Dirty Favor (The Dirty Suburbs Book 4)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “We’ll let you get back to your dinner.” Prescott’s fingers tense on the curve of my hip.

  “Have a lovely meal,” Gemma calls out to us.

  Prescott steers me back to our table, his arm hooked around my waist.

  Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

  “You just promised those people I’d cook them cacciatore,” I whisper-shout frantically as he helps me into my chair. “I don’t even know what cacciatore is!”

  He glimpses at me with worried eyes. “We have bigger problems, Annaleigh. They think we live together.”

  Chapter 6

  “This kitchen is phenomenal, isn’t it?” The realtor clutches his black leather attaché to his chest as he spins around with a flourish. “All the appliances are included and the granite countertops are to die for.” He smooths his hand over the glossy surface as he speaks excitedly. He hops over to the window doing his best Mary Poppins heel-click as he draws open the blinds. “The breakfast nook gets all the sunlight you’ll need in the mornings and the patio gets a good amount of shade from the oak tree out back. Isn’t it beautiful?” I’m not sure whether he’s actually talking to me or if he’s just vocalizing his own appreciation of the room.

  “Yes – it’s great,” I say listlessly and my weak nod goes unacknowledged. I glance over at Prescott whose concentration is focused on opening and closing cabinets, checking faucets and water pressure, inspecting every crack and corner. In his own understated way, I can tell that he’s just as invested in this as the damn realtor.

  This thing is getting out of hand.

  I agreed to play Prescott’s fiancée for one night, now here we are, signing a lease for a house! And we have to go furniture shopping, we have to decorate, we have to convincingly turn this place into a home before Marquette and his wife show up here for dinner next week.

  This is crazy.

  Mr. Realtor sets down his binder before he leans in and inhales a lungful of the daisies sitting on the windowsill. I use that opportunity to assess him. He’s short and thin and polished from head-to-toe. He wears a pale pink oxford shirt under his tailored vest and his trousers were obviously custom-made. He looks like he stepped off the set of an HGTV reality show.

  “Girl, you are gonna have fun in this kitchen!” he grins from ear-to-ear as he takes a quick look at me over his shoulder. But then he pauses and seems to reconsider. I’m standing in the doorframe like a fish out of water in my vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt under my beat-up jean jacket. I have a hole on the knee of my leggings and the laces of my canvas sneakers look like they’ve been chewed on by an overzealous puppy. I pick at my chipping nail polish to occupy my restless hands. I don’t exactly look like Betty Homemaker. “On second thought, maybe you won’t,” he mutters under his breath.

  I don’t say anything. I just glance over at Prescott who continues opening and closing each drawer in turn, in search of some defect.

  When he’s finished his inspection, he turns to the realtor. “You’re sure there aren’t any pests?”

  The man shakes his head vigorously, causing a lock of his perfectly gelled-back blond mane to fall over his eye. “Of course not. No pests,” he says with a wide smile as he tucks his hair back into place.

  Prescott approaches me as he appraises the man the way that lawyers do when they’re trying to figure out if someone is lying. “Good, because the only insect I want in this house is my Love Bug.” He slides his arm around my waist and presses his warm lips to my temple. My lungs instantly freeze, my breath getting trapped in my chest mid-inhale. My brain frizzles as he tucks my body against his in a heart-stopping display of affection.

  I can see butterflies and rainbows in the realtor’s eyes as he clutches his hands over his heart and says, “Awww, that’s the sweetest…Love really does come in unexpected packages, huh?” His attention stays on Prescott as he gestures to me with his hand.

  Ouch!

  I give the man a tight smile and Prescott growls audibly, his fingers flexing at my waist. He clears his throat, all signs of playfulness vanishing from his face. “We’ll be signing the lease today,” he announces in a terse voice that undoubtedly signals that the chitchat is over.

  The realtor flinches at the harshness in Prescott’s demeanor, but he recovers quickly. “That’s wonderful!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together. “I’ll go get the paperwork from my car.” With that, he skip-hops hurriedly out of the room.

  When Prescott releases me and takes a step away, my internal organs finally resume their functioning. His eyes scan my face. “You okay?”

  I swallow the ball of self-doubt sitting in my throat. “I’m great!” I manage to squeak out. I straighten my glasses to diffuse the emotions rising in my chest.

  I shouldn’t let the realtor’s bitchy comment get to me. But the truth is, I can’t help but agree with his appraisal. Prescott and I are fatally mismatched. Prescott is successful and put-together. No one would believe that he’s with a mess like me. He’s handsome and urbane in his gray pinstriped suit and polished loafers. Tall and fit and sophisticated. And me? I’m utter chaos.

  He lowers his face to mine, so that he’s looking into my eyes. He brushes my bangs to the side. “Hey…that realtor’s an asshole. You’re fucking gorgeous, Annaleigh. You’re hot as hell.”

  See, that’s what’s so irresistible about Prescott. He’s fucking nice! Trying to bandage my wounded feelings when he doesn’t have to. My cheeks ripen with heat and I avert my gaze. “Stop being weird, Prescott. I’m a big girl. You don’t have to coddle me.” I take a step back and make a big deal about rolling my eyes.

