The Fake Engagement Favor

by Charlene Sands

  She raised her eyebrows, clueing him in to the fact he’d been staring.

  He felt himself scowl before he could restrain the reaction.

  She only smiled wider and continued, “You were frowning so hard, I thought I’d better check in with you in case I’m using the wrong shades on Antonia?”

  There, underneath the charming ways, he saw a flash of challenge in Blair’s eyes. Maybe even a hint of “go screw yourself.” He didn’t think she showed that attitude to anyone but him, and it wasn’t the first time he’d glimpsed the look that came and went in an instant. Everyone else saw her sweet side. He would swear there was plenty of fire beneath.

  “The makeup is perfect,” Lucas assured the young Olympian in the chair, figuring it would be safer to focus on her. “We really appreciate you working with us on the campaign.”

  He lifted his coffee mug in a toast, glad to deflect attention from the tension between him and Blair.

  “My pleasure.” Antonia gave him a nod of acknowledgement before leaning forward to scrutinize herself in the lighted mirror. “I’m grateful to Blair for making me look like myself instead of caking layers of foundation over all my freckles the way some makeup artists feel compelled to.”

  “The freckles are gorgeous.” Blair peered into the glass over the other woman’s shoulder, although it was his gaze she met in the reflective surface. “We wouldn’t dream of covering them up,” she practically cooed.

  Or maybe it just sounded that way to his ears since, during a planning meeting for the shoot the week before, he’d suggested the close-ups of the mascara might be more dramatic with a more air-brushed quality to the skin around the eye. He hadn’t considered it an indictment of freckles so much as a creative decision to showcase a product, but the art director and Blair had both taken the opposing view.

  And Blair was enjoying the vindication, apparently.

  “Are we almost ready?” he asked too sharply before gulping the black coffee too fast and scalding everything on the way down. “We want to keep Antonia on schedule.”

  His voice rasped from the burn as he set down the mug and shoved the drink away from him.

  Blair’s dimples appeared even as she bit her plump lower lip, and he was willing to bet she was struggling not to laugh.

  “Of course.” Blair whipped off the black protective drapery that had been covering Antonia. “I’ll just let Jermaine touch up her hair on set.”

  Nodding, Lucas stalked back to the shadows of the photographer’s studio, more than ready to view the results of the day on a laptop feed. Keeping his focus on the device was safer than watching Blair. Until he figured out her angle, he couldn’t afford to trust her. And he definitely couldn’t afford to indulge the attraction that gnawed at him more with each passing day.

  Even if he was damn curious to know if she felt sparks on her end, too.

  He only had a month left to help his mother make significant strides with Deschamps Cosmetics so they could secure the support of her board members in staving off a takeover by his father’s conglomerate. The sooner he could settle this, the better. Lucas had his own business to run, a start-up that connected a highly skilled home-based workforce with companies that needed to outsource. He’d put his own professional life on hold in order to do this one favor for his mother. One last kindness to finally atone for not telling her that his father was a liar and a cheat back when he’d first discovered the truth about his dad.

  If not for Lucas’s silence as a teen, his mom would have started her cosmetics company under her own steam, with her maiden name attached, and she wouldn’t be warding off BS corporate attacks like the one she faced now.

  One more month and he’d be free of the debt he owed her. He just hoped he’d be free of the hold Blair Westcott had on him.

  But to be sure of that, he withdrew his phone and emailed her a private message. Based on the way she’d baited him in front of the talent today, Lucas suspected the time had come to confront this heated awareness head-on.

  And if he could tease out her possible corporate spying connections, so much the better.

  See me in my office at 5pm.

  Blair Westcott read and reread the ominous email subject line glaring at her from the top of her inbox once she got back to midtown headquarters that afternoon. There was no text in the body of the email. Not even an auto-filled signature that normally signaled the close of any Deschamps Cosmetics company message.

