Charade (A Fake Fiancée Romance) (Pretense and Promises Book 1)

by Jade C. Jamison

“What does that even mean?”

  “The artwork in your new office. I was trying to decide the finishing touches and figured I should let you do that—since you’ll be the one spending the time in there.” She cocked an eyebrow, feeling like he was dangling another nonexistent carrot. “You wanna see it?”

  “What? Artwork?”

  “No—your office.”

  She couldn’t help the surge of happiness that rushed through her veins. It was real. “Of course.”

  “Let’s go.” Gladly. She picked up the paper cup and stood, ready to follow wherever he led. “Nice suit, by the way.”

  Ah, he noticed—but he didn’t know why she’d worn it, and that would remain her little secret. They walked out past the reception desk into the lobby, but he didn’t lead her toward the stairs. He walked over to the elevator and pushed the up arrow. Glancing over at her while they waited, he asked, “What are you drinking?”

  “Starbucks.”

  His eyes told her he was not amused with her terse answer. “I can see that.”

  “It’s white mocha,” she said, taking a sip from the venti-sized cup.

  “Why do you drink that stuff? You know it’s not good for you.”

  The fight she’d stored up for demanding Brock make good on his promises channeled its way into her arguments for Starbucks. “It’s nice to know that you’re health conscious, but let me worry about my own well-being. I’m not suffering from the occasional coffee.”

  He arched an eyebrow, looking devilishly handsome.

  Dammit.

  Brock also appeared to be in fantastic shape, meaning he probably did pay attention to those kinds of things.

  “Okay, fair enough, but if you love yourself, you should avoid all the sugar and fat in those drinks.”

  “I don’t know why you’re suddenly worried about my well-being, Brock. Lattes are one of the few joys I have in life. In fact, I’d say Starbucks was the only sweet thing in my life while I was slaving away over piles of work here for the past year. See, I came here thinking I was going to be working my dream job after all those years in college and instead got stuck doing the shit work no one else wanted to do. I get that I’ve been paying my dues, but I wanted some bit of happiness—and Starbucks represented that.” The elevator dinged as it stopped at the top floor. “Did you have to go through all that—paying your dues here?”

  “No, not in the sense you are.”

  She was fired up and her mouth was speeding along faster than her brain. “Ha. You’re a spoiled rich boy who had it all handed to him.”

  It wasn’t until the doors opened that Erica realized they were on the third floor. She’d expected an office on the second…and here she was bitching about her fate with the firm. At the moment, she was looking a gift horse in the mouth.

  There was a desk just as they walked out of the elevator, and a woman sat in front of a computer, typing away. Erica knew she was the lead secretary on that floor, also a bit of an office manager, and she was placed there to direct people where they needed to go—including back downstairs, if they were lost.

  As Brock led the way to the right in silence, she thought maybe she’d bested him, but once they were out of earshot of the secretary—in spite of the fact that anyone could be coming down the hall at any moment—he said, “You’re sadly mistaken, Erica. I earned every little damn thing I got. I busted my ass to get to where I am.” He paused at a doorway and motioned with his hand, indicating that she should step inside. “If you’d prefer it that way—working your way up from the bottom—we can arrange that.”

  She felt pissed at him then, because he couldn’t even see how his ass busting was so much different from hers—but, looking inside the space that she presumed would be her new office, she knew she should be grateful that she had this opportunity.

  But what she was having to do to get it…

  Trying to stop herself from looking around the space, imagining herself in there at the beautiful mahogany desk, surrounded by old-fashioned law books with a Persian rug underneath and tasteful decorations filling the space with her own sensibilities (much more complex than a mountain painting versus avant garde), she focused her eyes on the man she was pretending to want to marry. Yes, whether he saw it or not, he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and his version of climbing to the top was a hell of a lot easier than hers had been—or would continue to be. Not only did he have the advantage of being the owner’s son, he was a man, which also made things lots easier for him in this world—but she knew she was in a sweet position…so long as she could keep her mouth shut and be a good little girl.

  She actually wanted to practice law.

  So she took in a long slow breath, looking at the man in front of her. Why had she found him so damn sexy a few minutes ago? At this moment, she was repulsed. But she had to keep that to herself. “I feel like I already have.” Finally, she allowed herself to really look around the space. There was a beautiful view of Lakewood just outside the huge window. The room itself was boring, aside from the monstrous desk, complete with computer and phone—freshly painted white walls and beige carpeting—but the potential was amazing. She could definitely see herself in there doing the work she’d envisioned all those years ago.

