Last Time We Kissed_A Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Doll better not disappoint. There's no Plan B, short of hiring some clueless broad dad would see through in a heartbeat.

  “Are we doing this, or not?” I ask, brusk and pointed.

  There's a considerable pause. It's stifling. I'm about to end the call and throw my phone off the balcony when she lets out a slow, soft sigh. “I guess. How long do you need me?”

  “Ninety days ought to do it, but probably less,” I tell her. “Doubt my father lasts through summer. It's him we really need to convince, before he pushes daisies. If you're able to take a leave of absence and meet me for a month or two, we'll be even. I'll pull every string I've got to make sure there's still a place for you in China, if that's where your heart is anchored these days.”

  “God, Cal. I'm sorry about your father. Of course I'll be there,” she says, sympathy I didn't ask for oozing through my phone. “The company wants me back in the States next week anyway. I think I can be there by Thursday.”

  “Perfect. There's a charity auction on Friday I'm attending, and I'd like you with. I'll show you off to the movers and shakers, let the tabloids tell the city the disgraced son everybody forgot the last seven years landed a normal woman.”

  There's an awkward silence. She must remember I have zero tolerance for comforting bullshit, like if she starts telling me the litany: it's not so bad, I'll find my way, and disgraced? Surely, I'm exaggerating.

  I've heard the same bullshit from my two best friends, Cade and Spencer, a thousand times. I don't need more empathy. It hasn't gotten me anywhere.

  “Just tell me one thing,” she says nervously. “Why? The details aren't making sense. You mentioned your father, his illness...are you trying to make sure he sees you happy before...you know?”

  “Before he croaks? No, this isn't some ego trip, doll. I'm not looking for his sad, selfish approval. There's a condition in his trust before he goes: I need a wife to rehabilitate myself, or I get virtually nothing.”

  “I see,” she whispers. In fact, Maddie doesn't have a fucking clue, but what else can she say? “Well, whatever I can do to help, Cal. Just like I promised.”

  “Anything,” I say, repeating her last haunting word to me after the disaster. “Put on a good enough show for the public, for whoever I ask you to fool. Maybe I'll let you sleep in a separate bed.”

  She gasps. My tongue slides against my teeth, loving how wickedly close the air escaping her mouth is to a moan.

  “Um, I did say anything, but I don't know if I can –“

  “Relax. I'm not interested in getting my dick wet where it's not wanted. You're paying your debt with this fake fiancée act. Not with your body.”

  Honestly? I want her at ease, sure. It won't do either of us any good if she shows up at the auction full of wide-eyed sexual tension, on edge because she doesn't know when I'll push her into the nearest wall and rip off her clothes.

  Yet, it's no more than three seconds before I regret those words.

  After all these years, I still want to fuck her. Once, I was after her cherry. I'm sure that's long gone, stolen by some other lucky bastard. But I remember the short, sweet taste I had of her lips seven years ago, before I walked out on the schoolyard that day and let fate pull the trigger, blowing my life to pieces.

  “I'll see you soon,” she says, timid as the old Maddie I remember. “Is there anything else you want?”

  “Just you, doll. Friday. Come bright-eyed and madly in love with me, a come fuck me dress on your hips and a pair of heels on your feet. Pick whatever you want online and text me your choice. I don't care how much it costs. I'll put in an order.”

  She's quiet for a moment. “Really? Is this how it'll be the entire time? I thought we left Maynard behind, Cal. We're in our late twenties for Christ's sake!”

  It's finally upsetting her. Don't know why the hell that's so amusing.

  “What happened there never left me,” I say, picking up my wine glass, letting the dark red sweetness drown my tongue. “Friday, Maddie. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  I hear her start to form another word, but I disconnect the call before she gets it out.

  If she's still feeling sorry for me, I don't care.

  If she's offended, I care even less.

  I've protected her enough for one lifetime. I'm done treating her feelings like eggshells.

  This artificial engagement is on because I don't have a choice. It's my only shot at convincing dad to hand out more than a few measly million, to open the doors I've earned keys to before it's too late, and to set me up to continue the good work I've done for the firm started by my grandfather.

