by T. K. Leigh
I slowly turn my eyes from his, breathless from the passion and genuine affection in his words. “Okay.” It’s all I can manage.
After a few silent moments, the car comes to a stop. I glance out the window to see we’re already at Chloe’s building. Julian and his driver step out at the same time. When my door opens, I smile in thanks at his driver before turning to Julian. He places his hand on my lower back, leading me toward the brownstone.
The closer we get to the front door, the more my heart rate increases. What’s the proper protocol for saying goodnight to the man you’re pretending to date? I doubt I’d find the answer in any rule book. Perhaps this entire experience will give me more material for the column. Instead of just giving advice on normal relationships, I can give tips for fake relationships, too. I’m already writing it in my head…Fifty Rules for Pretending to Date an Undateable Man.
Not wanting to endure any more awkwardness than I already have, I take control of the situation, facing Julian and extending my hand toward him. “Thanks for dinner. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”
Squinting, he eyes my hand, a bemused smirk forming on his lips. “A handshake?”
“Yes. Your driver obviously knows about our arrangement, as does Chloe, since she and Nora were sitting next to me when you called. There’s no need to put on an act right now. So, thank you for dinner.” I extend my hand even farther, making it clear that I’m serious about the handshake. When he lifts his hand, I exhale a small breath of relief, only to let out a surprised squeak when he grabs my hip instead, pulling me against him.
In an instant, the desire I’d struggled to suppress all evening flickers back to life as my body fuses into his. He brings a hand to my face, tilting my head back, forcing my eyes to his. They’re so intense. So consuming. So vivid. The hair on my nape stands on end, every inch of me aching with raw need.
“Do you honestly believe the only reason I touch you is to put on a show? To keep up an act?” His voice is deep and lustful as he lowers his mouth toward my neck. A slave to his unspoken command, I crane my head, this dance between us feeling like one we’ve done dozens of times over. Instead, we’re two strangers.
“The thought’s crossed my mind.”
“Well, get the thought out of your mind. Yes, I had certain criteria I was looking for in approaching someone about the prospect of this little arrangement. Smart, funny, confident. Most importantly, attractive.” He nuzzles against my skin, the roughness of his scruff jarring, exciting, and everything I need but didn’t realize it.
“Even though you want to keep emotions out of it?” I murmur, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as his breath tortures my skin. It’s pure agony, but in the most addicting way.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be attracted to the person.” He lightly runs a finger down the curve of my neck, his breath following the same path, so close yet still not crossing any line. “And I am profoundly attracted to you.” His hands cup my cheeks and my eyes flutter open, staring into his enamored gaze once more. “You’re one of the most alluring women I’ve seen in a very long time. You have a classic beauty to you. One women would pay thousands of dollars to have, but it’s natural for you.”
I part my lips, my breath coming in pants the longer his body remains pressed against mine.
“And you’re confident in your own skin. Skin thousands of men would love to taste.” He smooths my hair behind my shoulder, his hand brushing the exposed flesh. “But what had me absolutely mesmerized was this mouth.” He shifts his eyes from mine, focusing on my mouth.
When he brings his lips within a breath of mine, my knees weaken. Desperate for some sort of release, I squeeze my thighs together. Mr. Winky, as I’ve named my battery-operated boyfriend, will definitely be getting a workout tonight.
“The things that came out of it were witty, charming, and full of hope. With each word you spoke, I was hungry for more. More of your words. More of your mouth. More of you.”
He leans even closer, his lips hovering so near to mine I can practically taste them. Wine. Spice. And a hint of chocolate from the soufflé we shared.
“No kissing,” I murmur, my teeth chattering. “You agreed.”
I sense his mouth curve into a smile. Then he drops his hold on me. I open my eyes to see him retreating down the stairs.
I’m unable to move, to breathe, to think, a statue frozen in time as I watch him walk toward the car. Before he ducks inside, he glances back at me, a mischievous grin on those lips I was a whisper away from kissing, despite insisting we not.
“Kissing is for amateurs, Guinevere. You’re in the big leagues now.” He holds my gaze a moment longer, then winks before disappearing into the car.
As his car drives off into the night, I lean against the door, placing my hand over my racing heart, trying to calm it down.
One thing is abundantly clear… I am royally fucked.
Chapter Fifteen
“How did the date go?” Chloe asks the following morning when I emerge from my makeshift bedroom. I head toward the one-cup brewer in the tiny kitchen and pop a pod into it. Instantly, the aroma of coffee fills the air. Just the smell of this magic potion helps erase the cobwebs from my restless and frustrated night, thanks to one Julian Gage.
“It wasn’t a date, Chloe.” I avoid her eyes as I answer. “Just dinner to discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“So you said yesterday.” She looks up from her laptop where she’s probably working on a story about some celebrity gossip that hit the wires within the past few hours. Chloe typically pulls all-nighters on Fridays and Saturdays, since that tends to be when all the juicy stories happen. “Have you come to a decision about this ‘arrangement’?”
After adding a bit of milk and sweetener to my coffee, I join her on the couch, keeping my head held high. “I have. And I’ve agreed to help.”
