The Boss's Fake Fiancee

by Inara Scott

  She’d fallen for him. She’d fallen for Garth Solen.

  They’d spent eighteen days together. He’d slid two different rings on her fingers, made love to her countless times, and gotten down on bended knee once.

  The numbers meant nothing. The vulnerability in his eyes the day before, when he’d told her how he couldn’t handle making conversation at brunch, and the aching tenderness in the way he’d pulled her close last night, meant everything.

  He had some feeling for her. She didn’t doubt that. Meeting her parents had been painful for him, and he’d wanted her with him last night to soothe that hurt. But Garth wasn’t like other men she’d known. No, his fear of getting close to people was as exceptional as his intellect. Getting past his defenses would require climbing barbed wire, digging under rock walls, and possibly setting off some dynamite. Then, if by some miracle she got inside, Melissa had little doubt that the door to his heart would be locked, and even he might not know where he’d hidden the key.

  With a screech of tires, Garth tore into his parking space under the Solen Labs offices and finally removed his sunglasses. Melissa didn’t look him in the eye. Yesterday, he had held her close and kissed her like he never wanted her to leave. This morning, he might have been a contemptuous stranger.

  “Don’t forget that the Autism Advocates auction is tomorrow,” he said, as they waited for the elevator upstairs. “We should arrive together. You can drive back to Scarsdale with me in the afternoon.”

  She shook her head. “My mother arranged an appointment for me at a wedding dress boutique at three. I don’t know exactly when we will be done, but I know I won’t have time to travel to Scarsdale. You can just pick me up at my apartment.”

  He rocked back slightly on his heels, but otherwise did not react. “For your sake, I suggest you do not put down a deposit.”

  Her temper flared. “Thanks for the tip. Because, you know, I was considering it.”

  “I’m only trying to be fair. You were getting awfully cozy with Nan this morning and I didn’t want you to get any ideas. Just because you found a way into my house doesn’t mean you’ll find a way to stay there permanently, you know.”

  The elevator doors opened and he gestured for her to enter. She stomped inside, fists clenched. “If by that you mean that you think I’m using your grandmother in some kind of Machiavellian quest for your hand in marriage, think again.”

  “Yesterday, I left your place alone,” he pointed out. “This morning, I woke to find you in my garden. Forgive me for jumping to conclusions.”

  “And of course, it never occurred to you that the mighty Garth Solen might have wanted me around while he drank himself into a stupor.”

  They both froze. Melissa was horrified by her own words. Garth had clearly not expected her to say anything of the kind.

  “What are you trying to suggest?” he asked, his words taut with composure. “That I called you?”

  “No,” she said. “You didn’t call me. Forget it.”

  He shook his head. “How did you know I’d been drinking? Who called you? Was it Nan?” He paused, and Melissa could almost see the puzzle pieces coming together in his head. “Jess called you, didn’t she?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was worried about you after you left.”

  Garth swore. “That’s a load of crap. What happened last night? I don’t remember anything.”

  The doors opened with a soft ping. Melissa ignored the urgency in Garth’s tone and walked into the office lobby. The front desk receptionist, a friendly young woman with white-blonde hair and thick German accent, waved. “Good morning, Mr. Solen. Ms. Bencher.”

  Garth turned his attention her with an uncanny ease. “Good morning to you, Bettina. Any calls I should know about?”

  Bettina looked down at the desk in front of her. She held out a slip of paper. “Natalie Orelian called. She wants to meet you for lunch. And she’d like for your fiancée to join you, if possible.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Natalie Orelian was seventy years old and obscenely wealthy. She made no attempt to hide either fact. She wore her white hair in a severe chignon, enormous diamonds sparkled from her ears, and a double strand of pearls hung down over the lapel of her pink Chanel suit. She was also “old-fashioned,” as she put it.

  Tyrannical, Melissa substituted silently. Repressed. Judgmental.