  He gives me that one-sided smile and shrugs a shoulder. “Just sayin’…”

  I turn toward the sink and fiddle with the faucet as I fight the emotions in my belly. I wish he wouldn’t say those things. He has no idea what he does to me. He’s only trying to be kind but it’s cruel of him to get my heart all knotted up like that.

  A moment later when I’ve composed myself, I face him again. He steps forward and presses the back of his hand to my forehead. “You look a bit feverish.”

  Well, that’s the understatement of the week.

  I’m more than feverish. I’m hot and bothered. The more time I spend with Prescott, the more I feel for him. I’ve always had a little crush on him but now, it’s starting to mature into something serious. Especially since he’s doing such a convincing job of pretending to be my man. I have to keep my guard up or else I’ll fall head over heels for this guy.

  “I’m fine,” I say, backing out of his grasp and plastering a fake smile on my lips.

  He crinkles his eyebrows at me. “Wait – did it make you uncomfortable that I said you’re beautiful?”

  I’m blushing ever harder now. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

  His eyes sparkle with amusement as he leans against the fridge, crossing his legs at the ankles. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I guess I just got into character.”

  Y’see? That’s exactly what I mean. He doesn’t really have feelings for me. I can’t let myself forget that.

  I shake my head hastily. “It’s no big deal. You just caught me off-guard.”

  He studies me for a while and an emotion passes quickly over his features. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it was longing…but I know better. “We should probably just stay in character until the gala. Y’know, as practice.”

  “Prescott…”

  “Seriously, Annaleigh.”

  I swallow hard. The idea of playing this game 24/7 for the next few weeks is overwhelming. But it’s also exhilarating because so far, Prescott Brooks has been one hell of a fake fiancé. I should say ‘no’, but I hear myself saying, “O-okay, I guess.”

  He nods to himself. “Yeah. We should stay in character. That way it sort of becomes natural to us. It becomes real.”

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Chapter 7

  “Annaleig
h!” Blakely slams her computer shut and glances up at me from the sofa with a guilty expression.

  “Hey,” I say swinging the front door shut before kicking off my boots, shrugging out of my parka and plopping down onto the couch next to her. The place smells of essential oils and incense and all the other hippie aromas that Blakely snags from her part-time job at her sister, Isla’s yoga studio.

  “You’re home early,” she says nervously as she slides her laptop under the couch.

  I shake my head. “Blakely, were you watching porn again?” I chuckle as I adjust my glasses on the bridge of my nose. She spews a string of shamefaced denials and I laugh even harder. “Honey, everybody watches porn, okay? Calm down.” I get comfortable on the couch, letting her continue her ramblings until she eventually runs out of steam.

  I slap my hand over my mouth to tamp down the yawn barreling past my lips as I settle my feet in Blakely’s lap. “I’m only here for a minute. I had a class this morning after going to Eva’s to take care of Tickles, then lunch with my dad and now I have to meet Prescott to go furniture shopping for our new house.” Resentment drips from my words.

  Blakely slides her fingers through her bright red hair and laughs. “How’s life as the fake, future Mrs. Prescott Brooks?”

  I blow out a breath. “It’s intense. While we were at dinner the other night, we ran into the potential client that Prescott’s trying to impress and, long story short, now I’m hosting a dinner party on Thursday evening and serving duck cacciatore made from my secret family recipe.”

  Blakely furrows her brows, laughing uncontrollably. “What?!”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story,” I groan. “All I know is that this thing is starting to get heavy. Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of playing house with Prescott but he’s so good at making it feel real. I’m terrified that I’ll be left feeling disappointed when it’s all over.”

  My roommate twists her lips and tilts her head to the side as she watches me. “And why couldn’t you make it real? I mean, you’re both single. You’re both hot. You’d have the cutest babies ever.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I hold up my hand like a stop sign. “You are jiving straight into Crazy Town. Prescott and I could never be a couple for real.”

  She folds her arms across her chest. “And why’s that?” Her eyebrow inches up on her forehead.

  I give her an incredulous look. “Firstly, Evangeline doesn’t know about any of this and she would not be amused by the idea of me and Prescott together –”

  “Okay – firstly, Evangeline’s cool. She’d be fine with the idea of you boning her brother.”

  “Blakely!” I toss a throw pillow at my roommate. To the outside world, she may come across as sweet and innocent but I know that the real Blakely has a dirty mind and a dirty tongue to go with it.

  She swats the cushion away right before it smacks her in the face. She laughs. “Secondly, Evangeline loves you and she loves her brother. She’d want you both to be happy, even if that means being happy together.”

  “That was truly heartwarming, Blakely,” I mutter sarcastically, “but have you forgotten the fact that Prescott doesn’t go for girls like me. I’m dorky and weird-looking. He goes for girls like Bianca and Caroline. They’re real-life Barbie dolls.”

