Because I found her adorable and sexy and amazingly upbeat.
A lot of women would have been too offended to accept my explanation for the care package. Leah had seemed to take it in stride and had seen the ridiculousness of it without being upset. I couldn’t even imagine what the hell she’d thought when she’d opened that box of mixed messages. Darren needed to work on his cohesion skills. One of these things is not like the others.
Andre was pulling up in front of the building Leah had given me as the theater address. I hadn’t really paid attention to the address when I’d given it to him and now I stared up at it in consternation. “Are you kidding me?”
“What? Is this the wrong location?”
“No.” I straightened my tie and smoothed my beard. “But I bought this whole block. Every building but this one. They are holding out and it’s tripping up my redevelopment project. But I plan to win the fight otherwise everything I already bought is useless. This is right in the damn middle of the block.” The whole issue was one of those that should never have been a problem and now was a giant money-sucking pain in the ass.
“Just throw cash at them. They’ll cave eventually.”
“That’s the plan.” I opened the door. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“You said that yesterday.”
I paused with one foot on the curb. “Fuck off,” I said mildly.
He laughed.
It occurred to me I was going to have to pay Andre to keep his mouth shut if Leah agreed to this arrangement. At least to the length of time we’d known each other. He could testify that we were having day sex. I slammed the door shut, annoyed all over again at the audacity of my father’s edict.
But then I forgot about being angry because the door to the theater shot open and there was Leah.
She was dressed like a mermaid.
A sparkly, big-haired, seashell-on-her-tits mermaid. She shimmered everywhere her skin was exposed and I wanted to touch every single inch of her. First with my hands, then my tongue.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Did you find it okay?”
I nodded, trying to focus. She sounded so polite and friendly and unlike a woman who could give me the dirtiest of dirty thoughts. “I’m familiar with the area. You look very… shimmery.”
Leah laughed. “Right? I always wanted to be a mermaid. They lure men to their death, you know.”
“I didn’t know that. Should I be afraid?”
Her head titled, as if she was considering. “Nah. I have more uses for you alive than dead.”
“I’m reassured.” I gestured for her to enter the building ahead of me. “How is your ankle?”
“It’s swollen, but it doesn’t hurt too bad.” She tried to lift her foot to show me but her fin kept her ankles too close together. “Anyway, I wrapped it with the bandages you sent and I think it will be fine in a few days. I have the bracelet for you but it’s in my purse. Don’t let me forget it.”
I didn’t care about the bracelet. “I’m glad your ankle isn’t too bad.”
She hobbled across the lobby. “Isn’t this theater so incredibly cool?”
I thought it would be cooler torn down but I just made a noncommittal sound. I’m all for preserving architecture that is historically relevant, but honestly, this building was like the nineteen thirties version of tract housing. It had just been thrown up as quickly as possible, with elements that were more cheesy than elegant. The details were akin to buying plastic medallions, slapping them on the ceiling, and saying it was art. It smelled musty and I had no doubt it was chock-full of asbestos.
But I wasn’t surprised that Leah would be the person who thought something had value simply because it was old.
“We can go in the back of the theater,” she said. “They’re rehearsing act two but I’m not in it.”
Not the privacy I had envisioned, but I would make do. I held the door for her and she limped and hopped to the last row of velvet seats and sat down with a sigh.
I sank down into a seat next to her. “Maybe you should skip dress rehearsal until the ankle is one hundred percent.” It might sound heavy-handed but I was picturing her taking a face-plant in that tight floor-length skirt.
She waved her hand, dismissing me. “The show is this weekend. I have to wear this or I won’t feel comfortable during the performance.”
“What is the show about? Besides mermaids.”
“It’s about smashing the patriarchy.”
Of course it was. “Cool. I’d say break a leg, but you might take me literally.”
Leah laughed, then covered her mouth like she was concerned she was being too loud.
The stage was filled with pirates and mermaids and something that may or may not have been a dancing walrus. Despite the general dilapidation of the theater, the set and the costumes were very elegant and artistic. It wasn’t giving a high school production vibe, but it looked very professional.
I didn’t like that we were both facing forward by nature of the theater seats. I turned to look at her, and she wasn’t even really looking at me.
“So what did you want to ask me?” she said in a low voice, watching the rehearsal.
“I want to hire you for an acting job.” I had thought about how to present my proposal and straightforward seemed the smartest way to go.
She turned to eye me, frowning a little. “What? What kind of acting job?”
“I’ll pay you generously to pretend to be my girlfriend for a weekend at my parents’ house in the Hamptons.” There was no other way to say it. I just laid it all out there.
Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. “Why?”
“Why you or why do I need a fake girlfriend?”
“Both.”
“Why I want you is easy.” I shifted so that my leg bumped hers and I reached out and flipped the ends of her dark hair. “Because I want you. We have chemistry that is very believable.” I eyed her lips. I really wanted to kiss her.
She bit her bottom lip, further enticing me. “There is truth to that. But why do you need to lie to your parents?”
“Because they are obsessed with me being in a relationship and my father is threatening to fire me if I don’t produce a girlfriend. I can’t let that happen. I’ve worked my ass off at the company.”
