I try to think of the least douchey way possible to say this. “I need your help…I need you to come to Henderson with me.”
Her eyes narrow and her brows furrow so hard that it might just leave a mark. “Henderson? Henderson, Nevada?”
I nod.
“What’s in Henderson, Nevada?” Her nostrils flare at me.
I swallow hard and scrub the back of my head with my palm. “I’m going to a party and I need you to come with me.”
She clearly looks confused. “Why?”
I lift a shoulder nonchalantly as if what I’m asking her is perfectly within the realm of the ordinary. “Christmas party or something. Hosted by one of my teammates. It’s a couples’ thing.” I quickly bring my cup to my lips and take a long gulp of the hot caffeine.
She eyes me like I’m stupid. “We’re not a couple.”
I chuckle trying to project the image of confident self-assuredness. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll dance, drink, meet some new people. What’s the big deal? It’s not like you have something better to do.”
“What’s the big deal? I don’t even know you. And you’re asking me to go to Henderson, Nevada as a couple.”
She’s smart, this one. She’s filling in the pieces of my sketchy plan, she sees right through me. She gets up from the counter and begins to pace. “You’re crazy. The moment I met you yesterday, the moment you told your boss that we were engaged, a little voice in my head whispered, ‘he’s fucking crazy.’ I knew that shit would blow up in my face. But I didn’t listen to my intuition. Again. And now –”
“Faith, calm down.” I make an appeasing gesture with my hand, motioning for her to sit. “Why are you making such a big deal about this? It could be fun. And besides, you came out here looking for an adventure? I can give you one.”
She spins and looks me dead in the face. “You’re insane if you don’t see how this is a big deal.” She grips the edge of the counter and leans forward. “Tell me, Maxwell. What’s in this for you? What’s your motivation for doing this, anyway?”
Fifty-eight million dollars. Plus, my endorsement deals.
“I just want to have some fun,” I say solemnly. “I thought you were a fun-loving girl, Doll Face. Guess I was wrong.”
She’s quiet for a moment. She grits her teeth as she considers the scenario. “And what if I say ‘no’?” she asks carefully.
I sigh. I really don’t want to be the bad guy here, but I have no choice. Too much is riding on this. “If you say ‘no’? I’m sorry, but if you say ‘no’, you’re on your own. I can’t babysit you anymore. You’ll have to leave.”
Shock covers her beautiful features. “What?” she squeaks out.
It pains me, but I’ve got to push a hard bargain. “You’ll have to find your way back to Reyfield on your own.”
She shoots me the nastiest look. “You won’t help me, unless I agree to play your crazy game?”
“Sorry, Doll Face,” I say sternly. “There’s no free ride in this life. I saved your ass yesterday. Now, it’s your turn to repay me…Unless you’d like to hitchhike back home.”
“You would actually leave me to fend for myself?” she asks incredulously.
I ignore her disbelieving expression and choose to make light of the situation instead. “Psht. You could busk. You’d make a cute busker. Got any hidden talents? Yodeling? Juggling, maybe? You look like a juggler.” I feel like such a jerk right now but I hold onto my cocky smile for dear life.
Her eyes shine with tears as she stares at me, her chin trembling subtly. After a beat, she grabs hold of her suitcase handle. “Well, I’ll take my chances on my own, asshat. Don’t wanna inconvenience you.” She stomps over to the door and yanks it open. Just as she’s about to storm away, she looks back and glares at me. “And for the record, I do have something better to do today…Get home!”
She swings the door with all her might, no doubt trying for a loud, dramatic exit. But the thing refuses to yield to her little temper tantrum. Instead, it moves slowly on its hinges before closing softly with a muffled thud.
The door is on hydraulics.
That only serves to piss her off even more. I lean against the counter and chuckle to myself as her frustrated roar rips through the air. I hear the angry clicking of her heels in the marble-tiled hallway. I hear the ding of the elevator as it arrives on my floor. I hear the bangs and bumps as she drags her bag onto the lift.
And with each sound and grunt and sigh, guilt rattles my conscience.
I pad into my bedroom and toss my towel into the laundry hamper. I slip into a fresh t-shirt and the pair of sweats I wore home from the gym last night. I try to reason my way out of my self-reproach.
I saved that girl’s ass last night. I ditched my meeting with my team’s management to rescue her from her naïve decisions. And she repays me with her ingratitude. It’s not even like I was asking her to do something difficult or illegal. All she had to do was go to some fancy party with me and pretend to have a good time. Is that too much to ask?
The tiny filaments of decency that survived my years of frivolous living know that the answer to that question is ‘yes’.
Fuck!
I was supposed to look out for this girl. My brother entrusted her to me. I’m supposed to make sure that she gets back to Reyfield safely. Argh! I’d never forgive myself if something bad happened to her.
I dash out the door barefoot and sprint down the emergency stairs. I take the steps two by two down to the lobby. When I get there, she’s wearing a small, sad smile as she holds the door open and helps my neighbor from the second floor to get her monster stroller and a shitload of other crap out the front entrance.
