by T Gephart
I groaned, hauling my ass out of bed and into the shower. I was going to need to be as alert as possible to deal with my mom.
LeeAnn Dawson was a former Miss Louisiana who was anything but a southern belle. Born into money, she got a business degree so she could help run her daddy’s construction company. And after my parents got married, she took over the business and expanded it into a national operation. She kept her blonde hair perfectly coiffured and a loaded nine-millimeter in her Chanel purse—she was not a woman you wanted to mess with. Which was why I needed to return her call as soon as I got to work.
“Hey, Mom.” I pressed the phone to my ear as I sat down at my desk. “Sorry about yesterday, I was swamped at work.”
“Jessica Lynn Dawson, have you been avoiding me?” She didn’t bother with the greeting. “I tried calling four times and even left you a text message. Please tell me that heathen you work for did not keep you there all night.”
To say my mother wasn’t fond of Jeremy was an understatement. She’d said he had the demeanor of a traveling salesman peddling snake oil and didn’t appreciate his hedonistic—her word, not mine—lifestyle. I preferred to ignore it rather than defend a man who cared very little about what my parents thought of him.
“No, I wasn’t here the whole night. I was out with Dave.”
Oh, I knew what I was doing, and while not technically a lie, it was building the foundation for my further deceit. It was a necessary evil I told myself, planting the seeds now, so later our relationship flower would be able to grow.
“Is that so?” Her voice softened. “You finally going to tell me about the man you’ve been dating? Or am I going to have to hire an investigator and get the scoop myself.” She took a breath; the pause in the conversation not usually meaning good things. “I’ve been trying to be patient and give you your space, especially because I’d been so busy with Grandma Shelly. But I’d be lying if I wasn’t beginning to wonder if you weren’t keeping him from us on purpose.”
Great, now I had to try and convince her that the lack of details hadn’t been premeditated. Still, it was easier than telling her the truth. “Mom, of course not. It’s just been crazy here and I didn’t want to bother you when I knew you had your hands full. You’ll get to meet him when I come back for the wedding. We’re going to fly in Friday before the wedding and stay until Sunday. Lots of opportunity to get to know him.”
“I thought you said you were coming in on Thursday? I was hoping we could have a family dinner so you could introduce us to Dave properly. And Melanie was looking forward to going shopping.” I could hear the warning in her voice, knowing how displeased she would be if I changed plans.
Shit.
When I’d agreed to fly home on Thursday it had been before the whole fake boyfriend fiasco. My sisters-in-law, Mom, and I had offered to use the opportunity to go shopping with my older sister who was expecting her second baby. Of course if we proceeded as planned it would mean leaving Dave at the mercy of my brothers, brother-in-law and father while I was gone. And while I didn’t doubt his acting ability, even Denzel Washington would struggle. Especially having less than a month to prepare. Not even a year would be long enough.
“Errrr, I don’t know if I can get the time off work,” I offered, thinking it was the most believable excuse.
Jeremy—who wasn’t supposed to be in till later—picked that exact moment to emerge from the elevator and catch the tail end of the conversation, eyeing me with suspicion.
“Time off work for what?” He didn’t bother waiting until I was off the phone, asking the question as he came to stand in front of my desk.
I forced a tight grin, waving him off as I continued to talk to my mother. “Oh, hi, Jeremy. Yes, I know how busy this time of year is.”
I’d hoped my telepathy was working better this morning than it had been last night. With all the brainpower I could muster, I begged him to go into his office, promising him I’d fill him in later.
Not that I’d tell him the whole truth, because I wasn’t insane, and valued employment. But the mortified version, which I hadn’t concocted yet, but would sound amazing as soon as I had.
“Is this about your hillbilly wedding?” He cocked an eyebrow totally missing my mental clues and misreading my exaggerated hand gestures. “Why are you acting weird? I already told you to take off whatever days you needed as long as we had cover.”
