The Beauty Beneath

by DC Renee

  I laughed—like the head-thrown-back, full-body laugh. I had only spoken to her for about ten minutes tops the previous night, but I knew immediately it was Emerson on the other end of the line. Aside from the fact that it wasn’t too hard to recognize her voice, no other girl would bust my chops the way she did, especially in such a short time.

  “It’s so their husbands know who they’re dealing with.”

  “Ugh.” I heard her on the other end. “One of those guys. Of all the guys who could have been sent my way for this ridiculous wedding thing, I had to get that guy.” She had mumbled that last sentence, and I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure if she had wanted me to hear it or not, but I did. I shouldn’t have been offended. After all, I really was that guy, but something about the way she judged me didn’t sit right with me.

  “Speaking of weddings,” I interrupted her. “What’s the deal?”

  “So you’re not backing out? Good,” she said before I had a chance to respond. “Because I already did my part, so you still owe me your part.”

  “Wait, wait, you did your part?” I questioned. “What does that mean? I thought we had a deal.”

  “Yeah, you were supposed to bag me.” I snorted at her phrasing. “You need me to send some raunchy text or something so you can show your friends? I figured seeing me leave with you was enough.”

  “Yeah, see,” I started as if I had something to hide. And truth be told, I was actually a tiny bit afraid of her reaction. I didn’t give a damn about what anyone said or thought; I was commander-in-chief of my life. So why the hell was I nervous about the little freaky, Gothic bag lady? “The bet that you agreed to help me win involves me dating you, fucking you, whatever else we want to do for two months.”

  “Ew,” she responded, and I actually got pissed.

  “Why the fuck is sleeping with me so disgusting? You should be so lucky,” I spat at her.

  “You fucking wish, pretty boy,” she snapped back. Then her voice softened a bit even though her own annoyance clearly hadn’t lessened. “Geez, Carter, don’t get your panties in a twist. I meant, what would happen if you had to have sex with a chick you didn’t like? Especially for two months. That’s a long time of having sex with someone you weren’t attracted to. I mean, what if I had said yes.”

  “Doggy style,” I answered without hesitation.

  “Ugh. That guy,” she mumbled again, but I was pretty damn impressed that she hadn’t been upset with my honesty. “Okay, fine, you date me, have sex with me, whatever, it doesn’t matter, for two months. And then what?”

  “That’s the whole reason for the bet, actually. I told my buddies that I could sleep with any girl for any amount of time, and when things were done, the girl wouldn’t have hard feelings.”

  “Why? Because she’d be so grateful you gave her even any scraps of your time?” She snorted. I stayed silent. “Oh, God, you actually believe that.”

  “It’s true,” I responded. “And what the hell do you know about dating?”

  “Touché.” Again, her answer was without sarcasm or annoyance. What a shame she didn’t have the looks to go with her personality. “But I do live in the real world, Carter. Something you clearly don’t do. Lucky for you, I was the one who was chosen, or you’d never win that bet. But …” She paused.

  “But what?”

  “But only if you help me with my dilemma.”

  “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “But my cousin’s wedding isn’t for three months. How the hell do I know you won’t use me to win your bet then leave me high and dry right after? There’s a month difference in between. For all I know, you could disappear on me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “So you say.”

  “I promise. It’s just one day, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But my family is going to grill you, and they’re not going to believe I didn’t just buy you off some website just to shut them up. So we need to make it believable. They need to think you’re my boyfriend or something, and you actually like me for me. Crap, this is going to suck donkey balls,” she muttered, and I chuckled. She was kind of cute over the phone. In person, not so much.

  “Oookay?” I asked.

  “So that means we’re actually going to have to hang out at least a few times so you really do get to know me and vice versa, so we can sell this shit.”

  “We have to hang out at least a few times anyway for my bet.”

  “Oh, fudge biscuit,” she replied, and I chuckled again.

  “What’s with the weirdo first-grade cussing?” I asked.

  “I don’t like to actually curse, not that I don’t. There will be plenty of times you hear me say fuck and shit, but if I can catch myself, I do.”

  “Keep it up, it’s funny as hell. Anyway, what’s the big deal with hanging out a few times? My friends are going to need proof that we’re seeing each other, or they’ll think I’m just making this up.”

  “I don’t do social situations.”

  “Everyone does.”

  “Do I really strike you as the type?”

  “Okay, point taken. So just pretend you’re hanging out with some friends.” When I was met with silence, I frowned. “No friends?” I asked, and still, there was silence. “You have absolutely no friends?” I asked astonished.

  “Uh … let me think about that … yeah, the answer is no.”

  “What?” I yelled loud enough that two of my colleagues turned toward my office.

  “I’m not exactly a people-person in case you didn’t notice last night.”

  “What do you call this exchange?”

  “A business arrangement,” she stated.

  “And the guy at the bar.”

  “A client.”

  “Okay, fine, think of all the times we hang out as business dealings,” I responded with a frustrated breath. This girl was driving me nuts.

