I stood and went back to pacing, then made myself two cups of coffee. Everyone watched me in silence while I chugged the first cup, set it down quietly, and stared into the second, waiting for an answer from the coffee gods.
“Isla?” Blaire’s soft voice returned me to the present. “Any thoughts? Ideas? Anything?”
Our phones were ringing off the hook. I could hear Abby fielding questions from the press and clients about my relationship with Jessie.
My mind whirled.
Everything pointed to a relationship.
Everything pointed to me basically doing the unthinkable.
“If we ignore each other, it just causes more speculation.” I drummed my fingertips on the table. “It looks like we’re hiding something.”
“Agreed.” Blaire handed me a piece of licorice, while Colin and Jessie shot each other worried glances.
“So we lie.” I straightened my shoulders. “And in the end, both of us get something out of it.”
“Come again?” Jessie stood and faced me. “How is lying supposed to help anyone?”
“Easy.” I spread my hands wide. “It helps because we get married.”
The room fell silent.
Jessie laughed, and then stopped. “You’re serious? How the hell did you get from lying to marriage?”
“I second that.” Colin’s expression narrowed in on me. “Is this normal for you? This behavior?”
Blaire smacked him on the chest. He winced.
I rolled my eyes. “Look, it’s easy, Jessie’s still pissed—”
“Rightfully so.” Jessie just had to interrupt.
“If people see that he’s in a committed, loving, noncheating relationship, doing all the things that a doting fiancé would do, it puts him in a good light because the very woman willing to put his ring on her finger is the very one who was hell-bent on exposing his cheating ways.”
Jessie’s jaw dropped as Colin did a slow clap.
I almost patted myself on the back when Blaire gave me a wink.
“You.” Jessie dragged out the word with more bite than necessary. “What do you get out of all of this? It seems to help me more than you.”
“Stop saying you.” I gritted my teeth. “And it helps because I’m able to tell our love story without people wrongfully assuming I’m the other woman.”
Jessie snorted. “So now we’re in love? And people are just going to believe that after having the”—he air quoted—“perfect marriage crumble, I’m just going to jump right back into the saddle? Or maybe you like the term ball and chain?”
“Technically the ball and chain both attach,” I pointed out. “Maybe that’s why the first one didn’t last, you were doing it wrong.”
Jessie took a menacing step toward me.
“Sore subject?” I said the minute we came chest to chest.
“Yeah,” Colin said slowly. “People are totally going to buy that love thing . . .”
Blaire separated us and then stood in the middle. “If this is going to work, you guys need to start looking like you love each other and not like you want to rip each other’s heads off.”
“Easy.” I pasted a sweet smile on my face. “Right, pumpkin?”
Jessie eyes narrowed. “How long?”
“Until it blows over. Until another celebrity shaves their head or cheats, or confesses to showering with clothes on because they’re afraid of their private parts. Got it?”
The room was silent.
“I don’t need to remind you guys what’s riding on this.” I had to say it, I needed him, I couldn’t lose this. He had money and fame to fall back on.
I had nothing but the business Blaire had helped me build.
It was my life.
It was literally all I had.
If I lost it, I’d be losing a part of my soul—and I remembered too well what it felt like to lose your identity and come out the other side questioning everything about yourself and your place in the world.
I controlled my world.
My destiny.
My damn business.
Jessie held out his hand.
I took it.
He pulled me to his chest. “I would say to get our terms in writing, but that’s just something else for them to find . . . I will say this, if you make things worse, I will shut you down.”
“So you’ve said.” My voice was wobbly as I released his hand and flashed Blaire a smile. “See, like I said, fixed.”
Jessie leveled me with a stare that went straight through to my soul. I shivered.
“We’ll see.”
Chapter Thirteen
JESSIE
Six hours since I left the office and my chest still burned, making me think I was either coming down with some sort of cold, or maybe feeling the effects of the strenuous workout followed by the almost-make-out session.
I told my cock to calm the hell down, but it was pointless, I’d probably die with images of her ass flashing before my line of vision.
Too bad I didn’t trust her.
Maybe it was my distrust of women in general, maybe it was the fact that her smile wasn’t as confident as it usually was—I wasn’t sure why I was so bothered, but it left me feeling chaotic.
And I did not perform well around chaos.
In any shape or form.
Straight lines.
Black and white.
Control.
And Isla, well, she was like a giant splotch of red paint on a fucking dalmatian. It didn’t do well for my anxiety that somehow the press was going to get wind of yet another character flaw on my end or worse—another bad decision with a woman—and fillet me alive.
I walked over to the kitchen and pulled out one of my favorite red-wine glasses from Saks, monogrammed with a J on the middle and thicker around the stem, making them more masculine.
It helped they were pure crystal.
