by Jamie Knight
I wasn’t sure what he was implying. What was wrong with being a waitress? “What if someone asks what I do?”
“Good point.” He sighed again, pursed his full lips, and kept on tapping. “Not work, then. Best to not even bring it up.”
That seemed odd, but I let it go and tried to come up with more ideas. “How about a dating app?” I asked.
“That could work.”
“But which one?” I asked.
“I’m not sure it matters.” The hot lawyer set his still-full cup back down on the table, turning towards me slightly.
“No, probably not,” I agreed, feeling the heat of his gaze again. “How long have we been engaged?”
He shifted in his seat, and although I tried not to notice, his eyes snuck a look at my cleavage. Trying hard not to move, a thrill ran through me, making me want to jump up and down.
Someone that attractive wanting me? It was the best feeling in the world.
I even sat up a bit straighter, so my chest stuck out more.
“Good question,” Noah continued, then finally took a sip of his latte. “It would have to be fairly recent, which is why we haven't told anyone yet.”
“Good point,” I conceded.
“Does a month sound about right?”
“Yeah, that's good for me. I don't really know anyone here in L.A., so it is unlikely that I'll be asked.”
“Good then.” Noah nodded. He took another big sip of his drink and let his eyes wander up and down my body. There was a mix of feelings in his face. I could sense heat, but also something else. Something I wasn’t sure about.
“Anything else?” I prompted, suddenly feeling uncertain.
“Nothing comes to mind. Anything you make up should work. I can wing it if necessary.” He leaned forward on the table. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” My heart started beating a mile a minute as his bright-blue eyes held mine.
“Why were you so desperate to do this? I mean, I had considered hiring an escort, but then, there you were.”
What the fuck?
My stomach dropped. Here I was, trying to do something nice for this man, and he was equating me with a whore. Noah’s gaze suddenly felt dirty on my skin.
“Are you calling me a hooker?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“No, no, but this seems like the sort of thing a hooker would do. You always seemed so wholesome.” He looked me up and down again. “We can negotiate a price for the evening, but I just don’t want to get too carried away. So, if you let me know what you need the money for, I can figure out how best to help you.”
Feeling flabbergasted, I stared at him. He thought I was after money. Here I was genuinely trying to be helpful, and Mr. Wells thought I was playing him. Not this girl!
“Well!” I snapped, leaping up from the table, accidentally dumping my coffee in his general direction. “You're the one who needs help, not me.”
With a dramatic flip of my hair, I stormed out without ever looking back, even when I could hear him shouting behind me.
Maybe being bold was a bad idea, after all.
Chapter Four - Emma
The alarm clock rebounded off the wall before crashing onto the floor. I really didn't know my own strength sometimes. I'd also been playing aggressive music all night on my headphones to avoid noise complaints and was still in a bit of a bad mood.
What happened with Noah was not helping things much. Making matters worse, I still couldn't think about him without getting wet. Even when I remembered what he had said to me.
The fact that he resembled Thor's cleanly shorn cousin was a major factor in the equation. I'd yet to see him standing up without a coat on and hadn't quite been able to check out his cock. Going by the rest of him, I guessed it was big. The thought of it, or at least what it might be, was both scary and exciting at the same time. I could barely get my fingers inside while I was playing with myself, I was so tight, but I was still intrigued by the idea of being gently fucked by a nice big cock.
I showered quickly to avoid having time to do anything that could make me late for my shift at Java. I put on the first clothes that I found that were clean, a denim skirt that was probably a bit too short and a plaid, flannel shirt giving me the overall look of a sexy lumberjack and headed for the car, my long, dark hair still wet.
I made a note to get a new alarm clock on the way home.
I left early enough that there wasn't much traffic, a true oddity in downtown Los Angeles. On the other hand, it was 5 am on a Saturday, and the majority of the city was still sleeping off their hangovers. Something that made parking a lot easier than usual as well. I usually had to park a few blocks away from the cafe.
Nosing into a spot mere steps from the entrance of the building, I cut the engine and took the front steps two by two. There was a disabled access ramp laid over on the side of them, in accordance with the ADA regulations, which they could technically be exempt from due to the status as a heritage building.
“Just under the wire,” Julie said, as I pinned the name tag to my lumberjack shirt and ducked behind the counter.
“Story of my life,” I said.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Was that humor?”
“Gadzooks! I do believe it was!”
Julie went over to the espresso machine to try and hide the fact that she was laughing. Rob, the site manager, wasn't really a killjoy, but he was someone who appreciated professional conduct while on the clock. I couldn't blame him, really.
Sadly, that was the most excitement I'd had in a while. Not only had I discovered I could be funny, but I had also inadvertently used it on an unsuspecting victim. If I was honest, there hadn't been much in the way of pleasure in my life.
All my friends had already settled down into the wife and mother thing, as society doth dictate. Not just my older friends either. Sarah, my best friend back home, was only twenty-five and had already been married for two years and had a six-month-old.
