“Oh, I understand, and I completely agree with your assessment. It’s just that…we need a quick fix to maintain your shining prince image. Perhaps you need a pretend fiancée to accompany you to Paris and meet the Descheaux family.”
“A pretend fiancée? Are you serious?” Has he been sitting in his office, plotting this idea to present to me? Most likely.
I seriously can’t believe he would suggest such a thing.
He doesn’t so much as blink when he says, “Yes. I’m serious.”
“What do you want me to do, hire out my assistant? Have her take on the role of loving fiancée?”
The hopeful expression on his face cannot be denied. “Do you think she’d do it for the right price?”
“What the hell, Dad?” I rise to my feet, throw my hands up in the air, then start pacing the room. “I’m not bringing Kelsey to Paris so we can pretend we’re engaged to impress these people. That’s—insane.” Something out of a movie. One of those ridiculous romantic comedies my sister always used to torture me with when we were kids and she’d get control of the TV remote.
Hell, I don’t even watch TV anymore. Or go to the movies. I don’t have time.
“It’s just a little white lie, only for a few days while you entertain the Descheauxs and convince them the Wilder Corporation is the right company to carry on their legacy.”
“You should go to Paris.” I pause in my pacing and jab my finger at him. “Take Mother. Show them what a family man you are.”
“I can’t go. Too much going on here. Plus, they want to meet the future of the Wilder Corporation, and that’s you.” He exhales loudly, and I know this is bothering him, the possible loss of this deal. He wouldn’t make such an outrageous suggestion if he wasn’t worried. He will do whatever it takes to win something, even if that means forcing me to find a fake fiancée? Apparently so.
“Think about asking your assistant to accompany you. We’d pay her top dollar. She’d be the perfect candidate. Discreet. Professional. And she’s an attractive woman, Alex. You would make an excellent looking couple.”
I say nothing. It’s like I lost my capability to speak, and my father has lost his damn mind. There is no way I’m asking Kelsey to come with me to Paris and pretend to be my fiancée. There’s absolutely no way—
An idea flashes in my brain, too crazy to contemplate.
Or is it?
I could ask…
Caroline.
Would she be interested? A free trip to Paris is alluring to any woman, but she’s also a working woman. She’d have ask for days off in little more than forty eight hours’ time. Could she do it?
The real question is, does she want to do it?
There’s only one way for me to find out.
Chapter 21
Caroline
I’ve successfully avoided Alex all day long. Every text he sends me, I don’t respond. Toward the late afternoon though, his texts suddenly became more frequent.
And somehow more frantic.
PLEASE Caroline I need to talk to you. Call me as soon as you receive this text.
I don’t.
So he calls me, but I don’t answer. He leaves voicemails—two of them!—but I don’t listen. I’m too scared. He’ll convince me everything’s all right, I have nothing to worry about it, and I’ll end up seeing him again.
Which means I’m bound to see Tiffany again soon. Something I don’t want to risk.
“Why does your phone keep blowing up?” Stella asks.
We’re hanging out in our tiny living room, watching Game of Thrones. At least, I’m trying my best to watch GoT, but a certain someone keeps distracting me.
“It’s nothing,” I tell Stella.
She pauses the show, mid Jon Snow. “Tell me.”
“Stella, I swear it’s nothing. Now let’s finish this.” I have to be able to talk all things Game of Thrones tomorrow morning at work. Iris and I spend at least ten to fifteen minutes on the topic first thing Monday morning.
My phone dings again, and Stella raises a brow. “Just tell me who it is.”
“Fine.” I sigh, wishing I could throw my phone across the room, but it’s worth way too much money, so I don’t. “It’s Alex. But I’m not answering him.”
“And you’re not answering him because?”
“Because freaking Tiffany the psycho followed me out of the restaurant this morning, remember?” How could she even forget?
“Are you really going to let that bitch ruin your chance at a potential relationship with Alexander Wilder?” She sounds incredulous.
