Faking It

by K. Bromberg

  Such a crock of shit.

  It takes everything I have not to call Robert up and tell him to go to hell. That there’s no way I’m doing this.

  I’m used to bucking protocol for the sake of keeping control . . . but fuck if Robert hasn’t been spot on in every move he’s made. This is his forte, not mine. None of my other businesses—mostly investment companies and hedge funds—need marketing on the scale that this venture does . . . and I’m hell bent on winning.

  Especially after the little visit from Kostas the other day.

  “YOU DOING OKAY?”

  I glance over at Zane where he sits beside me. His cheeks are pale, his knee is jogging up and down, and his knuckles are white with tension where he grips the edge of the bench we’re sitting on.

  “I’m fucking great,” he snaps at me. “This is such bullshit. Such an overreach of anything I told Robert he could do.”

  “I think it looks fun.” I look up to the dizzying array of ropes in the trees overhead. Each of them set to test us in one way or another.

  “That’s one way to put it.” He glances up and stares at me. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?

  “Because we want to test that bond of yours,” our instructor Tucker—tall, dark, rugged, and handsome—explains. His smile is as bright as the sun and when his eyes meet mine, there’s interest there that I have done nothing to foster.

  “That’s not exactly what I meant,” Zane mutters under his breath.

  “The number one cause of fights in a relationship is stress. It’s our job to put stress on you, put you in unfamiliar situations and then help coach you in how to communicate and help the other.”

  “So in other words, cause the break-up prematurely so you can swoop in and steal the girl?” Zane mutters under his breath with an edge of sarcasm.

  If Tucker heard him, he doesn’t show it with the big, cheesy grin he gives us. He looks over to his far left where another employee is talking to the person with the camera and gives them a thumbs up. “Shall we get started? It seems everyone is set.”

  This time Zane grumbles something that I don’t quite catch.

  And he continues to through the safety lesson, the quick class in proper technique, and the explanation of each of the obstacles that definitely look challenging.

  We ascend a set of steps to a platform of sorts built around a tree trunk. We’re now a good thirty feet off the ground, if not more. As much as heights don’t bug me, I get a little overwhelmed when I look down and notice how small the crew looks standing below angling their cameras up at us. “Shit that’s far,” I mutter, more than thankful they decided not to wire us with microphones and instead dub sound in later.

  “This is called The Mirror,” Tucker says, looking at Zane and then me. “The purpose is for you to learn to trust each other.”

  “Fucking perfect,” Zane grumbles and I ignore him. I get that he’s pissed at Robert—hell, even I was surprised by this new marketing tactic, but when you step back and look at the whole, it’s smart.

  Plus we’ve been so busy travelling all over the country—most places I doubt I’ll ever visit again—so it will be nice for me to make some kind of memories other than how pretty the hotel or country club lobbies are.

  “These two ropes here,” Tucker says, pointing to a set of ropes that are about three feet apart. There is another set of ropes parallel and about seven feet directly above them, so if you drew an imaginary line, it could make a rectangle. The ropes span from the tree we’re currently in across open air to another tree and platform a good fifty feet away. “We’ll hook you in on the top rope so you have a safety line to catch you when you fall—”

  “When?” Zane snorts like an arrogant asshole.

  “The two of you will stand on opposing ropes and face each other,” Tucker continues without even flinching. “You’ll use each other for balance to help one another get across the distance.”

  “What do you mean we’ll use each other for balance?” Zane asks.

  “That’s for you to figure out.”

  “Seriously? That’s all you’re going to give me?” Zane again, and I’m irritated at how he’s treating Tucker for simply doing his job.

  If this is how the privileged act—taking out your frustrations with one person on another—then count me out. I’d rather be poor and have kindness.

  Seemingly unaffected, Tucker just keeps smiling, whistling a cheerful tune as he clips the carabineer from our harness to the safety line above us.

  “Sorry about him,” I murmur when Tucker steps in to secure mine.

  “It’s always the tough guys who have a problem with this,” he says under his breath and then steps back with a nod. “This is where I bow out. I’m heading down the ladder so you can figure this out for yourselves. I’ll see you at the bottom.”

  “Fucking ridiculous,” Zane grumbles for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes. I’m typically pretty tolerant, but right now, he’s irritating me.

  “You ready?” I ask with a chill to my voice.

  “Thrilled.” He steps toward the edge of the platform, his face a mask of fury I don’t quite understand.

  “If we face each other, maybe we can press our hands together or clasp wrists or something so that we use our weight to balance ourselves off each other.”

  “Great.”

  I step one foot on the lower rope and use my hand on the rope above me to steady myself while I wait for him to do the same. He just stares at me with a look of complete abhorrence on his face that I can’t fathom.

  “Put your hand out,” I say and extend my free hand, but he just glares at me and grits his teeth. “What’s your problem? You’re being a complete asshole and frankly I’m not too thrilled to be stuck up here with you either. So suck it up. Did you forget there are cameras down there documenting your every move? Maybe you should keep that in mind the next time you decide to be rude to Tucker.”