I loved the idea of a domestic existence, but since that hadn’t happened. I was more focused on having some excitement in my life, moving from place to place, and believing that I would find the one. I didn't have any particular plan on how to do this. Just that if I waited long enough and moved enough times that it would happen. It was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. The fates could be fickle and random.
They could also be real bitches. Especially in my case, it seemed that the more I tried to get some excitement and make a connection with the one, the more he eluded me, and the more boring and lonely my life got. It was like the more I pushed, the harder love resisted.
I had honestly thought that Noah might be the one. The one I would love and the one to break the record of monotony. It was mostly desperation for something exciting that drove me to surpass my natural qualms and screaming nerves and offer myself up for the job of Noah's fiancée — at least for a while. It was so naughty and dangerous I couldn't resist.
However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized he had been a bit right about the hooker thing. It was the sort of job usually left to escorts — though that wasn't how I saw it. My own fantasy was that I was helping him out and might get him to give me some physical affection, you know, just to really sell our story, and then he would fall madly in love with me.
But our coffee together had ended my somewhat insane and immature fantasy. He had pretty much done that with what he had said, though not in the way I might have thought.
It was about that time that my inner ass-kicker, the one I'd only recently discovered I had, rose again and said that I didn't need him to do that. The fantasy was fine, I just needed a bit more of a plan, and if it didn't work out, it was up for me to realize and rethink my mindset, not some arrogant prick to pull the rug out from under me.
Fuck him, I decided.
Though that was just the problem. That was exactly what I wanted to do. Fuck him until one of us passed out.
A sentiment which only strengthened when I turned from the espresso machine for maybe the twentieth time that morning, to see Noah himself sitting at one of the tables, looking like he was waiting for me.
Oh, fuck!
After barely getting to Java on time, I wasn't about to risk dropping work to go and talk to him, but my lunch break was coming up fast and couldn't arrive fast enough as far as I was concerned.
It was funny how fast resolve could weaken.
Chapter Five - Noah
The relaxation CD spun in the specially installed player. It had been one of the most difficult things about building my hot rod — a classic 1937 Lincoln Zephyr in ruby red — the electronics were not really compatible with modern stereo wiring. It took some patching to make it work, but in the end, it did.
I hummed softly along with the music. The sound of my singing voice was known to make most of the dogs on the block start howling in a sort of doggy domino effect.
Doing as the nice lady on the CD dictated, I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying not to think about what had happened with Emma. I really had been a jerk. I was right about this being the sort of thing escorts tended to do. That was just a fact, but it should have been clear enough that Emma wasn't like that and would have been making the offer for other reasons.
She was also really hot and believable as my future wife. Dress Emma up nice, and she would be perfect for making Gina green with envy and let her know I had really moved on. There was even a possibility, slim as it was, that Mom might actually approve. Just this very thought warmed the cockles of my heart and made me grin like a mystical feline from Cheshire.
The CD reached its end, and I was brought back to reality. Popping the CD, I returned it to the case and slid it back onto the specially built shelf.
Taking one last deep cleansing breath, I got out of the hot rod and headed toward the Howell and Howell building, thinking it unlikely that even the manager of the cafe would have the power to eject me if things happened to go pear-shaped. I wasn't counting on that, though. Not that I was arrogant in my certainty that Emma would give me another chance — just convinced in my optimism that she might.
There are those who say that a wise man knows when he is beaten. I have never been very wise.
Java was busy when I got into the cafe. Finding a table by one of the windows, still in view of the counter, I sat down and waited until Emma noticed me. A tactic quite similar to the one I employed to get dates in high school, sitting in the library and waiting for girls to talk to me. I didn't have a single date until I was sixteen. I consoled myself with the fact that most girls were likely dissuaded by the fact that I was more than a foot taller than them, and I was the wealthiest kid at school — both of those things could be really intimidating.
Emma made me wait. I didn't blame her, also realizing that she was still on shift and likely wouldn't have time until noon or even later, depending on when her lunch break was. I really should have thought things out a bit better.
“What do you want?” Emma asked finally, sitting down across from me. I eyed her outfit, the checkered shirt unbuttoned enough to give me a big eyeful of her full cleavage.
“You, to hear me out, that is.” I put my hand across the table and leaned towards her. “Okay, I'm listening,” she said, noticing my gaze and crossing her arms over her beautiful chest. The move was disappointing.
“Well, first, I want to apologize.”
“Really?” Her big brown eyes lit up. It made her look delightfully innocent.
“Yeah, I was far too blunt and feel like I might have offended you.”
Emma’s lips twisted like she was trying not to smile. “Perceptive.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, wishing I had something to do with my hands. I should have gotten a cup of coffee.
“You called me a hooker.” One dark, curved eyebrow rose on her forehead. It was a challenge.
I nodded again, feeling uncharacteristically nervous under her scrutiny. “Indirectly, yes, though that's not what I meant, and my issue or objection was not with you personally so much as the idea of employing a fake fiancée at all. It just felt like a bit of dirty pool if I'm honest.”
