Fake It Baby One More Time: A Fake Romance Collection

by Logan Chance

  I have to pretend I don’t know her husband, even though I’ve studied their file. “What about your husband? Does he like it here?”

  “Dale was raised in the city on the East Coast.” She opens the fridge and sets a large container of cream on the counter.

  And yes, I know all about Dale Withers’ upbringing. How he grew up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. How he had a small fortune before he even came out of the womb. How he was top of his class at Columbia.

  “So he doesn’t like it here?” I ask again as she hands me a mug of coffee, and then sets the creamer and sugar on the table.

  “Not really.” She sits, and I prepare my coffee as she stares outside. “But I wanted a stable environment to start a family.”

  “I get it. That’s why Vin and I moved here. Stability.”

  She palms her mug, blowing on the hot liquid. “Dale wasn’t so sure at first. Said he grew up just fine in the city, but after I was mugged not even two blocks from our home, he reconsidered.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible.” I set my cup down. “Are you alright?”

  She waves off my concern. “I’m fine. It was so many years ago. We tried a few smaller towns before we settled here.”

  Now that I didn’t read in her file. “Like where?”

  “Here and there.” She sets her mug down, too. “Now, you have to tell me about your party.”

  We discuss details of my upcoming housewarming party, and she offers me a few names of vendors she uses. Obviously, my plan of making appetizers, and buying a few bottles of wine, isn’t going to cut it in this neck of the woods. I’m sure the director is going to love a charge for a catered event.

  We spend the next hour on light topics, and by the time I leave June’s house, I realize the layers of what Vin does everyday. And a smidge of my annoyance with him, turns to respect.

  Ten

  Vin

  “A band?” I glance at the five-hundred dollar bill for the entertainment Addison's hired for our upcoming shindig. “Why do we need a band?”

  She parks a hand on her hip. “This isn’t college, we can’t just have a kegger, and chips and dip.”

  “Did you get these expenses ok’d?” I place the invoice on the kitchen island.

  “I tried. Steele said, ‘no way’.”

  I pocket the receipt. “I’ll get Steele to approve it.”

  She smiles. “Thank you. Oh, and you’ll need to dress nice for this.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  I open the door to the basement, and she follows me down the flight of stairs. “Did you find out anymore on the Whithers?” I ask, more gruff than necessary, but living with Addison is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

  We’ve been here four days, and every day the house gets smaller. Her scent is everywhere I go. Doesn’t help the bed I’m sleeping on is a concrete slab.

  “No, I wish.”

  She takes a seat in front of the monitors, and we watch in silence for a few minutes, until she turns to face me with a hesitant expression. The anticipation is killing me but she doesn’t say a word, and I can’t take the silence any longer.

  “Something on your mind?” I prompt.

  “I think we should…nevermind.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, I think we should go out on a date tonight and be seen as a couple around town.”

  The word date nearly gives me hives, but it’s a smart move. “Ok, good idea.” I rub my chin. “Why were you afraid to mention that?”

  “I wasn’t afraid.” She turns back to the monitors.

  I smirk at her obvious lie. “You were too.”

  She stands, reaching her hands over her head in some Yoga pose stretch, and the thin material of her shirt inches up just a bit, showcasing her toned abs, making me forget what we were even talking about.

  Slowly taking in each curve of her body, I raise my eyes to her face. As she stares down on me, her hair falls in soft tendrils around her face, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her hair down. “Your hair is so long.” It falls midway down her back. “Why do you hide it in a bun?”

  “It’s professional. It’s hard enough to compete with men, so I don’t want to point out my femininity.”

  “Babe, you couldn’t hide it if you shaved your head. You need to own that shit. They might be bigger, but you’re smarter.”

  Her cheeks tinge red. “I’m going to go get ready for our date.”

  “Right.” I stand and stuff my hands in my pockets, to keep from plunging them into the tempting silken mass on her head. “We’ll case the neighborhood while we’re out.”

  “How romantic,” she says, moving toward the door.