“Hmm.” Her lips press together.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She waves a hand dismissively, returning her attention to her laptop.
“No. It’s not nothing. You don’t hmm unless you want to say something but are holding back. What is it? Why did you go from wanting me to jump Julian’s bones to giving him the stink eye the instant he showed up at the door last night? Is it because he’s ridiculously good-looking and you don’t think it makes sense for someone like me to be with him?” With each word, my voice gets louder. “Because I’m more than aware I don’t fit the mold of the cookie-cutter, waif-like model a guy like him would normally be with. But I—”
“Evie, no. It’s not that. It’s just…” She blows out a breath as she pulls her gray and lilac locks into a messy bun on top her head. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Julian Gage?”
I furrow my brow. “Why does it matter? And how do you know his last name? I don’t think I told you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Then how—”
“You don’t know who he is, do you?”
I shrug, feeling like an idiot for not Googling him before going out with him. Last time I was single, Myspace was still a thing. That’s how long it’s been.
Pushing out an exasperated sigh, Chloe types on her laptop before turning it toward me. Heat rushes through me when Julian’s vibrant blue eyes stare back from a Wikipedia article. The ache I’d momentarily relieved with the use of my battery-operated boyfriend is back and more intense than it was last night.
“Evie?”
I refocus on Chloe, discreetly wiping at my lip in the hopes that I’m not drooling. Thankfully, I’m not.
“Should I leave you and the laptop alone for a minute?” She giggles.
Rolling my eyes, I zero in on the screen and read a rather lengthy biography of the man who left me a quivering pile of hormones last night.
Julian Gage was completely unknown until Theodore Price, a distant relative of the Vanderbilt family, passed away, leaving the majority of his vast fortune to him. This prompted a fierce contest over the will b
y Mr. Price’s children, who assumed they’d inherit everything. While Mr. Price didn’t disinherit them altogether, providing each of his three children a rather generous testamentary gift…in most people’s standards…it was nothing compared to the billions of dollars he’d gifted Julian.
Mr. Price’s children tried to allege the will was invalid and that Julian exerted undue influence over an old man who wasn’t of sound mind. However, the court found that his children wouldn’t know whether he were of sound mind, considering they’d rarely spoken to him over the past few decades. Mr. Price’s housekeeper testified to that fact. She also stated that Mr. Price and Julian become acquainted when Mr. Price saw him in a local park and offered to teach him how to play chess, since he seemed interested in the game. I can’t help but smile at the image in my mind of a sixteen-year-old Julian befriending an older man over a game of chess. When I was sixteen, most boys only cared about video games. I can’t see Julian as someone who was ever interested in video games.
Upon Mr. Price’s death, Julian took the helm of the Price-Young empire. Hotels. Restaurants. Commercial buildings. There are hundreds of properties in New York City alone. It’s all incredibly impressive, but what catches my eye is the mention of a non-profit he’s tied to. An organization aimed at helping victims of domestic violence. It certainly piques my interest, another puzzle piece of who Julian truly is sliding into place.
I should have stopped reading there, but the section labeled “Personal Life” grabs my attention and I scroll down. Labeled one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, there are various photos of him posing with beautiful woman after beautiful woman. Models. Actresses. Heiresses. Every single one of them is all legs with barely an ounce of fat, a complete one-eighty from my ample chest and curvy hips. It again begs the question I posed last night… Why me?
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Chloe asks when I push away from the laptop, a sickness forming in my stomach.
“Why would he pursue me if he has his pick of any number of gorgeous women?”
She shrugs, silently agreeing. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Evie. That’s all.”
“What do you know about him?” I meet her eyes, unsure if I want to hear her answer.
“No more than what you read about in that Wiki article. There’s no information at all about his younger years. He’s an extremely private guy. People try to get details about him from those he’s closest to, but they all stay tightlipped. There’s a great deal of speculation about why he’s never had a serious relationship, although he’s been photographed with plenty of gorgeous women, as you see. My vote is he’s gay.”
I choke on my coffee. “I accused him of the same thing,” I say through a fit of coughing.
“You did?”
The tense atmosphere slowly wanes. Now we’re just two friends dishing about my date last night. Who cares if Julian has a Wikipedia page? Hell, even I have one because of my position at the magazine, although there’s not much information on it. That doesn’t make me someone worth knowing. Granted, Julian probably has a few billion reasons why he’s worth knowing, but that doesn’t make a difference to me. I’d still find him endearing, regardless of the size of his bank account.
“Trust me. There is absolutely no way that man is gay.”
This catches Chloe’s attention and she smirks. “Is that so?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I thought you weren’t going to sleep with him. Hell, you said even kissing was off the table.”
“I didn’t sleep with him. We didn’t even kiss.” I waggle my brows.
“You didn’t? Then—”
“I told him my conditions, and he agreed to all of them. I thought for sure he’d insist on kissing me if we’re pretending to date.”
“It is a bit of a challenge, isn’t it?”
