by T. K. Leigh
On a deep inhale, I nod. Time seems to stand still as she opens the door, revealing Julian on her front stoop. The instant my eyes lock with his, all the breath leaves me. He parts his lips slightly, his gaze darkening as he takes in my appearance, scanning me from head to toe. He doesn’t even pay attention to Chloe, which is different. Whenever the three of us go out, Chloe seems to get the majority of the attention, what with her slender physique and unique shade of hair. It’s difficult not to notice Chloe. But Julian doesn’t even give her a second glance. I like that he notices me.
“Hi,” his voice cuts through the silence.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been staring at each other. All I know is I can stare at this man all night and not be tired of the way he looks. A pair of dark jeans hang from his waist. Not too tight, but not too baggy, either. A beige jacket is slung over a white button-down shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a few tufts of chest hair. The previous times I’ve seen him, he’s been in business attire — perfectly tailored suit, tie, shoes that cost more than I make in a year…including the ones I threw up on. While I like him in a suit, I love this dressy, yet casual look.
Nora nudges me and I snap out of my stupor. “Hi.”
He bites his lower lip, reluctant to rip his eyes away from me, but he eventually does, addressing Chloe. “You must be Chloe.” He holds out his hand.
“And you’re Julian Gage.” Her tone is borderline accusatory. I furrow my brow. I don’t remember telling her his last name. Then again, the entire afternoon is a whirlwind. It probably slipped out while they helped me get ready.
“Guilty as charged.” He laughs politely as Chloe steps back, allowing him to enter the apartment, but keeping her furtive stare trained on his every move.
As he walks toward me, his eyes rake over me in a way that makes me think he’s seeing me for the first time. Or maybe, thanks to my impromptu makeover, he’s seeing me in a different light. During our previous encounters, I was dressed well, but not like this. Not in a dress that clung to my curves. Not with my hair styled. Not with my makeup impeccable. I don’t even feel like that same woman anymore. Maybe that’s a good thing.
“Guinevere,” he murmurs as he leans in, kissing my cheek, his lips lingering on my skin, turning the exchange from a friendly one into something more sensual. My heart seems to do backflips in my chest, his proximity overwhelming me. “You’re stunning.” He inhales deeply, a subtle moan escaping his throat on the exhale. “And you smell even better, if that’s possible.” He pulls back, his delectable smile disarming me. “I get the feeling with you, anything is possible.”
The innuendo in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. I remind myself of the list I’d made of conditions that must be in place for me to agree to this. No sex is right at the top. Perhaps I should add no sexual innuendos to that list.
Remembering my friends’ advice that I keep the ball in my court, I smile coyly, increasing the distance between us. “I thought you said you’d be wearing a suit. That’s more of a blazer and jeans.”
When he flashes a devious grin, I have to fight the urge not to jump on him and ride him until he erases every last trace of Trevor from my life. The old Evie would never think such a thing, but the energy buzzing between Julian and me is electrifying. Add in my sudden ability to only get off with the assistance of inanimate objects, and I’m on edge.
“Would you hold it against me if I admitted I lied just so you’d wear a dress?”
I pass him a demure look, batting my lashes. “You wanted me to wear a dress? Any reason for that?”
My breathy voice surprises me. Is this how people act in relationships? Like whoever they think the other person wants them to be? How will that work? Won’t they get tired of pretending to be someone else, causing the relationship to go up in flames?
Isn’t that what I’m doing with Trevor? Aren’t I trying to convince him I can be serious instead of wanting him just to love me for me?
“I’m staring at the reason for that.” Julian leans even closer, his breath dancing on my skin, intense, warm, thrilling. “You’re exquisite, Guinevere. And any man who couldn’t see what he had doesn’t deserve you.”
I meet his heated gaze, losing myself in the darkening blue. For a second, I almost believe his endearing words. Then I remember it’s all an act. He’s putting on a show, making my friends think this is a real date. He has no idea they know the truth. Stepping back before I do something I’ll regret, I glance to my right, Nora grinning at me.
“Julian… This is my other friend, Nora.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he says, reaching for her hand and taking it in his. “Do you live here, too?”
“No. I live in Queens with my fiancé, but when Evie said she was moving out of her old place and needed our help, we were more than happy to take time off and lend a hand. It’s a worthy cause.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He shifts his gaze from Nora, looking between the three of us.
“Well, we should get going then, shouldn’t we?” I look to Julian.
“Where are you going?” Chloe demands, her tone surprising me.
“Chloe,” I hiss, furrowing my brow, an unspoken question as to the origins of the stick that now seems to be firmly shoved up her ass.
“It’s a fair question,” Julian responds with authority, not even batting an eye. “I’m sure you’re both skeptical about her going out with a guy she barely knows, but I promise, you have nothing to be worried about.” He adjusts his posture, the smile gone from his face. Now his expression appears all business. “I’m taking Evie to dinner at Maison Noir in Hell’s Kitchen. After that, I’ll bring her straight back here.”
“Or maybe you should take her back to your place,” Nora interjects, waggling her brows.
