We review a few of the made-up details we’ve decided on. There’s nothing too out of the ordinary, just adjustments of real-life incidents. Like how Courtney and I had our ‘first kiss’ the day after Ross’s press conference where he announced he was leaving Andrews and how it led to more. We stick to the date story at the winery ending in a proposal but tweak the actual date on the calendar it happened. Courtney says she knows Missy will ask about the proposal because that’s a total girl thing.
After the workout, we keep it up, going into more personal details over some breakfast smoothies back at my place.
“Deepest fear?” she asks, looking at me with those big, beautiful eyes.
This isn’t something we’ve shared. This is something new . . . something closer and more intimate than even sex. And I don’t think it has anything to do with tonight’s dinner. It’s about us, knowing one another not just bone deep but soul deep.
“Mine, not yours.” She doesn’t seem nervous, isn’t expecting me to reveal something she’s unaware of, but rather is seeing if I know the correct answer. But it’s not a test of me. It’s a test of herself, confirming how vulnerable she’s allowed herself to be.
“An irrational fear that you’re not going to be able to live up to expectations,” I murmur, leaning in close. “You think you want to live up to Morgan’s bar and get his approval.” I hold my hand up at chest level. “But in truth, it’s your own bar you’re trying to reach. Your own approval that you seek.” I move my hand higher, in line with my forehead.
She swallows, her eyes going glittery.
“Courtney, you’re amazing. Everyone already knows that, your father included. I’ve heard how he talks about you to Ross. And I think, way down deep, you know you’re amazing too.”
She leans forward, giving my cheek a sweet kiss. I chase her for more, but she grins. “Uh-uh, keep going.”
I groan as she steps away, putting a foot of space between us. “What’s mine?”
Danger, Will Robinson!
An alarm sounds in my head, knowing I’m entering a sketchy zone of landmines and hurt feelings. Courtney is strong and handled what I said like the boss she is, maybe even finding some resolution in knowing that her father sees how amazing she is. And that I do too.
But me? I’m honestly scared for what she’s about to say, what tender scab she’s going to pick at, what scar she’s going to reopen.
“That you don’t belong. That you’re not good enough. You think everyone is keeping score of bank balances and pedigrees,” Courtney says bluntly, always straight to the point. It hurts just like I thought it would, and I’m scared that in seeing my fear, she’ll have realized it’s the truth.
I’m not good enough for her.
No matter how much I enjoy ‘playing house’ with her and pretending that we’re equals, that we’re dating for real, at the end of the day, she will wear someone else’s ring and wake up next to someone else every morning for the rest of her life.
I think again about Chet, the imaginary oil tycoon heir who would be welcomed at the Andrews family table as an equal. Fucking Chet. I hate that imaginary fucker.
She cups my face firmly, forcing my eyes to hers and my mind to this moment. With steel in her voice that allows for no argument, she assures me, “That is equally irrational. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
She kisses me, and I decide that maybe it doesn’t have to be true as long as she thinks it’s true. And I’ll do anything to make sure she never changes her mind.
“Let’s go. You need to get to work, and I’ve got a mani-pedi date with Violet today.” She shivers, and I know she’s already thinking about the tickling she’ll have to endure. “I thought about inviting Missy, a whole girl’s day out thing, but decided . . . nah.”
Jokes? She’s got jokes on one of the most important days of my life.
She pulls my hand, leading me back toward the bedroom, but not for fun. Hell, no. Miss Taskmaster swats my ass and tells me to have a good day before gathering her stuff and disappearing with a promise to meet me later.
* * *
I kick off from the gym at four thirty, coming back to my place to wash up and get ready. First, I take a full shower, wet shaving with a fresh blade to make sure everything’s baby-butt smooth.
I choose an aftershave from the tray on my counter, something classic but modern. No Old Spice old man smells here, nope. I fix my hair and brush my teeth, looking myself in the eye in the mirror.
You’ve got this, McWarren. Game face on. Be ready for anything.
I lay out my second-best suit since I wore my best the last time I went to Sanders’s estate.