  She couldn’t read his voice when he said, “There are still a couple of things that will be moved in here—shelving and chairs for your clients—but I wanted to let you see it. And, if you’re ready, I’ll have you sitting with me for the rest of the morning.”

  Her soul suddenly felt light, making her almost feel bad for being nasty a few moments ago.

  Almost.

  “I’m definitely ready.” Should she even ask? “Am I moving up here for good?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow morning, you’ll want to move any personal belongings from your space downstairs to up here. And I believe Bret said to let Linda know where you are in the work you’re doing.”

  She wracked her brain, trying to remember who Linda was—a clerk, a fellow attorney, a paralegal downstairs in the sea of cubicles from which she was being rescued? But then she remembered Linda was one of Bret’s secretaries. She nodded her head in affirmation.

  “In the meantime, today you’ll be sitting with me as I meet with clients. I have a full calendar of appointments this afternoon, including a client I need to prep for a trial next week.” Erica nodded. Nothing had been happening and now all of a sudden, she had to focus to keep up. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

  That was odd. “Umm…I think that’s personal.”

  Brock raised a gorgeous eyebrow and his dimples appeared in his cheeks. Holy shit. This guy was to die for. Too bad most of the things that came out of his mouth made her want to die. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. And, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re engaged and should be privy to that sort of thing.”

  She felt the air leak out of her lungs. This whole thing was becoming a hell of a lot more complicated than she’d wanted. “I usually spend some time with my family, even if it’s only the actual holiday.”

  “And where are my future in-laws?”

  Was it strange to find it creepy that he seemed to be fully embracing the role today? But she only wondered for a moment before Brandon popped his head in the door, his brown hair looking slightly trimmed since she’d last seen him. “Hey, Erica. Like your new digs?”

  “Yes, I think so.” She was happy that at least Brandon was acting polite instead of giving off the vibes she’d been getting from him during the retirement party.

  “Good deal. Hey, bro, you got plans for lunch?”

  “Actually, yeah. I’m taking my girl out for sushi at Motomaki.”

  “I don’t do sushi.” Oh, shit. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that.

  Brock recovered quickly. “I keep hoping to talk you into it, honey. You don’t have to eat sushi there, even though I’d like you to give it a try. They have other food and I’ve been wanting to take you there for a while.”

  Brandon smil
ed. “You’ll love it, Erica. It’s one of our favorite places for lunch. Hey—if Bret wants sushi, we can meet you guys there.”

  Well, that sounded like a lot of fun. The three rival brothers pissing all over each other during lunch. No, thanks—Erica would be just fine with another white mocha latte.

  “Look, Bran, as much as I’d love that, Erica and I have wedding plans to discuss.”

  She jumped on it. When she and Camilla had still been undergrads, they’d talked about the perfect wedding—and she knew all the particulars involved…which was why she didn’t know if she even wanted a traditional ceremony anymore. But, for now, she could play the part of excited bride. “Yes—we need to talk color scheme, location, caterer. Oh, and which wedding planner we want to go with.”

  Brandon’s raised eyebrows made his grin look devilish and, for the first time, Erica could see that, in spite of the sibling rivalry, these guys might be nice enough. “Yeah, fair enough. I don’t want to go through that stuff again, no matter how long I live.”

  “What about Saffy? The parents of the bride have to do all that crap.”

  Brock was wrong and Brandon told him so. “Nope. We only have to foot the bill. And, besides, by then, if Saffy wants that kind of help, Lisa will be more than happy to offer it. I only have to sign the damn checks. Anyway, maybe tomorrow for lunch?”

  “Yeah.” Once Brandon had left, Brock lowered his voice. “Thanks. I really didn’t want to waste a couple of hours with my brothers. But thanks again for almost blowing our cover.”

  Erica winced. “Sorry. But, as my fiancé, you need to know I don’t like sushi.” And then it dawned on her why Brock had been talking like that earlier—because passersby might happen to overhear their conversations. Best to be safe.

  “So…where were we?”

  “Thanksgiving—my family.”

  Brock nodded. “The firm is closed on Friday and, even though we’re open Monday through Wednesday of that week, we’re not too busy. Things slow down a bit. My parents have a condo in Vail that they have a timeshare in, and they spend an entire week there during Thanksgiving and another week in June. Even though I’m here Monday through Wednesday, I spend Thursday through Saturday with them every year.”

  “Well, that doesn’t work for me. I need to see my parents—and I might get lucky and see my brother and his family if they make it down to Colorado. I don’t care if we’re engaged. I’m going home.”

