by Piper Lawson
But in the bathroom at brunch this weekend, she was the one who wanted to redraw the boundaries, pushing me out of her life by design. It was surprising and disturbing.
“If you could find a nice girl like that,” Mom goes on, “I’d be convinced you have your life in order. I could relax knowing you’re looked after.”
“I have a nice girl like that. Daisy’s coming to the gala with me.”
Mom’s face lights up. “Really? I had no idea you were dating.”
The utter delight on her face, as if this is the culmination of everything she set out to do, floors me. If I’d known everyone in my life was holding out for me to date my best friend… I would’ve done it sooner.
In for a fucking penny. “We are.”
“Good.” She sucks in an excited breath, hands balling into manicured fists. “You know I love a party.”
6
I take a seat across from Aiden Vane and his future bride on the structured couch.
“Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials,” I say by way of introduction. “I’ll do everything in my power to present the image you want.”
Aiden, whom I met for the first time today, is sitting at least a couple of body lengths away from his fiancée at his father’s corporate headquarters. He’s tall and straight-backed, with a lean face and strong jaw. He looks as if he’s been tapped to run for office but doesn’t want to.
Camila, by contrast, looks relaxed, ankles crossed easily under her dress, hand in her lap.
We run through a few of the questions.
“How do you like to spend your time alone together?” I read off the sheet in front of me.
Aiden clears his throat. “Cross that question off.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but more warmth for sure.
By the fifth question he vetoes, I can’t stand it anymore. “We’ve already crossed off five questions. At this rate, it won’t be an interview, it’ll be a photo with your names on it.”
Camila stifles a snort.
I need a new approach. “Why don’t we put the questions aside for a moment and you tell me about yourselves? How did you meet?”
Aiden shifts back in his seat, his dark hair and suit perfect. “Eight months ago. At a charity event.”
I hide my surprise. “And were you attracted right away?”
“Aiden does cut an impressive figure,” Camila comments, but I get the sense there’s an inside joke.
“That’s not why we’re getting married, and you know it,” he says.
“Why are you getting married?” I ask.
They exchange a look, but the bride-to-be answers. “Because sometimes an opportunity comes along that you’d regret turning down for the rest of your life.”
Instead of tenderness in their shared gaze, there’s tension.
Interesting. But at least it’s something.
I spent last night getting lost online in the digital footprint of Aiden and Camila. Hers was mostly on the charitable side. His was more checkered. There were some questions about the legitimacy of his business dealings on behalf of his father’s company. Maybe that’s why he’s so tense— he’s concerned the magazine will raise his business dealings.
“Aiden,” I say carefully, “I’ve told the interviewer specifically to focus on you two as a couple. But if they raise any questions about business—”
“I’ll tell them there’s nothing to discuss.”
“If there is anything to discuss,” I go on pointedly, “it’ll be easier if I know.”
“There’s nothing to know.” The finality rings through the room.
I started to text Ben last night to see if he knew anything about Aiden personally, but second-guessed it because of the dynamics between us leaving the Met. I could still feel his presence down to my toes.
So much so that when Lily came in, she stared me down with delight. “You’re doing it. You’re fake dating, I can tell.”
I’d groaned and sworn her to secrecy, saying, “I’ll have a check for your tuition soon.”
At which point she hugged me and vowed I was the best sister ever.
We circle back to the questions, and Aiden and Camila’s interactions improve, but it doesn’t feel light or warm or romantic. Unless the writer is a miracle worker, this might come off closer to a prisoner interview than a wedding one.
But this is what Richard will use to judge my ability to market the resorts. If it doesn’t get better fast, I’m screwed. I try to stay focused on the conversation, prodding them toward something that feels like connection, but I know I need a backup plan.
“If we’re done, I have another commitment,” Aiden says fifteen minutes later.
“Of course. The interview is set for Thursday morning.” I try one more time before he leaves. “My firm has handled numerous campaigns with discretion. I assure you, anything you tell me that would help us do our jobs would be kept in confidence.”
He leans in, the lines of his suit and face appearing even sharper up close. “I don’t care about your firm’s track record. I don’t know you. I’m not telling my life story to People or to you.”
He heads for the door and I swallow a sigh.
Once it’s the two of us, Camila says, “I’m sorry about Aiden. He’s an acquired taste. But Richard is hell-bent on the right publicity for this. He wants us to be the face of the new resorts. Unofficially, of course. Honestly, I’m ready to get out of the spotlight during the bachelorette weekend.”
I frown. “Where is it being held?”
“The Vineyard. The company has a property we’ve booked for the entire weekend, no other guests allowed. It’s a place to relax.”
The wheels of my mind turn as I search for a way to make something from their relationship that the public would view as romantic. “Would you be open to doing something there aimed at bolstering your profile? Small and time bound. Say, the first afternoon you arrive.”
Camila toys with the handle of her Prada bag, reluctant. “If it would help, I suppose so,” she decides at last. “I’ll have Aiden’s assistant book you a room.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll follow up myself.”