But guess what, I’m incredulous too. “She threatened me the last time she came into Noteworthy, Stel. She’s chasing after me this morning when all I’m trying to do is have a nice brunch with my friends. I had to hide out in a store so she wouldn’t see me.” I pause, hoping those words sink in. “That’s crazy.”
The look on Stella’s face is nothing short of disgusted. “You should’ve called the cops on her.”
“What, so I can make her even more furious and then she’s really coming for me? I don’t want to risk it.” My life is mostly no drama. I’m pretty laid back, and I’ve been told more than once by good friends that I put up with a lot of shit.
Tiffany Ratcliffe has me running scared. The wrath of a scorned woman—which is her false assumption since she’s the one who cheated on Alex—is no joke.
“You’d rather shut Alex out of our life forever and miss the chance you two could’ve had.” Stella shakes her head. “Pitiful.”
“I really hate it when you say things like that,” I tell her grumpily, staring at Jon Snow’s perfectly handsome, perfectly distraught face. The poor man. I am so going to miss this show when it’s gone.
“I say things like that to make you really think about what you’re doing,” Stella explains. “Like I told you earlier, don’t let this woman control your decisions. Don’t let her take over your life.”
“She’s not taking over my life, she’s reminding me that she’s still angry. Why would I want to provoke her by seeing Alex?”
“Oh I don’t know, maybe because you like him?” Stella rolls her eyes. “There’s a concept to consider.”
“You’re being rude,” I say, my voice small.
“And you’re being ridiculous. I’m going to say it yet again—don’t let this woman drive you away from Alex. He sounds like a good guy. He might not have made the best choice in a fiancée, but at least he didn’t marry her, and that’s all thanks to you. Look, everyone makes mistakes, he’s not perfect and neither are you. Maybe you could be the one to fix him.”
“I don’t want to fix anybody,” I tell her.
Stella waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”
I think of me calling myself the fixer, and maybe…maybe that’s a legit thing. Since I had such a crappy home life when I was a kid, I’m constantly trying to fix things and make them prettier. Better. Perfect. I fix people’s weddings. Fix my friends’ relationship problems. Fix Alex after he was deceived by the woman he was going to marry…
“Is that what I am?” I ask Stella. “Am I fixer?”
She sets the DVR remote on the arm of the couch and focuses all of her attention on me. “You’re attracted to men who have minor—and every once in a while, major—problems, and I think you look at them as projects.”
I mentally go over the men I’ve dated. Mostly the ones who I became serious with, and oh my God…she’s right. I wanted to fix all of them. There was the one who could never keep a job—I offered to rewrite his resume. I tried to find him actual jobs, always believing in him, always loyal. When really? He was the one with the problem.
There was that other guy a long time ago, who was the lead singer in a band and desperately wanted a record deal. I campaigned hard for him. I wrote fan letters to record companies trying to get them noticed. The problem was, they sucked. Bad. And I knew it. He could barely carry a tune. He was also extremely lazy.
Like, he didn’t w
ant to work. Ever.
Dude, I was such an idiot. A nineteen year old idiot, meaning I can blame it on youth, but still.
“I don’t think I look at Alex as a project,” I admit softly.
“You want to fix him after he just got dumped by his fiancée. Right? At least, that’s what it looks like to me.”
Ugh, I hate this about myself. “This is a terrible trait to have.”
“No, it’s actually a good trait, if you pick the right men,” Stella starts to say, but I cut her off.
“It’s awful. I shouldn’t let myself get carried away with wanting to fix them. I should accept them as who they are, and that’s it.”
“Is that what you’re going to do with Alex? Accept him for who he is?”
“Absolutely not. I’m not going to attempt anything with him. I’d rather not be scared every time I go outside, thank you very much.” A shudder moves through me at the thought of Tiffany figuring out where we live.
