by Lindsey Hart
Well, what do you know? Apparently, I have a new kink, and it’s for hands because my hard-on has recovered from thoughts of granny panties and sex toys mingled up together, and is back with a vengeance.
“So? We’re going to discuss your new clothing line? Over breakfast? Or wherever you have my ass holed up for the time being?”
Rin takes a steadying breath. She’s not looking at me. She’s staring through the windshield, and alarmingly, her lips tremble.
“Whoa. No. No way. Please don’t do that.” I’m instantly on high alert. I hate tears. They are my Achilles’ heel. People should never cry around me. I don’t know what to do with it. About it. My hand flies to the door handle, and I’m ready to spring it open and escape when Rin lets out a shaky laugh.
“Sorry. I don’t know. I’m just really nervous. I don’t always get lost in airports I’ve been in quite a few times. I—yeah. I’m also ashamed to say that my friend literally bribed my neighbor to vacate her condo for a few months, and by bribe, I really mean bribe, so you can stay there. In the same building as me. I have no idea why. I’m embarrassed about it, actually. I guess she thinks it would be better if it looked like we were living together. I don’t know why, because that’s really fast. It would give everyone the wrong impression.”
“Don’t worry about that. Do you normally worry? About everything?”
“Yeah,” Rin admits easily. “When it comes to stuff like this, I do, because I’ve never done anything like it.”
“Had a boyfriend?”
“No, I’ve had boyfriends,” she states flatly. “Obviously.” Her hands tighten on the wheel until her knuckles whiten. I have the absurd urge to cover one of hers with one of mine, but I don’t need to send her into full-on hysterics.
“Well, that’s all this is. You can’t panic about a little kiss or a hand brush here and there. A hug. I’m not going to do more than that, but if you want to do this, we’re doing it.”
“Not at work, we’re not.”
“No, but outside of it. People who are dating do, you know, hang out outside of work. They have lives together. Or maybe you didn’t know that.”
“No, I get it,” she hisses. “If you’re wondering if that’s why I’m currently single, it’s not. He ended it because I’m three years away from thirty, and he literally told me that my genetics were not what he wanted for his children.”
“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Are you kidding me right now?”
“I wish I was.” Her voice is far away sounding and sad, and I know she’s not making this shit up.
“I’ll kill him. Nice and slow. No—no fuck that. That’s too good for bastards like him. I’ll think of something else. Worse. Do you have a cat? A dog?”
“No. I work too much. I—I was thinking about maybe getting a fish.”
“Not going to work. Do any of your friends have pets?”
“No. Not really.”
“Toddlers?”
“How are pets and toddlers the same thing?” Rin turns to me, exasperated, but there’s a hint of humor in it.
I want to kiss her. At that moment, I want to pull her to me and freaking kiss her. A real kiss. Because I get the sense that not only does she not know she’s incredible and beautiful, she has no idea what a catch she truly is. All because of some asshole named Brad. And no, I’m not talking about the fact that she’s a billionaire sort of heiress. That shit doesn’t matter to me. It wouldn’t have before I made it, and it definitely doesn’t now.
“I just need something that poops. A lot. So we can collect it. Then I’ll find this Brad asshole, and I’ll tie him to a chair, and I’ll freaking make him eat it. Every. Single. Turd.”
“Ew!” Rin giggles, though it’s a tight, little laugh torn from her throat reluctantly. “Please, no. Please don’t talk about eating poop! I don’t have a strong stomach. That’s a little cruel and unusual, even for Brad. I already have my revenge mission, remember?”
“Dating me is hardly revenge enough. I kind of get it now, though, why the blonde obviously thought of it. She wants to stick him right where it hurts. Because not only am I better looking, I assuredly have a bigger dick.”
“How would you even know that?” Rin slowly shakes her head, her eyes wide. She stays remarkably composed.
“Well, anyone who goes around suggesting their DNA is better than anyone else’s who isn’t like a prodigy or a personal athlete or a god himself or something, clearly has a small dick. Never mind. Cancel the first two out. If he’s not some sort of deity, he has no right to say that shit. Not to you. Not to anyone. There is nothing wrong with your genetics.”
