Big Rock

by Lauren Blakely

  “Spencer,” he begins, his lips twitching.

  I hold up a hand and shake my head. “I should have been honest with Mr. Offerman at breakfast the next day, and I should have been honest with you. But I wasn’t. You said all those nice things about Charlotte before Fiddler, too, and I felt like a schmuck for lying to you. You taught me to be better than that.” I sigh and say the hardest part. “But at some point, it stopped being a lie, because even though it started as a fake engagement, it became real for me, and I fell in love with her.”

  The corners of his mouth curve up. “Spencer,” he tries again, but I keep going, standing on the other side of his desk, my mea culpa pouring out of me.

  “But that doesn’t matter, because you heard what she said.” My voice chokes with sadness as I recall her awful words. “She doesn’t feel the same, and that’s that. I’m sorry that I took advantage of you with the entire charade. And I know I can’t make it up to you, but I want to try.”

  Then I dive into what I’ve realized I must do to make this right. “I know what you want most in the world—to retire and spend more time with Mom. I know that’s why you wanted to sell Katharine’s. I’m not asking you to hand it over to me. I’m not asking you to give me your business. But I’m volunteering my time. I’m offering to run the business for you. At no charge, of course,” I say with a small laugh, because even in these moments, you need to keep your sense of humor. My dad’s eyes sparkle as he listens. “I’m good at business. I might be terrible at relationships, and I clearly have no clue what women really want, and I have an ego that’s far too big to fit on any city bus, but I’m a rock star at running all sorts of businesses. I’d love to make this up to you and be your substitute teacher while you take your time off and we find you another buyer.”

  I take a breath, and even though I never wanted to run the store, and even though he never intended for me to do so, it feels good to man up and make the offer. To let him know that I’m willing to fix my mistakes.

  Dad rises, walks around his desk, and crosses his arms. He stands with his heels digging into the carpet of his office, his dark eyes taking me in.

  The weird thing is, he doesn’t look pissed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “You’re right, Son. I’m not happy you lied. I’m not happy you made up a whole pretend engagement. And I’m not happy you felt you had to be anything other than yourself in order for me to have what I want.” He stops to squeeze my shoulder. “But I did raise you right, because to do what you just did is all I could ask for.”

  “I’m glad to do it, Dad,” I say, and soon it will start to feel true. I’ll pour my heart into it, because God knows, I need to get my mind off Charlotte. Maybe I’ll even let her buy me out of the bar so I won’t have to see her anymore. Seeing the woman who broke my heart every day will sting like a yellow jacket with rabies.

  Dad claps my back, then tugs me in for a hug. “You’re a good guy. I’m proud of you for owning up to this, and for trying to fix it.” He lets go, parks his hands on my shoulders, and sighs happily. “But I’m not going to let you.”

  I knit my brow. “Why not?”

  He laughs. His eyes twinkle. “Because you saved me. Because I was racking my brains when it was my turn at bat, trying to figure out how to get out of this deal gracefully. I was having second thoughts about selling to that pompous, chauvinistic pig in the first place, and you gave me the perfect out.” He points to his paper shredder on the floor, and brushes one palm against the other. “Good thing the papers weren’t filed.”

  A smile spreads across my face, the first one I’ve felt since Charlotte chopped up my heart, julienned it, and ate it for a snack.

  Fine, maybe that’s dramatic. But the organ in my chest is pulverized. My dad’s grin, however, doesn’t hurt. “He really was a pig,” I say, with a quirk in my lips.

  “He was completely disrespectful to women, to his wife, to his daughters—I can’t have the Katharine’s legacy carried on by someone like that.”

  “No, you can’t. Leave it to us for a little bit longer as we find a better man, or woman, to sell it to,” I say, and a burst of pride courses through me. I’m proud of my dad for making this choice.

  He clucks his tongue. “Here’s the thing. I already found someone.”

  My eyes widen. “You did?”