“Okay then!” I interrupt, nudging Julian toward the door. This is officially becoming more awkward than when I brought Trevor home to meet my parents. “Time to go! See you girls later.”
I hurry onto the stoop, wanting to get out of here before it gets even worse. However, I’m not used to the three-inch heels Chloe dressed me in and my ankle catches. Everything happens in slow motion as I try to right myself, but my weight is already crashing forward. Suddenly, I’m stopped mid-collapse, a pair of strong arms wrapping around me and pulling me upright. My heart is caught in my throat as I stand chest-to-chest with Julian, peering up into his eyes.
“Got ya.” His smooth voice sends a shiver through me.
“Thanks.” The safety of his embrace and passion in his gaze turns me into a blubbering fool, unable to form a coherent thought.
“I have a feeling you’re going to keep me on my toes.”
“Me, too,” I whimper.
He holds me a moment longer until he’s confident I have my footing, then releases me. I don’t say anything as he helps me inside an idling town car, a driver standing next to it. Once the door closes, giving me a moment to myself as he runs around to get in beside me, I blow out a breath.
I’m in deep trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
“Am I overdressed?” I ask as the car pulls up in front of a building in Hell’s Kitchen, Maison Noir etched on a gold plate next to a nondescript wooden door. The nearly thirty-minute drive through the typical Manhattan traffic was unnerving as I attempted to ignore the sizzling electricity between us.
“Are you kidding me?” Julian leans toward me when the driver steps out. “I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you yet. You look incredible.”
“We’re alone,” I remind him with a trite smile. “You can drop the act.”
My door opens, allowing me a brief reprieve from Julian’s intensity before he rushes out of the car himself, hurrying to catch up.
“What makes you think it’s all an act?” His hand rests on the small of my back as he leads me toward the building.
Now that we’re on display, I pass him an enamored look, doing my best to give off the impression I’m head over heels in l
ove with him. I can play his game just as well as he. A minor in theater not a wise choice, Mom? Well, I’m about to put all those acting classes to use.
“Let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is, Julian.” My voice is sickly sweet, a complete contradiction to the words I speak. Facing him, I stand on my toes, my lips hovering near his. I sense his composure crack when I exhale, my breath ghosting over his mouth. His grip on me tightens, his jaw clenching. His reaction gives me an added boost of confidence.
“And what is this, Guinevere?”
“Two people who agreed to have dinner to discuss the potential of entering into a business arrangement.” I move my lips along his jawline, every inch of him seeming to harden as I lean into the crook of his neck. “Nothing more.”
I linger for a moment longer, then abruptly pull back, swaying my hips as I head into the restaurant without waiting for him. I can sense the heat of his gaze on me and silently thank Chloe and Nora for their dating advice. I still have the upper hand. That’s exactly what I need if I’m to get through tonight without this guy becoming number four. Officially.
When Julian finally joins me, he acts as if he weren’t about to slam me against the wall and kiss me in a way Trevor never did. I hoped he’d be on edge and out of sorts, just like I felt when I first saw him stroll into Chloe’s apartment. Instead, he’s as collected as I remember him from our first meeting, an air of authority in his voice when he gives the maître d’ his name.
“Of course, Monsieur Gage,” he says in a thick French accent, winking. There’s a hint of familiarity between the two. I wonder if Julian brings all his dates here. Worse, I wonder if he’s proposed this sort of arrangement to other women in the past. I have no reason to believe he hasn’t. Why does my chest tighten at the idea of me being another one in what I can only assume to be a long list of women?
“Guinevere?” Julian’s voice cuts through. I dart my gaze to his, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Certainly, darling.” I grit a smile and step toward him.
As we follow the maître d’ into the dining area, I focus my attention on the décor in an effort to ignore the warmth emanating from Julian’s hand resting just above my waist. The place is all dim lighting, intimate tables, and mirrored walls, making the room appear bigger than it actually is. With it being New York, space is at a premium, but we’re tucked away in a corner, giving us privacy, which will prove useful for our discussions.
Once we each have a glass of wine in front of us and have placed our orders, I pull my phone from my clutch and open the “notes” application, scanning the points I’d typed out earlier.
I look at him, my expression serious. “First, if I’m to agree to this, I’d like to establish boundaries. Obviously, there will have to be a certain level of physical contact, but there needs to be a line. Sex is absolutely out of the question.” I look down, my face heating, the confidence I’d felt earlier dissipating now that we’re getting into the nitty-gritty of what will and won’t be permitted in our fake relationship. “I’d prefer we not—”
“Guinevere,” Julian’s soft voice interrupts as his hand grabs mine. I snap my eyes to his, an innate response my brain has somehow learned in only a few days’ time. “Put the phone away.”
“But—”
He brings my hand up to his lips, his gaze unwavering. The seconds stretch as he nuzzles against my knuckles, but doesn’t kiss them. Regardless, the roughness of his unshaven jaw against my flesh causes a tingle to trickle down my spine. Then he looks out of the corner of his eye, as if trying to tell me something.