  “Hey, we’re married now. There’s no romance here,” I tease, following her out.

  Isn’t that the case, though? My older brother is married, and he says they have to put sex on the calendar so they don’t accidently go weeks without it. Talk about romance.

  I go upstairs, getting dressed for our ‘date’ and wonder where in the world I can take her. There’s a few upscale places, but I think I’m trying too hard to pick the perfect spot. And then, as I shave, I wonder just what kind of men she does date. Probably the complete opposite of me. Probably someone a little uptight who expects her to wear her hair up and drink mimosas at brunch. I toss the razor down in annoyance. Who she dates shouldn’t concern me. I shouldn’t be thinking about anything besides this case.

  After I dress in jeans and a button-down black shirt, I make my way downstairs into the kitchen where I suck in a breath at the sight of Addison in painted on jeans and an off-the-shoulders blue shirt that matches her eyes. Stunning. Her strappy black heels would be perfect wrapped around my back while I slam into her. Fuck, I need to stop thinking about this girl like that.

  “Ready?” I ask, grabbing the keys to the Rover. She nods, and I lead her through the garage door.

  “I figured we could have dinner at the Sander’s place. We’ll scope out their restaurant, The Flank House,” she says with a smile on her pink lips.

  I wink. “Perfect spot to launder money through. And get a nice rare steak while we’re there.”

  She hops into the passenger side of the Rover with a laugh, and the engine roars to life. “I can’t do rare. I like to pretend my food wasn’t alive.”

  “Are you a well-done person? We might have to get divorced.”

  She smiles. “Medium.”

  “Ok, I can accept that.”

  “Marriage is weird, right?” she asks as we pull onto the main road. “It’s like now you get to annoy one special person for the rest of your life.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think it’s all that bad. Don’t get me wrong, I’m neither for it or against it. I guess it’s not for everyone.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  And let the game of keeping up with the Joneses begin. It’s all about being seen, and who has what. So, to appear like we belong, we have to play the game. And the game is wealth.

  I pull up to the valet kiosk in front of The Flank House and a valet opens the door for Addison. She glides out, like she’s floating from Heaven, and I toss the keys to the kid in the yellow Polo, and take her hand.

  The place is packed tonight.

  “You ready?” I ask, moving her hand into the crook of my arm.

  “Are you?”

  We enter the restaurant, filled to the brim with the scent of chargrilled steak, and cross to the hostess stand. A blonde-haired girl stands behind it, focused on the computer screen. Addison tells her our last name and she taps a few buttons on the computer, searching for the Davenports she’s not going to find on her list.

  “You don’t have a reservation,” she finally says.

  “Sorry we’re new to the neighborhood,” Addison apologizes, feigning ignorance. “Did we need one?”

  “Is there a problem here?” is all I have to say before the hostess gives me a once over and decides not to keep us waiting.

  “No,
it’s fine, Mr. Davenport. Right this way.”

  I place my hand on the small of Addison’s back as she leads us to a table in the center of the restaurant. Perfect, right on display.

  I pull the chair out for my wife—I mean, my fake wife—and she gives me a smile that causes an extra thump in my chest. Other than my impending heart attack, so far, we’re pulling this shit off.

  The server approaches our table as another fills our water glasses. “What can I offer you to drink this evening, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport?”

  We order a bottle of Cabernet, and then he hands us both a menu as I assess the room. Rule of thumb: know where the exits are, know how far it is to the front door, and know who’s in your way on the way out.

  It doesn’t escape me that Addison is doing the exact same thing. Good girl.

  “Do you see Greg Sanders anywhere?” Even though I haven’t met the man, I’ve studied his file, so I feel like I know him pretty well.

  In fact, a lot of faces here are familiar as I search the room for Greg.

  Addison scans the room. “No, but the Pattersons are over there. Two o’clock.” She gives a little wave in Miffie and Richard’s direction.

  The waiter returns with the wine and goes over the nightly specials before taking our order.