“Let me help you ladies with that,” I say gallantly as I hurry over and lift the stroller over the obtrusive threshold plate in the doorway.
Both women turn and pin me with disdainful eyes. Faith is obviously still pissed that I pretty much told her to hit the road. As for my neighbor, I think that she’s still resentful that the last time I saw her struggling with the damn stroller, I averted my eyes and hit the ‘close’ button on the elevator before she could get on.
My neighbor thanks me coldly before going on her way. I turn my attention to Faith. The sharpness of her glare is enough to give me pause. But I’ve got to man up to the situation and talk to her anyway.
“Hey,” I say, plastering a smile on my face.
She shoots daggers at me. “What?”
I scratch the back of my head. “I feel really bad about what happened upstairs –”
“You should ‘cause you were a dick,” she growls. “And to think I was starting to like you.”
I chuckle giving her my best hangdog expression. She’s a damn firecracker. I love it.
“Anyway,” I say, “I don’t want you out there on the streets, broke and destitute. Why don’t you come back upstairs until we figure out the best way to get you home?”
A defiant look crosses her face. “Oh, so you’re Mr. Magnanimous all of a sudden? I don’t need your help, Maxwell. I was wrong to come here in the first place. I’m an adult. I can work out a plan on my own.”
I rub my temple in frustration. She’s going to be stubborn about this, isn’t she? So, I crack a joke. “Does that plan include panhandling? Or working as illegal kitchen help at one of the shady ass restaurants in Koreatown?”
She rolls her eyes but it sort of looks like she’s fighting a laugh. “Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. What do you care? All you care about is dragging me to that party to act as your arm-piece.”
I push a breath past my lips. “Look – I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have given you an ultimatum like that. Okay? Now, will you please come back upstairs?”
She shakes her head insolently. “Nah, I’d rather take my chances on these mean streets.” Her tone is loaded with snark.
I purse my lips and close my eyes, to suppress the irritation bubbling up in my chest. She’s not going to make this easy for me and maybe I d
o deserve a hard time. “Okay, you know what?” I say as my eyes spring open and I reach a hand into my back pocket. Thank god my wallet is there. I pull five hundred dollar bills out of it. “If you insist on leaving, at least take this.” I stretch the money out to her.
She looks surprised. Her eyes search my face before her hand slowly releases the handle of her rolling bag and reaches for the money. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
I sigh again, rubbing the back of my head. I drink in her pretty face for the last time. “Good luck out there, Faith.”
For a moment, I battle against the urge to pull her in for a hug. I have this strange need to touch her although I don’t even know her. Plus, she hates me right now. So, I guess that hugging would be a bit inappropriate.
I turn, heading toward the elevator. I can’t believe how badly I screwed this up. The poor girl came to me in dire straights and I tried to finesse the situation to my benefit. Now, she’s running from me. She’d rather face the streets than accept my strings-attached help. I press the elevator button and glance back in the direction of the door. She’s still standing there. Watching me. I give her a small wave before stepping onto the lift.
I get back to my loft and I pace some more. Dammit. No wonder I don’t do relationships. Less than 24 hours with a woman and I’ve already managed to traumatize her and chase her away. And now I’m questioning my decision to let her go. I should have dragged her back here. Or I should have at least tried harder to convince her to stay.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve got to get her back here.
I pull the door open…and Faith is already standing there with a frown set deep on her face. My heart goes taut at the sight of her. I was scared she’d already faded into the bustle of L.A. and that I’d never be able to find her. But for whatever reason, she’s back.
“Fine. I’ll go to Henderson with you.” She pushes past me, her little suitcase bringing up the rear as she marches toward my bedroom. “But no more of your shenanigans after this. No more fake dates or any of that crap. I’m going home when that stupid party is over.” She opens the bedroom door. “And I’m keeping the five hundred dollars. For my pain and suffering.”
She doesn’t see the smile tugging at my lips. She’s already shut the door.
Chapter 6
Faith
This damn gala is a big deal. There’s a red carpet and everything.
As Maxwell and I are walking in, photographers stop us, demanding that we pose for pictures. Without a moment of hesitation, Maxwell adjusts the lapels of his tux then slides his arm around my waist. He tucks me close to him, making a big show of pressing his lips to my cheek. I don’t know why I’m not pulling away. I should. But instead, I find myself grinning and wrapping my arm around his back and flashing my ‘engagement ring’ as the paparazzi hurl really intimate questions at us.
“Maxwell! How does Tiffany Murphy feel about your sudden engagement? Is she invited to the wedding?”
“Did Oscar know you’d be bringing your new fiancée to his gala tonight?”
“Now that you’re engaged, does that mean that we won’t be seeing anymore Bad Boy Maxwell?”
He deflects the questions really well, giving a curt nod and a brief wave before leaning into my ear and whispering, “Don’t let them get to you. They just wanna get under your skin so you can make a face. That’s how they get their best candid pictures.”