No, I mouthed silently, shaking my head as my mother’s voice filled my ear. “See, the heathen is fine with it. Fly in Thursday like we had planned.”
Damn it.
I narrowed my eyes, shooting Jeremy mind bullets I knew wouldn’t register as I responded. “Sure, sounds great. I’ll let you know what time we’re flying in and when we’re checking into our hotel.”
“Hotel?” I heard the sharp intake of air, not even attempting to hide her shock. “No child of mine is coming home and staying in a hotel when we have perfectly good bedrooms here.”
We’d been through it before, and usually I relented, happy to stay in my old bedroom. But there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell I was staying with my parents this time around. It would mean Dave and I would have to be in character the entire time, and have my parents eye him suspiciously if he ventured anywhere near my room. Not that we were going to do anything sexual, but we need evening meetings for debriefing and possibly regrouping, something we couldn’t do if we were constantly under surveillance. I was exhausted just thinking about it. Besides, one slip up and we’d be exposed, and my mother was a shark when it came to noticing stuff, she could smell the blood in the water.
“Mom, my accommodation is non-negotiable.” I made it clear my mind had been made up and I wouldn’t be bending. “I’ll be staying at the Hilton, downtown. We can argue about it later.”
She huffed out a breath, knowing that when I dug my heels in there was little more she could do to convince me. “I swear, I have to wonder where you get this stubborn streak from, but fine, if that’s what you want, then that’s what you want. Throw good money at that god awful place.” The distaste rolled off her tongue.
“Thanks, Mom, we’ll speak later.”
“Do not avoid my calls Jessica Lynn,” she gave me one last warning, “I still don’t know anything about the man who is dating my youngest daughter. While the lack of details might fly in Hollywood, it’s not going to suffice for us.”
Jeremy waited until we said our goodbyes, his hands in his pockets as he eyed me. “You want to tell me what that was about? I’m not fluent in hand waves and evil eye stares.”
“I lied to my mother,” I explained, wondering if I got credit for telling half the truth. “I was trying to get out of going home the Thursday before the wedding.”
“I thought you wanted to go back. Is there something I’m missing?” He looked at me with confusion.
I groaned, trying to explain further was too hard and would only dig myself into an even deeper hole. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“All you needed to say. The less I know, the better.” He held his hands up. “Now, onto important things. You smooth things over with Dave Larsson? I have a meeting with Eric at ten and I need to work out how much ass I need to kiss.” The smile on his face told me he wasn’t as worried as he pretended to be.
I rolled my eyes, unable to hide my grin. “You need to find him a better role. I’m giving you a script and you need to read it. It is perfect for him.”
“Yes, yes. I will.” He crossed his heart as he moved toward his office. “I promise.”
I shouted after him. “Don’t burn me, Jeremy. I went to bat for you.”
I’d promised Dave we’d find him something better and I was committed to making that happen. Not just because of what he was doing for me, but because he’d earned it. He was a great guy and talented too, and he sure as hell was hot enough to carry a lead. Amazing how I’d suddenly felt more invested in his future when yesterday morning I hadn’t. Must have been the lingering remnan
ts of the trance I’d been in. That was the only explanation.
The day was like any other. Phone calls, meetings and about a million Post-It notes on my desk with messages and reminders for Jeremy.
Katrina and I met for lunch like we did most days, eating in the break room while we chatted.
“So, you never told me what happened with your mom?” she asked between bites of her quinoa salad.
I swallowed, conveniently not having mentioned my arrangement with Dave. “Nothing really.” Which was pretty much the truth. “You know me, I’ll work something out.”
She nodded, agreeing that I’d find a way to somehow come out of this in one piece. “Did you call Dave?”
“Dave?” I almost choked on my sandwich. “Why would I call Dave?” I tried to scoff in disbelief.
“Ummm, because he left angry yesterday after Jeremy was a douchebag.” She narrowed her eyes, looking at me like I’d grown an extra head. “Weren’t you tasked with smoothing it all over?”
