My Fake Fiance´

by Banks, R. R.

  “So, everything we shared back home together means nothing to you?” I ask. “You just wanted a place to crash and a guy to help you get off?”

  Her expression softens – slightly. “I didn't say that.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I'm saying that – what we had up there was great and it was real,” she explains with a soft sigh. “But, we're not up there anymore. We're back in the real world. And in the real world, people like you and people like me just don't work out.”

  “People like you and people like me? What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She shakes her heads. “Peas and carrots,” she says. “They just don't mix.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense at all.”

  “I suppose it doesn't,” she replies. “But we don't move in the same circles. Like not even close to the same circles. And trying to force anything will only lead to a lot of heartache for the both of us. So, let's do each other a favor and remember our time back in Washington fondly, and leave it at that.”

  “Sasha, I don't want –”

  “I need to get back to work,” she says. “It was really nice seeing you again though, Miles. Take care of yourself, k?”

  She turns and walks away before I can say anything else, but I didn't miss the way her eyes shined with tears she refused to let fall. The girl is tough. Very tough. I have to give her that, at least. But knowing she wants to leave what we shared in the past causes an unfamiliar stab of pain in my heart that nearly steals my breath from me.

  “Well, that doesn't look like it went well,” Nate says as he slides into the booth, conveniently back from the bathroom.

  “Yeah, not really,” I say. “Could have gone a lot better.”

  “In the immortal words of – somebody – we have not yet begun to fight,” Nate replies.

  I chuckle. “Why are you so insistent on us being together?” I ask. “Especially when it's painfully clear that she wants nothing to do with me?”

  “Because I don't think that's it,” he says. “It's not that she doesn't want to be with you, it's that she's scared to be with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you're an asshole who excels in intimidation tactics?” Nate shrugs.

  I laugh and shake my head. A moment later, another waitress – not Sasha – drops our beers off at the table. Obviously, her desire to keep her distance has caused Sasha to hand off this table.

  “Seriously, Miles,” he says once the waitress leaves, “I think that's what this boils down to.”

  “When did you become the relationship expert, Dr. Phil?”

  He shrugs. “Like I told you, I'm a man of many talents.”

  I laugh. “Clearly,” I say. “But tell me, why are you so insistent on making this happen?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I just want to see you happy and in love?”

  I take a drink of my beer. “Not even for a minute.”

  He laughs. “Fine, it's self-serving as well. But ever since you came back from Washington, you've been different,” he says.

  “How so?” I ask. “Other than being a fucking train wreck during important depositions, that is.”

  “Your attitude is different,” he says. “The way you interact with our clients is different. You treat them as human beings.”

  “I always treated our clients like human beings.”

  He waves me off. “Not what I meant,” he says. “It's just, before, it was clear that you had an agenda. That you were willing to fight for these people, of course, but that you were also using their case as a building block in your career.”

  “You know that I never let my own goals interfere with my work.”

  “I know,” he replies. “You're always professional. Miles, you’re a damn good lawyer. The fact that you're so single-minded, so focused on winning, and incapable of accepting defeat makes you exceptional at your job.”

  “Then what's the problem?”

  He nods in Sasha's direction. “Because I think she gives you the missing piece of the puzzle,” he says. “A sense of humanity. Of empathy. I can see that you have a sense of real, genuine compassion for the people we're representing that wasn't there before. Personally, I think having that sense of humanity, along with all of your other traits, will not only make you an exceptional lawyer, but a transcendent one.”

  It's my turn to wave him off. “You are every bit as good at this job as I am.”

  He shakes his head. “I'm good. Damn good. I don't deny that,” he says. “But, you're miles ahead of me. And I'm okay with that.”

  I turn and look and catch Sasha looking over at me from across the bar. She quickly looks away, her cheeks suddenly red with color. Everything Nate has said is something that I’ve thought about before – but couldn't quite articulate like he just did. Sasha allows me a sense of humanity I know I lacked before.

  “She's good for you, Miles,” he says. “Know how I know that?”

  “I have a feeling you'd tell me anyway, even if I said I didn’t want to know.”

  “That's because you're a damn smart man.”

  “Out with it then.”

  “The fact that you haven't mentioned running for office once – not once – since you got back from Thanksgiving,” he says.

  I stare at him, slightly dumbfounded for a moment before bursting into laughter. I shake my head and take a long swig of my beer. The entire time, Nate sits there, a bemused smile on his face. I set my bottle back down on the table, suddenly curious about his reasoning.

  “That's it? That's your proof that she's the right one for me?” I ask. “You know that alone wouldn't hold up in court.”

  “Doesn't have to,” he says. “But, as far as running for office goes, you do realize you're chasing it simply for your ego's sake, right?”

  “That's not necessarily true.”

  “Sure it is. For you, holding office isn't about bettering the country, or the lives of the people in it. I mean, how many times have you told me it's because you want to achieve,” Nate says. “You want to build a legacy so that after you – as you so romantically put it – ‘wife’ yourself up and have a couple of kids, you’ll have something to pass on to them. That, my friend, is all ego. It's all about you reaching the apex of success. And since you met her, you haven't mentioned it once. I'm willing to bet you haven't even thought about it.”

