Pretending with the Playboy

by Tracey Livesay

  The women laughed shakily and everyone followed Morgan into a great room that showcased that five-million-dollar view. He took drink orders while everyone settled onto the custom furniture. Carter sat next to Lauren on the love seat. They still hadn’t addressed what had happened in the elevator and the unresolved tension pulsated between them. He couldn’t wrap his mind around marking Lauren like a jealous caveman. He’d been possessive, besotted, committed. Sounded like a damned puppy.

  “When I spoke to Dorothy last year, she mentioned you were studying art history at U. of C. Are you still working on your degree?” Gail asked.

  Lauren smiled, although he could see the tightness around her eyes. “No, I finished back in December.”

  “She got her doctorate,” Carter said.

  “Congratulations.” Gail sat forward, her manner engaging. “I’ve been thinking about picking up a few new pieces for the house. Can I take you to lunch next week and get your thoughts on some suggestions?”

  “Absolutely,” Lauren said, her smile brighter and more genuine.

  The tightness in his chest eased a little. This could still work. Gail’s offer to take Lauren to lunch had to bode well for their efforts to get Bill on their side. A merger was bad for RichCorp. He just had to find the right words to convince Morgan. And he had to ignore the niggling splinter of disquiet. Maybe this pretend engagement was starting to fuck with his head. Maybe he was the one who was beginning to confuse pretense with reality. What other interpretation was there for his earlier possessiveness and thoughts about commitment?

  Gail cleared her throat and crossed one leg over the other. “So, Carter, how do you like DC?”

  “It’s a great city.”

  “Have you met the president?” she asked.

  “No. I haven’t had the pleasure.” He relaxed, eased by her small talk. “But I’ve met some ambassadors and senators.”

  “Like Senator Harrington?” Gail asked. “I read that his daughter married Marcus Pearson. That’s who you work for, right?”

  Morgan returned and handed out their drinks, giving him a neat scotch and handing Lauren a glass of wine. He settled on the other side of his wife. “Pearson has made quite a name for himself and his company. You’re willing to give that up to take over RichCorp?”

  He was at full alertness. Chitchat time was over. He leaned forward and rested his bent arms on his knees. “I enjoyed my time at Pearson Enterprises, but RichCorp is my heritage. It’s where I belong.”

  “And you’ll do whatever it takes?”

  Carter stared at the other man. “Absolutely,” he said, reinforcing his voice with conviction.

  Morgan seemed to ponder Carter’s words, but his expression remained inscrutable. He took a sip from his snifter then pointed at Lauren. “Where’s your ring?”

  All eyes swung to Lauren’s bare left hand where it rested on her lap.

  “Oh.” Lauren looked at him, her forehead wrinkling.

  Carter chimed in, not wanting to ruin the good ground they’d gained. “It’s Richardson family tradition for the man to present his fiancée with a ring at the engagement party.”

  “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure if you would follow tradition and have the party,” Gail said. “Your generation tends to do things differently.”

  “It’s what Aunt Dorothy wants.”

  “How is Dorothy?” Morgan asked.

  “She has her good days,” Lauren said.

  “I’m sure you’re taking care of everything, Lauren. Dorothy always said you’re the most capable person she knows.” Gail took a sip from her whiskey sour. “Have you set a date for the wedding?”

  The scotch he’d swallowed went down the wrong way and Carter’s eyes burned with the effort it took not to cry out. The last thing he wanted was to discuss his relationship with Lauren, especially when he didn’t know what their relationship was. Were they old friends, pretend fiancés, or something more?

  “No, not yet.” Lauren rode to his rescue. “There’s no rush. We’re focused on Dorothy getting better. We want her to be there.” She turned to him and placed a hand on his back. “Are you okay?” she asked, her hand making small, soothing strokes.

  His body melted into her touch before he straightened.

  “I’m fine,” he said, shifting slightly away from her. Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t comment.

  “So you’re really staying in Chicago?” Morgan asked. He didn’t try to hide his skepticism.

  “Let me get you a glass of water,” Gail said, rising.

  “Of course,” he managed, as the fire in his throat receded. “I can’t run RichCorp from DC.”

  “You own a house there, right?” Morgan continued. “Are you going to sell it? My niece is moving to DC later this year.”

  “No, I’m keeping it as an investment.”

  This seemed more like an inquisition and less like a conversation. If this was about his vision for RichCorp, it wouldn’t be a problem. But things were taking a decidedly personal turn. Wasn’t it enough that he’d told them they were engaged?

  It didn’t help that his brain was functioning bilaterally. He should be solely focused on Morgan and the merger, but he couldn’t shut off the part of his brain still preoccupied with the alarming notion that he’d crossed into binding territory with Lauren. His disinterest in any other woman, his absolute satisfaction with the sex, the way he wanted to spend every waking moment with her. The possessiveness and the hickey were the final straw. He knew what those signs meant. Hell, he’d been avoiding them his entire adult life.

  “Here you go.” Gail returned and handed him a glass of water. She smiled at Lauren. “Do you think you two will start a family?”