I already know this. Still, I nod in understanding, letting him guide me through the banquet hall’s main door. I really can’t believe that I’m here, in Henderson on the arm of the NFL’s top quarterback.
Yeah, I Googled him.
I don’t understand football lingo and reading stats about his performance this season was like trying to decipher a foreign language. But one thing is for sure, Maxwell Masters is sitting at the peak of his career.
His performance is untouchable…His personal life is a mess.
He has a penchant for getting into trouble. His team is fed up. On the drive up here, he confessed to me that that’s the real reason I’m here with him in Henderson. My role is to give credence to Maxwell’s claim that he’s settled down. At least for long enough that his latest scandals blow over and his team management cools off.
I’m up to the task this evening. I feel a strange sense of indebtedness to the guy, even after he tried to strong-arm me this morning, threatening to kick me out onto the streets unless I agreed to come to this party with him. I get it – his back was up against the wall, he felt desperate, so he tried to bully me into coming here. That was an asshole move for sure. But in his defense, he couldn’t even go through with it. His conscience kicked in and he came looking for me before I could even leave the lobby of his building. I could tell that he was genuinely sorry for having tried to blackmail me. Yes, under that arrogant exterior of his, there’s something warm and fuzzy. I’m so curious to get a better glimpse of that side of him.
And besides, a woman would have to be dead inside to stay mad at him while he’s wearing the hell out of that tux.
Maxwell snatches two chairs from a vacant table and we barge our way into a conversation at a table of elegantly dressed guests. I glance back at him and we share a smirk as he helps me into my seat. Oscar Murphy throws a nasty, wordless glare our way, but that’s to be expected. After all, we are crashing his party.
But that doesn’t seem to faze Maxwell. He eases seamlessly into the banter and before long, all eyes are on him as he tells the bullshit, made-up story of how we supposedly met. It’s a story we crafted and rehearsed a million times on the drive here. Apparently, we both happened to be on the same flight when he was headed to Reyfield to visit his brother a few weeks ago. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
We talked a lot on the drive up here. If we’re going to make a convincing couple, we have to know basic information about each other. I told him about my job as an event coordinator at the Reyfield Community Centre. He told me about his beef with Oscar Murphy over the fact that he slept with his teammate’s little sister. I shared that I was just a few credits short of a degree in Public Relations from NYU. He told me about the scuffle that he and Oscar had at a recent press conference. On paper, I make a pretty great fake fiancée. As for him, he’s a bad-behaving mess.
Anyway, Maxwell is delivering the story of our whirlwind romance like a pro. You should see the way Coach Martineau’s wife, Gladys, is eating up this farce. I smile politely and chug back the booze to keep from cackling. At one point, Maxwell reaches over and holds my hand. We may be faking this relationship but the intense thrill of awareness racing across my skin is very, very real. Almost overwhelming. Regardless, I bat my eyes adoringly at him over the rim of my champagne flute, falling effortlessly into the role of the devoted fiancée.
When I’d woken up this morning, this is not how I’d expected to end the day. When I’d rolled out of bed after a sleepless night of stewing in humiliation over the fact that Maxwell walked in on me masturbating last night, my intention had been to sneak out of the house, (somehow) hop on the earliest bus and commence my journey of shame back to Reyfield.
But the bastard clearly had other plans for me. And now, here I am, sitting next to him, with damp panties and a racing heart at Oscar Murphy’s Christmas gala in Henderson, Nevada.
I tip my glass back and take a long swallow. Ahh, look at that. I’m out of booze again.
I lean in to the table and throw on a gracious smile. “Excuse me,” I say as I stand. My hand goes to Maxwell’s shoulder. He wraps his fingers around it and squeezes just before I walk away. That buzzy, electric feeling is there again.
God, I want to fuck him.
And can you blame me? The man is seriously hot. His solid body would wrap so well around mine and his plush lips look like they were made for kissing all night. I love his strong nose and his angular jaw. They make him appear virile, masculine. And on a side note, his ass looks incredible in those pants.
I giggle softly at the thought
as I step up to the buffet-style layout of hors d’oeuvres lining the far wall next to the gigantic Christmas tree. I’m already just a little bit tipsy and these crab cakes are addictive. I’m piling my plate high when I feel a light touch on my arm. I glance over my shoulder and see a petite brunette with a thinned lips and a sharp stare.
“Hello?” I say hesitantly as I glimpse around with uncertainty. Did I just cut the line? Was she angling for that last deviled egg I just stuffed into my mouth? I’m not quite sure, but whatever this little woman wants, she means business.
She stretches a hand out to me and offers a tight, cautious smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Shellie Murphy, Oscar’s wife.”
I take her hand and shake. “Oh, lovely to meet you,” I say as I quickly swallow a mouthful of half-chewed appetizers. “Faith Monroe. I’m with Maxwell. I’m his –”
Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2) Page 5