“That seems very manipulative,” she murmured. “On their part, I mean.”
“Very. My parents’ anniversary party is next weekend. We would go up Friday and come back Sunday.” I ran my hand down her bare arm. “You’d have to, you know, kiss me and pretend to like me. Share my room. The usual.”
“I see.” She glanced back at the stage. “No.”
Her voice was flat and matter-of-fact. It took me a second to realize she was rejecting my offer. “What? Why?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not an escort. You should hire one. I’m sure there are reputable escort services that men like you know about.”
I’d offended her and I hadn’t meant to do that. The accidental vibrator delivery definitely hadn’t helped plead my cause. “I don’t want an escort. I want an actress. I know you’re an excellent one and I happen to like you, Leah.”
Leah studied me. “I can’t spend a weekend with you, pretending to be your girlfriend and having sex with you, for money, without feeling weird about it.”
Okay, so that had come across all wrong. Time to change tactics. Give the control to her. “I made no assumption sex was part of the deal. It’s only two nights and we’ll be in my parents’ house.” We could have sex when we got back to Manhattan and I was no longer paying her because I had already tossed out the window the idea that I could resist Leah indefinitely. But for a weekend? I could manage to keep my hands to myself. Self-discipline. It’s my middle name. “I solemnly swear I won’t have sex with you so as not to complicate the situation.”
She frowned.
“That way you can take a paycheck for pretending that you would be crazy enough to commit yourself to me. It could
be the role of a lifetime. Challenging enough to be worthy of a Tony.” I gave her a charming smile and pulled the contract I’d had written up out of the inside pocket of my suit jacket. “At least consider it.”
Leah opened the tri-folded contract and made a sound in the back of her throat. “This is a very generous pay rate.”
“It’s because it’s not easy to date a bossy guy like me. Even if it’s fake.”
The corner of her mouth turned up. “You are bossy.”
“A leader.”
She rolled her eyes. “So what would my role be? Are you the reluctant bachelor to my clinging stalker?”
That sounded way too much like real life with previous relationships for me to enjoy that.
I wanted Leah, as Leah. Sassy, flirty, fuck-with-me-a-little Leah. “Hell no. I’m supposed to be very into you and you’re supposed to adore me.” I gave her a smile. “Hence the acting. It’s not easy to adore me.”
That’s where Grant was wrong. So very, very wrong. He was actually very easy to adore and I imagined he had plenty of women in real life vying for his attention. So why did he want to hire a fake girlfriend to appease his parents? He could have a real girlfriend in a heartbeat.
I tried to picture spending a weekend with Grant and his family in the Hamptons and couldn’t quite imagine it. It sounded both amazing and horrible all at the same time. “Am I supposed to be me or someone else?”
“You’d be Leah but you can’t be an actress or they might catch on to what is happening. So we’d have to create an identity for you as close to the truth as possible.”
I could do that. Easily. But I wasn’t sure it was wise. It had the potential to get very complicated because well, I was still hot for Grant. No question about that.
I glanced at the figure he had in the paperwork. One weekend would pay my rent for six months. I bit my lip. I had told myself no. That Grant was far too tempting and far too rich for me to get involved with him.
But this wasn’t getting involved. This was a job. With a man I was deeply attracted to and had already lifted my poodle skirt for. Or allowed him to lift my poodle skirt. Still. It was just an insanely high-paying job that would require me to spend three days in the lap of luxury in the Hamptons, which I’d never been to. Not exactly a hardship.
My mental gymnastics went on and on and Grant took the opportunity to play with my hair again. When he touched me, I couldn’t think, so I pushed his hand away. Unfortunately, I didn’t push it hard enough and all I accomplished was dropping it onto my seashell bra.
“Shoot, I didn’t mean to do that!” I whispered a little frantically.
He made a sound that might have been a growl before pulling his hand slowly, seductively away. “I need an answer by tomorrow,” he said. “So I have time to find someone else if your answer is no.”
Hello.
Wait a second.
Someone else?
Well, that had never occurred to me. Of course he would hire someone else if he didn’t hire me because he wasn’t going to jeopardize losing his position. That was the whole point. I was, predictably and painfully, jealous of the idea that another woman would be Grant’s fake girlfriend. Kissing on him and sharing a bed with him.
Who would Grant hire? Someone taller than me, and thinner than me. Blonde. I bet she would be Swedish or Ukrainian, with a sexy low voice. She would drape herself over his chest and give him smoldering looks. Maybe she would have sex with him.
Screw that.
If he was having a fake girlfriend it was going to be me.
“Yes,” I said, betraying all my prior convictions and acting on the dangerous duo of poverty and jealousy. Not a great combination but I spoke with zero regret and ringing conviction. “My answer is yes.”
Grant gave a smile. The kind of smile that spoke to why he was successful and how I had so easily wound up naked beneath him. I shivered and told myself it was because the theater was cold. Which was a total lie. Not like a sort of tiny, baby lie, but what my grandmother would call a whopper.
Because, really, I was shivering from picturing lying in a fluffy white bed next to Grant and not having sex with him. That would be like falling into a ball pit of fresh French bread loaves and not being allowed to eat it. Temptation everywhere you turned. I was going to want to eat Grant.