  “What is it with you defending every man that comes our way except for me?”

  “Defending every man? Common courtesy is more like it. Put your damn hand up, Zane because I want off this just as badly as you do.”

  His sigh is strangled and there’s something about the sudden tensing of his entire body when he puts his full weight on the rope that makes it all click for me.

  He’s not being an arrogant, prick. Not in the least.

  He’s petrified and masking it with a major attitude.

  I do believe that Zane Phillips is scared of heights.

  “Give me your hand,” I say without breaking stride. “If we have one hand supporting each other, then it will make the next step that much easier.”

  He closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds and says something to himself under his breath before reaching out and clasping his hand around my wrist and vice versa.

  “Zane?”

  “I’m fine. I’m okay,” he says, but his death grip on me says otherwise. His face is a light shade of gray and a line of sweat trails down his cheek from beneath his helmet.

  “Zane?” I ask again, begging him to look at me.

  “Leave it, Harlow.”

  “Give me your other hand. Let’s step out on the rope.”

  Another strangled cry of resistance despite his feet doing what I ask and his hand reaching out to my free one like a lifeline.

  “Steady,” I murmur, the trembling of his hands more than noticeable.

  “Can you just stop talking for a second?” he snaps at me, his eyes closing again as he emits a fortifying breath out of his mouth.

  “Zane.”

  “Stop saying my goddamn name. Christ.” But his eyes flash open and there’s a bit more color in his cheeks now.

  “Are you afraid of heights?”

  “What makes you say that?” His tone is flip but nerves waiver in his laugh. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “How’s it going up there you guys?” Tuck’s calls from the ground.
He sounds so far away.

  “Jesus Christ. He wants us to move,” Zane grits out.

  He takes a tiny step farther and I follow.

  “Well, that’s kind of the point. Moving across the rope.”

  His glare is deserved but I don’t think he finds any amusement in my humor. “This is all your fault you know.” Feeling brave with his accusation, Zane moves another step and then makes the mistake of looking down. “Christ.”

  I swear to God his pallor just turned from gray to green.

  “My fault?”

  “If you hadn’t lied about me giving you the job, I wouldn’t have to be here right now and then—”

  “You’re going to put the blame on me? Didn’t you start this when you lied to Robert and told him you found love? Didn’t—”

  “Will you just shut up?”

  Nothing gets my back up more than being told that and just when I’m about to unload on him—in the middle of the air, being held up by ropes—I see it clear as day. His need to argue is to distract him from his fear. One snarky comment after another.

  So for the first time ever, I abide by the request. I hold my tongue and take another shaky step to try and encourage him to do the same. A quick glance down shows the reflection of the camera following our every move, and I realize this is part of Zane’s macho maleness. His need to act manly because he’s on camera.

  “Does this not terrify you?” he asks as I take another step and he stays rooted in place as the ropes wobble when a small breeze whips through the space we’re in. “Shit.” He closes his eyes again to wait for the ropes to steady.

  “Hey?”

  “Not now, Cinder.”

  “Look at me. C’mon, you can—you need—to trust me.”

  “Why?” He chuckles. “It’s not like you’d be able to catch me if I fall.”

  “You’re right. The ropes will catch you, but I’m still here. I’m the one who can work with you so you can get across this rope.”

  He shakes his head in rejection but doesn’t speak. Another close of his eyes. Another slide of his feet along the rope. Another yelp of despair given under his breath.

  “Remember the other night?” I ask.

  “Fuck,” he mutters as the rope wobbles again.

  “When you bent me over the edge of the bed?”

  He stills, steadies his body with the help of mine. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I keep thinking about that thing you did.”

  Distract. Divert.

  Step.

  “What’s that?”

  “The grind. Your fingers. You slapping your cock against my pussy,” I say in terms he’ll hear, and by the flash of his emerald green eyes up to mine, I’d say it worked.

  “Really?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I all but moan and then I take a larger step. When his breath hitches and he starts to look down, I shake my head. “Uh-uh. Look at me. Only at me.”

  He shakes his head but the anxiety still owns his entire body.

  “What’s your favorite position?”

  “I’m a guy. As long as I’m inside you that’s all that—”

  “That’s not an answer. Doggystyle?” Step. “Reverse Cowgirl?” Step. “Sixty-Nine?”

  “If you’re trying to distract me, it’s not going to work. We’re a mile off the ground and—”

  “And if I told you my panties were currently soaked just talking about having sex with you again . . . would that distract you?”

  The muscle in his jaw tics as he stares at me. “Nothing fazes me, remember?” But when he says it, there is the shyest of smiles that replaces the tight pull of his lips from just seconds ago.

  “Don’t look now, Zane, but only a couple more feet and we’ve made it.”

  And of course he looks and then gasps when his lack of concentration throws us both off balance.