  The panic that suffused him at that notion was paralyzing. His heart threatened to gallop out of his chest and his vision blurred.

  “No,” he called out blindly. “You shouldn’t bring children into a relationship when you’re not sure if you’re going to be with your partner forever.”

  He took a deep breath and swallowed another gulp of water. The prolonged silence and incredulous stares were his first clue that he’d done something wrong. What had he said? He ran back over his words and the wrong ones stuck out like flashing neon bar lights. Lauren stared at him, horror plastered on her face.

  Morgan shook his head. “I knew something was off.”

  Gail touched her husband’s arm. “Bill, I’m sure Carter didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

  He was living a nightmare. The one where his chance to save RichCorp was running away from him, but he couldn’t catch it because he was moving in slow motion. That didn’t mean he would give up. “I meant in general. Lauren and I are very committed—”

  “I’ve been loyal to RichCorp for twenty-five years. You think my merger proposal is a power grab, but it’s not. I’m concerned about the welfare of this company. And it’s now clear to me that you haven’t changed. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but you’re not committed to her. And I can’t believe you would be committed to RichCorp. I think it would be best for all involved if we end this farce.”

  “Fuck!” Carter slapped his palm against the wall above the elevator buttons, after they were shown to the door.

  “Carter—”

  He shrugged away from Lauren’s touch. He’d failed. And he couldn’t blame anyone other than himself. Under the board’s current constitution, and without Edworth’s votes, there was no way he could achieve a majority and save RichCorp from a merger. He’d promised Aunt Dorothy he would fix this mess. Could she survive the stress of knowing he hadn’t been able to keep his word?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Notorious Playboy Getting Married?

  Damn gossip blogs!

  Lauren sat on her sofa and stared at the picture on her phone. It was formed from two separate images, one from the night of the gala, the other from the night they went to dinner. The image on the left, the one from the gala, showed her head thrown back, her mouth s
tretched wide in laughter. Carter stood with his arm around her waist, staring down at her. The image on the right, from their night out at dinner, showed them walking out of the restaurant, holding hands. The article stated they had confirmation from some of the service providers of their engagement party, although it didn’t mention specifics. When she found out who leaked the news, that person had better run as if the hounds of hell were chasing them.

  She couldn’t stop focusing on the pictures. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was looking at two physically attractive people in love. Which was weird, because she’d never thought of herself as beautiful. She didn’t turn people into stone when they looked at her, but she was probably like most women who looked in the mirror and instead of focusing on the wonderful things, only saw the flaws they’d like to correct. Seeing the pictures of her and Carter on the website allowed her to step outside of herself. Get out of her head and view it objectively. And when she did, it was easy to admit the woman in the photo—her, Lauren—was beautiful.

  Thumbing the image to the right, she saw the original text message from Sophie:

  Care to explain?

  First the fiasco at the Morgans last night, and now this. She was so busted. She still hadn’t told Sophie the truth about the engagement, and now it appeared the cat was out of the bag and on its way to Mexico. As if conjured by her thoughts, the phone vibrated in her hand and Sophie’s face appeared on the screen. Lauren tapped “Answer.”

  “I’m in PR, so I know better than anyone not to believe what you read online,” Sophie said, in lieu of a greeting. “Tell me it’s not true and we can move on.”

  “It’s not true.”

  A rush of breath. “Thank God.”

  Lauren’s stomach stirred and she rubbed it through her T-shirt. “Not entirely.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sophie’s shriek was high enough to burst Lauren’s eardrum.

  “It’s not real,” Lauren said.

  “What?”

  “The engagement isn’t real.”

  “What does that mean? Did he ask you to marry him?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Do other people know?”

  Her fingers clenched around the phone. “Yes.”

  “Are you having a frickin’ engagement party?”

  Lauren sighed. “You know we are.”

  “Then it seems pretty. Damn. Real. To me,” she said, her words a disdainful staccato.

  She’d known Sophie wouldn’t approve of what she’d done. It was probably part of the reason she hadn’t rushed to tell her.

  “We only did it for Dorothy. But then Carter told the board and…it got out of hand.”

  “Dorothy said you had to get married?”

  “No, she was upset that Carter would be alone if something happened to her and she started having an attack and he just…” She closed her eyes, realizing how stupid it sounded when she said it aloud. “You had to be there.”

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  “No.”

  “So you’ll stay engaged? For how long?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see after Dorothy starts the clinical trial.”

  “You’re going to need a more definite plan. I only sent you this one story. It’s already on numerous local sites and it has all the ingredients needed to go national.”

  Oh no! Now she had to worry about global embarrassment?

  “How do you know all of this? Do you have a Google alert on me or something?”

  “Yes,” Sophie said, her voice straightforward.

  “I was joking. Why would you do that?” Lauren asked, surprised.

  “Call it a hunch. I’m interested in what’s being said about you in the press.”

  “I’m not your client.”

  “More’s the pity. If you were, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “I’m not in a situation.”

  “Says you. Honey, you’ve entered into a fake engagement with a man who is allergic to commitment. You’ve done it not knowing how long the pretense would last and you’ve muddied the waters by sleeping with him.” Sophie’s voice gentled. “This won’t end well.”