“Yes, of course I was. Sorry, my mind is on other things. He’s all good.” My smile hopefully reassured her that I wasn’t acting crazy.
She leaned in closer, her smile widening. “Great, I was thinking of asking him out.”
I coughed again, my poor esophagus taking a beating as I tried to clear my throat and breathe at the same time, the words wheezing out. “On a date?”
“Of course on a date, did you not see how hot he looked? I figured the worst that can happen is he turns me down, and I’ll never know unless I ask.” Her lips spread into a grin of self-satisfaction. “And, if he says yes . . . well.” She fanned herself dramatically.
“He’s a client, Katrina.” I hoped pointing out the obvious would curtail her ideas of hooking up.
“So?” Her shoulder lifted, giving me a shrug. “Technically there is no reason why we can’t date. We’re not responsible for any of his bookings, there’s no conflict of interest.”
Katrina was right. There were no official rules against us dating clients. Most people didn’t because it would be awkward when a breakup inevitably happened, but Jeremy was the only one who was ethically bound not to pee in the pool. I just didn’t think it was smart, and given how stupid I’d been lately, I wanted to hold on to as much intelligence as I could.
“I don’t think Jeremy will see it that way.”
Katrina scoffed, amused by my suggestion. “Unless Jeremy is going to lose money on it, he won’t give a shit. Besides, he hasn’t even said yes yet.”
Well, she had a point.
There was the very real possibility he’d turn her down. I mean, he hadn’t seemed to notice her whenever she was staring at his ass. And while she might not have a problem dating clients, maybe he did.
“I thought you’d be more excited for me?” She pouted, her eyes clouding with disappointment that I hadn’t been more supportive of her dating my fake boyfriend.
Not that I’d told her he was my fake boyfriend, no she was just supposed to innately know that he was off limits.
“Of course I’m excited. It’s great. You should totally ask him out and I bet he says yes.” No need to oversell it, dumbass. “And if he turns you down it’s probably just because he doesn’t want to mix business with pleasure.”
I was being ridiculous. There was no reason Dave could not date Katrina. We had a business arrangement. I was paying him money for services to be rendered and I certainly didn’t expect for him to be celibate for the next few weeks. He’d been on a date last night, could have been screwing her brains out before he’d met up with me. Hell, he might be screwing someone’s brains out right now and I have no say in the matter.
“Awesome.” She grinned. “I’m going to call him after lunch.”
I forced a smile, continuing to fake my enthusiasm. “Great. Let me know what he says.”
It was so not great.
THE DAY HAD SEEMED TO drag on forever and when I finally got home to my apartment, I felt dead on my feet.
I was already on my second glass of wine when I called my mother. I’d kept details of Dave fairly generic, just mentioning we’d met at work and that he was an actor. She wasn’t pleased that he didn’t have a real job, but was glad he was at least employed. And lucky for me the minor debrief had been enough information to satisfy her.
Well, at least until she got a chance to meet him.
Which would be happening soon.
* Insert sarcasm * I could barely contain my excitement.
Instead of cooking dinner, I grabbed a bag of Goldfish, collapsed onto my sofa, and polished off the bottle of wine. It seemed like a solid idea and one I was pretty happy with when I was sipping the last of the Shiraz from my glass.
It was also doing wonders for my mood, the tension easing out of my body as I watched mindless television. I’d barely even noticed when my phone buzzed beside me.
“Jessica Dawson,” I answered, not bothering to check the caller ID.
“Hey, Jess, it’s Dave.”
The bottle of Shiraz made its presence felt as my skin flushed at the sound of his sexy voice. My body scrambled, trying to sit up straighter even though he couldn’t see me. “Hey, Dave.” I unsuccessfully tried not to slur. “What can I do for you?” The words came out slow and unsteady.
“I was looking forward to reading over my casting notes.” He chuckled. “However, my inbox is missing the all-important file.”
My hand lacked coordination as I attempted to slap my forehead. “Shit, I totally forgot.”
