Beauty and the Boss (Modern Fairytales)

by Diane Alberts

  Her heart thumped. “I am. Like I said, I’m fine.”

  “Good. In that case…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright blue box. “I picked this up today.”

  She froze, and her stomach dropped to the floor with dread. She would have been more at ease if he’d slid a pair of padded handcuffs across the table. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  “It’s a ring.” He frowned and pushed the box closer to her. “If that’s what you think it is, then, yes, you’re correct.”

  Oh, God. She recognized the Tiffany & Co. box all too well. Every girl in America was fully aware what that bright blue color meant. But if he’d gone to Tiffany’s, he’d spent a fortune on a fake fiancée, and she’d punch him in his stupid, perfect face.

  And he’d deserve it.

  She couldn’t wear something like that on her finger. It probably cost more than she made in a year—or two. With her luck, she’d end up losing it and owing him a buttload of money when this was all said and done. And she couldn’t afford that. So she rested her fingers on top of his, and pushed it right back to him, ignoring the way his skin felt against hers. “A fake engagement doesn’t qualify for a real ring. Take it back.”

  “Actually…” He pushed the box closer to her again, his hand still under hers. “It does. My mother will notice if you’re wearing a fake rock.”

  “You can’t tell.”

  He cocked a brow and didn’t say a word.

  He didn’t need to.

  “Oh, fine. Maybe she can.” Maggie grabbed the box and flipped it open without looking at it, her heart racing. “But that doesn’t mean I need a gaudy, huge—” The second she glanced down, the words died in her throat. The ring was gorgeous.

  Of freaking course.

  It wasn’t obnoxious or gaudy at all. As a matter of fact, it was exactly what she’d want, if this engagement thing were for real. A simple princess cut diamond rested in the middle of a thin platinum band. It was huge, yes, but it was set elegantly, so it didn’t look like too much. She swallowed and ran a hand across the stone.

  “You were saying?” he asked, his tone tinged with amusement.

  She didn’t respond. Truth be told, she didn’t think she was capable. He scooted out of his chair and took the box from her hand. She let him. He removed the ring and grabbed her left hand. “I wasn’t sure about your size, so I made an educated guess with the help of the salesperson.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Your height and approximate weight.” His lips twitched into an almost smile. “Don’t ask me to tell you what I told her. I know a trap when I see one.”

  She laughed, but cut it off quickly when he slid the ring into place. It was a little loose, but not uncomfortably so. His calloused fingertips scraped the back of her finger, and she swallowed hard. “You must’ve done pretty well. It fits.”

  “Good.” He curled her hand into a fist and stared down at it. He kept touching her and making her body react to him in ways it shouldn’t, but that wasn’t what made her breath catch in her throat. For a second, as he stared at her, he looked almost…reverent. As if the sight of his ring on a woman’s hand affected him in some way.

  It affects me.

  “It looks good on you.”

  She glanced down, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. He was right. It did. “Thanks. I…I love it. But I’ll give it back after this is over.”

  “Keep it. Sell it. Whatever.”

  He dropped his hold on her and sat back in his chair. He looked about as moved as a sack of potatoes, so she must’ve imagined the earlier moment they’d shared.

  She slid her hand into her lap and stole one more glance at it. “No way. It had to have cost a fortune.”

  “To be honest, I have no clue. I just handed her my card.”

  “You just handed her—” She spluttered, cutting herself off. He wouldn’t understand why him dropping a small fortune on a ring for his fake fiancée, without even caring about the cost, was such a shock to her. “I mean…I see.”

  He rubbed his jaw, staring at her closely. “You’re disappointed again.”

  “No. I’m just realizing how different we are.”

  He crossed his arms, watching her with a calculation that had her wanting to hide from his probing gaze. “And that’s a bad thing?”

  Yes. “No. But, I mean, this dress? It’s not something I normally wear. I’m like a kid playing dress up, while you probably sleep in suits.”