“Really? My mom once tried to convince me I was adopted.”
“What?” My fist is itching to hit something. The passenger window would be a good choice. I’ve never wanted to smash something as badly as I do right then because I can see that Rin isn’t shitting me.
“Oh yeah. It really happened. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What matters is this new line. I’m not dumping the old one right away. I can’t. I don’t want said mother to come home from the Caymans where she’s currently living with—uh—never mind. My family was a nightmare. She’s still a nightmare. That’s all you need to know. She might have handed me the company when she wanted to go live the rest of her life free from hassle—you know, daughters and actual reality and whatnot, but she still has shares in the thing. She couldn’t outvote me, but she could convince others to do it with her. I want to make the changes. I want to shift direction. I don’t want to stand for something I don’t believe in anymore, but I want to move slowly and cautiously.”
“Has she ever sent you a postcard?”
“What?” Rin’s nose crinkles up in the most adorable fashion. My dick actually starts to throb.
“Did she ever send you a postcard? From wherever she is?”
“No. Of course not. That would imply she actually cares.”
“That’s too bad. I mean, about how she didn’t send one. You could have sent it back, with the words F you scrawled across the back and front in huge letters. Red. Definitely red marker. Something very permanent.”
Despite the shit topic, Rin’s lips curl at the corners. I want to taste her there, on each corner of her beautiful lips. I want to swipe my tongue over her lips, push through, into her mouth, and devour her. I’d also like to find her mother and tie her down next to the douche, Brad, and feed them both excrements. Or worse. Carbs or something. Whatever it is that they fear most. Sugar. Bad genes. Something. You name it, I’ll find it, even if cruel and unusual punishment isn’t generally my game.
“So. This new line. You know about this stuff better than anyone, I’m willing to bet. You actually model it, but you know what you like. I’ve done quite a bit of research already, and I was hoping to get a second opinion.”
“Mine?” I balk. “No way. There’s no chance you haven’t already asked your crazy sisterhood. You know. The ones who put you up to this. At least, the fake dates part. Which, by the way, we do need to talk about. You want rules? I’m good with that. Just lay them out. Find some events we can attend. Just not ones with your ex around because I can’t promise my foot won’t disappear so far up his asshole that—”
I don’t finish because Rin dissolves into a fit of giggles. She removes her hands from the wheel and grips her stomach like it actually hurts her to laugh like that. I can’t help it. Her laugh is nice. Light and contagious, just like her. Not in the plague sort of way. The good kind of contagious. Not that I can think of a good kind at the moment, but if there was one, she’d be it.
“Of course, I showed my crazy sisterhood. I’m getting as much advice as possible. I don’t want to mess this up. I—I want this to matter. Seriously. I don’t know why I didn’t do it before.”
“Fear is a shitty thing.”
“Yeah.” Rin blinks at me, instantly sober, and I regret just blurting that out.
I do that a lot. I’m not exactly known for being tactful, but usually, I ca
n use it to be charming. I can’t think of a way to do that in this case, so I just flash a smile that usually gets me out of just about any kind of trouble, even the shit I used to get into back in the day. Even my mom wasn’t immune to it. Rin looks at me like she doesn’t even see it.
Why the fuck is that so hot?
“Yeah, it is really hard.” She tacks that last bit on before she sticks her keys in the ignition and fires the car up. And by fires, I mean she employs all of the three horsepower that the thing has to get it moving.
Suddenly, I’m aware of something. A feeling. A sensation. Something so unexpected that it blindsides me out of fucking nowhere. I feel like I’ve just been bitch-slapped by the damn universe itself.
I’m afraid of messing this up. I’m afraid of wounding this woman driving so carefully beside me. I’m afraid of messing up her life like the people who were supposed to care about her obviously did.
This is supposed to be fake. So why the hell does it feel more real than anything I’ve done in the last ten years of my life combined?
CHAPTER 6
Rin
He feels sorry for me. He thinks I’m pathetic. He has to think I’m pathetic. God. How could I say things like that?