  Not that Blair needed a signature to know who wanted to see her in his office at the end of the business day. Lucas Deschamps, heir apparent to his mother’s cosmetics firm, had taken a personal dislike to her from their first meeting.

  Damn it.

  She couldn’t think about Lucas and his suspicious tawny eyes right now. After closing the laptop at her desk on the floor full of junior employees at Deschamps Cosmetics, Blair paused near the snack station in the center of the desks and withdrew a thin throw blanket from a freshly laundered stack in a wicker basket at the end of one countertop. The open-concept offices on this floor maintained a temperature that was always on the cool side, and the company prided itself on preserving a relaxed work community for the creative team. So even during business hours, Blair could wrap herself in a throw and sit in one of the casual lounge chairs lining the wall of windows overlooking the Hudson River. From the perch forty-two stories high, she could watch cruise ships and barges sail past the Statue of Liberty while a few of her colleagues brainstormed lipstick names and played a game of table tennis.

  Her phone buzzed with a notification just as she wiggled her way into a comfortable position in the lounge chair.

  Are you coming up this weekend?

  The text from her mother gave her conscience a jab as she thought about her sick mom alone in the little cabin Blair had rented for her an hour north of here, to be close to a good cancer center. Blair had quit her degree program and sold her mother’s house in Long Island to finance the surgery her mom had needed when Amber Westcott had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Thanks to having no healthcare insurance when a visit to a walk-in clinic led to the diagnosis, the bills were through the roof, even when medical providers worked with them to find financial assistance for treatment. The cancer center Amber now attended for her therapy was well-rated, with the benefit of being in an area with a lower cost of living. On the weekends, Blair took a train that followed the Hudson River, then got off at a stop where she had to take an Uber to reach the picturesque spot in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains.

  But the cost of the rented cabin and car fares were nothing compared to the price tag on the chemotherapy.

  Definitely! Blair typed back quickly, adding a string of emojis to sound cheery. I miss you! Feeling okay?

  Tired, actually. You should stay home this weekend, sweetheart. I’m just going to sleep, anyway.

  The knot in her belly tightened.

  All the more reason I should come take care of you. Her fingers shook a little as she typed this time—Blair hated that she couldn’t be with her mom 24/7 to look after her. Her father had remarried immediately following the divorce from Amber ten years ago, so he wasn’t in the picture. And Blair was an only child. Which meant her mom really needed her now, even though one of her friends lived nearby and took her to her chemo appointments. Sat with her afterward. It wasn’t the same as having family around. I’ll make that chicken soup you like.

  The next text took longer to arrive. She gripped the phone harder, as if that would make the answer come sooner.

  Text me Friday, and I’ll let you know how I feel. Napping now.

  Blair sent a few kiss emojis.

  Tugging the lightweight fleece blanket tighter around her, she closed her eyes against the pain that came with the concern for her mom’s health. She’d parked herself in front of the view to distract herself from worries about her enigmatic, taciturn boss.
Yet thinking about the way Lucas fixed his smoldering gaze on her would be better than the gut-wrenching fear she felt for her mom and how to pay for the health care necessary to keep her alive.

  Because Blair couldn’t accept the unusual job offer she had received three days ago from her previous employer. Not when the job involved gathering strategic competitive intelligence on Deschamps Cosmetics. It was completely unethical, even if she wouldn’t have been doing anything technically illegal. She wouldn’t have even listened to the pitch except that taking the job meant she would have been able to pay for the chemo treatments. The former colleague who’d contacted her with the proposition had gotten her hopes up at first, saying he had a moonlighting gig that would be the financial answer to her prayers. But when the assignment became clearer, Blair knew she couldn’t be a spy. She’d have to find another way to afford the infusion therapy.

