide, “tell me what this is all about.”
I tap my finger against the countertop, chickening out in the end. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Let’s just catch up. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. Literally nothing. I haven’t landed any new roles, and my boyfriend and I broke up last week.”
“Oh, no. You and Ryan broke up? What happened?”
“We were just getting serious. He took me to this really nice restaurant downtown, and I was going to tell him I loved him that night, but instead he broke up with me, then took off the next day to shoot a movie in Canada. Said he wasn’t ready for a committed relationship, which just means he wants to be free to fool around on set.”
I lower my head, giving her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. It sucks to find out that we didn’t have what I thought we had. He obviously doesn’t love me back.” Dahlia looks as if she’s on the verge of tears. “I just wish I didn’t miss him so much.”
And for the first time I realize that I miss someone too. It’s rare that I miss a woman I’m sleeping with, let alone a woman I’m not sleeping with. I’m with Dahlia on this one. It sucks. “You want me to kick his ass?” I ask with a smirk.
She laughs, wiping a tear from her eye. “No, but thanks.” Taking in a deep breath, she seems to shake the sadness away. “So, what about you? Sleeping with anyone lately?”
“No, I’m not. My dad’s got my dick in solitary confinement.”
“Ugh.” She cringes. “Why?”
“I’m supposed to be engaged to you, remember? It’s ironic too because I met a woman this week who I really like and I’m dying for her.” My body aches with the pain that it will never happen. Ever.
“Sneak her in here. I can leave for a few hours,” she suggests.
I shake my head, wishing that were enough. “I can’t. She’s my client.”
“And the plot thickens.” Dahlia waves her fingers around for drama. Actresses.
“You have no idea. This is the kind of shit that should be in a movie.” I push my teacup away.
“Oh, maybe I could play myself. That’s a part I could definitely land. So, tell me about this client.”