I’m just getting ready to pull on the pants when my front door opens. I step into the hallway, pants in hand, undershirt tucked into my boxer briefs, socks to my knees, and brows high. It’s not a good look on anyone.
Courtney comes in, a garment bag over her shoulder, apparently having used the key I gave her. “Honey, I’m home!”
“I see that.” I’ve completely forgotten that I must look like a dork standing in my hallway half-dressed. All I’m thinking is that she looks hot as hell in little shorts, a tank top, and flip flops that show off her freshly painted hot pink toes.
“I was going crazy at home so I figured I’d come over and drive you nuts.” She grins saucily, laying her dress over the back of the couch. I do the same with my pants, taking care not to wrinkle them.
“I would’ve picked you up.” I have no idea why I’m arguing. I’m so fucking glad she’s here. My schedule is just out of order now, which sets me off balance a bit.
Actually, I realize, I’m ahead of schedule now. Maybe we can make good use of the time?
“I know, but I thought I’d save you the trip to pick me up and just come over. We can get ready together and go over any last-minute concerns.” Always ten steps ahead. Fuck, that’s so sexy.
“Well, we do have an extra . . .” I look at my watch. “Thirty minutes now. We could probably make good use of them.” I wag my brows at her, slipping my arms around her waist.
She meets my kiss, tongue dancing with mine. Her hands trace over my chest, drawing the dragon from memory through the cotton undershirt, and mine go down to pull her yoga shorts up to expose her cheeks. I roughly grip her ass, probably putting pink dots of fingerprints on her skin. I like marking her as mine, even if it does make me sound a little like a caveman.
She moans, her kisses laying a path down my neck where she sniffs me. “Mmm, you smell good. Fresh and clean, aftershave, and . . . you.”
I move my hand lower, into her shorts and beneath her panties. I dip one finger into the wetness I can already feel gathering there and groan. “Fuck, Court. Have to be a quickie, ’kay? Can you come for me fast?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head. Something dark is dancing in her eyes. “No . . .”
“What?” Maybe I say the word, maybe it’s more of a confused grunt, but she smiles.
Still rolling her hips, fucking herself on my finger, she pants out her plan. “I think we’d be better off if we go to dinner all turned on. I want you to know, I want them all to know, while we’re sitting at their fancy table having a business dinner, that all you want to do is get inside me, and all I want to do is let you.”
“Fuck, honey. You are evil. I love it.”
She gives me that devious smirk, the one that proudly says she’s good and knows it. That smirk says, ‘Hold my wine and watch this shit, because it’s going down.’
I finger fuck her a little deeper . . . harder . . . faster. “How close are you?” Her nails dig into my chest now, fighting for purchase as she arches her back to give me better access. “Are you hanging right on the edge, about to fall?”
“Kaede,” she moans. I can read her body, know exactly how far to take her, and when she hits that spot, right before her peak, I stop and pull my finger away.
I step back, making sure she’s watching as I pull my shirt up and reach into my underwear to spre
ad her juices all over my cock, giving myself a few slow, tight-fisted strokes. I’m so close, it’s all I can take without the threat of coming.
Her eyes shine with hunger, her body primed and twitching just like mine. We breathe heavily, still for a moment to let it subside slightly, and finally, with a smile, Courtney says the one thing I need to hear to stop thinking about throwing her over the back of the couch and fucking her hard from behind.
“Let’s get ready for dinner. We’ve got a fake engagement to sell.”
I groan, knowing she’s right, but for the first time, work and success aren’t my priority. Courtney is.
I am so fucked.
I’m not, my cock chimes in with a whine.
Later. I promise.
Courtney walks past me, taking her dress with her and heading into my bedroom. I love how comfortable we are with each other, in each other’s spaces.
It’s been a rapid change, but I honestly can’t remember not having her ponytailers in the new basket on my coffee table, her things lined up on the bathroom vanity, and a candle in her favorite scent on the bedside table. I look around and realize I forgot something . . . the blanket thrown over the arm of the couch. She came over a few days ago, chilled from coming out of the sauna . . .