  The pilot light on her anger flickered to life. “You’re not my mother, Sophie. I don’t need your protection. I did what I did to help Dorothy. It was my choice and if she needed me to, I’d do it again.”

  “And Carter?”

  She and Carter were enjoying themselves, nothing more. She knew it was temporary. He’d never given her any indication that what he felt or what they were doing was long term. No matter what happened with RichCorp, when this was over and Dorothy was in her trial, they would go their separate ways.

  There was a quick, sharp knock on the door. Lauren’s pulse kicked into high gear and her gaze flew toward the source of the sound. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Lo—”

  “Sophie, please. You’re my best friend and I love you. But I have to make my own decisions.”

  “Okay. But can I say one last thing?” Sophie voice was heavy with her appeal. “Be careful. The woman in that picture doesn’t look like she’s leaving for New York in a month. She looks like she’s finally at home. Don’t let him break your heart again.”

  “I won’t,” she said, before disconnecting the call.

  Butterflies jamboreed in her belly and she took a deep breath, hoping to break up the party. Despite the leftover edginess from her conversation with Sophie and her worry about their dinner with the Morgans, a sense of rightness, of contentment, settled over her. She smiled and slid open the door.

  “You’ve spent a lot of nights out here. You don’t have to knock anymore.” She never locked the door because she was totally secure back here. The main house was set off the road and behind code-operated gates.

  Carter leaned against the frame, his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes shadowed. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He straightened, dropped a brief kiss on her lips, and brushed past her.

  His usual response to her greeting was a kiss that whipped her into a sexual frenzy. But tonight, he looked so dark and grave. She tamped down a bud of unease.

  “You want something to drink?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Maybe he was still upset about the outcome of their dinner with the Morgans. She didn’t blame him. She wished she knew what had caused that outburst. It had almost seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than he was answering Gail Morgan’s question.

  He’d been behaving oddly from the moment he’d given her that hickey in the elevator. Did anyone over the age of eighteen give hickeys? He’d startled her, but if he wanted to give her love bites, she wouldn’t have an objection. Only a suggestion to place them somewhere less conspicuous, like the inside of her thighs. She walked over and lightly stroked his forearm. “It’s going to be okay.”

  His muscles tensed under her palm. “Is it? I’ve lost RichCorp.”

  She took his hand and drew him over to the couch. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

  “Not particularly.” His head plopped back on the upholstered frame. “Why did I get involved? I should’ve stayed in DC.”

  “This is a lot to handle. You’re doing the best you can under the circumstances.”

  “And yet my best isn’t good enough.” He closed his eyes.

  She propped her cheek on her hand and stared down at him. God, he was gorgeous. His thick lashes fanned the top of his cheekbones, his nose was long and straight, his jawline strong. She feathered her fingers through the hair that fell against his brow.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when Richie Rich would succumb to self-pity,” she murmured.

  “I hate it when you call me that.”

  His lips were perfect. Not too full, not too thin. She brushed her thumb over the bottom one. “I know.”

  She scooted closer and pressed her lips to one corner of his mouth, then the other—a kissing amuse-bouche—before claiming the entrée. Every time
they kissed, she never imagined it could get any better and then it did. She pressed one final kiss to his lips before lifting her head.

  His lashes flew up and he turned to look at her. His brown eyes glowed and swept over her body, lingering on her breasts. “Is that the shirt I got you for Christmas that one year?”

  She pulled the hem of the faded, smoke-gray 1998 Chicago Bulls NBA championship T-shirt. “Yep.”

  He smiled and fingered the fabric. “I haven’t been to a Bulls game in a long time. Before you, I used to go with”—he stopped and scowled—“my father.”

  Lauren wondered if he could hear the dissension in his own voice. She could. Those two words resonated with it, love, sadness, and resentment battling for supremacy.

  “You don’t have a lot of positive things to say about your father. Dorothy said he loved your mother very much.”

  “Yeah, he loved her so much he didn’t want to live without her.” Bitterness stole the romantic meaning from his words.

  “You were fourteen when she died?”

  “And seventeen when he followed her.”

  “I’m sorry. I never knew the specifics.”

  He sat up. “Not exactly small talk material.”

  “I’m ashamed to admit I used to envy you. You belonged here and everyone knew it. We were both orphaned, but you had family who looked out for you and cared what you did and I…I lived in this big house, full of staff, but I never felt more alone. You’ve spent so much time running away from them. I would give anything to have a family of my own. To belong somewhere, to someone.”

  His head dipped ever so slightly to the side and his eyes softened. He raised a large hand to caress her cheek, then sighed and unfolded his length from the sofa. “I’m going to head up to the house.”

  Hope dropped from her heart to the heels of her feet. “You’re not staying?”

  “I’ve been selfish. You haven’t had your bed to yourself for the past two weeks.”

  Like she’d rather have her bed when she could have him in it. “Don’t forget, Dorothy wants to see us after lunch. Last-minute details before the engagement party in a few days.”