Last night before we said goodnight, we’d agreed it would be useful to get to know each other a little better. A crash course on all things important. Things that might be significant—like favorite food, tastes in music, where we went to college—stuff that most people would know about their significant other. I had started compiling my Jessica Dawson dossier earlier today, but stalled out after hearing about Katrina’s fantastic idea at lunch. I had intended to finish it when I got home but then wine happened.
Shit.
“I can have it to you in the next hour.” I harnessed all my effort to be able to continue talking and turn on my laptop. “I was almost done.”
“It can wait till tomorrow if you’re busy.”
I tried to focus on the saved document, thanking God it was mostly completed. “No, no. I’m not busy. I can totally do this.”
Not sure why I didn’t just agree to give it to him tomorrow, because I wasn’t at all convinced I could even type my name let alone write a sentence. But in my head, it made sense. I didn’t want to be the weakest link that let down the team, and his email was already sitting in my inbox, mocking me as it flashed as an unread message.
He paused, a few seconds passing before he spoke. “Are you drunk?”
“No. No. Not all,” I assured him, shaking my head with vigor for confirmation. “I’ve just had some wine, but it’s fine. I’ll finish and send the email.”
I hung up before he could argue or confirm my inebriation, and set about adding more information. Not sure why I had struggled earlier in the day, my fingers flew along the keyboard as I added bits and pieces of information. I should have done the whole thing after a bottle of wine, the process seeming easier than I first thought. And without bothering to proofread, I sent the email and congratulated myself on a job well done.
No wonder Hemmingway was an alcoholic; writing while drunk was super easy. It was literally the
Best.
Thing.
Ever.
But my celebration didn’t last long as fatigue took over. Between the late night from yesterday, the eventful day, and the wine, I barely had enough energy to walk to my bedroom. I didn’t even bother with pajamas, stripped out of my clothes quickly before commando crawling into bed with my phone in my hand.
And against my better judgment—I mean, why start being sensible now—my fingers swiped the screen, opening Dave’s email. Unlike my detailed attachment, he’d including all his notes in the body of the email. In poin
t form, he listed snippets of information, like a cheat sheet on all things Dave Larsson.
It felt so naughty, reading about him as I lay naked underneath my sheets, my eyes widening when I got to the part where he said he slept naked. I wondered if at that moment he was doing the exact same thing. Like phone sex by email without the dirty talk, his voice took up residence inside my head as he whispered to me his secrets.
And while my position at Levin Murphy had meant I already knew a lot, I relished the private delicious morsels he’d included. It was a rare man who could be just as sexy on paper as he was in person, but Dave Larsson was a freaking unicorn.
I woke up with my phone on my face and a headache. Slowly, I lifted each eyelid, testing how offending the light was in the room before I made a full commitment to opening them. It wasn’t so bad, the heavy drapes that hung on my bedroom window saving me the full assault from the morning sun.
“Ugh,” I groaned, peeling the screen from my face and taking a layer of epidermis with it as the glass lifted from my skin. I rolled over onto my stomach, squinting as I tried to focus on the time. It was nine a.m. and I was going to be late.
Shit.
Normally, I would have leapt from my bed running around like a madwoman trying to break the space-time continuum while getting ready and refusing to accept the inevitable. I was always shocked when I was still late, but gave myself credit for trying. But as I slowly ambled out of bed, I felt a strange sense of calm.
Maybe I was still drunk, I reasoned, making my way to the shower with no sense of urgency. It was weird, and other than the headache, I felt sort of . . . great.
Relieved. Relaxed.
That must have been one hell of a bottle of Shiraz. I made a mental note to check out the label and buy a case of it. Not that I had plans of becoming an alcoholic, but to keep for the times where I needed a mental vacation. Not everyone could afford a trip to the Bahamas whenever life got too intense, so I’d happily make do.
The spray from the shower felt good on my skin when I finally got in, the suds washing down my body, my long hair pressing against my back as I took my time before stepping out and patting myself dry.