“It doesn’t help to spell it out if everyone around can spell,” I hiss.
“I notice you didn’t answer my question.” Abi pulls a garment bag out of her closet, hanging it over the door before unzipping it and taking her dress out.
Growling, I take it from her and unzip the dress. “This is beautiful, a total Abi dress. Teal’s always such a good color on you.”
“Quit stalling and avoiding the topic. You and Kaede?”
“Good,” I say slowly. “Well, I don’t know. When it’s us, it’s good. And feels . . .”
I trail off, making Abi stop her shimmying to give me a look. “Feels what?”
I shrug, giving her a little half-smile as I zip her up. “Just feels. Does that make sense?”
“Fuckin’-A, it does,” Abi says, dancing around happily, which she still desperately sucks at. “You caught a case of the feels. I’m happy for you.”
I’m not quite as overjoyed as she is, and I’m definitely not dancing in this dress or my ass will pop the seam on the back. “I just wish . . . I don’t know, I’m just not sure what he’s thinking.”
Abi stops her celebration dance, nearly freezing in place before giving me a shrug. “Is anyone ever? He’s not a particularly expressive man. He’s stone-faced twenty-four, seven.”
My brow furrows in confusion. I guess I used to think that about Kaede, but that was so long ago. Before I knew . . . him. “No, he’s not. Not with me.”
Abi turns back around to root around in her old jewelry box for some earrings. “Well, I think that’s your answer about what he’s thinking. C’mon, let’s get downstairs before Mom and Dad come hunting for us.”
We get downstairs in time to greet the guests, and for about fifteen minutes, we’re caught up with the sort of organized chaos that’s the start of every party. There’s a mix of business associates, friends, and some family members we see once or twice a year at most, and everyone needs to be introduced to everyone else and given a common thread of interest to get the mingling going.
Because nobody turns down an Andrews party. These parties have launched businesses, careers, even political offices from the connections people make here.
We’re about twenty minutes in when I feel eyes on me. He’s here. I know it bone deep and have been watching, waiting for him. I turn my head to see Kaede arriving through the front door.
I just saw him a short time ago, but seeing him again in his suit, his hair styled back and that stone-faced façade Abi mentioned, I can’t help but smile. That is Kaede, the sexy man I fell for at Andrews. But I know how much more there is beneath that surface now.
His eyes find mine, and he flashes me that secret smile I know is meant just for me. He takes three steps then stops, freezing in place. I can see him fighting an internal battle, wanting to come over to me the way I naturally expect him to. But he straightens his shoulders and gives me a polite nod. He clenches his jaw and turns, walking over to Ross and Dad. Dad greets him warmly, thanking him for the scotch, and I turn to go mingle, knowing it’s for the best even if it feels so wrong.
The party progresses at the same pace as so many others I’ve attended over the years with the predicted meeting people, gossiping, dog and pony show, nibbling on hors d’oeuvres and trying not to drink too much.
Mostly, I find myself watching Kaede across the room all night. All I want is to be by his side and have him by mine. I’m constantly aware of where he is, his very presence pulling me like a magnet.
Finally, I find a reason to cross the room, finding Ross and Vi shaking hands all around with a small group. There’s no reason to hide the news here. Unfortunately, someone else pulls Kaede away just as I walk up, so I have to play it off. “Hey, guys.”
“Amazing,” Vi gushes to a distant aunt who’s asked about her pregnancy, not breaking her discussion while giving me a nod.
Violet is truly, absolutely glowing. I heard this story over mani-pedis while Vi tried to distract me from the tickling work the lady was doing on my feet, but I listen again, so happy for her.
“I had my checkup with Dr. Lockhart. They changed my prenatal vitamin because the old one was making my morning sickness pretty bad. Poor Ross was listening to me retch morning, noon, and night. And Archie said he needed hazard pay to keep emptying my trash. But the new one is great, and I’m keeping everything down now.”
“Oh, dear, that’s lovely. Why, I remember when I was pregnant . . .” Aunt Loralee goes on to tell us all about her pregnancies. In excruciating detail. All three of them, even though her youngest ‘baby’ is in his forties with grandbabies of his own. She wraps up with a lesson for Ross, though, elbowing him in the side. “Take care of her, Ross. She deserves it. She’s growing the next generation of Andrewses.”