“Then why would you agree to it?” she asked.
“Desperate measures for a desperate situation.”
The girl grinned, it was a mix of sheepish and teasing. “You that hard up for a date?”
Laughter spilled out of me. Emma had a bit of fire in her — not always, but on occasion, she was quite bold. I could respect that.
Something relaxed between us. I sat back in my chair and put my foot on my knee.
“That's what my mother seems to think,” I explained. “To the point of inviting my evil ex to the event we would have been going to.”
“Oh.” Emma’s face lit up. Her anger seemed to be forgotten. Now she looked at me with interest and caring in her deep eyes, almost like an old friend.
“I know it's dirty and wrong and dishonest,” I continued, suddenly finding the girl across from me very easy to talk to, “but I really don't want to have to get involved with my ex again and my mother is intractable.”
“That's quite a cunning plan, sir,” she quipped, affecting an English accent.
“Thank you, Baldrick,” I followed, amused that she seemed to also watch the TV show Blackadder. “Though I doth confess, the machination was not an invention of my own.”
Emma gasped playfully, dramatically putting a hand to her chest. “Forsooth! What dastardly so and so conceited such as scheme?”
“Jim.” I could hardly answer, I was laughing so much.
“Jim Howell? The head lawyer?” Emma asked, sounding shocked.
She leaned across the table like we were sharing secrets. Her brown, silky hair swung forward into her face, and I had to stop myself from tucking it back behind her ear. That would have been too forward.
“Yeah, he can be pretty cunning when it comes right down to it.”
“Um, yeah, I guess.” She shrugged slightly and sat back, much to my disappointment.
“Look, I still want you to do it if you will consider it. I know we got off on the wrong foot, Emma, but there honestly isn't anyone else I would want to play my fake fiancée more than you.”
“I-I don't know,” she said, getting up from her chair and nervously brushing her jeans skirt down. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Right, I embarrassed you, didn't I?”
“Well —”
I wasn’t sure what made me do it, but I took a deep breath and started to sing to her. There was something about Emma that just made me feel silly. My song wasn’t even sensible—or in tune. “Emma! Please forgive me, Emma.”
Her cheeks turned bright red as she put a hand up to cover her face.
“Come with me, Emma,” I howled. “I can’t do this without you, Emma!”
As I got louder, people in the café started to stare.
“Stop,” she giggled, pushing on my chest lightly.
“Hey, Emma,” I sang. “I’m really sorry, Emma!”
Jumping towards me, laughing like crazy, Emma slapped her hands over my mouth. “It's okay. Stop torturing yourself, not to mention any nearby dogs,” she begged.
“Ouch.”
I pulled one of her hands over my shoulder until she was forced to slide up against my body and look up into my face.
“It's true,” she pointed out. The blush on her cheeks was a deeper red now, and her voice was a bit breathless.
“I know.”
“I appreciate the gesture, though,” she said, pulling away and sitting back down.
“Will you consider being my date for the event. We don't really have to lie,” I told her, taking my own seat.
She looked down at the table. “I have a feeling that we do. If your Mom and ex are anything like you say they are. People do have a tendency to exaggerate.”
“Not me. I have the opposite problem.”
“You understate?”
“No, I speak the truth and am allergic to sugar coatings.”
“Really?”
“Metaphorically.”
“Well, that makes sense. Anyway, yes, I will go to the event with you and pretend to be your fiancée.”
I slapped the table with happiness. “How about we go to my place? To plot and scheme, I mean. I'll even cook!”
“You can cook?” she asked excitedly, as though I had just confessed to having telekinetic powers.
I hesitated. Cooking wasn’t really my forte. If I wanted anything other than scrambled eggs, I usually ordered out, but in my haste, the words had just spilled out. “After a sort, though I can't guarantee the fire brigade won't be involved at some point.” I gave her a wink.
Emma laughed. “How we go about we go to my place instead? I can make you some of my Holy Crap crapes and Sweet Orgasm chocolate chip cookies. Old family recipe.”
My eyebrows went up at her words, and I started to feel a little giddy.
“Sounds great.”
Chapter Six - Emma
Noah followed me to my place. A process made easier by the fact that both of our cars were very distinctive. Rarely have I seen a deep red 30s’ style hot rod in such beautiful condition. The fact that my car was a decommissioned hearse done is what can only be described as TARDIS Blue, no doubt making it easier for Noah to keep track of me even in the downtown traffic.
My place wasn't fancy, but it was neat. Cleaned and organized with near military precision like I was taught by my mother, who I was beginning to suspect had OCD. It was a walk-up. The building had only two floors, not every apartment in LA being housed in a high-rise, no matter what the rumors might imply. I had a chance at a detached house in Echo Park but, very politely, declined after seining the taped over bullet holes in the kitchen window.
We both found street parking, engaging our car alarms in unison.