  “So, Garth,” Natalie said, piercing him with a fierce blue-eyed stare as she set down her menu on the table. “I appreciate all of the materials you’ve sent me about your product. ThinkSpeak looks like it has enormous potential to change the lives of some severely autistic children. But I’m still concerned that the price of development is going to be so high, no one will be able to afford it.”

  “That’s a valid concern,” Garth said smoothly. “But we believe strongly that once we get out of the testing phase, we will be able to commercialize some of the secondary products, which will help keep down the price overall. And with your help, we will be able to market the product to some hospitals and schools, so it can be used to help those children who have the greatest needs.”

  He rattled off some figures about where the components would be sourced, and how the product would be marketed. Knowing Garth, he probably could have continued ad infinitum, but they were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter wearing black pants and a crisp white shirt.

  “Have you all decided on lunch?” the waiter asked.

  Garth glanced around the table. “Ladies?”

  “I’ll have the garden salad,” Melissa said. Facing down Garth’s stare of cold distaste had left her with a sore head and an upset stomach. She couldn’t imagine trying to eat anything heavier.

  “That’s all?” Garth said, cocking his head in polite concern.

  Ever since they’d met Natalie at the restaurant, he’d been a properly attentive, if less than demonstrative, fiancé. Of course, she’d noticed that he steered the conversation away from anything personal, toward topics he was comfortable discussing: autism research, ThinkSpeak, Orelian’s previous investments.

  Melissa shook her head. “My stomach isn’t quite right. I’ll keep it light.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?” Natalie asked.

  “No, I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m sure that’s it. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” Of course, she didn’t mention that she hadn’t been able to sleep because she’d been pressed against Garth’s heavy, unconscious body, or that every time she tried to escape from the circle of his arms, he’d somehow sensed it, and held her even tighter.

  “I’ll have the salmon,” Natalie said. “With no capers, and the lemon on the side. And please make sure the pilaf isn’t overcooked.” She shuddered with distaste. “I abhor soft pilaf.”

  The waiter nodded. “Anything else to drink with your meal? Perhaps a glass of wine?”

  Her frown deepened. “I never drink before dinner.”

  “My apologies.” The waiter made a note on his pad and turned to Garth. “And for you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the soup and salad.”

  Melissa noticed that Garth didn’t have quite his usual color, either. She supposed that was to be expected, given that he’d consumed half his body weight in whisky last night.

  After the waiter retrieved their menus, conversation around the table slowed. Melissa picked up her glass of water to take a sip, and Natalie’s eyes focused on her ring.

  “May I take a look?” she asked, gesturing toward Melissa’s left hand.

  “Of course, I love showing it off,” Melissa said, forcing a cheerful smile. She held it out for the older woman to examine.

  Natalie leaned forward to examine it, her eyes widening. “My goodness, that’s beautiful.” She looked at Garth. “How did you ever pick this out? It’s stunning, and so unique.”

  “I pick out a piece of jewelry each year for my grandmother for Christmas. She particularly likes antiques, so an associate from Hadrien keeps me informed when he finds something new,” G
arth said. “He brought this piece to my attention a few months ago, and I admit, I found it absolutely captivating.”

  “Isn’t that right around the time you hired Melissa?” Natalie asked, leaning forward with avid interest.

  Garth paused. “I suppose it was. As it is an engagement ring, I knew it wasn’t right for my grandmother. Still, I bought it anyway. I had a feeling I would regret it if I let it get away. Then when Melissa was trying on rings, I knew the traditional diamond wasn’t right for her. I knew she had to have that ring.”

  An odd expression crossed his face. He glanced at Melissa for just a moment before looking away.

  An unexpected glow spread through her. “I had no idea that’s how you came to have that ring,” Melissa said. “Had Jess seen it? Is that what she meant that day I met her for the first time?”

  “I suppose. I showed her a picture of the ring after I bought it.”

  “Jess is Garth’s housekeeper,” Melissa explained to Natalie. “She’s a little, uh, eccentric.” She gave Garth a tiny smile, partly for Natalie’s benefit, partly because the story sent warm shivers up and down her spine. He could have simply insisted she wear one of the big, glitzy diamonds. Most men would have assumed that’s what she would want, and what the press would want to see. But for some reason he’d insisted on finding something that actually fit her—and picked out the ring she’d come to cherish.