  It's bound to be hell on us both. Maddie doesn't want to be here fawning over my sorry ass any more than I enjoyed the year off my life in jail for her.

  That's how this works – quid pro quo.

  Friday, we do what we need to. She starts paying off her debt. If I decide to have a little fun while this shit show hits the road, then so be it.

  “Holy fuck. I know he always said you'd get nothing, but you're telling me he means it?” Cade looks at me, running a hand through his thick blond hair. His angular jaw clenches in sympathy. The genes from his Icelandic blue blood father couldn't be more obvious.

  I nod once. That's all it takes for him to spin his chair around, breaking out the emergency flask of vodka he keeps under his desk for just these occasions.

  “Double shot for me,” Spencer says from the corner, looking up from the stock prices scrolling across his phone's screen. “I'm doing time with the boys from New York this evening. Neolithic. You both know what that means.”

  My brow furrows. “Yeah, absolute ball busters.”

  The prestigious investment firm from Wall Street doesn't fuck around. Neither does Grant Shaw, the founder, who's sent his boys to the other coast sniffing for new business partners.

  “Go easy, Spence. Your miracles always happen sober,” Cade says with a frown, passing us both our drinks across the desk, a single shot for everyone. “I'm fucking floored, Cal. How could he just cut you off at the knees? Nobody in Seattle gives a shit what happened seven years ago. Can't believe your old man still thinks it makes you a liability for the firm.”

  He knows that isn't true. Plenty of people care, but I let his lie off with a dark glance.

  “I'm not the one he ever wanted sitting here. It was always supposed to be John,” I say.

  Deep down, when I plow the darkness and come face-to-face with everything I'll never admit, I think my big brother might've done better than me. Hell, I practically know it. He had discipline, heart, and a set of brass balls that got him slaughtered protecting his fellow soldiers.

  He also didn't have a prison record and a sickening trial that had half the city clucking their tongues, thankful they never raised a 'deeply troubled' kid like me. The other half got to enjoy several weeks of Schadenfreude. Comes with the territory when a billionaire's son lands himself in the deep, perilous shit I did. The poorer, angst types who pegged me for being born with a silver spoon in my mouth loved our misfortune.

  “How long does he have?” Spence says coldly, staring at me with his eyes narrowed while he drains his vodka in one swallow.

  “Six, seven weeks. Maybe less. Who the hell knows. It's not an exact science when the pancreas burns out and cancer goes everywhere.”

  “With all due respect, your old man's a prick if he sticks to his guns. He can't fucking cut you out,” Cade growls, banging his fists on the desk when he brings them down. “You worked for your share, Cal. Harder than anybody here. We can't let him take it away from you just like that.”

  His fingers snap loudly, leaving a dull ringing in my ears. “Enough. Forget my crap,” I say. “I'll work it out. Told you already, there's a chance I could change his mind if I meet the conditions he set in his trust.”

  “Oh, up and marry some broad? So reasonable,” Spence rolls his eyes, sarcastic as ever. “What about an escort? They're not all fake tits and one night stands. I've
paid plenty for girls who'll suck you off with stars in their eyes. Bet they'd glow brighter if they'd get their money without having to choke on your –“

  “You can stop there. Shit, Spence, I didn't come down here to listen to your latest bedroom antics.” I shoot him a dirty look.

  Spence just grins. He purged his conscience a long time ago, shameless and proud of the high class notches in his belt. I ignore him, look at Cade, and regain my calm. “I have a plan. Might need a few extra days away from the office to get it going. That's what I really came by to ask for.”

  “Whatever you need, brother.” Cade reaches across the desk and slams his fist into mine. He's too good a friend, better than I deserve, especially when I was drunk off my ass those nights after prison, after John died, deep in my rudderless misery while he was halfway through one of the hardest business schools in the country. “We had your leave on the books, anyway. It's no secret he's been closer to death's door. Already had your time blocked off over the next quarter for the inevitable.”