  “Then how the hell are you going to get to know me?”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  She huffed. “Fine. Whatever. We can hang out,” she answered begrudgingly. I almost opened my mouth to say, “Don’t do me any favors,” but she essentially was doing me a favor, so I closed it immediately.

  But it all felt so odd to me. Normally, women were clamoring to spend time with me—short, tall, fat, ugly, and gorgeous alike. I might not have been attracted to Emerson, but I had expected her to fall at my feet and be thankful for this rare opportunity. And here she was, practically hating every minute, and we’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours. And I hadn’t slept with her. If my friends were right, she’d at least have a reason to despise me then. But now? What the fudge? Oh, dear Lord, I said fudge instead of fuck.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Good. My friends are getting together this Saturday for drinks, and you’re coming with me. We can meet up sooner to get our stories straight for my buddies, and we can talk about what’s so interesting about you, if you want.”

  “Saturday?” she squeaked. “But that’s two days from now.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” I responded dryly.

  “I thought I’d at least have more time to prepare before I had to go through this.”

  “Seriously?” I asked out loud. I hadn’t meant to, but this chick was starting to be bad for my ego. “Well, man up, sweetheart,” I said in a snarky tone. “A deal’s a deal, and this one already started. I’ll be in touch,” I tacked on and hung up before she could say anything else.

  Just two months, I told myself. Just two months, I repeated. You can do this. And as I ran a hand through my hair, I really hoped I could.

  Five

  Emerson

  “It’s not a date,” I told myself as I paced my bedroom. “It’s not a date,” I kept repeating.

  Yet I was as nervous as I imagined I would have been had it been a real date. I was attracted to Carter, sure. You would have to be blind not to be attracted to him, and even then, I bet his charm could disarm me then, but I w
asn’t worried about that. I had been attracted to several guys over the years, even some clients I had to work with on a weekly basis. I was a rock when it came to letting my feelings manifest anywhere inside my body. And as I stopped and stared at myself, my usual baggy clothes, my hair tucked under a wig, and my face half-hidden, I truly wasn’t worried about Carter trying to work his way into my life, at least not more than a business deal. So then what the hell was there to be nervous about?

  If I had to quantify it, I’d say it was the fact that I hadn’t lied when I told him I didn’t do social situations. I mean, I guess I did to an extent, but every time, I felt guilty. Like I didn’t deserve to have a bit of fun in my life. And even if, and certainly when, Carter’s buddies turned out to be assholes who simply spent the entire time making fun of me, even for a split second, I was afraid I’d have fun.

  When Carter had texted me the day after he informed me of our plans for Saturday asking me for my address and telling me when he’d pick me up, I cringed.

  I’ll meet you there, I texted him back.

  Not a chance. If we’re really dating, I’m picking you up. Then he texted me every two minutes until I eventually caved.

  I didn’t know what I was thinking. It was one thing to have to hang out with this guy and his friends, but it was a whole other thing to let him know where I lived. That seemed way too personal. “It’s not like he cares, so it shouldn’t matter. The pizza delivery guy knows where you live too.” I spoke out loud to the empty room.

  And then I literally jumped at the sound of my doorbell.

  “Get it together, Em,” I whispered to myself as I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door. “Hi, let’s go,” I said as I started closing the door behind me.

  “We’re not meeting my friends for an hour. I came early so we can talk things out,” he responded as he caught my door behind me and was holding it out.

  “We can figure it out on the way there.”

  “And sit cramped in an uncomfortable car?” he asked, his expression one of curiosity. “What? You got a dead body in there or something? I can help you get rid of it,” he said as he smiled and his dimple came out.

  “Glad to know I could count on you for that,” I replied dryly.

  “So then what’s the rush?” Carter asked.

  “No rush,” I stated as I continued to try to close the door entirely too aware of how close he was to me with his hand stretched just by my side.

  “Oookay,” he responded. I made a mental note to get him to stop stretching that word out if it was the last thing I did.

  “Ugh, fine, come in,” I conceded, as I had no choice.

  He walked in and started looking around my place as if it were a museum. “What are you doing?” I finally asked.

  “Well, as my host has no manners, I’m giving myself a tour.”

  “You’re not my guest, Carter. We have a mutually beneficial partnership. This is my home, my personal space. I don’t let people come in here.”

  “Well, I’m here,” he stated the obvious. “And partnership sounds pretty close, so I’d say I was a guest. So I’m taking a tour.”

  “Ugh!” I cried as I threw my hands up. “Fine! I’ll give you a damn tour, you nosy bastard.”

  “I’ve been called a bastard before,” he replied smugly, “but nosy is a first for me.”

  “First time for everything,” I mumbled as I showed him around. The boy stopped and stared at everything as if my house was the most interesting exhibit in the world. When he was done, I saw the puzzled expression on his face as he sat down on my couch.

  “What? What is wrong with my house?”

  “You rent this place? It came already furnished?”

  “No, I bought it myself, and I own everything in here,” I responded, and he looked mildly impressed.

  “You’re what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?”

  “Twenty-four,” I replied. “What are you getting at?”