  I open my mouth to rebut his point but realize that I have nothing to say. I can't defend myself or deny what Nate just said.

  “I have a feeling that Sasha is responsible for changing your priorities in ways you haven’t even realized yet,” Nate presses his advantage. “Which is why, in so many ways, she's good for you. Don't let her go.”

  I sit back and drain the last of my beer, setting the empty bottle back down on the table. The waitress shows up with Nate's wings and a couple of fresh bottles, setting them down and leaving again without saying a word. My mind is spinning, and I can't quite keep up with everything whizzing around in there right now.

  I want to tell Nate he's wrong, but I can't – not if I want to hold true to my belief that I'm always honest with myself, no matter what. The truth is, I don't know.

  “I don't know what else I can do,” I say. “It's not like I can keep showing up at the bar every night.”

  Nate slides the folder he'd had tucked in his jacket over to me. “Call it an early Christmas gift.”

  I flip it open and start scanning the pages. Just as I thought, Nate had Mike do a full background on her. I close the file and give Nate a long, even look.

  “Thanks for this,” I say.

  “Just doing my part to encourage and foster this new, kinder, gentler Miles Churchill,” he says. “Because I think the two of us, on the same page, using our powers for good, can change the world.”

  “I guess we'll see,” I say and raise my bottle of beer to him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I take the stairs up to the main doors of
the library. The place is already decked out with Christmas decorations. Between the library and the bar, I'm over Christmas already. Not that I've ever really been a big fan of it anyway. The forced cheer, phony happiness, and pressure to spend time with the family has always bothered me.

  “I'll be glad when it's over,” I mutter as I step through the doors and make my way to the employee's lounge.

  Of course, the biggest question on my mind right now is whether or not I should go back home for Christmas. Based on how terrible Thanksgiving was, I don't know if I want to subject myself to that again. And as a secondary thought, part of me wonders if Miles will be back home for the holidays. Given how close his family seems, I'm sure he will be.

  But, is that an enticement for me to go, or to stay here in L.A.? I'm not sure yet.

  Having him drop by the bar the night before rattled the hell out of me. I wasn't expecting to ever see him again, so to be standing there, right next to him, really tested my resolve. I think I handled myself okay though. I remained firm in my stance that we can't be together – that it will never work out between us.

  I have to keep saying it in hopes that one day, I’ll actually believe it. The truth is, I honestly have no idea whether or not Miles and I would work as a couple. I do know that

  he's rich, good looking, and can have any woman he wants. What in the hell would he want with me, unless it's just for fun? For sport?

  No, it's better that I steer clear of him and keep my distance. Better to protect my heart and be alone, rather than be alone and have a shattered heart.

  I do my best to shake off any of the negativity surrounding me by the time I step back out onto the library floor. I'm just an assistant here, which means that I'm mostly responsible for cleaning up and putting books back where they belong, as well as scanning in and re-shelving the returns.

  It's not a glamorous job, but it's a job, and I can think of much worse ways to spend my day than being surrounded by books.

  “Good morning, Sasha,” Mrs. Banks, the head librarian calls in greeting as I take my position at the front.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “Ready for Christmas?” she asks.

  “Not even close,” I say and laugh softly.

  Mrs. Banks is nearing sixty and is one of those people who love Christmas. I mean, she loves it – as in, she probably has her tree at home up by November first. She must, given the fact that she first started talking about Christmas by mid-October. She’s probably the type who has all of her shopping finished by July.

  The woman oozes Yuletide cheer. I mean, here we are just a week or so into December and she's already got on a holiday-themed sweater, earrings shaped like ornaments, and a Santa hat. It's like Christmas became a person, walked in, and threw up all over her.

  “Well, you're running out of time, dear,” she says. “Better get on that quick.”

  “Oh, I plan on it.”

  “Are you going home for the holidays?” she asks.

  “I haven't decided yet,” I say. “I might.”

  She nods. “Well, let me know if you need any time off,” she says. “We’re not too busy this time of the year, so it’s pretty flexible.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Banks,” I say. “I really appreciate that.”

  “Of course.”

  She gives me a smile before she turns and walks off, humming a Christmas tune to herself. Christmas fetish aside, she's really a nice woman, and I feel fortunate to work for her. She's always been good to me. She sometimes calls me the daughter she wishes she had. It's sweet.

  I turn and start scanning last night's returned books back into the system, lining them on the shelf of a wheeled cart beside me as I go.

  I realize that I'm humming a song to myself as I work – unsurprisingly, it's Bittersweet Symphony – when something falls onto the desk in front of me. I was so focused on my work, I nearly drop my scanner and jump out of my skin when it hits the desk. When I see what it is – a bag containing a vegetable medley – I look up and find myself staring into the face of Miles Churchill.

  I pick up the frozen, plastic bag and give him a wry smile. “Peas and carrots? Really?”