Once she leaves, I call Aiden’s assistant who confirms that yes, in ten days, there’s a weekend trip to the Vineyard which includes a farm tour one afternoon, and a reception before the bachelor and bachelorette parties. Attire for the reception is cocktail.
That makes me feel calmer in one way, as though I’ve averted the crisis for now, but it raises another issue.
I make a call to Rena. “Are you free for lunch? I have an important thing I need your help with.”
“Rogue client?”
“Kind of.” I fill her in on the Vineyard situation. “I have outfits I could wear, but I think I need something more like armor. Expensive armor. Could I borrow something designer?”
“No. For Aiden Vane’s pre-wedding event at the Vineyard, we’re going shopping.”
I consider saying that’s unnecessary, but the truth is there are different rules for dealing with people like the Vanes.
Dressing like a badass entrepreneur is something I learned since college, but this is a next-level gig. A tailored dress and pumps from Macy’s won’t cut it.
“Okay.”
We meet at a boutique on Fifth Avenue. On my way there, my phone buzzes.
Ben: We need to talk about Tris’s birthday tomorrow. He has a booth at this club. We should make an appearance.
I make a face.
Daisy: Not my scene or yours.
Ben: He doesn’t believe we’re together. Darling.
The pointed endearment doesn’t escape me. We acknowledge the importance of Tris buying us as a couple. If he doesn’t, this thing is a nonstarter.
Daisy: Can we talk tonight? I’m kind of in the middle of something.
Ben: Where are you?
I text him back the intersection, then shove the phone away as I see Rena waiting for me inside the doors of the boutique.
“I’m sure I could have borrowed a dress from you,” I insist as I glance at one of the mannequins. “I don’t need to spend”—I lift one of the tags, and one of my eyebrows lifts with it—“four thousand dollars on a dress.”
She stops me on the way to the door. “It’s an investment.”
There is something to be said for looking the part.
“I appreciate what you and Kendall are doing by helping with other clients while I pursue this.”
She flips her chic ponytail, her mouth curving. “Come on, fearless leader. This will be a huge win for Closer. I’d say you can buy drinks when you land Vane, but you always seem to anyway.”
“Oh, you’ll be getting more than drinks,” I promise. Like a bonus, which I’m sure she and Kendall could both use, even though it’s not the reason they work with me. But I’m keeping that a surprise for now.
Rena tilts her head toward a rack. “Good. Now, tell me you’re taking your new boyfriend.”
I pull up. “What did you hear?”
“Ben’s brother texted to ask me if it was true that you and Ben were dating. I told him I’d heard nothing.”
Dammit.
“Well?” she prompts.
“Well, we are,” I say, holding up a black dress. It’s simple and classic, with exquisite fabric and tailoring.
“Hmmm.” Her eyes brighten as she dodges past me, returning with a red fitted dress that looks three sizes too small. “In that case…”
“It’s not in Vegas.”
“You’re right.” She grabs a nude one also.
“There’s no way I’m wearing those in front of clients,” I say as a saleswoman swoops in and collects the black dress from me, plus the other two from Rena before I can protest.
My colleague smiles sweetly. “In front of Ben, then. Since we’re already here.”
Rena heads for the change rooms and I hold back a groan.
Inside, I strip out of my work clothes and slip on the black dress. It’s actually beautiful and fits well. I open the door and show Rena.
“Perfect for a board meeting. Now the others.” She nods toward the two hanging on the hook, folding her arms. “I’m not letting you out until you try them.”
“Fine. But give me a few inches. I can’t do it with you breathing down my neck.”
Rena heads back out to the floor.
I turn to the red dress. It’s sleeveless with a scoop neck and totally fitted, with a back zipper that ends dangerously low on my hips below a keyhole cutout mid back. I like my clothes a little edgy, but classic enough to last too. This checks the boxes and is a bold color.
The cut pushes the envelope more than I normally would for work though. But maybe with a jacket overtop…
The zipper gets stuck.
I knew this was a size too small, and it’s probably three hundred dollars worth of hardware.
“Excuse me,” I call out the door.
I try to work the zipper free, but only end up more stuck.
A knock comes at the door, and I pull it open.
It’s not the saleswoman or Rena. It’s someone who has no business in the change rooms of a women’s boutique, and looks disarmingly at home here nonetheless.
Ben’s wearing a charcoal suit, shirt open at the collar and tie gone. His messy hair falls into his face at the front, those magnetic eyes boring into mine.
“I told you we need to talk about tomorrow night. I saw Rena through the window.” He pushes inside and shuts the door after him.
I fold my arms over my chest, trying to hide the fact that my entire back and part of my ass are hanging out of this dress.
“Tris suspects this is bullshit. The best way to quash it is to go out tomorrow.”
I press a hand to my face. “Remind me why house music and plastic cups and sticky floors are important?”
“They’re not. Making everyone believe we’re together so you can land Vane is important. If we don’t sell my brother on it, there’s no way anyone else will buy it.”
I groan silently, reaching behind me to try the zipper again.