  “Yes. Not to sell it to.” He stops to roam his eyes over the office and then to the door, as if he’s reflecting on all that’s beyond. “But to run this place while I kick back. I’m not ready to let Katharine’s go, even if I am completely ready to work less.”

  “Okay.” I ask tentatively, “Who is it?”

  But the instant the words make landfall, I know who it is. Something in my head clicks, like a lock sliding into place. I snap my fingers. “Nina! You asked Nina to take over day-to-day operations?”

  He nods and beams. “And she said yes.” He taps his finger against the papers on his desk. “That’s what I was working on when you came in. Her new contract. She’ll be CEO of Katharine’s, and I’ll remain as founder and owner while I sail across the seven seas with your mother.”

  “You are such a romantic,” I say, shaking my head in admiration. “She’s perfect for it. She’s been with you from the start, and no one knows the business better.”

  “Exactly,” he says, then strides over to his couch by the window overlooking midtown Manhattan. “But since I am a hopeless romantic, and since I have been happily married for thirty-five years, and since I know a little something about what women want, let’s talk about how you’re going to win back Charlotte. I saw the way the two of you look at each other.”

  He pats the couch. I sink down next to him, my limbs heavy. “Love the thought. But she made it clear she’s not into me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?”

  “Did she, though?” he asks quizzically.

  “I believe her exact words were, ‘It was never real.’”

  “Those were her words. And generally speaking, I believe a man should pay keen attention to a woman’s words. But sometimes actions speak louder, and what did Charlotte’s actions tell you?”

  An image of her yanking off her ring mocks me.

  “That she doesn’t feel the same,” I say bluntly. No point mincing words. He saw the same thing.

  Or maybe not. He tilts his head to the side, and raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “I saw a woman who put her heart on the line for you.”

  I stare at him. His words don’t compute.

  “I saw a woman who took the fall for you,” he continues, gesturing from him to me. “You and I both know that Charlotte didn’t ask you to be her fiancé. You asked her. She said yes to you. She wanted to help you. And today, she wanted to help you, too. It might not have worked the way she intended, but she was trying to save this deal because she cares about you. She was trying to help you stay out of trouble by throwing herself under the bus.”

  Something comes alive inside me again.

  Not an alien, or anything weird like that, but a racing heart, a spiking pulse, a thrilling possibility.

  “Holy shit,” I say under my breath, cycling back through the day, the morning, last night. The sandwiches, the noodles, the whiskey. The broken rules, the jealousy, the pure, private moments of bliss and connection. Last night, and the way she said she was falling. How she looked when she was naked on top of me.

  I grab the collar of my T-shirt and tug. Whoa. It’s hot in here. Not my brightest move to linger on a sex memory.

  I shove it aside.

  Most of all, I rewind to how she was always saving me from me. From the very start of this affair, right through to the end, she saved the day when I needed her most.

  “I need to find her,” I say, patting my pockets. They’re empty. “Oh, shit. She has my phone. And my wallet. And my keys.”

  “Good. Because we’re not moving that fast.”

  “Why not? Shouldn’t I just go to her place and tell h
er how I feel or something?”

  “Or something?” He arches a brow as he mimics me. “You might know a thing or two about how to land the ladies for a night. But I know how to win one woman for a lifetime,” he says, tapping his heart. “Your dad happens to be a hopeless romantic. So let the master give the apprentice some lessons in winning back a woman.”

  I stand and hand over the reins. “I always did kick ass in school. Teach me your secrets.”

  He surveys my attire. “First, we need to get you into some decent clothes.”

  “I don’t have my wallet.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I bought your first onesie. I think I can spring for a nice pair of slacks now.”

  “Dad, that’s fine and all, but can you swear to never say that word again in relation to me?” I say, as we leave his office.

  “Onesie, you mean?”

  I nod.

  He shrugs. “I’ll do my best to never discuss how adorable you looked in a little baby blue onesie.”

  “Dad.”

  “Right. You weren’t adorable in it. You were manly and rugged.”