Gee, no pressure there.
“He’s been amazing,” Vi assures Loralee, taking her husband’s bicep. “Just the other night, he went on a midnight run to get me some Peanut Butter Cup ice cream and a jar of pickles, though he couldn’t watch me eat them because it made him sick.” Ross cringes along with the rest of us because that sounds absolutely disgusting. “And he’s been giving me foot rubs at night too, my Nana’s secret prescription for a happy, healthy mom and baby.”
I know what Nana’s other secret prescription was . . . lots and lots of orgasms, which are supposed to keep the muscle tone of her uterus strong as it stretches to get ready for the pushing of labor. Violet had whispered that part to me, but the nail technicians had laughed too, politely excusing themselves to get some cuticle oil. I don’t know if that old wives’ tale is true, but I’m not seeing a downside to trying it. Except that it involves my brother and sex, which is . . . ew.
“Well, it sounds like you’re handling things well. I can’t wait to get my hands on that little one.” Aunt Loralee curls her gnarled hands like she’s already pinching invisible cheeks though Violet’s not due for months. Aunt Loralee smiles, and I swear her eyes are a little glittery as she says, “Oh, there’s George. I want to see how his grandson is doing these days. Did you know he’s about my Madison’s age?”
And she’s off, apparently playing matchmaker for her granddaughter and leaving just the three of us.
“Hey, while we’ve got a quick second . . . how’re things with Kaede?” Ross asks quietly. “I talked to him the other day about the Sanders dinner and the event meeting with Missy, but he just said everything’s fine and he’s got it under control, told me to focus on more important things and let him handle the rest.” Ross puts his arm around Vi, giving her a love-filled look.
Gah, they are so adorably adorable! And I’m not jealous, not at all. Truly, I’m not. I’m happy for them. I just want what they have.
“He’s right. Dinner went well, I think. Kaede met with Missy and they got lots of the logistics worked out for the event. It’s fine, all fine.” I conveniently leave out the part about Missy coming on to Kaede again. If Kaede is downplaying this so Ross can focus on Violet, I’ll do the same.
Ross nods, his face tight. “Good. Thanks again for doing this. I know it’s above and beyond, and we’ll both owe you a big one if we can pull all this off and get the next couple of sites up and running.”
“Hey, Rossinator!”
Ross looks over my shoulder, exhaling through his nose in a Rossism that means he’s trying not to roll his eyes. Instead, he gives a chin lift and detangles himself from Violet. “Excuse me, ladies . . . let me intercept this. Vi, can you come rescue me in five? Please?” We laugh, knowing he means it even if we don’t know who he’s going to greet.
Violet and I watch Ross shake hands with a guy who’s wearing a tuxedo with an untied bowtie and a half-tucked-in shirt. I’m not sure which is odder, the disheveled look, amped up by the overfull tumbler in his hand, or the mere fact that he’s wearing a tuxedo to begin with. The party is fancy, but not . . . that fancy.
Vi turns back to me. “So, give me the real deal. Because when a woman says things are fine, that means they most def
initely are not fine. What’s wrong?”
I snag a flute of champagne from a passing tray and take a sip. “Nothing, really. We’re having a great time, all going according to plan.” I hear it, the moment I switch back into work Courtney. Not quite Ice Queen, but slipping behind the façade I wear so comfortably.
“Right. I remember the last time I had one of those plans,” Violet quips, rubbing her belly. “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk about it. Abi and I will compare reports later.”
It’s not a threat. They will.
“Things are fine,” I counter.
The music changes, saving me from having to argue as everyone stops when my parents’ favorite song comes over the speakers. Phil Collins . . . One More Night.
Mom and Dad quickly take the floor, Dad’s hands on Mom’s hips and her arms around his neck as they dance sweetly. Everyone claps politely, watching them for a moment before the DJ invites everyone else to join them.
Suddenly, I feel Kaede at my elbow, his voice warm in my ear. “May I have this dance?”
