Tempt Me (The Temptation Duet Book 1)

by Roxy Sloane

  “No guarantees,” I repeat. “I’m not going to force the girl.”

  Max opens his mouth. If he says what I think he’s about to say, I’m going to have to beat him unconscious, so I shove him through the door.

  “Wire me the money and I’ll see about getting you that ring back.”

  I slam the door behind him, breathing hard. I didn’t realize just how close to the edge I was—ready to do him some serious damage. Plotting against Chloe like this, acting like she’s worth nothing at all. It makes me want to take him apart limb from limb.

  But why the hell do I care?

  I take a breath, then another. Get your shit together, Jase.

  Chloe’s a hot number, sure. And I’m definitely going to enjoy giving her a VIP tour of her G-spot, but there’s no reason to lose control like this. Especially when I’m about to get everything I want handed to me on a platter:

  Her sweet pussy and Max’s cash, all at the same time. I’ll show her what she’s missing out on, break them apart, and still have a hundred Gs in the bank at the end of the day.

  And you can bet I’ll find a way to take Max Mainwaring down, too.

  Now that’s what I call a win-win situation.

  10.

  CHLOE

  I shouldn’t be disappointed that Jase cancelled on me. It’s a sign. A massive, blazing neon sign from the universe saying, “Don’t mess this up. Marry Max.” It doesn’t matter that even thinking about Jase makes my skin flush and my body get tight. This is just cold feet. A teeny-tiny case of pre-wedding jitters. Every bride goes through it. Right?

  Right.

  With my week wide open now, I throw myself into wedding planning to block all wicked thoughts of Jase from my mind. I sneak armfuls of magazines on my way home from work, and secretly browse Pinterest boards at my desk. It’s an education, for sure. I’ve spent twenty-two years of my life completely oblivious, but now I’m getting a crash course in all things matrimony. Tulle vs. silk. Farmhouse vs. ocean views. Mason jars vs. champagne flutes. I didn’t realize there was so much to decide.

  I’m lucky. The more I can focus on the wedding, the less I have to worry about the whispers of doubt in the back of my mind. Or that cold, sick feeling that creeps into my stomach whenever I think about the vows.

  For better or worse. Until death do us part.

  “What are my colors?”

  Amanda finds me knee-deep in wedding magazines at our apartment on Wednesday night. “Your what now?”

  “My colors. Apparently, I can’t do anything else until I pick my accent themes!” I’m going dizzy from all the choices. “Do I want winter white or blush white or eggshell ecru?”

  “Easy with the magazines, Martha Stewart.” Amanda steers me away from the mess. “Have you been sniffing too many perfume samples?”

  I sink onto a chair with a sigh. “Why did I think this would be easy?” I ask. “If I had it my way, I would just elope somewhere. But now I’m supposed to plan a big society wedding that will keep Max and all his fancy friends happy, too.”

  “It’s your day as well,” Amanda points out. “The happiest day of your life.”

  I feel that chill again. “And I haven’t even started thinking about flowers. Did you know there are over two hundred types of lilies?”

  She pats my head. “Have you even eaten? Let me make you some soup.”

  Amanda starts bustling in the kitchen, and I try to pull it together. My phone rings with an unknown number. I answer. “Hello?”

  “May I speak with Chloe Archer?” A frosty voice comes, and it can be only one person.

  I gulp. “Sylvia? It’s Chloe.”

  “Oh.” She almost sounds disappointed. “Hello.”

  “How was your trip?” I ask politely. “Paris must have been wonderful.”

  “It’s a noisy, dirty city in the summer.” Sylvia sniffs. “I should have skipped it and gone straight to Monaco.”

  I don’t have any reply for that, so I just wait. Sure enough, Sylvia continues.

  “You’re invited to tea tomorrow. It’s high time we got started planning the wedding.”

  I feel a wave of relief. Of course! I should have known the Mainwarings wouldn’t leave me to muddle through on my own. “Oh thank you, that would be great. I don’t know where to start.”

  “I’ll see you at three.”