  The very thought curled her toes.

  No matter that he was behaving like a chilly stranger. No matter that she was unlikely to see him smile at her again, or feel him hold her in his arms. No matter. Right now, she felt the warmth of knowing he did feel something for her. Something special.

  “Now can you see why I fell in love with him?” she said to Natalie. “I mean, I love the ring, but it’s the fact that he knew me well enough to pick it out that really matters. He’s not showy, or public with his emotions. I’m sure you’ve heard that about him. But when he feels things, he feels them deeply. That’s the secret of our relationship.”

  Garth’s face assumed a forced smile. She reached across the table toward him. After a brief hesitation, he grabbed her hand over the table and squeezed it gently.

  “Anything for you,” he said, his voice sounding only a little strangled.

  She assumed he thought she was playing the part for Natalie Orelian.

  God help her if he guessed she was being honest.

  “You two are just lovely,” Natalie declared. “I can’t tell you how comforting that is to me. You see, Garth, I believe the passion of a designer matters when selling a product, and I frankly haven’t been able to tell if you have that passion. That gave me some concern. I was also worried that your relationship with Melissa was some sort of flash-in-the pan nonsense that would end in scandal, the way it does with so many young people these days.”

  She paused and tightened her lips. “I am absolutely unyielding in my determination to keep the name Orelian away from any suggestion of impropriety. But I’ve been watching the two of you in the press, and seeing you together today helps me understand better how strong your relationship truly is.” She held out her glass of water in a toast. “Here’s to the two of you, and your happy marriage.” She paused for dramatic effect, and Melissa held her breath. “And here’s to ThinkSpeak, Solen Labs, and a long and happy partnership between us.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tuesday afternoon, Melissa left the office after lunch and walked around SoHo before heading to the tiny Estalyn’s Big Day boutique run by her mother’s old college friend, Estalyn Brokley. Inside, racks of white lace and tulle dresses lined the walls of the small space. A thickly carpeted room in back had just enough room for a raised daïs and a small couch, presumably for the companion of the bride-to-be.

  Phoebe was already there when she arrived, arranging dresses on a small rack behind the couch in the fitting room. She hadn’t mentioned the horrible brunch since Melissa left on Sunday, a not-insignificant blessing, given the fact that if she had, Melissa might have burst into noisy, gulping tears.

  Melissa forced a smile as she approached. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Darling!” Phoebe threw her arms around Melissa’s neck in a tight embrace. She pulled back, narrowing her gaze as she examined Melissa from head to toe. “Are you okay? You look tired. Is everything all right?”

  Actually, I haven’t slept for two nights and trying on wedding dresses will be an agony. Thanks for asking.

  “Sure Mom, everything’s fine.”

  Phoebe turned back to the dresses. “I’ve picked a few for you to try. Really lovely gowns. I can’t wait to see them on you. Of course, you haven’t picked a date, but assuming that you can give her at least six months, Estalyn can get any of these ordered and fitted for you.”

  A few minutes later, Melissa stared at herself in the tri-fold glass mirror in front of the daïs. An enormous, sequined white dress spread several feet in every direction, including at the bodice, where it was presumably hoping to be filled by a generous C-cup, rather than Melissa’s barely B. Thin spaghetti straps did nothing to hide her prominent collarbones, and the bulky bodice made her usually slender arms look like sticks. Stiff lace hung around her hips and fell in a puddle on the floor.

  “Geez, Mom, did you want me to look like a malnourished ghost?” Melissa twisted to the left and right, noting with distinct displeasure that her shoulder blades looked like twin arrows. She’d gained back the weight she’d lost during her depression, but she would always have a slight figure. At least now she realized that she needed her clothing to emphasize her slender curves, not overpower her frame.

  Phoebe frowned. “We can always have it taken in, you know. This is a designer piece. I don’t see why you don’t like it. I think it’s beautiful.”