The wine had been breathing for the past half hour while I stared out the window at the devil herself flicking on lights in my guesthouse only to turn them off again. Part of me wondered if she wasted electricity on purpose to see if I’d notice, or to see if she’d win this insane little war that she started back when she took on my ex-wife as a client and decided to screw up my perfect life.
I hesitated at the word perfect.
Stared at the white granite and winced.
It was the exact word Vanessa had uttered over and over to me, fucking hammered it into my world until I was sick of it, sick of pretending, sick of being what everyone expected all the time.
And yet.
I was caught between being fake and being afraid to be myself—because who wants that guy?
The guy who’d rather stay at home and watch old movies? The beer drinker who was more loner than socialite? The one who honestly didn’t give a shit if he wasn’t seen at parties and events?
I’d like to think the nonprofit was helping me in more ways than one. I was starting to become myself again, not the self my ex had fabricated for me.
But the one who actually went up to a bar and ordered a beer, even though in our circle it wasn’t as refined.
The guy who allowed himself to wear jeans instead of head-to-toe Prada.
The guy who wasn’t afraid to show emotion in public for fear someone would get a bad picture.
The guy with the permanent smile.
That was me.
The last time I was People’s Sexiest Man Alive, they captioned the cover story “The Man Who Has It All.”
I scowled harder then poured a full glass, just as my doorbell rang. I took two long gulps then walked to the door and opened it.
Isla’s hair was pulled into a knot on the top of her head, she was wearing Under Armour joggers and a black tank top that kept falling off her shoulder each time she crossed her arms.
And, thank God, a matching black sports bra.
And a pair of black Uggs that had my fingers twitching to grab and toss into the fireplace.
“Steal those
?” I pointed at the boots.
She rolled her eyes and shoved her way past me.
“Sure, come in, not like I have company since apparently I’m getting engaged and trying to hide it from everyone I know.”
“About that.” Isla whirled around. “I think a public engagement would be best.”
“Of course you do.” I sighed, praying for patience. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of those girls that has a scrapbook full of wedding ideas just in case the right guy comes along, would you?”
She traced a droplet of wine on the pristine white counter with her fingertip and shrugged.
My eyebrows rose. “A Pinterest board too?”
She jerked her head up. “If I did, it would be a secret board, so don’t even try to find it.”
I smirked at the sudden blush on her cheeks. “You have your colors picked out then?”
“Black and white,” she said with a straight face before bursting into laughter. “You should have seen your eyes light up!”
It was my turn to blush as I swiped my wine from the countertop and took two more healthy sips. “Pretty sure my eyes would never light up over wedding talk—I wasn’t planning on ever walking down the aisle again.”
“Guys don’t walk,” she said with a wink. “But if you want me to be at the end of that aisle, all you gotta do is ask, baby.”
“I’m not drunk enough for you yet.” I drank more.
She grabbed the bottle and lifted it to her damn lips, then tipped it back before I could stop her. “Ohhhhh, that’s a nice red blend.”
I clenched my teeth. “People use glasses.”
“Point one out, and I’ll use one,” she said with a wide smile.
“You aren’t going away, are you?”
“No.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“Care to find me a glass?”
Scowling, I went to the cupboard, pulled out another crystal glass, and handed it to her.
Our fingers brushed.
I shouldn’t have even noticed.
I hated that I did.
I hated that her eyes flickered to my mouth before she turned away and poured herself a glass as big as mine.
The kitchen felt too small for the both of us.
And I felt awkward just standing there while she took her first sip. It felt wrong to stare at her lips like I hadn’t just tasted them. Pieces of hair curled by the back of her neck, had she just showered? Did she have naturally curly hair? Why the hell did I even care?
I lifted my hand.
Then dropped it to my side as she walked away from me and sat in the adjoining living room. I assumed she wanted me to follow, so I grabbed my glass and the bottle, and sat next to her on the white couch, praying the whole time she wasn’t a spiller.
“So.” I leaned back. “The reason for this late-night visit?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes darted from the wine bottle to me, then back again. “I also thought that maybe . . . we should call a cease-fire.”
“Cease-fire?” I leaned forward and clasped my hands together. “What do you mean?”
She blew out a breath like she was annoyed, then turned to me. “Look, we can’t constantly be at each other’s throats if we’re supposed to be showing people that we’re a happy couple.”
My stomach filled with dread.
My eyes burned like I’d just had acid dumped into them.
“You should go.” I stood.
Isla looked around the room then back up at me. “What did I say?”
I didn’t realize how much anger I still had inside.
Anger at being controlled.
Allowing myself to be a puppet.
Allowing a woman to tell me how I should live my life, and why.
And I sure as hell wasn’t doing it again.
“I’m not your child, Isla.” I didn’t mean the words to come out so aggressively. “I can’t—” I lost my voice.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Isla set her wine down and reached for my hands. It was so unexpected that I collapsed onto the couch as she pulled me closer. “That is not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” I countered. “Fake marriage for the cameras? You think the universe is just trying to fuck with me?”