The second my hands move, Ben’s gaze swoops down to take me in. It’s chased by a low sound of appreciation that has the hairs on my neck lifting. “You wear this, Richard Vane is going to be demanding you handle the publicity for your wedding—to one another.”
“Rena made me try this on for kicks.” The zipper doesn’t budge, to my growing dismay. “But the damn thing is stuck.”
Ben doesn’t share my concern. “Turn.”
I do, then feel his hands brush my back. I fold my arms over my chest. Damn it’s cold in here, because my nipples are getting hard.
“Tris is just one of many people we need to convince. It’s not as if everyone will immediately believe we’re together,” I go on, mostly for something to say as his hands stroke up my back.
Ben finally gets the material free, letting out a sound of triumph.
“Hey, Daisy!” Rena’s voice comes from the other side of the door, and I freeze. “Let’s see the other dresses.”
Shit. I try to convey to Ben to be quiet, and he stills too, but there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes.
She goes on, "I always wondered if you and Ben were secretly fucking. I’ve seen that flirty little smile you give him. The one you don’t give anyone else.”
My eyes squeeze shut. Strike me dead.
I can’t see him, but I feel his attention on me. Is he smug? Shocked?
It’s not that thought, but the brush of his fingers at my bare waist and the sound of the zipper that has me daring to blink my eyes open.
Ben’s watching me with a combination of fascination and something darker.
“And I get it,” Rena tosses through the door. “He’s hot. I know you don't give a shit about rich, and it's one of the reasons I like you, but the man has some definitely attractive qualities.”
He plays with his hair, making an exaggerated show of doing that thing I told him was sexy. I punch him in the arm hard enough to elicit a muffled exhale.
“He’s all talk,” I reply. Ben’s gaze narrows. “Stamina of my prom date. In fact, I’m not sure it’s going to work out.”
Ben reaches past me for the door. I grab his hand to stop him. Then I reach for the door and slip out without exposing him, pulling it behind me.
“Oh, that’s hot,” Rena gushes as I step into the view of the mirror. “He’s going to lose his shit.”
I turn in the mirror, pleased with the results.
“I want to see the nude one, but I need to get back for a meeting.”
“Go! And thank you for the help.”
She turns on her heel and heads out.
I duck back into the change room to find Ben’s arms folded and a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face. “How do you look at me exactly?”
“Shut up.”
“Rena and I agree on one thing,” Ben murmurs, his attention lingering on my body. “You are saying yes to this dress.”
“I don’t need multiple designer dresses.” But I can’t resist the urge to sneak another look in the mirror.
Ben cocks his head. “You need something to wear for your new boyfriend. Who, for the record, can go all night.”
I look pointedly at the door. “I’ll stop by Tris’s thing tomorrow. Are we done?”
"Only if you’re sure you won’t get trapped in that dress again the second I leave."
I debate. “Turn around,” I say as I reach back for the zipper.
After a moment’s hesitation, I think he’s going to refuse, but then he complies. I work my way out of the dress and pull back on my office clothes.
“What’s with the midday shopping?” he asks.
“There’s a bachelorette in the Vineyard with cocktail attire, and I need a new dress.” I bite my lip. “Do you know anything about Aiden Vane’s work life? Anything I wouldn’t find on the public record?”
“I’ll ask around.”
“Thank you. He’s kee
ping something from me, but I don’t know what.” I pull on my blouse. “If I did care what my boyfriend wanted me to wear,” I hear myself ask, “what would that be?”
“Lace,” he answers immediately. “Black.”
“A black lace dress,” I say, smiling as I adjust my skirt. “How nineties.”
Ben turns without asking, his chest brushing my back. His hand slips under the curved collar of my top, and the touch has my pulse skipping.
His finger finds my bra strap, skimming under the edge, and his voice lowers an octave. “I didn’t say anything about a dress. See you tomorrow, darling.”
He lets himself out before I can respond.
When I finally exit the change room, the swooning sales lady informs me all three dresses have already been purchased by “the handsome gentleman for his girlfriend.”
7
The life I lead is unpredictable—every day, I meet different people, take meetings, travel—so when I’m home, I have a routine.
I get up at six with my alarm and shift out of my king bed. I hit the well-stocked gym in my building, where I catch up on markets while I run. Then I shower and get dressed.
Sometimes I’ll make a cup of coffee with the espresso machine that was a gift from my brother when he joined the company. It has “Thanks for the nepotism!” etched into the stainless cover, which is a joke because Tris is eminently qualified, even if he is a prick.
My condo is chrome and glass, mid-century modern furniture a decorator picked out and I approved. It’s expensive enough to have the amenities and services I want. There are pictures of my family and friends. Some of my mom with Tris and me when we were little at parties in LA. There’s even one with my dad—but it serves as a cautionary tale, not a fond memory.
The man took advantage of my mom, flitting in and out of her life, leeching off her and us. Making promises he couldn’t keep until he finally walked out for good when I was twelve.
It took me two years to admit he wasn’t coming back.