  “And you got all this yourself?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I literally had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I mean, I had just told him that.

  “Wow, what the hell do you do?”

  “I manage a liquor distribution company.”

  “Some family inheritance?” he asked.

  “What’s with the interrogation? No, no family inheritance. I worked hard all my life and didn’t spend my days doing anything but going to school or working. I earned every penny I have, and I’ve invested it well.”

  “I’m impressed,” he said as he nodded. “And the twenty questions? Aren’t we supposed to be getting to know each other?” he asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, fine, wise guy,” I reluctantly agreed. And then I saw him take on the same look that he’d first had.

  “Okay, what now?” I asked.

  “You really don’t let people in, huh?”

  “That obvious, huh?” I asked sarcastically.

  “It’s just that this place is beautiful. Really, you did a great job with the location and the décor, but it’s so impersonal. You’re a girl, after all. Aren’t girls supposed to have pictures hanging everywhere and paintings of your best friends or some shit like that?”

  I did have plenty of pictures, pictures of my family when things were happy. But those were in my top right nightstand drawer—only for my eyes when I could handle looking at them. Some days, I took the pictures out and went through them, lingering on each picture and tracing my father’s face, my mother’s smile, and my perfect pouty lips. Other days, they stayed hidden in the drawer.

  “I guess I’m not into that.” I shrugged. Then I changed the subject. “Okay, you are … wait, don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re an accountant, no, wait, a bank manager, no, something that requires more of an egotistical personality. A lawyer,” I said as I snapped my fingers.

  “Seriously?” he asked, and I thought I might have gotten it wrong. “How the hell did you come up with that?”

  “You wore a suit to the bar, and not the inexpensive kind, the kind that screamed it cost you enough money to just simply look expensive without having to scream that it was. Your attitude says you are used to getting what you want. And let’s face it, you’re quite cocky. You know how to argue a point, especially how to ask the right questions, and you are a good observer. Lawyer.”

  “Okay there, Miss Know-It-All, what else can you just tell about me?” he asked and smiled wide.

  “You are really close to your mom, and I’d bet you are either close to your grandmother too, or maybe you have a sister. Younger maybe?”

  “All three,” he responded, his face registering shock. “But how …” His voice trailed off as I heard the hint of awe. “Did you stalk me?” he asked as his tone sobered up.

  I chuckled and shook my head. “The way you examined my place and noticed my decorations. Not exactly a guy thing. It means you learned that from somewhere.”

  Just because I didn’t have friends or anyone close to me didn’t mean I wasn’t an attentive observer; it didn’t mean I didn’t understand how individuals worked and reacted to certain situations. You could tell a lot from a person from the small things they did or by reading between the lines. Most people just didn’t bother doing that. I didn’t really have a choice since I never let anyone sit and tell me about themselves. If I wanted to find out about a person, I had to pay attention.

  “If you tell my friends that, I’m not helping you hide any dead bodies,” he joked.

  “You’re secret is safe with me.” And then there was an awkward pause. “Okay, so tell me about your friends. Anything I should be worried about?”

  “Nah.” He shrugged. “They’re kind of like big kids. They’ll probably just spend the night telling you all sorts of stuff about me to try to win the bet.”

  “And what about me?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

  “What about you?” he asked, and then I could see when my question truly dawned on him. “You think they’re going to mess with you,” he stated. I simply
nodded, shocked with myself that I allowed this vulnerable side of myself to be seen. “They’re good guys deep down. Somewhere deep, deep down.” He chuckled. “But something tells me you could hold your own.”

  I smiled despite myself. If I were to ever have a friend in this world, Carter would be my first choice. But I didn’t do friends. Not now, not ever.

  “You know, having the girl meet the friends is a big step in the relationship. Some might say bigger than meeting the parents. If this were real, I’d say you were telling me that we’re stepping things up here.”

  “Speaking from experience there, Em?” he asked, and I wasn’t sure if I was thrilled or appalled at his use of my nickname.

  “Naturally,” I said dramatically. “So many poor guys thought they were finally going to win my heart when they met my friends. You should see the trail of broken hearts I’ve left behind.”

  Carter laughed lightly before he turned somewhat more serious. “You know, Em.” He said my nickname again, and I might have shivered a bit. “This isn’t as painful as I thought it was going to be.”

  “Gee, Carter. Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words? I mean, I was already half in love with you before, and now, I think I’m ready to have your baby.”

  He laughed, and then laughed some more. “Come on,” he finally said. “Let’s go give my friends a run for their money.”

  Oh, goodie. Cue the sarcasm. I couldn’t wait.

  Six

  Carter

  Emerson was … she was something else. She might have been good dating material if she had the looks to go with her attitude. Did that make me shallow? No, it made me realistic. Guys didn’t see a girl across the room and say, “Wow, that girl looks like she has a wonderful personality.” Attraction was one-hundred percent important in any relationship. So it was kind of a shame she was well, you know, not attractive. And that was putting it nicely.

  “A Mercedes, of course,” she mumbled when we got into my car.

  “Why ‘of course’?” I asked.