And then that kiss…
Shaking my head, I slipped into the restroom to fix my lipstick and freshen up. In front of the mirror I reminded myself that tonight wasn’t about Weston. It was about me. It was about me moving in the right direction, toward the target—Dyson Media. The party had gone practically flawlessly, in that regard. We’d sold ourselves as a couple, and I needed to feel good about that.
I did feel good about it. Really good.
Feeling confident after my mental pep talk, I came back out of the restroom to find someone else in the hall. Someone whom I’d invited, but hadn’t expected to show up.
“Darrell,” I exclaimed. My heart rate sped up again, and this time it wasn’t because of Weston or because of kisses that had knocked the wind out of me, but because the person who could ruin my whole scheme was standing in front of me. “I didn’t know you were coming. I’m so glad to see you.” I stepped forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.
He took it brusquely, then looked me over. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He straightened his tie and brushed a wisp of orange hair out of his face.
“Did you just get here? I should introduce you to Weston.” I was talking too fast, eager to make sure he saw everything he needed to validate my betrothal as real.
He shook his head. “No need. I’ve been here for a bit. Saw that speech and kiss of yours.” He paused, studying me. “That’s some act you have going on there.”
“Act? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” How could he know? How could he know? We’d been careful in our setup, spending time together, being seen. We’d been attached to each other all night. Our chemistry was good.
“You and the King boy. You think I’m going to buy that you’re suddenly engaged to such a perfect candidate for husband? Of course I was going to come and check this whole thing out. The relationship screams sham, and I intend to prove it. It shouldn’t be too hard. You’re not capable of pulling off a scheme like this.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, breathlessly. “We’re in love.” It sounded so weak, so trite.
“Right,” Darrell sneered. “Love. I bet you think that YouTube footage proves it too.”
He’d seen the video. My face went red with shame. Well, wasn’t that what I’d wanted?
But then it hadn’t been what I’d wanted, and by then it had been too late.
Darrell snickered. “That video does prove one thing: how slutty you are. Your mother spread her legs for money too, and how did that work out? She didn’t end up with anything except a measly trust fund. And that’s what I’ll make sure you get too because you’re not getting your hands on my company.”
And the feeling that I’d had, the feeling that, just maybe, Weston and I could survive this crazy scheme after all, it left with a whoosh.
As I watched Darrell stalk back down the hall, unable to think of a parting shot to offer, I realized he was right about one thing—I had no idea in hell what I was doing.
Chapter Nine
That kiss.
God, that kiss.
It was Monday, two days after the engagement party and all I could think about was that goddamned kiss. My balls ached from it. My stomach twisted inside from it. It kept me up nights, kept me distracted through work all morning, made my dick sore from all the jerking off I’d done in the shower, and still it wouldn’t leave my mind.
And it was stupid, because I really was starting to think I might hate the girl—the girl being my fiancée, of course.
By the end of Monday I’d thought about her so much—thought about wringing her neck while I led the weekly executive meeting, thought about scratching her up while I walked Sabrina through her new duties, thought about spanking her ass while Donovan gave me the rundown on the latest financial goals—that I’d even put Elizabeth’s picture on my dartboard and thrown darts at her. Then I’d felt so guilty about marring her gorgeous face, I’d immediately printed another and slapped it over the autographed copy of Watchmen that I had in a frame on my shelf. A guy should have a pic of his bride-to-be on his desk, right?
So now I had to hate her and stare at her and fight my dick for having a mind of its own for the better part of the afternoon.
She was driving me insane.
I had to remember why I was in this predicament in the first place, why I was still participating in this stupid farce. There were a million and one reasons why I should just quit the whole thing and walk away.
But there were also reasons why I shouldn’t. Good reasons.
I’d told Elizabeth I would help her, for one. And I’d told Donovan. And also because of the money. Mostly, of course, it was the money. I didn’t know why I listed that last.