  Sylvia rings off without another word, and I realize too late she scheduled us right in the middle of the work day. I’ll just have to make up a reason for Marcie and duck out early. When Sylvia Mainwaring summons you, you better be there, no excuses allowed.

  “Was that the ice queen?” Amanda asks.

  I nod. “Tea at the castle.”

  “Uh oh. Screw soup,” Amanda says. “This calls for tequila.”

  *

  At three the next day, I’m wishing I packed a flask. I stand on the doorstep of Mainwaring Manor and try not to feel like a total imposter. It’s a gorgeous townhouse on Beacon Hill, complete with stone pillars and gargoyles perched up on the roof. I reach to ring the bell, but the door opens before I can even touch the buzzer.

  Carlson, the elderly butler, is standing there. “Yes?” he asks.

  “It’s me.” I pause, thrown. “Chloe. Max’s fiancée? We’ve met. More than once.”

  “Oh, yes. Miss Archer.” Carlson looks me up and down, and for a second, it feels like he’s going to tell me to go around the servants’ entrance. Then he stands aside with a thin smile. “Do come in. Mrs. Mainwaring was expecting you a while ago.”

  I check the time, panicked, but it’s just before three. I follow Carlson through the massive lobby with the grand staircase, and down a long hallway to the back of the house. If this were any other place, I’d be stopping to admire the antiques and classic architecture, but I’m already a bundle of nerves, and I barely notice anything.

  Carlson reaches a glass conservatory overlooking the gardens. “Miss Archer,” he announces. I step into the room to find Sylvia seated on a grand armchair that could double as a throne.

  “Hi.” I smile nervously and go to give her a kiss on the cheek. She’s immaculately put together as usual in a blue tweed suit with a diamond pin in her lapel. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

  “So good of you to finally join us,” Sylvia says coolly. She turns, and I see for the first time we’re not alone: two people are perched on an antique sofa. “This is Andre de la Rocha and Miriam Keller, my personal event planners. May I introduce my son’s fiancée, Chloe.”

  I shake their hands and greet them; a maid comes in to serve tea, and finally, we’re all seated on the hard furniture, gripping tiny china cups of watery tea.

  “So, we have a lot to plan,” Andre begins, whipping out a large leather file. “Honestly, I’d say push it to the fall, but I get it, we’re on a deadline. Summer, the cathedral, of course, then a reception at the estate. I pulled some dress designs and floral themes, what do you think?”

  I open my mouth, but Andre passes the pages to Sylvia instead.

  She scans them and makes a tutting noise. “Far too frivolous. This needs to be a classic event. White roses and a long train, who was it that GiGi Westington used? Lovely ceremony, very tasteful.”

  “Got it.” He makes a note. “Let’s start with the flowers then. Lilies, of course, I know you.”

  Sylvia nods. “But no scent. I can’t abide by it, I was at a party the other week with fresh flowers wafting in every room, you could hardly breathe.”

  “I know a hot-house in South America that cultivates them unscented.”

  “Very good.”

  I watch them talk back and forth as if I’m not even sitting here. “I like the scent of lilies,” I speak up softly. Nobody notices.

  “The cathedral can be difficult about décor,” Andre says.

  Sylvia smirks. “I’ll give the archbishop a call. I’ve raised enough money for that place, they should let me do whatever I please.”

  “Cathedral, check!” Andre annou
nces happily. “It seats, what, seventeen hundred?”

  “Thereabouts, yes.”

  Wait, what?

  They want to invite almost two thousand people to the wedding? I don’t even know two hundred! I clear my throat. “Actually,” I start, awkward. “I was thinking that it could be a smaller event. Just family and close friends. Maybe at the beach?”

  Their heads snap around and I’m met with three shocked stares.

  “The beach?” Sylvia repeats, as if I just suggested getting hitched at the garbage dump.

  “There are some really pretty event spaces,” I continue, pulling out the magazine tears I’ve been collecting. “Or we could even do it at the Mainwaring place on Martha’s Vineyard. Your plans sound lovely,” I add quickly to Andre, not wanting to be rude. “But I’m really not comfortable with anything over the top. Really, a nice simple ceremony is much more my speed.”