“That’s fantastic, Leah. I really appreciate it. I’ll send over more information later tonight.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek the way you’d kiss your grandmother.
Well, that sucked.
Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been kissing a lot more exciting parts than my cheek. What a difference a day made. Today he was all business and I basically hated it.
“Sure.”
“I won’t keep you from rehearsal then. Have a great evening.”
Blah, blah, blah. So polite. It reminded me of before, in the diner, when he’d been an aggressive chewer and I couldn’t get him to say anything other than platitude nothings.
It felt like going backwards and I have to say, I didn’t like it.
Wrinkling my nose, I said, “Bye, Grant.”
He stood up. But then he bent over and murmured in my ear. “I promise to keep my hands off of you. But just so you know, I feel like I’m making the ultimate sacrifice.”
Then he was gone and I was left to debate how I was going to get time off from the diner and what I should pack for a weekend party in the Hamptons.
I realized I’d forgotten to give him the bracelet back. I texted him, hoping to catch him. God knows I wasn’t going to be able to chase after him with a mermaid dress on and a bum ankle. Besides, I had a bad track record running him down.
He answered right away.
Keep it and wear it next weekend.
Now I was picturing wearing nothing but the bracelet and Grant eyeing me like he had the day before in my twin bed.
This was going to be even harder than I thought.
I was going home on the train when I got another text from Grant with a document attached. No explanation. Just a document that when I opened, I saw was a questionnaire.
It was things like my full name, where I had grown up, what my preferred fake occupation would be, what my family dynamic was, and my favorite childhood memory.
Then I saw he’d given me a dossier on our fake relationship.
This required wine. I stopped at the bodega across the street from my building and got a bottle of chardonnay. When I hobbled upstairs, huffing and puffing because of my bum ankle, I shoved opened the front door and almost nailed Javier with it. “Hey,” I said, breathless.
“What’s up?” He was microwaving something in our tiny kitchen, which meant I had to do a side step past him. “Is that wine? On a Thursday? You’re living on the edge.”
Javier was a clean-shaven aspiring fashion designer who was fastidious in his dress and appearance but domestically messy and the king of the microwave. He had graduated design school and worked both in a restaurant and dressing models for runway shows.
“I got a new role,” I said. “I need to study my lines.”
“That’s awesome. What is it?”
“I have to be a rich guy’s girlfriend.”
“That sounds fun.” He pulled a burrito out of the microwave. “What is the show?”
“It’s not actually a show. It’s real life. A rich guy hired me to pretend to be his girlfriend.”
Javier paused in ripping open the end of his burrito wrap. “Sweetie, that’s called being an escort. Acting, sure, but usually the ugly old men want a little something-something too, you know.”
Damn it. I had known he would say that. “One, he’s neither old nor ugly. He’s probably in his early thirties. Two, we’ve established no sex.”
“Now I’m confused.” Javier raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “So if he’s young, rich, and reasonably attractive, why does he need a fake girlfriend? And why won’t you have sex with him?”
“So I don’t feel like an escort. Obviously. And
I don’t know why he needs a fake girlfriend as opposed to just getting a real one. I think he’s allergic to commitment and he just wants his family off his back. They’re pressuring him, threatening him. The usual.” I set the bottle of wine down on the stove between the two burners. “Open this for me. I have a sprained ankle.”
“Girl, your hands aren’t broken.” Javier bit his burrito. “So when is this happening? Is it like dinner or a wedding or something?”
“Next weekend. His parents’ anniversary party in the Hamptons.”
“Take me with you. I’ll be your stylist.” He eyed my jeans and off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. “What are you wearing?”
“Now or to the party? Right now I’m wearing vintage jeans with a sweatshirt nod to the iconic Flashdance film of the early eighties.” I stuck my tongue out at him and unscrewed my wine bottle. Thank goodness for screw tops on my chardonnay. World’s greatest thing ever after string cheese and online banking.
“You’re funny. And adorable. And not wardrobe ready.”
I shrugged, pulling a glass down off the shelf and pouring a generous glass. “If Grant has dress requirements, I’m sure he’ll tell me. He just sent me a bunch of information.” I opened the document on my phone and showed it to Javier. “It’s basically telling me what I need to do.”
He glanced at it, his mouth moving as he read the first few lines. “Wait, the guy who hired you is Grant Caldwell?”
I nodded. “The third.”
“He’s a fucking billionaire, Leah. He’s very well-known in the fashion industry for dating supermodels for like one minute before dumping them.”
I took a giant gulp of wine. “That’s reassuring. Not. Why would you tell me that? Supermodel I am not, if you hadn’t noticed.” I couldn’t compete with that and I didn’t want to. It was a good reminder. If a supermodel couldn’t keep Grant’s attention, I didn’t stand a chance.
“And he’s paying you?”
Javier said it like he thought I should be paying Grant, not vice versa. “Yes! Don’t sound so shocked. My job is to adore him.” I decided there was no way in hell I was telling Javier that I’d already had sex with Grant unless he asked me directly about it.
Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone Page 7