by Nikki Chase
But this is real life.
Instead of thanking me, she asks for even more time although, according to Teresa, she was supposed to pay the entire amount yesterday.
I tell her about her bad credit score, and she responds by insisting that it’s fine. She even tries to tell me I got her confused with someone else, but there’s no way in hell I’d forget someone like her.
“Not possible,” I say simply.
I fish my business card from the front pocket of my jeans. I watch with interest as her gaze travels down with my hands and lingers on the front of my jeans.
Interesting. The corners of my mouth pull up. She wants me. I can almost see her swallow down her lust and blink away her arousal when I clear my throat.
The red flush in her cheeks tells me everything I need to know.
Yes, baby, I know. And you know I know.
She turns her attention to my business card, which really doesn’t warrant that kind of focus. But okay, if she wants to move on from that moment that we both know just happened…
“Raphael,” she says with a voice dripping with honey. It makes me want to run my tongue along her lips and taste her, then make her scream the same name while she gasps and shudders under me, her face just as flushed as it is now.
Fucking hell, what is this girl doing to me? She fills my brain with filth just by saying my name.
I decide the dirty scene playing in my brain needs to happen. This may not be porn; everything may not happen instantly. But I know I want her in my bed, and I get what I want. I just have to be patient.
I put my sunglasses back on and tell her to call me any time. I want to say a joke about booty calls, but I restrain myself. She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes.
It’s almost painful to tear my gaze away from Piper. I want to take a picture so I can continue to look at her as I go about my day, but again… Patience is key.
I may be walking away, but the hunt has just begun.
“Rafe!” Diana exclaims as she swings the door open. She takes one look inside the office and looks away. “Oh my god! Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m done.” I laugh while I zip up my fly. I take a seat on my leather swivel chair and put on my suit jacket.
“What the hell, Rafe?” Diana says. “This is not a changing room. I don’t understand why you can’t just wear your suit from home.”
“It’s not very comfortable.” I shrug. “You try wearing business suits every day and see how long you last. You have it good, with your light tops and cardigans.”
“Why don’t you wear light tops and cardigans every day?” Diana raises one eyebrow as she takes a seat across the desk from me.
“I would, but you know how our dads would react. I don’t want to be constrained by socio-normative gender ideals, but those old geezers wouldn’t get it.”
Diana grins. Neither one of us has siblings, so we’re less like cousins and more like brother and sister. We’ve always shared the same dumb sense of humor.
“So? Have you done it?” She leans over the desk and looks at me with big, expectant eyes.
“What?” I run through the list of Diana-related things in my head. I don’t remember promising her updates on any of the ongoing projects.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” She narrows her eyes at me, then sighs in defeat. “The proposal, of course!”
“Oh, that.”
Since Piper opened her front door this morning, I haven’t been able to think about anything other than her.
I’m lucky I didn’t cause an accident on the drive to the office. Instead of thinking about the colors of the traffic lights, I was thinking about Piper’s pink lips, strawberry-blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.
“What do you mean, ‘oh, that’? How did it go?” Diana insists.
“I decided not to do it.” I shrug.
“Stop pulling my legs. Come on. Everyone wants to know.”
“Everyone?”
“Yeah. I’m an emissary sent by our parents,” Diana says with a big grin. “They’re very interested. They’re already talking about how we’re going to divide up the work between my kids and yours.”
Wow.
After sleeping on it for a whole week, I woke up this morning certain that the fake engagement thing is dumb. But maybe it’s genius.
I don’t know. The jury’s still out. I can’t decide if it’s a good idea right now, but this is definitely not the time to fold. I put on my poker face.
“Yeah, actually…” I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m really nervous about it. I don’t think I can do it.”
“What are you talking about? You’re Raphael Holt. Girls love you. A lot of hearts will be broken when your engagement is announced. This girl would be crazy to say no.”
“I don’t know, Di,” I say. “She’s pretty great herself.”
“Oh?” Diana puts her elbows on the desk and rests her chin on her hands. “Tell me more about how great she is.”
Shit. I haven’t really thought this through.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear it.” I know that look; she’s like a shark who has smelled blood now. I need to come up with a good story.
“I do. I promise you, there’s nothing I want to hear more than how great your fiancée is.”
“Well, she’s not my fiancée yet…” I try to buy some time.
“Go on…” Diana smiles. “I like the ‘yet’ in that sentence. Come on. Let’s start with… What does she do for a living? Does she work in finance as well? Ooh, do I know her?”
“No, you don’t know her,” I say quickly. “She’s, uh, a student.”
Yeah. That’s a good answer, right? Generic. There are thousands of students in this city alone. I can probably convince one of them to be my pretend-girlfriend.
Or, even if I end up choosing someone who’s not actually a student, almost everyone has been a student at some point and can probably play the role convincingly.
“Oh, so she’s younger? How old is she?”
“Twenty-one,” I blurt out. I don’t know why I said that. Must be because of Piper’s age that I saw on the lease this morning.