  Especially since she’d only been able to take the job at Deschamps thanks to an affordable-housing option extended to her by Cybil Deschamps. More than just the founder of Deschamps Cosmetics, Cybil was also a prominent philanthropist and socialite who had donated one of her properties in Brooklyn as a trial “club residence for women,” inspired by the historic Barbizon Hotel. Blair’s shared apartment and the roommates who came with it were the brightest part of the most nerve-racking time of her life. So Cybil was the last person Blair would ever want to spy on, no matter how big the paycheck.

  Her ex-coworker had insisted Blair continue to think it over for the week, however, making her feel guilty about the offer even though she hadn’t accepted. The conversation was made even stranger by the woman’s reminder that their communication was private and still covered under Blair’s nondisclosure agreement from her former employer. That didn’t seem possible now that she no longer worked for About Face, but she didn’t argue the point since she didn’t plan to discuss it, anyway.

  “Hey, Blair,” one of her male colleagues called to her over the noise of the table tennis game. “Tomorrow’s Wednesday. That’s cookie day, right?”

  Rising from the beanbag chair, she turned to see multiple heads swing her way, her coworkers clearly interested in baked goods. She pasted on a smile to hide the inner turmoil over her mom and her constant worry about how to pay the medical bills. Besides, baking was her outlet. She liked bringing a little joy into the workplace every week. It was so much easier to do here than in her mom’s lonely cabin.

  “Cookies or cupcakes. I’m happy to make either.” She peered around at the group gathered near a stand-up conference table—all of them seemed as invested in this discussion as the guys at the Ping-Pong table. Then again, it was almost five o’clock, so the workday was winding down. “Any special requests?”

  About twelve answers overlapped one another, a motley chorus of cookie names and cupcake flavors pelting her from every side.

  Laughing, she shrugged off the blanket she’d been wearing like a cape, folding the ends together even though it would only end up in the washing machine tonight. She laid it neatly over the back of the chair at her desk.

  “How about I choose?” she suggested, knowing her roommates would be glad for the sweets, too. Both Tana and Sable had hectic jobs, and Blair liked the way food brought them all together in the evenings. She needed their companionship to keep her sanity. “I’ll bring two things, though. Cupcakes and cookies.”

  Cheers and a few wolf whistles greeted the news. She would have ended the day on this happy note if she hadn’t been tasked to meet Lucas now.

  Crap.

  Retrieving a small handbag from under her desk, she resisted the urge to run a comb through her hair. She did grab a mint from her purse, though, telling herself she would do the same for a meeting with a woman. Fresh breath was always important in a one-on-one meeting. Not just the ones with ridiculously attractive bosses.

  She bypassed the elevators to take the stairs since she only needed to go up one flight to reach the executive offices. Entering the stairwell, the heavy steel door echoed behind her as it shut. While she climbed the steps, she tried to psych herself up for the meeting. Lucas was on the board of directors at Deschamps Cosmetics, and Cybil had commented more than once that he would take her place as CEO within the year. But until recently, Lucas hadn’t worked on site. He had his own firm, completely unrelated to makeup or the beauty industry, which made Blair wonder if he would really take over his mother’s company one day or if that was just wishful thinking on his mom’s part.

  Either way, Blair was extremely wary of the tall, dark-haired business mogul who seemed to stare straight through her with his tawny-colored eyes. He didn’t make her uneasy, exactly. More like…unsettled. His gruff manner of speaking didn’t help matters, either. Far from putting her off, his brooding scowls only made her want to sidle closer. Tease a laugh from him.

  Or a kiss.

  Had she just thought that? Belatedly, she slammed that idea into a vault in her brain and locked it away where she couldn’t revisit it. Ever.

  She had no business thinking about her too-sexy boss that way. Even though right now, shoving through the heavy steel door that led onto the floor of the executive offices, Blair couldn’t deny a surge of heat at the thought of being alone with him in his office.

  Luckily, she’d gotten used to ignoring her feminine instincts where Lucas was concerned, since they’d fallen into a habit of baiting each other rather than confronting the way the temperature soared when they got within ten yards of one another.