  “See? You did it.” But I can see the panic return now that he’s taken notice again of where we are. “Don’t panic. C’mon. You’ve done great this far.”

  “Will this ever end?” he groans.

  “Just pick something to concentrate on.”

  He snorts, his eyes glancing down to the V of my thighs. “Are you wearing panties today?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

  And that’s all I need to help get him the last few feet and onto the platform. His arms go around me the minute both our feet are flat on the planks of wood and we wait for Tucker to climb the stairs and come unhook us.

  “Thank you,” he murmurs against my ear as he presses me against him. He smells of sweat and cologne and fear, and hell if there’s something about the combination that kicks my endorphins into high gear.

  “For what?”

  “For not calling me out.”

  I smile. “I just helped in distracting you.”

  “Thank you.” He leans back and looks at me for a beat before leaning in and pressing the softest of kisses to my lips. The mix of adrenaline and unexpected tenderness has every part of me wanting to melt into him.

  “So what did you think?” Tucker says, the clomping of his feet hitting our ears only seconds before he reaches the platform. We shock apart at his chuckle. “No worries. It happens a lot. Fighting on that end, making up on this one.”

  Zane steps back from me but takes me by surprise when he links his pinkie finger with mine at our sides.

  “You did great.” Tucker claps his hands together. “The videographer got some good shots, too. Now, let’s move to the next course. What’ll you pick?”

  I laugh when Zane groans, but there’s a lot more pride in it than there was fifteen minutes ago.

  “HEY.” A HAND ON MY back. A shake of it rocking me from side to side. “Get up sleepy head.”

  “What time is it?” I groan, pulling the pillow over my head.

  A warm kiss is pressed to my shoulder. Zane’s mouth stays there when he speaks and my sleepy body heats up. “Early.”

  “Go away.”

  “I thought you were the morning person,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Why do you sound so cheerful? What is this sorcery?”

  “C’mon. I want to take you somewhere.”

  “Right now?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “A coffee shop?” I ask, hoping that at this ungodly hour, he’ll at least grant me that.

  Another chuckle in that low morning gravel of his that scrapes up all kinds of feelings of coupledom that I’m not supposed to feel.

  “Right now.” A hand slides gently down my back. “No make-up. No hair. And if you move quick enough, I can guarantee you some coffee.”

  When I push myself up and turn to face him, he looks rumpled and sleepy like I do . . . and so very sexy. As much as I love the man in his dress shirts and vests and ties, when he’s like this—V-neck T-shirt, jeans, hair a mess—he’s irresistible. The power CEO reduced to college frat boy.

  “C’mon, we’re going to miss it.” His words are emphasized by a pat on my ass.

  I do what he says, but I grumble the whole time that I do. When he hands me a cup of coffee. When the chilled morning air hits me as I step out of the coach. When he tells me we have to hike up a mountainside in the predawn morning with the sky just turning blue. When he checks his watch every few minutes to make sure we’re wherever we need to be in time.

  “Do you mind telling me where we are going or what we are doing?” I ask from where we’re sitting, a patch of grass on the side of a slope.

  “You just need to wait and see.”

  “Famous last words,” I huff at the cryptic message but secretly like this quiet, unassuming side to him. “If we’re here to watch the sunrise, you could just say that and I’d be fine with it.”

  He doesn’t respond, just keeps his eyes peering straight ahead, when a huge smile lights up his face. “Look.”

  When I turn to face the east, I’m met with the slow rise of the sun over the ridge beyond. The sky is full of pinks and oranges. The clouds in the distance a
re an array of colors. But before I can even put words together, something else begins to peek over the edge of the hills and join the sun. Huge globes of color.

  “Wow!” I don’t even realize I say it as the sky suddenly fills with one hot air balloon after another. They ascend quickly and quietly. Their canopies—stripes and chevrons and polka dots and solids—brightening up the sky with their color and presence.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Zane murmurs beside me.

  “Where did you—”

  “Shhh.” He murmurs without looking my way and points to the scene out of a postcard before us.

  “Have you ever been up in one?”

  “No.”

  “Have you—”

  “Shhh. Just enjoy it.”

  And so we sit in the early morning without coffee cold now and watch the sky come alive. But there’s something about the man beside me who pulls my attention just as equally.

  I’m usually good at reading a person, knowing who they are after just one meeting . . . and yet Zane is continually proving to me that I just might be wrong. This guy—the one who talks to his dog via webcam and wakes me up to surprise me with this—is nothing like the man I first met when he mistook me for his dog walker.

  And I think that realization might be detrimental to my heart.

  “I’m sorry I was an asshole yesterday.” His words are soft and his tone is even as he leans back on his hands behind him, but keeps his eyes straight ahead.

  “You were scared.”

  “I’ve always been terrified of heights.”

  “All you had to do was say something to me. Anything to let me know so I could help you.”

  Is that why he brought me up here? To apologize with a pretty view and a poignant apology?

  “It’s not that easy.”