Right. I know how. I’m too used to joking around and being open, but with people who know me. With everyone but Cassie and Aria, I keep my guard up. No talking about family or my mom. I sure as hell never brought Brad up in a conversation with anyone but my besties. So why the ever-living hecking hell did I say that crap twenty minutes ago?
I can tell that Mr. Hotshot Model there in the passenger seat probably thinks I’m his good deed for his entire lifetime. I wish I could slap the steering wheel and curse. I wish I could get on my phone and tell Aria that I need to call this whole thing off. I wish I could cry and yell and laugh at myself for scraping the depths of the lowest low.
This was a terrible, wretched, horrible idea, and now I’m stuck with it. Stuck with him. He’ll probably send me pitying looks and treat me like I’m made of glass for the entire month.
“I’m not a charity case,” I blurt. Yeah. Apparently, it can get worse. “I’m not damaged. My family is what it is. It might have been shitty, but I’ve tried to make the best of it. Sorry. I’m not going to make any more mom jokes. Seriously. I have this dry sense of humor, and I forget not everyone gets it. You don’t even know me. I’m—god. I’m sorry. Yeah. I hope we can just move forward from this. I—please don’t treat me differently. I know I have this company and the money and whatever. I am who I am, and that’s caused me some problems in the past. It’s the reason I don’t date as much. Why I don’t take chances on men. I am who I am. I know you don’t know me, so just please. Don’t look at me like I need to be fixed. I don’t. I’m good. Seriously. I like myself. All that jazz. I know my mom is a prick. I know she wasn’t a good mom. She sent me to boarding school, and that helped me be normal. I’m good. I swear.”
The silence that lingers in the car has a weird sound to it. It buzzes in my ears, and this time, I want to take both my hands off the wheel and cover my face. Maybe if I look up some magical incantation, I could even make myself disappear. Unfortunately, I’m driving, so no double facepalm, and since my car would turn into a fiery wreck, I can’t make myself vanish either.
“Good to know,” Aiden finally says. Just that. Just those three words, stated as if I’ve just given him the answer to the question of existence.
A few moments later, Aiden continues, “I’m pretty easy going, you know. Just because I put clothes on and let people take pictures of me for a living doesn’t mean I’m overly high maintenance. I mean, I get my chest waxed and shit, and I have had a few manicures here and there, but I swear, that won’t make me treat you like you’re damaged. I can tell you’re not damaged. You’re just…you. It’s actually pretty damn refreshing.”
I have no idea what he means, and I have no idea what to do with that, so I just concentrate on not crashing my car. It’s hard, given that my pulse is slamming out of my neck, and my chest literally hurts from the beating my heart is giving it, and my stomach is a mess. It feels like I’ve eaten a giant octopus whole, and it’s waving its tentacles around in there.
Mercifully, Aiden turns his head towards the window, and silence filters through the car. My hands are a sweaty mess on the wheel even though I have the AC cranked. I just keep driving, weaving through traffic until I reach our destination.
Aiden turns to me with his nose wrinkled after I pull the car over to the curb and turn the engine off. Right. So, he didn’t expect he’d be staying in an industrial area.
“They turned a whole bunch of old buildings into condos a couple of years ago,” I explain helpfully, all while making a production of looking anywhere but at him. He’s gorgeous. Blindingly so. If I look at him, I know I’m going to blurt out a whole bunch of things I’ll regret in the next two and a half seconds. “They were pretty premium. Everyone wants to live somewhere different. And now that it’s mostly all housing out here instead of factories going day and night, it’s pretty quiet.”
“There’s a compound over there.” Aiden points. “It looks like it comes complete with junkyard dogs.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrug. “Extra security is never a bad thing.”
I fumble with the handle and eject myself out of the car. I’m halfway around to the trunk before Aiden has the decency to get out. When he does, though—wow. I freeze halfway into my trunk, a weird half in half out stance I know is cringe-worthy. I realize my blouse has come untucked from my pants and is riding up, revealing a good portion of my midriff.