I know I should say it’s too dangerous, that it’s not a good idea. But when he takes my hand, I can’t help but follow him, and Violet’s hum of ‘gotcha’ just greases the gears. I can’t say no. I want this—to get lost in his arms, the music, the lights, the moment.
We’re barely past the first verse and I’m in Kaede’s arms. I’m scared out of my mind that we’re so obvious . . . but we’re so obviously right, too.
He can see that, right? Everyone can see that.
“Hey, you two,” Abi says as she sways over, dancing with Archie. “Looking cute.”
“Yeah, but does it have to be Phil Collins?” Archie asks. “Seriously, wasn’t there some psycho sex killer who left Phil Collins lyrics as his signature or something?”
Abi and Archie dance off, and One More Night gives way to You’ll Be In My Heart. Kaede and I keep going, not wanting to leave the dance floor. At least, I don’t want to leave the dance floor. I could spend all night looking up into Kaede’s eyes.
“How are you doing?” he asks under his breath, his face blank.
“Good. The caterers had to change out one of the appetizers, but it seems to be a hit. Maybe I’ll switch out for it next year. The DJ’s great too, energetic but not too rave party. And Abi’s flowers are gorgeous, of course.” I look around the room as I rattle off the party successes.
Kaede hums, his hand going firm on my lower back as he pulls me another inch closer. “I didn’t ask about the party. I asked about you.”
I glance back at him, his dark eyes boring into my soul. I want to kiss him, right here on the dance floor in front of everyone. I want to claim him, be claimed by him. I want everyone to know he’s mine and I’m his. He licks his lips. I part mine.
I’m going to do it. Fuck the consequences. Who cares about later? Right here, right now . . . I want us. The real us.
I shift my weight to my toes, ready to lean in, but out of the corner of my eye, I see another couple. Mom and Dad dance by, and I can feel Dad’s eyes on us. He smiles and dances on, saying nothing. Kaede notices the look as well.
“Why do I feel like I snuck into a girl’s room, had to hide in the closet when her dad came to say good night, and somehow didn’t get caught?”
“Wow,” I reply, “that’s specific. Personal experience?”
“I’ll never tell.” Kaede’s eyes twinkle, though, and as he gives me that smug smirk, I can’t help but laugh. He has a reputation as a playboy, but I think maybe that’s been exaggerated.
I lean in close and whisper, “Yours or Ross’s?”
“It’s hard to say no to an Andrews.”
I get what he’s saying. He’s covered for Ross before, sometimes even when Ross didn’t do anything wrong and it was just the vultures of the media creating something out of nothing because of Ross’s last name. Drama sells, even if it’s fake.
But there’s something about his tone. He sounds almost sad, and I slow down, almost stopping our dance.
Maybe he doesn’t only mean Ross. Maybe he means . . . me too.
“Speaking from experience?”
Kaede looks back at me, the answer in his eyes. He’s torn apart by a promise to a friend and what’s happening between us. There’s no need for words, and maybe I’m afraid to ask him the big question . . . if it comes down to his friendship or us, which would Kaede choose?
I know the answer because he’d lose. We’d lose.
So instead, I start dancing with him again. Because it feels like the hourglass sand is pouring too fast no matter how much I want it to slow down.
Chapter 23
Courtney
Me: Have to work late. Night sesh?
I glance at the clock and for once wish I were the kind who could just shut it all down at five o’clock and bounce for the door. But even at two o’clock, I know that’s not in the cards today. This AgroStar work won’t be kept waiting, and I’m carefully checking each and every step multiple times.
Kaede: That’s ok, I need to wrap up some of this planning stuff and I’m exhausted. Can we hook up tomorrow?
Hook up? Did he just say hook up, like I’m some sort of booty call?
I take a deep breath, reminding myself not to freak out.
It’s a common enough phrase. Hell, it’s used in business emails.
But he has been kinda weird since the anniversary party last weekend. We’ve had dinner every night and slept in bed together but haven’t had sex once. It’s only Thursday, but things feel off. It’s been a busy week for him, and for me too, hence the plan to work late. But my Spidey senses are tingling.