  Have I mentioned I have the coolest dad in the universe?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I look sharp. I’m rocking a pair of charcoal gray pants, a navy blue button-down, and new shoes. And…wait for it…I’m freshly showered, too. Yup. Dad took me shopping and let me use the guest shower at his home. And damn, do I clean up well.

  He wouldn’t let me call Charlotte though.

  And yes, I do know her number. It’s one of maybe two I have committed to memory. Hers and the Chinese food delivery joint. Instead, he called her, and inquired politely if she was still available to see me tonight. Evidently, she said yes, so he told her I would be arriving at six.

  As the town car I hired pulls up to her building, I feel a bit like a teenager arriving for prom. Except I don’t have a corsage, or teenage stamina. Grown past that one, thank you very much.

  But the nerves are the same, and mine are sky-high. I step out of the car and head to the doorman. He buzzes her, and I wait, pacing in the entryway, checking my watch, counting the number of tiles on the floor. Three interminable minutes later, Charlotte crosses the lobby.

  She wears a cranberry skirt and a black top. It’s the outfit I took her ring shopping in. The fact that she’s wearing it knocks the breath from my lungs. It feels like a sign. As she nears me, I take in every detail. Her hair hangs loose and beautiful down her shoulders. Her lips are red and glossy. Her legs are bare, and she wears black high heels. I’m not sure I’ve ever told her that those shoes are my favorite, and somehow it turns me on even more that the ones she likes wearing are the ones I like seeing her in.

  I can’t believe it’s been only eight hours since I’ve seen her.

  She stops in front of me. Narrows her eyes. Points. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or punch you. Because I’ve been sending text messages all day. To my purse,” she says, dropping her hand into her purse and hunting around.

  She grabs my phone and thrusts it at me, and the first text I see makes me grin.

  THAT WAS THE BIGGEST LIE I EVER TOLD. CALL ME.

  Her jaw is set hard, and she glares at me. “Oh, and I called you several times, too, before I remembered I had your phone. I was basically messaging myself all day. You had the ringer on silent, you idiot.”

  “Idiot seems to be the theme of the day when it comes to me,” I say, but I’m smiling because this is another reason why I love her madly. The fact that she marched up to me and called me out.

  She parks her hands on her hips. “Do you even want to know what my messages said?”

  “I do,” I say, taking her hand and lacing my fingers through hers. God, it feels good to touch her again. It feels out-of-this-world amazing when she squeezes back, her hand fitting mine so perfectly. “But right now, I want to take you out.”

  “To the restaurant in Chelsea?” she asks, as we reach the door of the gleaming black town car.

  “Yes, but not yet. First, I’m taking you on a themed tour of New York.” I gesture to her building. “This is stop one on the Lessons I Learned in the Last Week Tour.”

  She arches an eyebrow, inviting me to say more.

  “Right here is where I was really dense,” I say.

  “How were you really dense?”

  “Because the day I asked you to be my fake fiancée, I actually believed I could pull it off and it wouldn’t change a thing,” I say, as I lift the handle of the car and hold the door for her. I watch her slide into the cool, air-conditioned backseat. She looks edible.

  “Did it change things?” she asks, her voice rising on the question.

  I nod as I get into the car next to her and pull the door shut. “It did.”

  She swallows. “What’s stop two then?”

  I gesture north. “A restaurant called McCoy’s. Heard of it?” I ask, as the car zips uptown, weaving through Saturday evening traffic.

  “I believe I’m familiar with it. I’m so curious what you learned there.”

  When we reach the restaurant where we had our first dinner with the Offermans, I hold her hand and escort her out of the car. We don’t go inside, though. We stand under the green awning, and I touch her hair, stroking the strands that fall onto her shoulder. Her breath hitches as my fingers make contact with her skin.

  “As you may recall, we were here only one week ago. We had practiced kissing on the street, and in your apartment,” I say, then lean in to brush a kiss to her cheek. She trembles. “But none of those practice sessions prepared me for the lesson I learned here when you kissed me at the table.”