  There’s silence. Andre and Miriam shoot Sylvia a nervous look. “You know, we’ll give you a moment.” Andre shoots to his feet, and then the two of them scurry out.

  Oh crap, I just put my foot in it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, when I’m alone with Sylvia. “I really appreciate the help planning this, and of course I want to know what you think. I just really don’t want a big, extravagant event. I don’t like the spotlight. I’d really like this to be a small thing, and I know Max would agree.”

  “That’s nice.” Sylvia gives me a chilly smile. “But you have to understand, a small wedding is just impossible. There are hundreds of people who need to be invited: family friends, business acquaintances, patrons of the family foundation. They would be horribly offended if you excluded them. You don’t want that, do you?”

  I gulp. “Well no, but—”

  “And obviously Max deserves the best,” she continues over me. “This is a joyful day, to be celebrated, not treated like a cheap shotgun wedding. You’re not ashamed of my grandson, are you?”

  “Of course not,” I say. “But the cathedral, all this expense—”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Sylvia says briskly. “Your parents won’t need to shoulder any of the burden. The family will pay, naturally. And since we’re writing the checks, it’s only appropriate that we have a hand in the planning, to ensure it meets the standards for a Mainwaring event.”

  My heart sinks. She’s got me there. What am I supposed to say to that? There’s no way I—or my family—can even pay for a bouquet of those unscented lilies, let alone a wedding for a thousand people! And if they’re paying the bills, I can’t argue with every little detail.

  She’s manipulating me, but damn, it’s an iron-clad case.

  “Thank you, Sylvia,” I say through gritted teeth, just as the door swings open and Max and Sienna walk in, wearing tennis whites.

  “Hey babe,” Max greets me with a kiss. “I heard you guys were planning the wedding. Having fun?”

  “Uh huh,” I murmur.

  Sienna spots my magazine tears on the table. “You’re not going with this?” she asks in horror, dangling a picture of my dream dress from her perfectly manicured fingertips.

  Sylvia gives a little laugh. “Of course not. I have Andre on the job, it’ll be perfect.”

  “Phew.” Sienna gives me a big smile. “You must be so relieved. It’s your big debut, you wouldn’t want to get anything wrong.”

  I’m starting to get a headache. I turn to Max. “I think we’re finished here, do you want to go get dinner?”

  Dinner, drinks, a colonic irrigation. Anything to get out of here.

  But Max gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe, I have to pack. Turns out they need me in New York tonight.”

  “You’re going out of town? For how long?” I ask, thrown.

  “A few days, maybe more,” Max says vaguely. “But you should relax, have some fun. Hey,” he says brightly, “why don’t you and Sienna have a girls’ night out?”

  I blink. “I don’t know . . .”

  “No, it’s a great idea. You girls can gossip about the wedding, and pick out shoes, whatever it is you like to do. What do you think, babe?”

  I’m hoping Sienna will say she’s busy, but instead she gives me a smug little grin. “Why not? I’m sure we’ll have tons to talk about.”

  “Awesome.” Max beams and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “You’ll have a great time. My favorite girls.”

  I manage a smile. “I can’t wait,” I say faintly.

  Sienna smirks, and I wonder just what she’s got planned. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

  11.

  CHLOE

  Two margaritas later, I’m wishing I was back at the mansion, talking floral centerpieces with the ice queen herself. Anything would be better than Sienna’s master-class in passive aggressive bitching.

  “. . . And you must let me hook you up with my eyebrow girl. She has a waiting list a mile long, but I’ll tell her it’s an emergency. I know the natural look is in, but there’s a difference between full, and full-on caveman!” Sienna laughs. “Don’t tell me you need a waxer too. I won’t ask what’s going on down under!”

  I finish my drink and look around the fancy bar. She’s your future sister-in-law, I tell myself. Killing her now would throw a hitch in the wedding.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

  I force a smile. “Thanks. You’re so generous.”

  “Of course.” Sienna smiles merrily. “It’s the least I can do. You must feel so out of your depth, moving in Max’s circles. If you ever need advice, let me know. Fashion, hair, how to dress for your body type . . .”