As cautiously as possible, I shift my gaze toward the entrance of the restaurant, my breath hitching when I see Trevor walk in with Theresa, his hand on the small of her back as they’re led toward a table. He holds out the chair for her, something he’s never done for me, at least not that I can remember.
“How—”
“Don’t you want him to think we’re together? Considering he appears to have moved on, as well.”
“I suppose, but—”
“Then you need to put the phone away. People who are into each other don’t spend dinner on their cells. We’ll have this discussion, which appears to be extremely important to you, but we’ll do so without the talking points you’ve already made notes of. Like I said, dating is simply a game. The ref just blew the first whistle.”
Doing my best not to look at Trevor to see if he’s noticed me sitting here with Julian, I pull my hand away, discreetly pushing my phone back into my purse before reaching for my wine glass, swirling it.
“I still haven’t agreed to anything,” I remind him.
“I think you just did, baby doll.” He winks.
“I—”
“You could have easily ignored my request. But you didn’t. So that tells me there’s a part of you, however small, that wants Trevor to think we’re together.”
I raise my glass, taking a sip of the full-bodied red, allowing it to warm my stomach. It’s robust with a hint of spice, the perfect pairing for the filet mignon I ordered. If Julian’s treating me to dinner, I may as well take advantage and go for the gold.
“What I want Trevor to think and what he actually does are two different things. Yes, he was jealous when he intercepted the flowers you sent. However, as I pointed out during our conversation, he did accuse me of only dating you to make him jealous. So, regardless of what I agree to, that will always be in the back of his mind. That we’re only together for a juvenile purpose.”
“Juvenile?”
“Yes. Juvenile.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. My expression remains amorous, as if I’m murmuring my deepest desires to this intriguing man. “Even you must admit it’s something you’d do in high school. Your smart, studious, perfect boyfriend breaks up with you, so you get back at him by dating the school flirt. The one who seems to go through women like toilet paper. The one who could get any girl he wants, but he somehow decides to clean up his act with the theater geek. I’ve already seen that movie. Hell, I lived that movie in high school. I’m not sure I’m interested in a sequel.”
Julian’s gaze remains resolute, unaffected by my outburst. When he brings his hands in front of his face, he tents them, his fingers brushing against his lips in quiet contemplation.
“Then perhaps we should forget about my original proposal altogether.”
My mouth grows slack as I cock my head at him. “Forget about it?”
I’m not sure what my end game was, but I didn’t expect him to call it quits before our meals even arrived. And I was really looking forward to that steak. Did I overplay my hand? I wish Chloe and Nora were here to tell me what to do.
I’ve spent the past five years dishing out relationship advice, but I never took any of it seriously. It was more a comedic outlet for my writing, a way for me to poke fun at how crazy and stressful dating could be. No one would think I’d actually advocate starting a collection of your date’s toenail trimmings and present it to them on your first anniversary. At least I hope they wouldn’t.
“Yes, Guinevere. No matter what I say or do, I fear I’ll never be able to convince you this idea is anything but juvenile. And maybe it is. I simply saw it as a way to solve both our problems. I was already on the lookout for someone who might be interested in posing as my girlfriend. When I heard you share your troubles that night at the bar, I thought you’d be perfect. And I still think you’d be perfect for what I need.”
I worry my bottom lip, absorbing his words. “Why me?”
“Why not you?”
“I can list a thousand reasons. I’m sure there are plenty of women who would gladly agree to pretend to be your girlfriend. Hell, you might even get laid, which one would argue would be a nice bonus. You won’t get that with me.”
He leans closer, gazing thoughtfully at me with his penetrating blue eyes. It almost feels like he’s able to peer into my soul.
“Did you ever stop to think that’s exactly
why I asked you?”
“Because I won’t sleep with you?” I push out a laugh, then sip my wine. “Most men would probably expect sex from this kind of arrangement. Unless, of course, they were gay…” My breath hitches, wide eyes darting to Julian. “Oh, my god!” I whisper-shout, glancing around the restaurant, ensuring no one’s paying attention. Apart from Trevor’s occasional wandering gaze, no one seems to care about our conversation. “You’re gay, aren’t you? You need me to pretend to date you to keep your sexual orientation a secret so some conservative politician will back whatever project you’re working on. That’s why you didn’t take advantage of me when I was drunk and in your bed.”
He chuckles, his expression brightening with amusement. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but I’ve yet to be accused of being gay.”
“It’s okay if you are. There’s nothing wrong with it. No one cares these days, especially in New York. Are you from a religious family? Is that why—”
“I am not gay. That’s not why I’m looking for someone to pose as my girlfriend. And that’s not why I didn’t take advantage of you. I didn’t take advantage of you because I’m not an asshole. I don’t take advantage of women. Period.” His voice is determined, his eyes steadfast.
At that moment, the waiter approaches with our meals, cutting through the tension. The aroma of garlic and meat invades my senses as my mouth waters from the beautifully prepared steak in front of me. I pick up my knife and slice into it, meeting Julian’s eyes as he cuts into his lamb, the meat falling off the bone.
“Bon appetite,” he says in a perfect French accent, which piques my curiosity, but not enough to press him about it. Not with my steak inches from my mouth.