“Why are you wearing a sweatshirt and a blanket-cape, Supergirl? It’s seventy-five degrees out.”
Teeth chattering, she explains. “Sauna. Cold now. Car blanket.”
I wrap my arms around her, briskly running my hands up and down her arms and back to warm her. “What’s a car blanket?”
Burrowing into my chest, her answer is muffled. “You know, for emergency preparedness. I have a blanket, bottled water, protein bars, and ChapStick in my car. The same in my locker at the gym, and at the office. Just in case, for emergencies.”
I chuckle. “I think car emergency kits are supposed to have things like flashers and jumper cables in them.”
“Not emergency for the car. Emergency for me, in case I get . . . cold, or hungry, or dehydrated.”
I smile, looking around my house again. My place has been completely Courtneyfied. And I love it.
I need to put a couple of her chosen protein bars, that mint ChapStick she wears, and a blanket in my car too. Just in case.
I adjust my still half-chub cock, pick up my pants from the back of the couch, and follow her down the hallway.
She’s already in the bathroom, digging through her goodies to get ready. Through the open door, she says, “We need to have one more talk about tonight.”
“Okay,” I say, tucking my undershirt back into my boxer briefs and pulling my socks back up. “Quiz me. I’m ready.”
“No, not a quiz.” The strange lilt to her voice tells me that she’s doing her eyeliner or mascara, her mouth held open in an O as she talks. The first time I heard her like that, I’d thought she was having a stroke and had run into the bathroom, scaring the shit out of her which led her to poke herself in the eye with the mascara wand. She’d yelled, I’d apologized and explained, and she’d said it was cute that I was trying to save her from a stroke of mascara. Now, I simply know what that odd open-mouth talk means.
“As much as I hate to say this, we need to talk about Ross. And you and me.”
I’m glad she’s in the bathroom and can’t see the flinch of pain at her words.
“Don’t act like I kicked your puppy,” she calls out. I look around the room, trying to see if the mirror reflections actually did let her see, but there’s nothing. I think she just predicted my reaction. “Here’s the deal . . . Ross knows what’s up, but he hasn’t been around much when we are an . . . us. It’s our job to sell the engagement, his to not overreact. I want to make sure that you hold up on our end even if Ross doesn’t hold up on his. I need you to commit to acting like my loving, smart, sweet, sexy husband-to-be, no matter what Ross does. And I’ll do the same.”
She has a point. We have spent all this time together, just the two of us. Yes, at the gym some, of course, but we keep it casually affectionate there because I have to be professional. Ross hasn’t seen how real this looks, and I certainly haven’t told him how real this feels.
“Of course. You and me, no matter what. Ross will play his part, though. He’s good at that, playing the pretty boy charm even when shit’s hitting the fan.”
That’s putting it mildly. I have seen him kiss babies and hands, compliment old ladies, and make miracle deals happen with a smile, and then the door closes and the gloves are off. I just hope they don’t come off with me after he sees me all snuggled up with Courtney.
You know they will. He’s going to do the whole Ross Andrews nice-guy play for dinner and then destroy you later for touching Courtney. He’s going to know you have as soon as he sees you together.
She exits from the bathroom and I have to take a moment to find my tongue. She’s beautiful, wearing a sleeveless sheath dress in mint green that hugs her curves and skims down to her knees, the same heels she wore for our first night in bed, and an elegantly tasteful pearl necklace. Her hair is in loose curls and her makeup is subdued, just bright red lipstick and black mascara. She looks classically done up, like a Hollywood starlet from a bygone era dressing for a fancy event.
“You look lovely.”
While it’s true, the deeper truth is, I wish we were back in our T-shirts and workout shorts. Right now, we’ve both got on our armor.
Hers of her lineage, her family’s money a cape of ‘look, don’t touch.’ She might not be royalty in truth, but her last name comes with certain upper-crust expectations and privileges.