  I take another gulp, draining my glass.

  “Want another?” Sienna asks eagerly, getting up to go to the bar. I pause. I’m not feeling tipsy yet, and I definitely need to watch my back right now.

  “No thanks, just a soda for me.”

  “Better make it diet,” she says. “You’ll be wanting to drop ten pounds to fit in your dress!”

  She heads for the bar before I can find a witty comeback. I pull out my phone and send another 911 text to Amanda.

  Please save me!

  A moment later, the reply comes.

  Sorry! Working late shift.

  Be strong, you can take that bitch in a fight.

  I don’t know about that. Sienna could do some serious damage with her four-inch stiletto sandals, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.

  Think happy sister-in-law thoughts, I remind myself, as Sienna returns with her cocktail and my glass of Coke. “Thanks.” I take a sip and pause. It tastes kind of weird, but maybe they’re just using off-brand stuff here, so I take another drink. “So,” I start, wracking my brain. “How’s work?”

  “Oh, you know, it’s so stressful, being a high-powered executive, I barely have time to think. Wait, what am I saying?” Sienna laughs. “You’re so lucky to be just an assistant. You don’t have to use your brain at all.”

  “Junior agent,” I manage to get out through gritted teeth. “I’m not an assistant anymore.”

  “Congratulations!” Sienna says. “But of course, you’ll be quitting soon. I know Max can’t wait to start a family, and of course you wouldn’t work after the wedding.”

  “Actually, Max is really supportive of my career,” I say firmly.

  “Oh, I know he says that to you,” Sienna sighs, “but just between us girls, he’s been complaining about it. I mean, he needs you for events, and you’re off running around at work. He knows you want to feel independent, but honestly, I think he’s a little insulted. Like you think he’s not man enough to take care of you.”

  I stare back at her in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Oh yes.” She sips her drink, tongue loosened by a couple of glasses of wine. “And when you wore that old dress to the gala? He was so humiliated. Why would you show him up like that?” she demands, stronger now. “It’s your job to show up, look pretty, and wear expensive things, so the world knows how successful he is.” />
  There’s a bitter edge to her voice that takes me by surprise. I don’t know what to think. Does Max really feel this way? Or is Sienna just trying to cut me down and make me doubt myself?

  Either way, I’ve given this girls’ night out long enough. “I’m going to get home,” I say, hopping down off my stool. I slip and stumble, and have to grab the table for support.

  “Whoops!” Sienna says. “Are you OK? I guess you had one drink too many.”

  “No, I’m fine,” I insist, but when I stand straight, the room starts to spin. Weird. Maybe those two drinks were stronger than I thought.

  “Here, let me help you.” Sienna takes my arm and steers me towards the exit, and I’m so unsteady, I let her. I don’t understand. It feels like I’ve been pounding beers all night. I guess I should have eaten more than a handful of fries since breakfast, but I was too nervous about my date with Sylvia to eat a proper lunch.

  Note to self: carb-load before margaritas.

  “Thanks,” I tell Sienna when we get outside. “I’ll grab a cab home.”

  “Not here, you won’t.” Sienna looks around. The street is busy—and spinning. “This way,” she says, and pulls me along down a side street. I stumble after her, feeling woozy.

  “Are you sure? I thought I saw one back there . . .” I gesture vaguely, but Sienna keeps walking.

  “There are always cabs outside the Regency hotel. It’s right this way.”

  OK then. I follow her down the dark street, away from the crowds. I’m tired now, the stress of the day hitting me all at once. I yawn and wish I could teleport back home. It’s kind of creepy here now, and I hear footsteps behind us.

  I turn. There are three guys trailing about twenty feet behind us, with baseball caps hiding their faces.

  I shiver. “Um, Sienna?” I ask, tugging her sleeve. “Where are we going again?”

  “We’re getting cabs. Look!” A flash of white appears at the end of the street. Sienna puts two fingers in her mouth and lets out a piercing whistle. The cab heads in our direction, and I let out a sigh of relief.