  He didn’t say anything at first, just observed her skeptically as she lifted her glass to her lips. “Actually, I sleep naked.”

  She choked on her wine. Legit choked.

  A smirk slid into place on his face. A stupid, sexy one. He pulled something out of his pocket while she gasped for breath. “And as far as clothes go, we can buy you a new wardrobe. And lots of jewelry to go with that ring.”

  She covered her mouth, still gasping for air. “You—I—you shouldn’t have said that.”

  “And yet, I did.” He placed a Visa card in front of her. “Back on topic, before you complain or say it’s too much, hear me out. I have lots of events to attend, and, as my fiancée, you’ll be expected to be by my side. So there will be a need for dresses, and diamonds, and whatnot. Anything you need, you can just swipe my card, and it’ll be yours.”

  Her pulse accelerated so steeply, it was a wonder she didn’t fall over dead of a heart attack. “What do you mean? What events?”

  “Let’s see…there’s the mayor’s ball next Friday, and Saturday there’s a gala at Rockefeller Center. Sunday’s a matinee at the Richard Rodgers Theatre to benefit kids with cancer.” He counted off on his fingers. “So this week alone, you’ll need three dresses, and accessories, too. Don’t skimp on the jewelry. No one will expect you to wear the same thing twice. It’s unheard of.”

  Her heart raced even more, and she held the edge of the table, trying to ignore her fight or flight instinct kicking in. But this was it. This was how she was going to die. “I–”

  “Do you speak French? Next week we have an event with the French Ambassador, and it would be awesome if you could—”

  The waiter came in carrying two steaming entrées, so he stopped talking. Another server scurried in before him, taking the salads away with aplomb. The second the scent hit her nose, her throat closed up. He set down a huge plate of lobster tail—death on a dish for her. It was the last straw.

  She scooted back, a hand to her throat, and stood.

  Benjamin stood, too. “What? What is it?”

  “I…I—” She shook her head, backed up slowly. “I can’t do this.”

  “Maggie, wait!”

  No way. Uh-Uh. No, sir.

  She was out of there faster than a line drive out of the ballpark.

  This whole date was a disaster, just as she’d expected. There was no way this could work. All the signs in the universe were telling her to run, and it was time she listened.

  Before it was too late.

  Chapter Five

  Benjamin had no idea what the hell had spooked Maggie, but obviously something had. She’d been standoffish ever since he’d brought her into Macaluso’s, and he’d been unable to figure out why. He’d treated her to the best of the best, and tried to do everything in his power to please her.

  Instead, he’d pissed her off and literally sent her running.

  And now he was stuck chasing after her.

  He had a feeling this would be a running theme in their relationship—no pun intended. He caught up to her outside the restaurant because she’d stopped and was bent over, resting her palms on her thighs as she took a shuddering breath. “I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t—”

  “Shh.”

  She jumped as if she was surprised he’d followed her. “Benjamin?”

  Apparently, she’d been talking to herself again.

  He crouched in front of her and cupped her cheeks, sliding his hands under her soft brown hair. She let
him. Something tender, and almost calming, unfolded in his chest. As if she belonged there, with him, and he was only just realizing it—which was shit. She wasn’t his. Not really.

  This was all for pretend.

  “Take a deep breath. In. Out.” She did, staring at him the whole time, and that quietness inside him spread even more. “There you go. That’s it. Now, slower this time.” Maggie nodded and took another long inhale. She watched him with wide eyes, lips parted, and the trust in her eyes crashed into his chest, punching the air out of his lungs. “Good. Easy, now.”

  When her breathing settled into a more human pattern, mirroring his, she pulled away and swiped her hand across her forehead. He fought the urge to pull her back into his arms, where she belonged, damn it. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m allergic to shellfish. And when it was all there, in front of me, I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Oh.” Shit. He was a fucking dumb-ass. He’d been so intent on wooing her with fine wine and fancy meals, and waving his cash around, that he hadn’t even stopped to consider she might not be able to eat what he’d ordered. Then again, he never did. This was just the first woman he cared to get to know better. He wanted to learn more about her—like what not to order if he didn’t want to kill her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t have. I mean, you didn’t ask me, so how could you have?”