  Blakely narrows her piercing green eyes at me and pokes me hard in the shoulder. “Look, Bitch – don’t you dare call my roommate weird-looking. She’s a total babe with great tits and she’s smart as hell. And her pores are really, really small.”

  I laugh. Did I mention that Blakely is freakin’ hilarious?

  And her rant is far from over. “And if Prescott would rather be with girls like Bitchy Bianca and Crazy Caroline over Angelic Annaleigh, then that’s his loss. We all see how well that’s worked out for him in the past.”

  I exhale heavily. “You have to say shit like that ‘cause I’m your roommate. And your cousin.”

  She gives me earnest eyes. “I mean every word, Annie. Prescott would be crazy to pass you up. I think that part of the problem is that he’s always seen you as his little sister’s best friend. Maybe all he needs is a little nudge to see you in a different light.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “A nudge?”

  She nods. “Give Prescott a glimpse of sexy, irresistible Annaleigh. Give him a chance to see you as more than the little girl who used to play dress-up with his sister.”

  What she’s saying sounds intriguing. I open myself up to the possibility that she might actually be right. Maybe all Prescott needs is… a change of perspective. But I have know idea how I’d go about pulling off such a feat. “How exactly do you suggest that I do that, Blakely?” I ask on the heels of a hopeless sigh.

  She leans in and whispers conspiratorially. “Send him nudes.”

  Chapter 8

  Yeah, so Blakely was only joking about the nudes. But she did have a point. Maybe if I let Prescott see me in a different light, he might start reciprocating my feelings. Maybe the idea of me and him together isn’t so far-fetched after all.

  So today, I ditched the boyfriend jeans and washed-out hoodie in favor of a cute slim-fitting dress from Blakely’s closet. I’m also wearing her thigh-high boots. She managed to pull my unruly hair into the perfect top-knot with my bangs curtaining my eyes flirtatiously.

  I look good. I know it.

  But two things. One – it takes a whole lot of hair product to look this effortless. Two – it’s arctic cold and I’m freezing my little ass off in this outfit, so he’d better take notice.

  I take a deep breath as I push through the front door of the Reyfield Furniture Depot. And I’m immediately hit by a rush of disappointment as I step inside.

  “Hey Annaleigh!” Sanaya looks away from the staffer that she’s speaking with and waves me over.

  “Hi,” I say nowhere near as enthusiastic as she is. Actually, I’m woman enough to admit that I feel a little jealous as I approach Prescott’s secretary. She’s all ‘classy but chic’ business casual in her black ankle pants, black boat-neck tee and sharp white blazer paired with high black heels. She looks like she just stepped off of some fashion blogger’s Pinterest wishlist.

  She intercepts me halfway. “Look at us,” she says, smiling wildly as her eyes fan over my outfit. “Don’t we look cute and impractical!” She holds up an invisible cardboard sign. “Will suffer for fashion,” she laughs. “I love it!”

  I’m laughing, too. As much as I want to be guarded around this girl, I’ve got to say that she has a way of putting me at ease even if that tiny, insecure voice in my head keeps telling me that she’s a threat.

  “Where’s Prescott?” I ask, looking around the store.

  She puts a hand on my shoulder and swivels me toward the rugs and carpeting section. “He had an emergency. Had to go to court last minute. Sorry, hun. You’re stuck with me.”

  As we go around the store selecting furniture for the house, I give her a polite smile and try to explain away the disappointment that had covered my face when I’d realized that she, and not Prescott, would be shopping with me today.

  She waves me away as she plops into a recliner and wiggles around, testing it out. “Girl – you don’t have to make excuses. The man is hot. Some days, I look forward to going to work just to see his muscular ass bending over the photocopier.”

  I’m giggling again. But now that Sanaya has said that, I’m even more curious about her relationship with Prescott.

  I bite the corner of my lip as I study her, trying to form an opinion. She’s beautiful. There’s no doubt about that. With her long, black hair and brown sugar skin, high cheekbones and full lips. She turns and looks at me head on. “What’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like that? Is one of my extensions falling out again?” She pats her head, looking self-conscious.

  “Your hair is fine,” I laugh before pausing and drawing in a deep breath. “Have you and Prescott ever …?"

  She lifts a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Fucked?" she interjects.
>
  I blush. "I was going to say 'dated', actually." I lean against the bookcase adjacent to her chair, ready for some hot gossip.

  She throws her head back and chortles. "Well, ‘no’ on both accounts. Firstly, business and pleasure no mix-y. And secondly, Prescott is too 'Prince Charming' for my taste,” she tells me. “He needs a Disney princess, like you…I need Charlie Hunnam."

  “A Disney princess?” That’s one thing I’ve never been called.

  She eyes me from head to toe. “Honey, you aren’t fooling anyone with that grungy Salvation Army look. You’re totally Snow White…” Her gaze settles on my wide hips. “…with an ass!”

  I’m rolling with laughter now. This girl…

  “No, but in all seriousness. You and Prescott would be really hot together if you ever decide to upgrade from faux-couple to the real thing.”