  “Just give me a few days. You can cancel the rest. If this goes off well, I'll have more reason than ever to hit it hard at the office. Won't need an extended absence.”

  Spence looks up, surprised. Cade stares through me, nodding slowly.

  They know what I've been through over the years, how everything went haywire with my father after I saved Doll and no one could save John. They've watched me busting my ass for a pittance of a yearly bonus, without the cushy guarantee I'd inherit the stake they've always been entitled to from their dads.

  “Cal,” Spence calls my name, waiting until I turn around to face him. “Don't let this bullshit make you crazy. We've got your back if daddy dearest fucks you over.”

  “I know, and one fine day I'll repay it.” Standing, I grab his hand, giving it a brotherly squeeze on my way out.

  I may have lost the only family I ever had over the last decade to war, booze, and psychosis, but I'm thankful for the men who've stood with me since those days at Maynard.

  It won't be the end of me, taking the crazy way out with a fake fiancée in a last ditch effort to fool my asshole father. It's going to work. And it'll be a massive relief when it finally pays off, and I don't need to rely on their support anymore to stave off disaster.

  Thursday, Maddie texts me she's home. Same old neighborhood where her folks settled just outside the U of Washington campus. It's summer, and I hope she knows how lucky she is being able to hear herself think without the constant noise and frat parties.

  She sent me links to the dress and heels she picked out before leaving Beijing. I vetoed her first two choices – far too plain and far too cheap for a charity ball where the median net worth in the room is right at thirty million – and told her to choose something that looks like it's suited for a Randolph bride.

  She sent back a sleek blue dress with ocean trim, matching heels, and a platinum necklace. Plus four different red-faced emojis I'm sure reflected how abruptly her heart stopped when I told her to stop screwing off, and send me something real.

  Everything went on my Centurion charge card instantly. It also made my dick hard, picturing the little doll who always had a gift for making me hot in grown up clothes. I've seen her pictures over the years, and she's filled out nicely. Tomorrow, she'll show me a woman's curves in her classy new outfit, It'll make this job pretending we're on fire easy as sin.

  Hell, maybe too easy.

  I can't shake the curiosity when I'm home from the office that night. Impatient and horny bastard that I am, I break out my phone and pull up her number, typing out a text.

  Cal: You've got a dressing mirror, right? Put it on and hit send. Show me everything. I want to make sure it's right for the ball.

  It's the better part of an hour before I get a reply.

  Maddie: How's this? Not showing too much leg for their crowd, I hope?

  The V-cut down the middle rides straight to her bare hip, and I'm a fucking goner. My cock jerks hard in my trousers, its angry tip straining against my belt, ready to ruin everything before it's begun if I give it half a chance.

  No. I can't let this do the thinking.

  I have to get these pics the hell off my screen before the heat in my balls makes me stupid.

  Cal: Perfect. I'll see you there at seven.

  I'm glad she isn't looking for a proper date. I'm sending my driver around to pick her up after I show up at the ball half an hour early. It's how it has to be. Knowing what she's wearing, causing my prick to leak heat all over my thigh, I don't think I'd survive the ten minute trip in the back of the car without putting her under me.

  I'm doubly grateful she never texts back. Gives me ample time to throw my phone on my nightstand and step into a long, cold shower. It takes the ice forever to soothe my blood, and I've got it cranked to glacial. I'm panting like a bull in rut by the time I step out, toweling off, ignoring the raging hard-on up to my six-pack while it hits me.

  This fake fiancée act won't be easy.

  But the faster it comes, the more I realize how its challenge has nothing to do with dad or even our screwed up past. There's a vicious chemistry between us I thought I'd be able to ignore. Thought it'd be dead after so many years apart.

  Hour by hour, minute by minute, the march toward Friday evening warns me I'm flat out wrong.

  Raw attraction is alive and kicking. It comes at me with a thousand questions, but only one that's really important.

  How the hell do I pretend I'm obsessed with this woman, and keep it professional, without actually fucking her first chance I get?