  I lift the glass after he leaves. “To us,” I say.

  She clinks her glass with mine, and we both take a sip of our red. I don’t really know much about wine—I’m a Macallan guy—but I once heard you can use anything to describe the flavors of wine, and never be wrong. So instead of describing it with words like spark plugs and battery acid, I take a sip and tell Addison how the wine reminds me of the flavors of a rose blooming at sunset on an Italian countryside.

  She tilts her head. “You’re a romantic, are you?”

  I chuckle. “No, not at all.”

  She scrutinizes me over her wine glass. “I don’t believe you.”

  I take the napkin from the table and lay it in my lap. Before I can answer, Greg Sanders, in the flesh, stands at our table.

  “Ah, the Davenports, so nice to finally meet you.” He extends his hand for me to shake, and I rise from my seat.

  “Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand. “Great place you have here. This is my wife, Addison.”

  Greg turns his attention to her, shaking her hand with a little too much enthusiasm and a little too much appreciation in his eye. “Kelly has told me all about you.”

  She steeples her fingers together, showcasing the rock on her finger. It gives me an odd sense of pride, like she’s mine. “Kelly was so nice.” Her eyes gleam as she speaks, like she really means it. “Everyone has been so welcoming.”

  “That’s good to hear. Please eat and enjoy. The wine is on the house tonight.”

  Greg holds out his hand again, and I shake it a little firmer this time for his ogling my wife. “No need to do that,” I tell him.

  “Please, I insist. Enjoy your dinner.” And with those parting words he’s off to schmooze the customers at the table next to us.

  I sit and pick up my wine glass. “What did you think?”

  “Everyone seems so friendly.”

  I raise a brow. “Don’t be fooled.”

  Our dinner arrives, and, “Oh, this is good,” she says, after taking a bite of her filet mignon. “Mmm, really good.”

  I can’t even taste my ribeye as she takes another bite and rolls her eyes back a bit on another blissful ‘Mmm.’

  I need to up my game, and get this assignment over with before I fuck her. Yeah, I said it. You can’t make those noises and expect your fake husband to not want to fuck you. Especially, when you look like her. I almost want to take her home and show her who she really belongs to, but that’s not going to happen.

  As soon as our meal is finished, she excuses herself to go to the restroom and as I’m hypnotized by the sway of her hips, a man with glasses wearing a red-checkered shirt approaches our table.

  He stops and extends his hand to me. “Richard Patterson,” he says, shaking my hand. “You met my wife, Miffie, the other day.”

  Richard’s been in this community the longest, and if there’s anyone laundering money in his neck of the woods, I’m sure he knows something about it. Or he is it.

  “Vin Davenport,” I say back.

  “How do you like the neighborhood so far?”

  “So far, so good. Addison’s making fast friends.” I nod in her direction, where she’s been stopped by Miffie, who joins her on her quest to the bathroom. How anyone can do anything illegal in this area is beyond me. Everyone’s so goddamn inquisitive.

  “Women are easy that way. Men not so much.”

  “Anyone I should watch out for around here?” I ask, fishing for anything to go on.

  “Chester’s a real piece of work. Don’t let him overcharge you for things.” He laughs.

  “I won’t.” But I don’t laugh.

  I already have a formed opinion of good ol’ Chester, and so far he’s at the top of my list of suspects. And now that Richard has mentioned him, he’s gone even higher, if that’s possible.

  The wives return, and we chat about the impending housewarming party. It only takes about five minutes before Miffie has given herself the task of the guest list. That’s a little intrusive, but at least I don’t have to send out invites. Actually, I don’t have to do anything except dress ‘nice,’ as Addison put it.

  “You ready to go home, babe?” I ask Addison.

  A flash of relief flashes across her face. “Absolutely.”

  I place my hand on the small of her back once again, and lead her out of the restaurant with a whole town of eyes on us.