“Twenty-one.” Diana looks pensive as she does the mental calculations in her head. “She’s almost whole decade younger than you.”
“Eight years is not quite a decade, Di.”
“Yeah, it’s still a pretty big gap.”
“She’s really mature for her age.” I can feel myself losing grip of the lie. It’s taking on a life of its own now, as I say random things I don’t actually mean or understand.
“What does she study?”
“Music.” Again, my mind flies back to Piper and her guitar.
“She sounds interesting,” Diana says. “Twenty-one seems young for you, but if you’re happy, I can’t argue with that.”
“Good. Because I don’t care what you think about her. I like her.” I give her a grin, hoping I look like a man who’s deeply in love.
“Aww…” Diana’s face breaks out into the kind of weird smile that she gets when she’s watching some chick flick.
That’s what a successful lie looks like, ladies and gentlemen.
She exhales loudly and gives me a smile. “God, I’d love to stay and hear more about her. But I have this meeting in, like, ten minutes.” She grimaces, then adds, “And Miranda will be there.”
“Is this the one with the supplier from China?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Oh, Rafe. You know Uncle Bill is not going to like that.”
She’s right; my father doesn’t want me around for important decisions, afraid I’m going to do something crazy, like show up high as a kite, even though I’ve never indulged during work hours.
“Oh, I know,” Diana says as she gets up. “Talk to him at your parents’ wedding anniversary party. He’ll be in a good mood and he’ll be more inclined to listen, es
pecially if you bring your fiancée along. I know he’s really excited about meeting her.”
“That’s…actually not a bad idea,” I admit.
“I’m a genius when it comes to this stuff. Trust me, timing is everything.” Diana saunters away but stops mid-way. She turns toward me and says, “Oh, and the proposal? I think you should do it after Seth’s wedding. She’ll be in the mood for some romance. And don’t forget. I still want those pictures from the wedding!”
Diana flashes me a grin before she walks out of my office and closes the door behind her.
My big mouth has gotten me into trouble many, many times in my life. More times than I can count. But it has also gotten me out of trouble a bunch of times.
This time, I don’t know if I’m digging a hole for myself or paving a path toward everything I’ve ever wanted.
I check my calendar. Seth’s wedding is in three days. I should call him and give him a heads up.
“Hello,” he says with his usual gruff tone when he picks up.
“Hey, Seth. Tell Alice I’ll bring a plus-one to the wedding, okay?” I ask, getting to the point.
There’s nobody in my life who knows all there is to know about me, but Seth comes pretty close. He doesn’t pry and he knows when to leave me alone—which, strangely, only makes me want to tell him stuff.
“Alice won’t be happy,” he warns.
Seth’s fiancée has asked about whether I’m taking anyone to the wedding, and I said no. Now, three days before the actual wedding, I call to change my mind. Yeah, she’s probably not going to be thrilled, but I know she’ll prepare me an extra spot anyway.
“Yeah, well, can’t please everyone all the time, right?” I say.
“Okay, I’ll let her know. Just don’t do anything weird at my wedding,” Seth says in a threatening tone. That voice may work for everyone else, but I’m immune to it.
“Come on, I don’t go around doing weird stuff at weddings.” I frown. “Wait, what is it that you think I’ll do?”
“I don’t know, take her to an empty room and fuck?”
“I told you, it was that one time. And it wasn’t during your wedding. And it wasn’t in some random empty room; it was specifically in her room.” I may have slept with a member of Seth’s house staff, but that’s all in the past. He never fails to bring it up, though. “I promise you, I won’t do anything weird.”
“Okay,” Seth says.
“Cool. How’s everything going so far? Cold feet?”
“Nope.”
“Good. See you at the wedding. Thank Alice for me.”
See? No questions asked. I like that guy.
I don’t know what I would’ve done in prison if I got stuck with someone else. All things considered, I was lucky to have ended up having Seth as my cellmate, instead of some hardened, violent gang member.
We come from similar backgrounds, and we survived prison together. Now, we share an unbreakable, inimitable bond. We stick together.
I used to help him out with his life’s work, fighting against human trafficking. But he needs less help now, and I’m more serious about getting back into the family business.
I still visit him from time to time, even though he lives a long way away from the city. I’m surprised he could find a wife, considering how isolated his life is.
It shouldn’t be too hard for me to find a girl who’s willing to pretend to be my girlfriend…
I do have quite a few numbers on my phone I can call, but I’ve only ever called those numbers for one reason. Yeah, you’ve guessed it. Booty calls.
The problem is finding someone who’s not crazy, annoying, or scarily obsessed with me. I keep a distance from those girls for a reason. I can’t imagine putting an engagement ring on any one of them without giving them the wrong idea.
Twenty-one. Student. Musician. Not crazy.
There’s only one girl who fits those criteria. Well, I’ve only talked to her for a few minutes so I don’t really know if she’s crazy, but she doesn’t look crazy.