  “You said they don't go together,” he says and shrugs. “I just wanted to prove to you that they do.”

  I can't keep an amused laugh from bursting out of my throat. “Cute,” I say. “Very cute.”

  He shrugs, a cocky grin on his face. “I've been called worse.”

  I push the bag of frozen veggies back at him. He's dressed in dark slacks and a black button-down shirt. He's not wearing a tie and the sleeves on his shirt are rolled up – the epitome of stylishly casual. And God, does he look good. I'm careful to keep my expression entirely neutral though. The last thing I want to do is encourage him.

  “What are you doing here, Miles?” trying to make myself sound as bored as possible.

  “Would you believe me if I told you that I needed to check out a book on quantum physics?”

  “Yeah, probably not,” I say.

  “A self-help book?”

  “Pretty sure you don't need help with your sense of self,” I reply. “You seem to hold yourself in high enough regard as it is.”

  “Ouch,” he says. “That’s uncalled for.”

  My insides feel like they’re melting, and my heart is doing flips in my chest. This is not good. I need to get him out of here and away from me. Being in such close proximity to the man does things to me – things that won’t benefit either of us.

  We need to move forward with our lives – without each other. The best thing we can do is, like I told him last night, keep what happened between us in Washington a pleasant memory and leave it at that.

  I scan the last few books and put them on the trolley. “I really need to work, Miles.”

  “Have dinner with me,” he says.

  I shake my head. “That's not a good idea,” I say. “Now, if you'll excuse me, these books aren't going to shelve themselves.”

  Without waiting for his reply, I push the trolley through the low, swinging doors and out onto the library floor. Miles trails behind me for a few steps and I feel his eyes follow my ass. Stopping short, I round on him, my eyes narrowed.

  “Stop looking at my ass,” I growl at him in a whisper.

  “You'll have to forgive me for being curious,” he says, pitching his voice low. “I never actually got to see it either time we were together, and I wanted to see what I was missing.”

  “Knock it off,” I hiss. “Or I'll call security.”

  I throw my hands up in the air as a frustrated breath explodes from me. Turning back around, I start to push the trolley again, quickening my pace, no longer caring if he's staring at my ass. There's nothing I can really do about it anyway.

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I'm surprised to see that he's not back there. I stop and look around, but don't see him anywhere. Maybe, I finally got through to him. I didn't think it possible, but maybe he finally got it and left, taking his stupid bag of peas and carrots with him.

  I can't lie, there's a small piece of me that's disappointed. The fact that Miles has put so much time and energy into tracking me down, then trying to convince me to go out with him is – sweet. In a totally stalker way, of course. But, it's still kind of sweet.

  And he almost had me, truth be told. I was teetering on the edge of giving in and accepting his dinner invitation. But he's gone now, so I have some time to repair the few dents he threw into the wall of resolve around my heart.

  Turning around, I push the trolley down the aisle that contains science fiction – or at least, one of the aisles with sci-fi. It might be our single biggest section and has hundreds, if not thousands, of titles. I take some of the books home to read from time to time. Reading is pure escapism for me. I can't even begin to express how much I love it.

  I shelve a small stack of books, taking care to make sure they're alphabetized properly, and when I turn around, I let out a small shriek of surprise. Miles i
s leaning against my trolley, a wide, goofy grin on his face.

  “I didn't hear you walk up,” I hiss, looking around to make sure no one is watching us. “What are you, some kind of a vampire or something? You just materialize out of thin air?”

  He gives me a very serious look, his green eyes as vivid and intense as ever. “Maybe I am,” he says. “Maybe I am.”

  “I thought you left,” I say, pushing the trolley away again.

  “My business here isn’t done yet.”

  He follows behind me again, not saying anything, just staying a few feet behind me. He’s just trying to bother me at this point, I think.

  I stop and spin around again. “If you're trying to get on my good side, hovering around like a freak isn't going to do it, Miles.”

  “I'm not hovering,” he says. “I'm just waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “An answer.”

  “An answer to what?”

  “The question I asked you last night,” he says like it's obvious. “You never answered me when I asked why we wouldn’t work together. Don't think I didn't notice. I'm a lawyer, we're trained to notice omissions like that.”

  “Funny man.”

  He gives me a crooked grin that nearly stops my heart in my chest. I try to push all of my feelings back, but I can't deny that he's handsome as sin. Miles doesn't realize that he has me wrapped around his little finger. If he asks me to do something, it takes everything in me to say no.

  I just can't. I can't afford to be vulnerable around him. I can't expose my heart to the kind of beating it will take if I give in.

  “Because we just wouldn’t,” I say.

  “Yeah, you tried that one last night,” he says. “But, that's not a complete answer.”

  “Yeah well, that's about as complete an answer as I can give you, Miles.”

  He shrugs. “Okay, then I'll just follow you around the rest of the day until you either give me an answer or agree to go to dinner with me.”

  I sigh dramatically and turn away from him, continuing on with my rounds.