  Melissa reached behind her and groped around for the zipper. “It may be a masterpiece, but it looks like hell on me.”

  “You’re still so thin,” Phoebe lamented. “It’s stress, isn’t it? What’s happening with Garth? Have things gotten worse?”

  Melissa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth at the unmistakably hopeful note in her mother’s voice. “First of all, I’m perfectly healthy. I’ve been this weight ever since college, Mom. It has nothing to do with Garth. You can blame Grandma for giving me the beanpole gene.” Phoebe appeared poised to interrupt, so Melissa raised her hand to stop her. “Second of all, I don’t want to hear anything about Garth. I understand he didn’t make the best possible impression. He takes a while to get comfortable with new people. Just because you and Dad are social butterflies doesn’t mean everyone is.”

  “But darling—”

  “No.” Melissa let the dress fall to her feet in a whoosh. She carefully stepped out of the white, frothy blob and gathered it up in her arms. Tulle tickled her nose as she handed the garment to her mother. “No more. I know you don’t have a whole lot of faith in me, Mom, but at least let me have the benefit of the doubt on this one.”

  She felt oddly calm, as if this was a conversation she’d been rehearsing for months, instead of a spontaneous outpouring of frustration and pent-up disappointment.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what that means. Brit’s the only one in this family you’ve ever really trusted. And on a sliding scale, I’m the bottom of the barrel when it comes to mature decision-making. At least in your mind.”

  Phoebe looked astonished. “Honey, that simply isn’t true. Your father and I think the world of you. I can’t believe you would say such a thing.”

  “Right. You never liked Mark.”

  Phoebe carefully shook out the dress and handed it to Estalyn, who had appeared in the background, clearly nervous about protecting the delicate garment. “Of course I didn’t like Mark. He was a terrible man. Look what he did to you!”

  “But you didn’t know that at the time,” Melissa said, her voice surprisingly even. “You hated him from the first time I told you we were dating.”

  “And
was I wrong?” Phoebe grabbed the next dress on the rack and handed it to her. This one was long-sleeved, with a high neck and long train.

  “No, you weren’t, but that isn’t the point.” Melissa stepped into the dress and put her arms in the sleeves. Her mother pulled it closed in back. “The point is that it never occurred to you that it was a decision I should make on my own.”

  “I love you, Melissa. I’m not going to be silent when I see you making a terrible mistake.” Phoebe fastened the pearl buttons at the back of Melissa’s neck and peeked over her shoulder. “What do you think about this one?”

  Melissa stared into the mirror and winced. “Mom, this dress was made for a woman getting married in Iceland. On an iceberg. I’m sweating just looking at myself.” Besides covering every inch of her skin with heavy beading, the dress must have weighed at least thirty pounds. Getting married in it would have been like running a marathon.

  Phoebe sniffed. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  Melissa tried to set herself free but couldn’t raise her arms over her head. “Let me out of here, would you?”

  “Fine.” Phoebe removed the dress, her mouth pursed with disapproval. “But I swear, you’re just doing this because you want to be obstinate. I specifically picked out these dresses for you.”

  Melissa turned around and touched Phoebe’s hand. In a strange way, she felt like the parent, explaining something to a child. “That’s exactly the problem. You picked them for me—you didn’t ask me what I wanted.”

  Phoebe straightened. Her mouth trembled slightly at the corners. “You hate me.”

  Melissa sighed. “Oh, please. I’m not really in the mood for drama right now.”

  “You think I’m a terrible mother.”

  “I think you’re bossy, just like your sons, and that you don’t trust me, which isn’t that surprising, given that I don’t trust myself. Or didn’t.”

  Melissa turned to look at herself in the mirror. She wore only her white, strapless bra and a pair of white lace panties. She touched the line of her ribs, and remembered how she used to hide her body beneath shapeless, baggy clothing. She thought about Mark, and how young she’d been when he first kissed her, and then seduced her in his office. She wondered if he’d told Deanna all the same things he’d said to her—You’re the only one who makes me feel like this—the only one who understands me—the only one I want.