Me: Sure.
I don’t have time to mentally dig into that any further because Jillian comes in with the reports from the Andrews subsidiaries I asked for. We get to work dissecting the facts and figures and plotting out the next phase of the AgroStar deal. The PR team’s already got some great mockups of the print ads done, and they’ve identified a couple of Instagram celebs with proven track records as influencers. Organic, guerilla-style marketing will be a prime tool for these products, giving a good ROI and internet buzz.
“So this guy, I did a little e-stalking of him,” Jillian says as she swipes through the next profile on her tablet. She takes her glasses off, one arm going into her mouth where she bites it. “Mmmhmm, come to Mama. Ooh, the thangs I could teach him.”
I hum, not even looking up, so Jillian slides her glasses back on and clicks right back into focus-mode. “Research says he’ll do an Instagram post for basically the price of the product. We send him a thirty-day supply of mom crack—I mean ‘the supplement’—and he’ll pimp the hell out of it. Three posts over a fourteen-day period, natural looking placement and usage, not overdone sponsor-style.”
“And his clout?”
“Half a million followers, mostly in the target audience reach,” Jillian notes. “And he’s hot.” She holds the tablet up, waving it back and forth to get my attention. I look up and see a young, blonde surfer type sitting shirtless in the sand and staring into a gorgeous sunset. He probably has kefir for breakfast, broccoli smoothies that give him gas from hell, and wears ‘natural’ deodorant that leaves him smelling like sweat and patchouli after his daily yoga meditation.
I know hotter.
I sigh, rubbing my temples. I can’t get distracted, not even by Kaede. Not now. Things are going great with this campaign, but I can’t afford another misstep. This is going to be a sure-fire homerun for Andrews. I’ll make sure of it.
“Okay, prioritize the others and give me your top three. I’m going to run the print ads by Dad for approval,” I tell Jillian, getting up. “Be back in twenty or so.”
I head down the hall slowly, enjoying the leg stretch after sitting all day. Kaede might not be in for a late-night sesh, but maybe I’ll go for a short jog myself? My ass and my legs will thank me, that’s for sure. Otherwise, I’m going to sit at home and ruminate on what that text could’ve meant.
I’m lost in my own thoughts for a moment until I see something ahead that makes my gut flip-flop.
Missy. I’d know those legs and blonde Ariana Grande ponytail anywhere, not to mention the bordering on too-short skirt and too-high heels.
What is she doing here?
I keep my distance, following her as she seems to stalk the executive level, looking for something or someone. At one point, she looks around and almost catches me. I have to duck into an alcove to avoid her seeing me and barely make it. Actually, I’m not sure I did make it. I pant, trying to think small thoughts and praying my ass isn’t sticking out of the tiny bump out in the wall. I can just imagine . . . me like some gigantic bear trying to hide behind a skinny pole.
Maybe if you close your eyes, she won’t be able to see you?
It doesn’t work like that.
A minute and several steps later, her fast and me turtle-slow so as not to get busted, I walk past Kevin’s door. He thinks I’m here to see him, maybe take him up on that coffee offer, and he stands, a big smile on his face. But that drops instantly when I hold up a palm telling him to stop where he is. “No,” is all I give him, too afraid I’m going to lose Missy in the maze of hallways.
I have to hustle to the corner, peeking around carefully to make sure she hasn’t stopped just out of my sight.
Has she seriously hunted me down over this whole Kaede thing? Surely not. Right?
The third time, I push it too far, ducking into what I think is an empty copy room but instead finding a very startled assistant. “Courtney . . . I mean, Miss Andrews!”
“Shh!” I whisper, glaring at her.
Her mouth claps shut, scolded as she ducks into her shoulders. “Sorry,” she mouths.
Shit. What am I doing?
“Can I help you?” she mouths again.
I remember something important.
I am Courtney Andrews, Ice Queen.
I straighten my back and clip out, “Can I have the room, please?”
“The copy room?” the assistant asks, looking around in confusion, probably thinking I’m about to take photocopies of my ass or meet someone for a clandestine office quickie.
My Big Fat Fake Engagement Page 27