  Ah, so that was what was bothering her. She didn’t like his take-charge attitude. But that was always how his dates went. He took charge. No one had ever minded, until now. “You wanted to be asked. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “Well, yeah.” She blew out a breath, and her hair fluttered. “Of course I did. I’m not some empty-headed bimbo who can’t order for herself what she wants to eat or drink.”

  He stared at her, trying to make sense of her actions and words. She was so refreshingly different from the other women he’d dated, who looked to him to do everything, and he liked that about her. Being with her was a partnership. A new kind.

  But it also made predicting her actions a lot harder than it should have been. And a hell of a lot more painful when he got it wrong, because he wanted to get it right. Because, damn it, he liked her. A lot. And, stupidly, he wanted her to like him, too.

  Like he was back in grade school, or some corny-ass shit like that.

  Nodding slowly, he took a deep breath. “Of course you’re not. How stupid of me to treat you the way I did. Can you forgive me?”

  She swallowed. “Benjamin…”

  “I know,” he said quickly, studying her. She looked a little less pale now. Her red lipstick was as flawlessly applied as before, and she was prettier than a real princess. She fit the part of the socialite so well that he’d forgotten she wasn’t one, and he’d come on too strong. “I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll ask.”

  She shook her head. “This…we…you want us to pretend to be in love, but how can we do that if we literally know nothing about each other? What would your mother say if she found out you ordered your fiancée a meal that would kill her?”

  Damn it, she had a point. But they could work on that. “So, that’s why you left the restaurant? The lobster? Not because you didn’t want to be my fiancée?”

  “No. God, no.” She straightened and gripped her purse tight. “I don’t want to do that, either.”

  “Good, because—” He froze, her words finally hitting him. His stomach twisted into a tight, mangled ball, and he shook his head. “Wait, what do you mean? You said you’d go through with it. You promised.”

  “That was before. Look, we’re simply not a match. Fake or real, we’d never work. I’ll never be able to sell this.” She gestured between the two of them. “Sure, you’re a good kisser, and you have a great knee, but that wouldn’t be enough to make me love you, let alone marry you, in real life. And anyone who knows me would call me on it.”

  “We only need to convince people in my life, really, and—” He cut himself off. She’d said… He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be insulted. “I have a great knee? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “But I don’t like this whole alpha male thing you do. It would drive me insane in less than a week.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. The things this woman said… “What alpha thing do I have going?”

  “You take women on dates, and throw your money at them to get them into your bed, and woo them with generic roses. I’m sure it works. I’m sure they all throw themselves at you.” She crossed her arms and stepped back, shaking her head. “But I’m not them, and the waste, and the utter thoughtlessness behind the gestures…it’s all empty. I can’t do it, not even to save my job.”

  He held his arms out. “I take my dates to nice restaurants, order the best food and wine, and give them roses. Is that wrong?”

  “No. But it’s not me. And everyone who knows me knows that.” She pressed a hand to her chest, which rose and fell rapidly. He didn’t glance down, because he couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. Too much was at stake. “Look, I want to help you. I do. But I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. I don’t speak French, and I don’t want to buy a ton of diamonds, or eat with the French Ambassador, or the mayor. I didn’t even vote for him.”

  “That’s okay.” He dropped his hands. “I didn’t vote for him, either.”

  She let out a small laugh and shook her head. The moonlight played with her hair, making it shine. Even when trying to run from him, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and nothing would stop him from chasing her. “Okay, but still. I don’t want money and credit cards and all the things.”