“You want me to be honest? I think she’s going to seek you out wherever she can, whether you continue to see Alex or not. Right now, she doesn’t even know about you and Alex going to dinner,” Stella says.
“You can’t be too sure.”
“I’m fairly sure. She would’ve totally lost her shit on you earlier if she did know.” Stella scoots closer to me on the couch, so our knees bump. “What I’m trying to say is, you can either be miserable and alone, and with Tiffany still following you around town. Or you can continue seeing Alex, Tiffany can try and harass you, but with Alex on your side, eventually she’ll back down. It’s your choice.”
I say nothing, and Stella doesn’t push, thank goodness.
Her explanation sort of makes sense. Seeing Tiffany this morning at the restaurant freaked me out, and when she followed after me? I panicked. Can anyone blame me for wanting to cut ties with Alex, considering his ex-fiancée believes I’m the cause for their break up? At least, that’s how she acts. It’s as if she can’t even see how she’s the one who destroyed their relationship, not me.
Stella hits play and we resume watching GoT, but my mind is elsewhere. I can’t stop thinking about Alex, and how urgent his texts seem. I’m guessing his voicemails are the same, but I don’t want to listen to them now, with Game of Thrones on and Stella still in the room. I’d rather listen to them somewhere private. I’ll check them when the show is over.
We’ve got a few minutes left of GoT, when I swear I hear my named called.
Then I hear it again.
And again.
Stella hits pause. “Is someone yelling for you outside?”
I nod, gathering up the blanket I have draped over me and holding it close to my chest, like it’s going to protect me. “What if it’s Tiffany? Do you think she knows where we live?”
“Unless she sounds like a dude, I’m gonna guess it’s not Tiffany.” Stella gets up and goes to the open window that faces the street. With the weather being so nice, and our apartment on the second floor, we feel safe leaving the window open, even when we sleep. She peers out the window for a moment, then turns to face me with a faint smile. “You’re never going to believe this.”
“It’s Tiffany, huh. She brought her stupid new boy toy to yell for me.” I refuse to move from the couch. No way do I want her to see me.
“It’s not Tiffany, silly. It’s freaking Alex Wilder.”
“What?” I climb off the couch and rush to the window, where I see Alex standing on the sidewalk, staring up at us. When his gaze lands on me, the relief on his face is obvious.
“Caroline! Did you get my messages?” he yells.
“Stop yelling,” I tell him, but he doesn’t listen to me. Thank God, there aren’t very many people around.
“I need to talk to you,” he yells. “Please?”
Stella and I face each other. “Let him come up here,” she says and I frantically shake my head.
“That goes against our usual rules,” I remind her. We don’t let men into our private sanctuary until we’ve been seeing them for a while. The fact that Alex even knows where I live is major. We don’t usually give that information out on the first date.
But I thought of him as an exception, since I knew him when we were kids…
“Rules, schmules. The poor man actually came out here and repeatedly shouted your name, desperate to talk to you. Give the guy a chance,” Stella says.
Pulling my phone out of my yoga pants’ pocket, I call Alex.
He answers the phone quickly and before he can say a word, I tell him, “Go into the alley to the left of the building as you’re facing it. There’s a stairway, so head up it and you’ll be at our door.”
“Thank you. I’m headed up,” he says before he ends the call.
We move away from the window and I start moving, picking up around our tiny living room. We’re not total slobs, but there’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table, and some empty soda cans too. I shove it all into Stella’s open arms and she takes everything to the kitchen to throw it away while I’m folding blankets and plumping flat pillows.
“If he’d come only a few minutes later, we’d have finished this.” Stella gestures at the television screen, the mother of dragons staring down upon us with a haughty look. I love her so much, she is such a bad ass.
“We’ll watch it after he leaves.”
Stella laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah right. I have a feeling he might not leave.”
“Seriously? You think I’m going to invite him to stay? I don’t think so. I haven’t even kissed him yet.”