Me? Though I’ve worn it for more years than not, I still feel like these clothes—the charcoal gray suit from London, the black leather shoes from Milan, and the four-figure watch—are merely a fancy costume that let me play a part. They mask the kid who scraped and struggled for every penny. Now, I don’t have to struggle quite so hard, so I do enjoy the finer things on occasion. But I never forget where I came from, so when I do indulge, I appreciate it every time.
So while we both manage to fit in, in a lot of ways, we don’t.
Her façade—an Ice Queen Bitch when she’s truly warm and sensitive beneath her armor. My façade—a rich businessman when I’m so recently past the rags portion of my rags to riches story.
But somehow, in our not quite fitting in, we fit together in ways I never would’ve foreseen.
“Oh, one more thing. The ring?” I point to her empty hand.
Courtney struts down the hall, her heels clicking on the wood floor, and plucks the box from her purse. “I’ve been wearing it around the house, but that’s the only place I can. At the gym, I don’t want to damage it. And at the office, it’d bring up too many questions. But I love it. It’s gorgeous, Kaede. Truly.”
She hands it to me, and it feels magical to slip it on her finger again. Our eyes meet, the moment heavy with so much left unspoken.
Courtney seems to have checked every last box on her mental checklist. “That’s everything. Think we’re ready?”
I don’t think I could’ve ever been ready for this. Ready for her.
But Courtney seems sure of tonight as she takes my hand and gives me a reassuring nod. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 20
Courtney
Walking through the Sanders estate is more like walking through Buckingham Palace, or maybe an Americanized version of it. Ross and I are well-trained in dealing with wealth and the wealthy, though. You never look directly at the opulence unless guided to. You never seem overly impressed by anything unless it’s expected. Basically, I walk through the high-ceiling, art-lined, marble-floored entryway as if I’m walking down a city sidewalk—back straight, chin high, eyes forward. Violet gets a pass because of her interior design skills, allowed to ooh and ahh and show interest and excitement, but even she’s more quiet than usual at Ross’s side.
We follow a butler through three rooms before reaching what can only be described as a family dining room, if yo
ur family were twenty people plus spouses and kids or maybe Violet’s family. Then again, we passed by a larger dining room that would make the ballroom at most luxury hotels look like the dance studio at One Life.
“Ah, Ross, Kaede, welcome!” Jeffrey Sanders greets us.
Missy stands to his side. Kaede told me he thought she looked like a porn secretary at their previous meeting. Today, she’s going for Playboy Bunny Prom with a flesh-toned dress that is so tight and revealing, I’d swear it was a Spanx tank top pulled down over her ass if it weren’t covered in rhinestones.
Does Swarovski make shapewear now and I missed that memo? I wonder if her bra and underwear are bedazzled too? Pshaw, there’s no way she has on anything under that dress.
How does she breathe? Maybe she doesn’t? Or I’ve heard about that surgery where they take some ribs out. Maybe she did that?
Even as my mind chatters away, I maintain my bland smile, ever appropriate and befitting an Andrews.
“It’s great to be here, Jeffrey,” Ross says. “May I introduce my lovely wife and the greatest merger I could have ever engineered, Violet Andrews.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Sanders.”
Jeffery exchanges a firm handshake with Violet. “Lovely to meet you. Ross is right. You are a remarkable young woman. I’ve heard of your work and saw it myself at One Life. I must say, I’m impressed.” Violet smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes to show the warmth she usually exudes. She was fine earlier when we got our nails done, even chattering about tonight and asking if Kaede and I were going to be okay. I’m not sure what’s bugging her now, but I do have an emergency piece of chocolate in my purse if I need to slip it to her.
“And this is my fiancée, Courtney Andrews,” Kaede interjects as they pull back. “Courtney, Jeffrey Sanders. You know Missy, of course.”
“Of course,” I say, smiling coolly at Missy before shaking hands. “Thank you for having us, Jeffrey.”
Zero pretense and all strategy, I go right into calling Sanders by his first name, putting us on an equal playing field. I suspect that not many people feel they’re remotely in his league, probably pandering to him and kissing his ass, but right now, he’s met his match in me. I know how to play this game, probably better than almost anyone else in this room.
My Big Fat Fake Engagement Page 23