  “What lesson was that?”

  “How much I liked fake kissing with you.”

  A grin spreads across her face. “And real kissing?”

  “Even better. In fact, let me just refresh your memory of how much we both like it.” I cup her cheeks and capture her delicious mouth with mine. I kiss her hard, like I’m reminding her of all that’s in store for us. Her arms loop around me, her breasts press to my chest, and she melts into the kiss, making those sexy sighs and murmurs that are like a current surging through me.

  Other things will be surging soon, too, if we keep this up. And while that’s precisely what I want, I’m not done yet with the tour.

  Twenty minutes later we roll up to Gin Joint, and I lead her into the sultry, sexy bar where she drove me wild. “This is where I was a complete idiot.”

  Her hand slinks up my arm, and a shudder wracks through me. “How?”

  “Because of that,” I say.

  “Because of what?”

  “Because when you touch me, it turns me on like nothing ever has in my life,” I say in a husky voice as I tug her close. “Yet for some crazy reason, I thought I could resist you.”

  She laces her hands in my hair and whispers, “So silly.” She shakes her head in admonishment, now fully playing along with the tour.

  “You think that’s silly, then wait ’til you hear what’s next. If I were to take you to the next spot, you’d realize the height of my ridiculousness.”

  “I would?” she asks as I walk her to the car and the cool backseat.

  “Yes. Because after I took you home that night, I returned to my house and took matters into my own hand. You rode me hard in my fantasies.”

  Her eyes light up with the realization, and then her fingers tap dance across my leg. “That’s so hot. I want to watch someday.”

  “Yeah, I want to watch you do that, too.” I curl a hand around her head, bring my lips to her ear, and whisper, “Three times that night. And somehow, I thought I could get you out of my system that way.”

  “Oh, Spencer,” she whispers. “I thought the same thing, too.”

  Our lips crash together as the driver pulls away. We kiss hungrily, erasing the hours apart, the lies, the pretending. We kiss until our lips are bruised. We kiss until we reach the next destination. The corner of Forty-third. It’s six-forty-five now, and theat
er traffic has begun, so we don’t stop the vehicle.

  I point through the tinted windows. “Strangest thing happened on that corner.”

  “What was so strange?” she asks, her happy tone telling me she wants the answers as much as I love giving them.

  “I wasn’t a complete idiot that night. I made sure to tell you the full truth—that I was jealous of anyone else who’d ever had you. Which was really my way of saying I don’t want anyone else to have you,” I say, then brush my lips against the hollow of her throat. “Ever.”

  “I feel the same,” she says, her smile like sunshine as she grabs her phone again, this time showing me the messages she sent right after she left this morning. “Look. Just look.”

  About that horrid lie.

  It hurt so much to say that.

  I didn’t mean it.

  It feels so real to me.

  Do you feel it too?

  I look up from the screen and press my hand to her chest, over her heart. It thunders under my hand. “Yes, Snuffalaffugus. I feel it everywhere.”

  She giggles when I use our term of endearment. “Me, too. But before we fully explore everywhere, I really want you to read the rest of these,” she says, as she peels my hand off her chest and presses her phone into my palm.

  Oh great. I just realized I’m sending all these text messages to myself. BECAUSE YOUR PHONE IS LIGHTING UP MY PURSE!

  Okay. So yeah. This sucks.

  You’ve got to know I only said that on the field to try to help. I was trying to stick to the plan. To make it all believable. I HAVE NO IDEA IF IT WORKED.

  Ugh. I feel awful now. I messed things up even worse, didn’t I?

  I’m talking to myself. But look what I found…

  Seems I have your keys and wallet, too. Hmm. You have a lot of credit cards.

  I’ve been meaning to get a new Kate Spade.

  And some Louboutins.

  WHERE ARE YOU? DON’T YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE?

  I’m not relinquishing this phone unless you feel the same way. I swear if I see you and it turns out this is a one-way street, you will never get this phone back. It will die a fast, painless death by the hammer of my embarrassment.