“Sure you have. When you were twelve.” She grins and I threaten to throw a pillow at her smug face.
There’s a knock on the door and I give Stella a gentle shove, watching as she walks down the short hall and slinks into her room, shutting the door quietly. Once I know she’s hidden away, I go to the front door, turn the locks and open it to find Alex standing there, looking stressed the hell out yet somehow still completely gorgeous.
“Can I come in?” His voice is low, his tone terse and I nod without saying anything, my voice seeming to have left me.
Once I shut and lock the door, I turn and face him, my gaze drinking him in. He’s wearing jeans and a thin black sweater, the sleeves pushed up to reveal sexy forearms (I know, I never really thought of them as sexy before either). His dark hair is a mess, like he’s just run his fingers through it again and again, and his jaw is set in such a firm line, I think it might be able to cut glass.
That’s a total exaggeration, but still. You get what I’m trying to say.
“Have you been avoiding me?” he asks when I still haven’t said anything.
“Kind of?” I phrase it as a question, feeling extra bad for doing exactly that and having him now standing in front of me. It’s hard to admit to someone that you’ve been ignoring them.
He appears surprised, and I guess I can’t blame him. We left things on a pretty good note Friday night. “Why? I thought we had a good time at dinner.”
“We did. I swear. It’s just…” I don’t know how to explain this without being blunt. “Tiffany is still bothering me.”
His expression goes from irritated to full on angry. “What do you mean? How is she still bothering you?”
“I went to brunch with my friends this morning, and she just so happened to be at the same restaurant. Once I realized she was there, I decided I should leave so she wouldn’t see me. But when I walked outside, it turned out she actually followed me. And she continued to follow me until I hid in a store. Luckily enough, she didn’t see me go into the store, and she kept on walking.”
“Fucking unbelievable,” he mutters, driving his fingers through his hair. “Did you call the police?”
“No, of course not. Following me down a city street isn’t a crime,” I say, frustration filling me. This entire situation is so weird. My life was downright boring before Alex walked back into it.
Sometimes, like earlier this morning when I was hiding in the store, I m
iss those boring days. They were good times. No real stress beyond the occasional bridezilla at work, and that was it.
“I don’t understand how Tiffany following you has anything to do with you avoiding me,” he says.
Is he freaking clueless? “The only reason she’s following me is because of you,” I remind him. “Before you walked into my life, I was fine. Everything was going as planned. Now here you are, creating chaos everywhere you go, especially for me.” I jab my thumb into my chest to make my point.
“You’re holding Tiffany’s actions against me.” His mouth thins into a grim line. “I can’t control her, Caroline. I don’t even talk to her anymore.”
“I know,” I say weakly.
“I wish I could stop her from following you and harassing you. I’m sorry if she’s making your life miserable. I’d tell her to leave you alone, but she won’t listen to me. I’m pretty certain if I went to talk to her right now, that would only spur her on to chase after you even more. She’s that spiteful of a person, trust me,” he says.
He’s right. I’m sure he’s right.
“I wish I could just—escape from here, even for just a few days,” I admit, my tone wistful.
“I could probably make that happen.” His smile is tight. “I have a problem that I’m hoping you could help me with.”
Um, somehow those two sentences don’t necessarily belong together?
“What’s wrong?” Without thought I reach out and touch one of those sexy forearms. His skin is warm, his arm hard. For a guy who’s such a workaholic, I get the sense that he’s pretty muscular underneath that sweater and those jeans.
Whoops, there go my cheeks. I can feel them catching fire.
“Promise you won’t freak out when I ask you a question?” He raises his brows as he waits for my answer.
My heart leaps to my throat and I nod, offering a croaky, “I promise.”
He exhales loudly. Reaches for my hand still resting on his arm and places his big hand over it, holding me there. His gaze is locked on mine as he says, “Want to go to Paris with me in two days and pretend to be my fiancée?”
Take Me To The Beach Page 104