And to remind myself further, I decided to make a phone call that I normally made monthly but had neglected the last couple of months in all the Eliza-bitch hubub. I sat back in my chair and dialed the number that I knew by heart.
When the female voice answered, an easy smile spread over my lips. “Hello, Mrs. Clemmons, it’s me. Weston.”
“Weston, it’s so good to hear from you. It seems like it’s been ages. How are you? And you know I told you to call me Nicole.” She was always cheery, no matter what time of day I caught her, no matter what the circumstances were in her life. But there was no way I was ever calling her Nicole. I’d known her and her husband since I was five years old. Remembered climbing onto her lap at company picnics. Her twins were the age of Noelle, my little sister.
“I’m good, I’m good. How are you, though? Did you get my latest check?” I hated always bringing it back to the money, but it was the reason I was calling. The reason I always called.
“Yes. Thank you. I did. I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate it.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Good. I’m glad. I wish I could do more. And how are the twins?”
“Well, some days are better than others. Eva is trying a job outside the home now with this great program that works with autistic kids. Zach, though…” She trailed off, and I understood. Zach would probably never be able to work in the traditional sense. His outbursts and tantrums hadn’t been managed, and his speaking skills were still at an elementary school level.
“I understand. You’re still getting good home help though, right? Because if you’re not, I will—“
She cut me off. “Our help is fine. The money you send is perfect. It covers everything we need. It really is more than enough, Weston.”
“Good.” I sounded like a broken record, I’d said that over and over again. Good. Good. What else was there to say?
A beat went by.
Then I asked the question I hated asking the most. “And how’s Daniel?”
She sighed, but when she spoke she sounded bright. “He only has thirteen more months on his sentence. And the lawyer says he might be able to get parole soon. So we’re looking forward to that.”
My door opened, and I looked up with a scowl. I’d had it closed for a reason. Nate walked in, and he didn’t know anything about this phone call, which meant I needed to wrap it up. “Well, that’s great. I hope that goes well. Just let me know if you need anything on that front. I’m happy to help out.”
“I will.”
“Great, then. I’ll be talking to you later. Have a great night.” With my vocabulary of adjectives reduced to the word great, I got off the line so fast I barely heard her say goodbye. Which made me feel guilty—more guilty than I already felt—but I wasn’t about to entertain questions from Nathan, and if I’d stayed on the phone with her much longer I was certain to face interrogation.
As it was, Nate was eying me. He’d slumped in the seat opposite my desk, an ankle crossed over the other leg at the knee, and laced his hands behind his head. I waited a few nervous seconds while he stared at me then remembered that I had a bone to pick with him.
“You’re the one who started the kiss chant at the party on Saturday night, aren’t you.” I didn’t put a question into my
accusation.
His grin gave him away. “And that was some solid entertainment. Thank you, Weston.”
“You’re a giant fuckwaffle.”
“Damn,” Nate said in awe. “Fuckwaffle is usually reserved for people who really offend you. I’m surprised. If the tables had been turned, you would have been catcalling me to kiss Elizabeth.”
I frowned for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that the tables never would have been turned, because Nate had absolutely refused to put himself in this position. Also, the idea of him kissing Elizabeth made me want to vomit and punch him all at once.
But he was right—under different circumstances, I would have been the guy in the crowd stirring the shit.
Just.
That kiss.
“It wasn’t cool,” I said. “You know the circumstances. A lot is riding on this, and it was bullshit to put us on the spot like that. This isn’t a fucking game.”
Nate barely blinked. “You’re in a foul mood. What broomstick is up your ass?”
The broomstick of a very feisty red-headed witch, that was what.
I stood up from my seat, walked over to my printer to get the Opportunity Analysis I’d printed earlier, and forced myself to pull my shit together. There was an opportunity here, somewhere, I had to remember that. Had to hold onto it. With that in mind, I took a deep breath that did nothing to calm me down, walked back over to my desk, and threw the document down without sitting myself. “I’m under a lot of pressure, okay?”