“Not to him, apparently. He said kissing’s for amateurs. And after the goodnight kiss that wasn’t last night, I’d say he’s right. Kissing is for amateurs.” I bite my lower lip, reeling in my smile. “And Julian Gage is certainly no amateur.” I fan myself, causing both of us to break out into a fit of giggles.
When our laughter fades, her expression turns serious once more. “So you’re going to do it? You’re going to be his fake girlfriend?”
“I am,” I respond thoughtfully before my eyes harden. “But you can not tell a soul the truth, that it’s just for show. You can’t use this in any of your articles. This is incredibly off the record.”
She reaches across the couch and clutches my hand. “You have my word. If you say it’s off the record, it’s off the record. I like my job.”
I laugh slightly, knowing how seriously Viv takes this kind of thing.
“But I value our friendship even more. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t—”
She quickly holds up her hand. “I know you, Evie. You get attached to people. Hell, you were with Trevor for twelve years.”
“That’s different.”
“Still, you’re not the type of girl who does random hookups. You’re either all in or all out. There’s no in-between with you. I just…” She blows out a breath. “I don’t want you to fall for this guy and end up getting hurt because this is only a business deal for him.”
“It’s nothing more than a business deal for me, too. Weren’t you saying I deserved to have some fun this summer?”
“That is true. And Trevor certainly does deserve to have the fact that you’re dating one of the most eligible men in New York shoved in his face.” Her eyes focus on me. “And it will be shoved in his face. Not by me, but Hamptons’ parties are a hotbed for gossip columnists. Gossip websites will publish photos of you together. You won’t be able to keep it quiet for long.”
“Julian doesn’t want it to be kept quiet. He wants us to act as if it’s real.”
“And there’s no part of you that wishes it were?”
“Of course not,” I respond quickly. “I’m not interested in him.” I straighten my spine, exuding all the confidence I can muster just as the sound of my phone ringing rips through the space. I dart my eyes to the screen, a warmth filling me when Julian’s name pops up.
“Not interested, you say?” Chloe teases, getting up from the couch. “Your wide smile and increased breathing indicate otherwise, Evie.” She narrows her eyes on me. “Just be careful.”
With that, she disappears into her bedroom, allowing me to speak with Julian in private.
Not wanting to sound overly eager, I blow out a long breath, then bring the phone to my ear, answering in a sultry tone.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Guinevere. As requested, I’ve emailed you an itinerary for the next two months.”
His tone is clipped, formal, almost as if I’m merely another call he has to make in conducting business. It’s like he’s a different person than the man who left me a panting mess on Chloe’s front stoop last night. Did I imagine it all?
“Please check your calendar and let me know what conflicts you may have. I prefer to know in advance. Like you, I’m not fond of surprises.”
“All I have planned this summer is work,” I answer in a tone matching his own.
“There are some events that may occur during the week, so I’ll need you to take the time off, if it can be arranged.”
“I don’t foresee a problem. Like I said last night, my boss doesn’t mind if I work out of the office, as long as all my work is turned in by my deadline.”
“Also, my personal stylist needs your measurements to pull things for you. She’ll be reaching out to you sometime today. She’s located in Midtown. You can either go to her or she can come to you.”
“Personal stylist?”
“If you’re to act the part of my girlfriend, you need to dress the part. Don’t worry. You can keep the clothes when the summer is over. My stylist has a list of things you’ll need. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“Wednesday?” I ask, feeling overwh
elmed as I not only attempt to absorb the difference in demeanor, but the reality of what pretending to be this man’s girlfriend will entail. "But—”
“Take a look at the itinerary. I’m sure it will answer all your questions. If not, the number for my assistant is included. Goodbye, Guinevere.”
“Goodbye, Julian.”
But the line’s already dead.
Chapter Sixteen
The Steam Room is particularly busy Monday morning as I sit at my usual table with the perfect view of the counter and dining area. The murmur of low conversation competes to be heard over coffee beans being ground and employees shouting orders to each other. I’ve yet to indulge in any of their pastries, but I feel my hips getting bigger simply from sitting here these past few weeks… Calories by osmosis or something like that.
I do everything I can to focus on how to determine which of the men on my list of possibilities is the real August Laurent, like I’m playing my own version of To Tell the Truth. Instead, all I can think of is Julian. How sweet and charming he was Friday night, then how cold and distant he seemed during our brief phone call. All weekend, I reminded myself it shouldn’t matter, that it’s only a business relationship, that it’s not real. But I felt something. Was he really that good of an actor?
The itinerary he sent is quite extensive. There’s something requiring my presence every weekend. It boggles my mind to think people live this way. Galas. Fundraisers. Art auctions. Pool parties. Bonfires. And this is a normal summer. I already feel like I don’t belong, and I haven’t even stepped foot in the Hamptons yet.
I try not to think too much about it, concentrating instead on the copious notes I’d made the previous week. As I flip through them, I’m unable to shake the feeling I missed something. None of the men on my list scream escort. Maybe August Laurent isn’t in town. Maybe something came up and he had to take some bored housewife off to a remote island in exchange for a ridiculously obscene amount of money.