  Eleven

  Addison

  I’ve become a social butterfly. My loner cocoon has evaporated, and I’ve totally submerged myself into this role. My mornings are spent hoofing it with the ladies, chatting about nonsense, while Vin pretends to go to his white collar job. I’m living this fake life as if it were really my own. And I hate to say it, but I’m starting to enjoy it.

  Since my days are spent dealing with unannounced drop ins, to keep up the facade, I even cook dinner, because I can’t have Miffie popping in and seeing me nuking a frozen meal in my gourmet kitchen. Plus, I really do love this kitchen, so why not use it?

  We’ve been here two weeks, and so far, I’ve got nothing to show for it besides toned calves from walking and an ever growing, problematic attraction to Vin.

  We have established a routine. When he arrives home from ‘work,’ we eat the dinner I’ve prepared, and then he cleans the kitchen. He insists that if I’m going to cook, he’ll clean. I’m not gonna lie—that’s hot.

  And my new ‘friends’ think so as well.

  Last Monday, when Miffie and June dropped by unannounced for an impromptu wine tasting of a very expensive Pinot Grigio given to Richard by a client, they were entranced by the sight of Vin and his six-foot-three, sexy self, scrubbing a skillet. It’s all very couple-y, and I need someone to drop some info so I can get out of here before I start believing the lie.

  “Do you like lilac, or tangerine?” Miffie questions, rounding the corner into my kitchen where catering central has been set up since the crack of dawn for our housewarming party this afternoon. She holds up a linen napkin in each hand, waiting for my choice.

  See, that’s the difference between us, I would’ve said purple or orange. I’ve never done anything like this, so I don’t know the first thing about entertaining, but the repressed Martha Stewart in me has been set free. “They’re both lovely, but lilac.” I eye the catering coordinator. “I’d like the tables outside lit with tea lights as well,” I hear myself say.

  To keep anyone from wandering into off access areas of our house, it’s a backyard shindig. Plus, the weather is perfect, and it would be a shame to stay indoors on a day like today.

  Miffie smiles, satisfied, like I’ve passed some little test with her. “Where’s that husband of yours? People will be arriving soon.”
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  “He’s working for a few hours in his office upstairs before the party begins. He’ll be down any minute.”

  “Ah, ok. Richard is the same, always working. Sometimes I don’t see him for days. Once, I changed my hair color and it took him a week to notice.” Well that’s just...sad. Like really sad. “A piece of married advice—make sure you appreciate the little things.”

  I’m not supposed to feel any emotion for the targets, but I can’t help but feel a little bad for Miffie. Maybe that’s why she’s latched onto me—she’s lonely. Unfortunately, there’s no time to pry about her and Richard, because the doorbell rings.

  The next hour passes in a blur of meeting various people and hostessing like I was born to do it. Currently, I’m going it alone. Vin, like a god among these ordinary men, finally appeared to put on a show, but has now disappeared, leaving me to fend for myself.

  Everything, so far, has been superficial. All of the major suspects are here, but so is half the neighborhood, and I just need to finagle some one on one time with Helena. She’s a bit more standoffish than the others, so getting her alone is my goal. Vin is sure the Fowler’s are not on the up and up, and I agree Helena is a bit off, but we don’t have any solid evidence. I need to get some.

  As if she can read my mind, she wanders over to me, red wine in hand, and that’s when I spot my in: a gold racket and a diamond tennis ball pendant around her neck.

  “Do you play tennis?” I ask.

  She beams, fingering the expensive charms. “I don’t play; I dominate.”

  Well, alrighty then. “I’ve been trying to find a partner. Do you have room to play with me?”

  Her face lights up. “Sure, you can join me at the club on Monday morning.”

  “I’ll be there. I used to play tennis when I was younger, so I’m excited to get back out on the court again.” But, I’m more eager to finally have a chance to buddy up to Helena, and find out what makes her tick.

  Over Helena’s shoulder, I spot Vin standing at the patio door, giving me a ‘come here’ look. I excuse myself and weave through the guests until I reach Vin. He smiles, like an adoring husband would, and leads me through the kitchen, out to the garage.