“Or, rather, you’re filled with a lot of pressure. You need to get laid.”
I leaned a palm on the desk and glared at him. “What makes you think that I haven’t?” Fuck him for even thinking he knew anything about it. Even if he was right, he was only guessing. “I know you guys have a pool and everything, but how are you going to know if you win?”
“Oh, we’ll know,” Nate said, laughing. “But seriously, what’s your damage?”
I rolled my eyes and sat back down in my chair. “Your vernacular is dating you.” Sometimes it was hard to remember that Nate was fourteen years older than me. He was just so cool most of the time. Then he went and said something like that, something that came right out of the eighties.
But while he was here, and since he was so cool, I actually would be dumb not to take him up on some advice.
I placed my other palm on the desk so I was leaning evenly on both hands. “You want to know what my deal is? Here’s my deal. I’m engaged to a woman I don’t like. Can’t even be in the same room with her without getting into an argument. And what’s more, I’m stuck with her for the next several months. But the worst part, the abso-fucking-lutely worst part, is that despite how much I can barely stand her, and how much she’s taking up all my time with this wedding planning and this fiancé shit, and how much she’s messing with my head, and getting into my business, I still want to rip off her clothes and give her the best orgasms of her life. Like how can she be so insanely attractive and a total bitch all at once? I can’t even figure it out.”
Nate nodded, taking everything in. “That doesn’t really sound like a bad problem to have.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? It’s the worst problem of my life!” Okay, I’d lived a privileged life. “Even with the help of porn, I have blue balls every single minute of the day. How the hell am I supposed to get her out of my head?”
Nate put his hands out in the air like the answer was obvious. “Simple. You fuck her and get it over with.”
I threw my head back. “Did you miss the part where I said I hate her?”
“So hate-fuck her. Your cock will be happy.”
I shook my head. Nate obviously didn’t understand, which was weird, because he was a god with these things. Didn’t he have the answer to every sexual problem? “I can’t fuck her.”
“Why?”
“Because—“ I trailed off, not quite remembering why I couldn’t, besides my personal feelings toward her. “Because Donovan said I couldn’t.”
Nate laughed. “Oh, well then. If Daddy said you can’t.”
“Shut up.” But now I was really wondering… Why couldn’t I fuck her?
Oh yeah. The part that came after. “Because I still have to be engaged to her for several months. See the problem?”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Have you never seen a girl again after you slept with her?”
“Of course I have.” I couldn’t think of a single one that I’d seen on purpose, but whatever. Then I straightened and pointed at him excitedly. “Sabrina! I’ve seen Sabrina! I even work with her.”
“So what’s the problem? And you’re so confused about why you’d want to give a qualified woman that you slept with a job, that you’ve decided you must want to have some sort of relationship with her in the future. Have you ever banged a woman and not been weird about it after? Do you not know how to do casual sex?”
“Never mind,” I growled. “Forget I brought it up. What did you come in here for, anyway?”
“There’s a showing tonight at a gallery I used to deal with. Want to come? I know women are off-limits to touch, but you could always...watch.”
Shit. Watching Nate in action was a dream come true.
Strangely, I wasn’t as disappointed as I thought I might be to have to turn him down. “Wish I could, man.” I checked the clock on my computer. I had to get going. “But Elizabeth wants to have dinner to discuss our current living arrangements.”
Nate’s eyes rolled. “Sounds like a fun time. Sad I’ll miss it.”
“You should take Donovan. Or—better yet—Sabrina, who I am not confused about, asswipe. She’s new here. Someone should entertain her.” She’d only been in town a week, and I knew I should feel guilty for throwing her into the city without being available to guide her around.
“I can’t ask either of them,” Nate said as we stood up together. “They’re having dinner.”
“Ah,” I said, only half listening. We headed out of my office where I paused to hit the lights and lock the door behind me. “Wait. They’re having dinner together?”