Face blazing, I straighten and tug it down. Aiden isn’t looking though, thank god. He’s too busy getting his bag out of the trunk, taking over where I left off. When he does it, he doesn’t look cringy at all. I don’t think a guy like Aiden even knows the meaning of the word. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and a set of faded jeans. Both of them accentuate every single muscle in his chest and legs. It just so happens that when he bends in, I get a good view of his rear end, and—just—holy. Hell. Shit on a stick. I mean, sex on a stick. The man has a fine rear. More than fine. His face might be billboard worthy, but so is his butt.
He straightens, and I tear my eyes away just in time. His pale blue orbs swivel to mine. They’re so blue; they’re almost translucent. They’re like staring into your own reflection on water that is so clear you can also see straight to the bottom. They’re unnerving and far too knowing.
My face heats up another thousand degrees, and so do a few other select bits. I watch Aiden shoulder his duffel. Okay, so I actually watch his biceps do all sorts of crazy delicious bulgy things where his t-shirt ends. I even glance at his chest and watch as all those muscles move in time like a finely honed device.
That’s it. Aiden Builder is actually a robot. He’s too perfect to be real, so that would explain a lot.
“So, you have me staying out in the middle of nowhere, in some derelict building, next to some warehouse-looking place where they probably manufacture illegal goods at a high cost to the environment, putting out a megaton of toxins every single hour.” He glanced skeptically at the large squat brick building in front of him. “It used to be a flour factory. Chances are, it’s loaded with asbestos or lead paint. I’ll be lucky if I make the night. If the building doesn’t kill me, I’ll probably get knifed trying to get from the front door to the car. How could you be so heartless after I agreed to do this whole charade?” He flashes me his signature, panty-melting, ovulation-inducing grin, but I can tell he’s half-serious.
I roll my eyes and press the fob on my keys, locking the car. “I live here, remember? It hasn’t killed me yet. The junkyard dogs, the strange, wild creatures that patrol the sidewalks with their sharpened knives, the asbestos, or the lead paint. You’re staying in the condo right across from me because Aria paid my neighbor to go on a few months’ vacation to Paris. She’s seventy. She always wanted to go.”
Aiden’s face
melts into a picture of pure, perfect horror. Even that is far too sexy. God. He should think about going into movies or something. He’d look really effing good on screen. And no, my nipples did not just harden.
“You’re sticking me in some old lady’s apartment?”
“Yup.” This might actually be kind of fun. “Pink frilly sheets and all.” I turn and walk down the sidewalk at a pace so fast that I nearly dislocate my hips. Why did I say that? Now I’m thinking about Aiden in between those pink old lady sheets. They probably smell like baby powder and really strong, gross perfume. But still. Aiden. Pink sheets. Aiden naked. Pink sheets. Aiden still naked. My ovaries heat up a few thousand degrees.
Aiden doesn’t have any choice but to follow me. Or I guess he does. He could call for a cab and go right back to LA. Thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, by the time I have the glass front door unlocked, he’s right behind me. Like, really behind me. So close that I feel a blast of his body heat.
I want to say something. I should say something. Instead, I turn and let the building speak for itself. When they converted the flour factory, they really converted it. The builder somehow managed to leave all the old school charm of the place—raw bricks and exposed beams all over the place, while also giving the distinct feeling that the place was a new development, with all the clean, fresh, sparkly shine.
I walk up a set of wrought iron stairs and down a long hall. So far, I’ve been lucky. I made it without tripping and falling on my face, which is a tremendous achievement, given how nervous I am.
I stop in front of the second last door. My hands shake when I punch the code in on the door and swing it open. I haven’t actually ever been inside Mrs. Hazel’s place, but I wasn’t wrong in what I imagined. The place looks like sleek industrial and old-school granny had a baby. Most of the brick walls are covered with framed pictures. Family photos, cross-stitch, and original oil paintings of flowers and trees. The whole thing is wide open, but it’s also cluttered up with strange antiques like tea trays complete with an actual tea service set on top, and those floral couches everyone threw out at the end of the nineties. Except these ones look new. Almost as though they were ordered from some godforsaken factory with that print. There are pink drapes at the large windows and lace sheers in the kitchen. The cupboards in her place are actually white, and the granite is some barf worthy version of dark pink. The kind of stone they use in graveyards. A pink shag rug in the living room and knick-knacks galore, as well as an embroidered tablecloth, rounds it out.