  “I’m going to be honest. You confuse the hell out of me, Maggie,” he said, reaching out to trail his knuckles down her cheek. “Most women I’ve dated would be pleased to get a credit card for unlimited spending, and jewels, too.”

  She shuddered, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, well, I’m not most women.”

  He crossed his arms, eyeing her with a new appreciation that had nothing to do with their fake relationship, or his need for her help. “I’m getting that now.”

  “You want a puppet you can dangle in front of your mother, who fits in with your crowd.” Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and took it off, holding it out to him. “And I’m not that girl. I’ve never been good at fitting in, or falling into line, so chances are I’m not about to start now. Not even to keep my job, which I happen to enjoy a lot, for the record.”

  He didn’t take the ring, but he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maggie, I’m sorry I screwed up. I am.” More than she’d ever understand. “Like I said, you’re in charge. But I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong. I just did what I always do when I take women out.”

  “You always give women Tiffany rings on the first date?”

  He snorted. “No.”

  “And credit cards?”

  He held up a hand. “You’ve made your point. It was too much, too fast. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Her lips twitched, and she seemed less inclined to run. “You think I’m a girl who’s impressed with money, and jewels, and fancy restaurants.”

  “But you’re not.” He stepped closer, watching her for any more signs of her being ready to bolt. She looked steady, and he had to keep it that way. He couldn’t afford to lose her. “Please, let me try again. And if you don’t want to buy yourself diamonds…don’t buy diamonds. If you want to wear a plastic bag to the galas, go for it. I don’t give a damn, as long as you’re there with me.”

  She bit her lip. “But what will everyone think?”

  “Whatever they want to think.” He moved into her personal space. “Who the hell cares?”

  She eyed him and gestured toward the restaurant. “You do, I’d say.”

  “Nah.” He tucked her soft hair behind her ear and skimmed his knuckles over the porcelain skin of her cheek again. He couldn’t help it. Touching her was a drug, and he’d take h
is hits wherever and however he could. “I don’t. I’m kind of a loner, so if they don’t like me…I really don’t give a damn.”

  She couldn’t actually come to his galas in a bag, but he knew she wouldn’t, so they’d be fine. She had more fashion sense than that. She just needed a minute to breathe. To accept it all. He’d had a lifetime to acclimate to a certain lifestyle. She’d had a day.

  “Tell you what. How about this?” He tugged on her hair before letting go. It was harder to release that small piece of her than it should have been. “You pick the next ‘date.’ Show me what you like to do, so I’ll know what to plan when it’s my turn again.”

  She stepped a little closer, and he knew he had her. That she wasn’t going anywhere. “When?”

  “Whenever, and wherever, you’d like.” He held his hand out to her. She didn’t turn away. “Put the ring back on and give me one more chance.”

  She hesitated, but slipped the ring back onto her finger, and then slid her hand into his. “Okay.”

  He felt a surge of satisfaction that had nothing to do with tricking his mother into believing this was real. For whatever reason it might be—stubbornness, attraction, or something else entirely—he didn’t want to let Maggie go.

  Metaphorically or physically. But he did it anyway. He dropped his hold on her after one good shake. “Then it’s set. How about we go back in, and you can order what you want this time?”

  “I’d love that, Mister—” She cut off, smiling at him. And when she did that, the breath punched out of his chest again. “Benjamin.”

  He’d never wanted to kiss someone so damn badly as he did Maggie, just then, under the full moon. If he curled his hand behind her neck, burying his fingers in her long brown hair, and slowly tugged her closer, would she fight him? Or would her gray eyes widen and her lips part in anticipation as he closed in on her mouth, one slow breath at a time?

  A cab honked behind them, and he shook his head, shaking off the fantasy. She’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to touch him unless absolutely necessary. “After you.”

  She went past him, leaving behind the tantalizing scent of flowers and vanilla. He followed her, doing his best not to stare at her swinging ass. But in that dress, it was impossible. It embraced her curves like a second skin, and she had to be aware of it. He sure as hell was.