  III: Jitters (Maddie)

  I'm no stranger to old money, high class, and self-righteous pricks. Kinda comes with the territory when you're a rising star in a major international company. But glamor and egos aren't the main reason the butterflies in my stomach have teeth, making me woozy when I step into the sleek glassy building downtown for the first time.

  “Name or party, madame?” An older man in a tailored suit steps up, swift as a secret service agent, looking me up and down.

  At least my chic blue dress and heels pass the first test, and I'm not thrown out on sight. “Randolph,” I tell him.

  He grins. “Ah, so you're the lucky lady. My congratulations. Mr. Randolph has a table reserved. Right this way.”

  It's getting very weird, very fast. I follow him through the security line, and we head into a massive ballroom like something out of a fairy tale updated for modern times.

  Several dozen well dressed couples mingle, their chatter a steady roil behind the soft piano music coming from the stage. My eyes scan the crowd for Cal. When we near the table with the RANDOLPH sign on it, at first I'm sure there's someone else in his seat.

  The man dressed to the nines in his tux and silver tie looks preposterously mature. Gone is the handsome, slender boy I used to crush on, replaced by a tall, dark, and brutally handsome man.

  Cal's looks were always good to him. Time has been even kinder.

  I shouldn't be surprised. I tried to brace myself for this. Tried, and completely failed.

  One good glance at my fake fiancé makes my blood steam down to my knees.

  “Hello, doll. It's been a long time. Pull up a chair.” The boy's deep voice is a man's now, several octaves lower than I remember. He stands, towering over me at least a foot, and readies my chair for me.

  “My God.” It's all I'm able to whisper as my butt hits the cushion.

  His shoulders are broader. His muscles are bigger, firmer, and sleeker than his eighteen year old bones could've supported. If he's suffered over the years – and I'm certain he has – his body shows no signs. It's like the pain has somehow strengthened his rough beauty, carved more perfection into the jawline covered in a rogue five o'clock shadow, given his neat, dark hair a perfect wave, and deepened his eyes.

  Those sky blue gems set in his handsome face are all I recognize of the Calvin I once knew. They're unshakeable. No different from the last day I saw them, full of fury
.

  Except now there's an added darkness in the blue halo around his pupils. It sends a sharp chill up my spine.

  He strokes his chin, quietly studying me, impossible to read behind his gorgeous mask. “What are you thinking?” I try, breaking the eerie silence.

  “I think it's too damn quiet. Glad you're happy to see me, doll, but I think you can be happier. Drink?” He waves to the bar in the corner, where there's a man in a vest shaking up a cocktail in a steel tumbler.

  “I'd love to,” I say, standing. I mean it.

  I welcome anything that gives me a few more minutes to decide how I'll deal with telling the world I'm marrying this enigma.

  I'm in a daze as I follow him to the bar, struggling to process how I've gotten here, back in the presence of a man I thought I'd lost forever.

  I order my usual: a mimosa with extra citrus. He quirks an eyebrow and points it my way after asking for a scotch, more determined than ever to inflame the raw, confused pulse each look kindles deep inside me.

  “Still love to play it safe, I see. Can't blame you. It's gotten you far.”

  “Well, to China, anyway. How are you, Cal? You look good.” My cheeks bloom fierce red, transported seven years in the past as soon as the words are out. Why can't I compliment him like a normal adult?

  “Miserable,” he says under his breath. “Wouldn't have asked you to this shitshow if I didn't have a lot to lose. Let's get on with it, and do some introductions.”

  Apparently, he's never developed the patience for small talk. His hand drifts to mine a half second after we've picked up our drinks, and soon we're making the rounds.

  “Mrs. Vernon, don't you look lovely?” he says to a plump, older woman near the stage, one hand holding her glasses. Yes, those glasses, the kind I thought were left behind in the nineteenth century. “This is my fiancée, Maddie.”

  “Delighted,” the woman says in her haughtiest tone. Or maybe it's her normal voice. “My, young man, why didn't I hear you were engaged? Tell me everything!”