She flinched.
“Sorry.” I rubbed my thumb across her hands. “I didn’t mean it, I just—”
“Don’t take out your anger with Vanessa on me. We are two completely different people. I can’t even stand the color white.”
“Your car’s white, Isla.”
“Because black gets too hot in LA and I don’t like colorful cars,” she pointed out like I should care. “Okay, how about we come up with a list of rules? Lines we can’t cross during the next few months?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You would do that?”
“Jessie, do you really think I want you to shut me down? Do you think I want the world to look at my business, the one I’ve built from the ground up, and think we just sleep with clients’ husbands?”
“I don’t know? Do you?”
“The nonprofit was your life—this is mine.”
“Touché.” I knew I was pushing her, but I was just so . . . damn angry. Still. Over things I couldn’t control, over things she helped set in motion.
Isla hung her head again. “You like control, I like control, though I’d like to point out that I at least don’t have a stick up my ass. I’m more of the type of person who just likes to have a plan, whereas you like things to look a certain way.” She stared at me. “Does it . . . bother you if I do this?”
She moved the magazines on the table, making it so they weren’t straight but all over the place.
I almost broke out in hives.
“Okay, so that’s a yes.” She moved them back. “See? These are the things I should probably know—”
“No.” Fear lodged in my throat at the idea of letting someone get close to me again only to betray me—only to make me realize that I was somehow lacking. “Engaged in name only.”
“Like a regency novel,” she said under her breath.
“Excuse me?”
“Regency. Historical romance.” The smile on her face fell as she stood again. “So, no cease-fire, no rules, except what? Make sure that we hold hands and smile when we’re in public, and don’t get caught with your pants down?”
“Fine by me.” I stood and stared at the door behind her, hoping she’d get the message.
She downed the rest of her wine and walked to the door, then turned around. “You do realize that a relationship means you give fifty percent, you meet in the middle, you compromise. I’m not asking for a spleen, I’m just asking for you to help me so I can help you.”
She cringed.
I shook my head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Isla, the only thing I need from you is a ring on your finger and your word that you’re going to fix what you broke. If you don’t . . .” I shrugged.
“Ah, back to threats.” I could have sworn tears filled her eyes, and I almost felt like a jackass for making her feel that way when I was just as guilty of nearly kissing her, of putting her in a bad place. The temptation had been too much, and fighting my growing attraction to her was almost as hard as hating her.
I still put the blame on her. On the yoga pants.
On the situation.
If we were keeping track.
She still ruined me.
And all I did was react to being with her in a trapped space with a working dick.
I missed her goodbye.
I only heard the click of the door.
And wanted to punch a hole through the wall when I looked out the window and saw her swipe at her cheeks.
Chapter Fourteen
ISLA
Satan.
Satan.
Satan.
I threw a pillow against my bedroom door and scowled in the general direction of his stupid mansion with his white walls and good wine.
And nice wineglasses.
Angry. I was angry. Not lusting after his glassware!
What the hell was wrong with him anyway? I was saving his sorry ass. Granted mine was getting saved in the process, but could he at least try?
I almost felt sorry for Vanessa in that moment. Almost.
Then again, he’d basically put me in that same damn box. Could I understand the similar circumstances? Yes. But I wasn’t manipulating him to keep him—I was trying to help him understand that people would see us and expect us to fail.
Failure was never an option.
I straightened my shoulders and went into the kitchen to grab a snack, only to nearly choke to death on a spoonful of peanut butter when a loud knock sounded at the door.
I shoved the spoon back in the jar and carried it with me.
I unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door a crack, then all the way when Jessie was standing there in a pair of low-slung sweats and a white tank top that didn’t have a right to look so nice with his muscles, and build, and pecs, and—I choked again on the peanut butter and drool that came with it but managed to swallow.
“You gonna make it?” He smirked.
I hated his smirk more than I hated his body.
Because it made me react.
Hell, everything he did made me react and want to seek vengeance with a fiery purpose on his damned soul.
He made me want to fight for no reason other than my adrenaline pumped from simply staring at his perfect face and small dimple near the right side of his cheek. Where did that even come from? Had he always had that?
“Isla?” He waved a hand in front of me.
I shoved more peanut butter into my mouth because I didn’t have words yet and I was still pissed off.
He glanced at the jar, eyes wide. “Why does it look like you added jelly to that already?”
I shrugged, mouth full. “I did.”
“Of course you did.”
“Saves time,” I added. “And tastes amazing.” And just because I knew it would gross him out and give me a reaction that wasn’t disappointment or anger, I handed him a full spoon. “Give it a try, slugger, you may like it.”
He stared at the spoon, the peanut butter was this giant glob with another glob of jelly on top of it. There was no part of it that looked even remotely gourmet.
Dangerous Exes (Liars, Inc. Book 2) Page 6