  Now, her high heels sinking in the plush carpet in the vacated reception area outside of Lucas’s office, Blair popped a second mint. This one for nerves.

  Because the only thing that mattered when it came to Lucas was doing her job. She couldn’t afford to lose this paycheck while she continued her search for supplementary income.

  Blowing out a breath, her fist was poised to knock when the door was yanked open so fast that it made the pane of glass in the sidelight rattle softly.

  “Come in, for crying out loud.” He stood framed in the doorway, glaring at her with the usual amount of heat.

  She felt the smile unfurl, and realized she actually meant this one. It wasn’t the socially acceptable polite mask of friendliness she wore with her coworkers. Or the cheerful face she wore around her mom and the medical staff to keep everyone upbeat. Something about Lucas’s unorthodox behavior gave her license to not try so damn hard. And, call her crazy, that was a relief.

  “Thank you, Lucas.” She called him by his first name because he’d demanded as much at their first meeting. She found it hard to envision what he sounded like when he wasn’t making demands. “I think I will.”

  Sidling past him into his office, she pressed her hands to her thighs to keep her floaty pink skirt from brushing up against him as she passed.

  “You were skulking around out there,” he explained after a beat of silence. Then he followed her deeper into the room, gesturing toward the two gray upholstered chairs in front of his desk. “I kept seeing a pink shadow flit past the glass.”

  “I’ll try to keep future skulking to a minimum.” She dropped into one of the chairs and was surprised when he took the one beside her instead of sitting behind his desk. “What did you want to meet with me about?”

  Her pulse jackhammered at his nearness. He’d long ago ditched the jacket of the custom gray suit he’d worn at the photo shoot, leaving him in a well-cut black button-down shirt with no tie. The gray gabardine of the pants had a subtle weave shot through with navy threads, something she’d never have noticed if his knee wasn’t just a hand’s breadth from hers. He even smelled expensive—his aftershave was pleasantly smoky and appealing, yet so subtle she’d have to lean nearer to really get a handle on the scent notes.

  Had she ever been so close to him? Her mouth felt a little dry, and she wished she had another mint. Instead, she swallowed hard while her gaze traveled up his broad chest
to where square shoulders stretched the black cotton of his shirt. His chiseled square jaw gave him a determined air, and his high cheekbones were a gift from his breathtakingly lovely mother. His lips were full and sensuous. Not that she was thinking about them, exactly. More like trying not to.

  She swallowed again.

  “I have a problem that I hope you can help me with,” Lucas began, his golden-brown eyes locked on hers.

  She really hoped he hadn’t noticed her ogling him.

  “I’ll do what I can.” Folding her hands in her lap, she kept her expression agreeable. Professional. Un-ogling.

  “Good.” His jaw flexed, and his hand fisted where it rested on the arm of his chair. “Because I want your assistance locating a leak in the organization.”

  Her stomach dropped so fast she felt like she’d just fallen down an elevator shaft. Her heart rate accelerated. She blinked even though she wanted to remain perfectly still.

  “A…leak?” she repeated, wondering if he’d learned she’d been approached by a competing firm.

  She’d received the offer by phone, but perhaps someone had overheard. She hadn’t done anything wrong, of course. There was no reason to feel a stab of guilt. No reason even to bring up the job offer she’d turned down since she most certainly was not the leak. Plus, she’d never looked into the legality of her former coworker’s claim their conversation was still covered by her nondisclosure agreement with About Face, so she wasn’t sure how much she could share, anyway.

  Yet Lucas’s watchful gaze felt intent. Intense, even. She swore she could feel it examine every single inch of her.

  Heat rushed up the back of her neck. She could not afford to lose this job. Could not afford to have the Deschampses suspect her of spying.

  “Yes. I think we have a spy in our midst, Blair.” One dark eyebrow arched as his expression turned thoughtful. Musing. “Would you help me find the guilty party?”

  Copyright © 2021 by Joanne Rock