“It seems so.”
“Huh.” I took off toward the elevators, wondering if I should be jealous. Though Nate couldn’t understand, Sabrina was the girl I was planning to actually have a relationship with later, after all. Probably. Maybe.
But of course I shouldn’t be jealous. Donovan knew my plans, and he’d known Sabrina from Harvard as well. He was likely being a good friend to both of us by taking her out when I couldn’t.
Besides, I couldn’t really muster up any animosity toward Donovan. I was too plagued with animosity toward Elizabeth. Just like how I couldn’t muster lustful thoughts for Sabrina lately because I was too consumed by lust for my fiancée.
I’d let Elizabeth think otherwise at the engagement party, of course. Just to piss her off. Sometimes it was too easy.
Unfortunately, where Elizabeth Dyson was concerned, I was beginning to find that I was even easier.
“Nope. No way. Not happening.” I was trying to make it clear that there was no way in hell I was moving out of my apartment.
Elizabeth’s eyelid twitched. “It’s only for the rest of our engagement. I’m not asking you to give it up permanently.”
“I don’t care. I’m not moving my stuff. I’m not living in your West Side overpriced snobby-ass apartment. I’m not doing it.”
“What do you have against the West Side?” she hissed in a quieter voice as a waiter walked by, in case somebody might overhear us.
“Well, for one thing, it’s twice as far from the office as my place. That’s a lot of time I would waste every morning on unnecessary travel. You don’t work, so you don’t understand. That’s not something you have to worry about.”
“But that’s not the Upper West Side’s fault. And don’t say that I don’t work with that snide tone of yours.” The corners of her mouth turned down like she was offended, hurt even. “It’s not like I do nothing with my days.
I’m studying. Working on all the information you give me to learn.”
“And you can learn just as easily in my place.” Not that I wanted a woman living in my apartment either. Though the idea of having her there, in my space, somehow didn’t bother me as much as I thought it might. She’d take the extra bedroom, of course, but just having her close by…
“Your place is probably a pigsty.” She raised her voice just enough, causing a nearby patron to look over at us.
“No, it’s not.” For the record, it’s really not. Totally not a pigsty. I just didn’t spend the money on those fancy maids like Miss Moneybags did. I cleaned the old-fashioned way—with my own two hands. When I got around to it, that was.
“I don’t know why you thought we would ever agree on any of this.” I took a swig of my beer. “We couldn’t even agree on what appetizers to order.”
She shook her head and chewed her lip. I’d watched many other women do that in my day—come on, it was one of the sexiest things women could do. But the way Elizabeth chewed on her lip was unique. She pulled her bottom lip to the side so it puckered out, like a sideways fish-face. It was actually kind of funny-looking, and not exactly attractive, and yet whenever she did it, my dick leapt like a dog at a bone. I wanted to bite her lip for her. Wanted to tug her into my lap and gnaw on her like a puppy.
She was a witch, I tell you. A witch.
“I was afraid of this, so I came prepared. We’re going to have to make a schedule, and that’s all there is to it.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a notepad and a pen. It was somehow charming that she had both in this day and age of electronics. She’d clearly carried them since way before we started our lessons at The Sky Launch, and I knew it, but I never failed to be charmed by it.
“What do you mean when you say schedule?” I asked suspiciously, rubbing the back of my neck with my hand. I didn’t like schedules. I barely liked the schedule that I kept for myself.
“Look,” she said, meeting my eyes, and I had to take a moment to catch my breath. Every time I met her startling blues, I found they had that effect on me. “Darrell was very serious when he told me that he’s going to do everything he can to rip us apart. We have to make it look like we’re a real couple. In real life, a modern couple would be living together in some shape or form at this point in time in their engagement. If we’re not going to agree to live in one place, we’ve got to be sharing both of our apartments. Going back and forth. You know, make it look like we’re spending time together. Like we’re…”
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