Piper’s my best chance right now. And frankly, I get excited at the thought of spending more time with her.
We can have some fun together, going to a wedding and to my parents’ anniversary, maybe share a few nights in bed. Then, we’ll part ways and she’ll just be my tenant again.
I don’t want any complications. I’ve let my feelings get me into trouble in the past.
I’m older and wiser now. I know exactly how to handle this so I’ll get what I want out of Piper without exposing myself to too much danger.
Chapter 6
Piper
I can't believe I’m going to do this.
I remember when I left home with one suitcase, breathing in the scent of freedom. To this day, no other smell makes me as happy as eau de Greyhound.
And now, I’m going back there, back to Rockvale, and Mom’s not even around anymore to make it bearable.
I pace around my studio apartment and make the call.
“Hello,” a gruff, sleepy voice filters through the phone line.
“Dad, did you just wake up? It's, like, noon.”
“Yeah,” he says, like I’ve just asked the most ridiculous thing he's heard all day. Which, considering he has just woken up and it's safe to assume I’m the first person he has spoken with, is actually possible.
“Don't you have to work?”
“No,” he says without offering any explanation.
I hope they haven't cut his hours again. I can't imagine living at home and being stuck with him all day, every day of the summer.
It's not the ideal solution, but I’ve decided to move out and spend summer at home with Dad. Obviously, I can't afford my life here in San Francisco now that it's summer.
My original plan of staying in the city and working to support myself hasn't quite panned out the way I was hoping it would.
I completely forgot that many of my students wouldn't need lessons during the summer. And, this being my first summer living alone (read: without any subsidies from Carly), I underestimated the amount of money I’d need to keep both McClaw and myself alive.
“You’ll be working the night shift?” I ask hopefully.
Dad works as a security guard. That seems to be the only line of work where he can get away with drinking on the job. Nobody’s ever there to actually see him do it.
Still, eventually people always find out—maybe he smells like beer when the guard for the next shift arrives at work, or maybe they find his empty cans in the trash. And then they fire him. Or, if they can't find solid proof, cut his hours.
“Nope,” Dad says.
“When are you working?” I pause. “Wait, you are working, right?”
“No, I quit.”
“You...” I let my voice trail off, unable to finish my sentence. I rub my temple. My brain hurts.
I take a deep breath. Okay, going off on him is not going to accomplish anything. I need to be nice to him, or at least civil. I remind myself he’ll be my roommate for the next couple of months.
“Dad, I’ll be spending the summer in Rockvale, okay? I’ll buy a bus ticket tomorrow and take the morning bus home.”
“Uh…” Dad stalls, like he doesn't want to answer me.
What could it be? Why would he be reluctant to let me go home?
I wonder if he has a girlfriend. That would be so weird. I wouldn't be mad or anything, though.
It has been more than a year since Mom died. Maybe he's lonely, living on his own after decades of being married.
They had a traditional marriage, I should add, in which he never had to lift a finger at home. Mom used to be responsible for all housework and childcare.
As sexist as it sounds, maybe he needs a woman to take care of him. Perhaps that's just how his generation works. Does it make me ageist to think that way?
But I'm getting carried away. I need to focus on the task.
“Dad, you can tell me what's going on.”
He remains silent, alt
hough I can hear his breathing. He takes one particularly long inhalation and says, “Promise you won't get mad?”
“Just tell me,” I say, almost snapping.
I don't really care if he has a girlfriend. Honestly, I'm a little offended that Dad thinks I’ll get upset. I'm not a little girl anymore. I know he's not just my dad, but also a complex human being with his own flaws, wants, and needs.
“Okay. I’m losing the house,” Dad says.
I stand in shock in the middle of my studio apartment. My jaw drops and I stay frozen, trying to come up with an answer that makes sense.
“You mean you’re selling it?” A lump in my throat makes it hard to continue talking, but I press on. I need answers.
How could he sell the house? I grew up there, and Mom spent her last days there. Doesn’t it mean anything to him?
“No,” he says.
“No, you’re not selling it? Then what do you mean?”
“They’re taking it away from me.”
“Who?” I ask, my voice louder and higher than I intended, frustrated by the lack of real answers.
“Holt Bank,” he says, in a tone that tells me he’s just as annoyed by my stream of questions.
“What do you mean, Holt Bank?”
“Well, it’s the name of a bank that—”
“I know what Holt Bank is!” My blood pressure rises. Of course I know what Holt Bank is. Every Californian knows what Holt Bank is. Dad has always been bad with money, but surely he’s not this bad. “You own the house free and clear, don’t you?”
“We took out some loans against the house to pay for the hospital bills.”
“How do I not know about this?” My head feels like it’s about to burst. The room starts spinning. I’d better sit down on the bed before I fall on my ass.
“You were a kid, Piper,” Dad says.
“So what are you going to do?” I massage my temples with my fingers, but the headache persists. “Where are you going to live?”
And where am I going to live?
“Steve says I can sleep on his couch,” he says.