  “Where is home exactly?”

  “Gunnison.”

  Brock’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Gunnison’s beautiful. And the skiing in Crested Butte is some of the best.”

  In spite of having grown up there, she’d only ever been skiing once when she was in middle school—and she’d hated it. But she wasn’t going to say that out loud.

  “Okay, well…like a real couple, why don’t we compromise? Would you be up to splitting the time between the two?”

  She actually fucking hated the idea…but she hadn’t ever been to Vail. And, so long as she could see her mom and dad and recharge in her hometown with the people she loved, she thought she could maybe do it. “Sure, I guess. But I want to see my parents on Thanksgiving proper. My mom makes the best turkey and her rolls are to die for—and I want to help her in the kitchen. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday—I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Okay. Not a problem. We always go out to eat and there’s nothing fancy about that.” He slapped his hands together, rubbing them as if he had a scheme in mind. “Let’s hammer out the rest of the details over some lunch, shall we?”

  Why was everything a negotiation for this man?

  And why was she looking forward to having lunch with him?

  But, more than that, why did the upcoming long holiday weekend with Brock seem appealing?

  What the hell was he doing to her?

  Chapter Seven

  ERICA CURLED HER toes in her boots as Brock took the curves coming down Monarch Pass a little faster than she would have liked. Granted, there was no snow on the ground, but it didn’t make her any less fearful. The western slope of Monarch didn’t seem as dangerous as the eastern side, but she had no idea if Brock had even driven this road before.

  Well, if he knew Crested Butte was a great ski area, then he’d likely been this way once or twice.

  But, finally, with that last curve, the road sloped and she knew that even if his car got out of control now, they might be able to survive a crash.

  Until she looked at the speedometer.

  Over eighty-five miles per hour.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Erica asked, using it as an excuse to turn down the rap CD Brock was listening to.

  “I’m not. Believe me. I’m not eager to see the faces of the people whose hearts I’m going to crush a month or two from now.”

  “Then why are you driving like a bat out of hell?”

  “Am I?” Brock looked down at the dash but the vehicle’s speed was already slowing as they dashed past Sargents, a little hole in the wall in Saguache County. The good news was that meant she was almost home, less than an hour away.

  She was starting to feel excited. She hadn’t seen her parents since July—and she needed this. They really did help her recharge in a way no one and nothing else did. Being home, too, in the Gunnison Valley, surrounded by the Rocky Mountains would refresh her like nothing else.

  Too bad she had her supposed husband-to-be with her.

  She’d already warned her parents, and her mother had sounded shocked that she’d gone from not even dating to being so head over heels that she’d found a man to marry. On their Skype call, her dad had helped progress the lie immensely. “You never know when love is going to take over. When you find the right person, there’s no fighting it.”

  Aw. She’d known her dad was a softie, but wow.

  And what would they think about Brock? Hmm.

  “I haven’t been back to Gunnison in a long time. I’ve missed it.”

  Erica cocked her head as Brock took another corner going entirely too fast, and she had to resist the urge to grip the dash. At this rate, he was going to dump them in the icy Gunnison River. “You visit Gunny a lot?”

  “Not much, but I spent my undergrad days at Western.”

  “Ah, Wasted State.”

  “Yes, I was here to party and to ski—and then I decided maybe being a lawyer wouldn’t be such a bad gig after all.”

  “You didn’t decide to do that right off the bat?”

  “Hell, no. By the time I graduated high school, Bret was already working for dad and Brandon was applying to pre-law schools. The last thing I wanted to do was what the rest of my family did. But my first-year grades were shit, and of all the core classes I took, nothing really sparked my interest. World History, a little bit, but what kind of job can you get learning history?

  “Dad sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to pay for my education if I didn’t do better. An F, he said, indicated a complete lack of not trying. And he was right. It was the first time in my life I wasn’t under my dad’s thumb, so I enjoyed myself. A lot. I thought maybe I’d want to go out of state, but my grades prohibited it. So I stuck it out at Western, focusing on pre-law with a minor in poli sci and started getting decent grades, so then I managed to get into Berkeley. For some reason, having dad disappointed in me made me decide I wanted to try harder. And then I was in a play my sophomore year—playing an attorney, if you can believe that. Mom and dad came and, even though it was a bit part, mom said she was so proud of me; dad said if I could do half of what I did onstage, I’d be a hell of a litigator.

  “So that became my goal. My brothers are the lawyers who don’t like to enter the courtroom. I do. It involved theatrics, thinking on your feet, competition, using your brain—all the things I’m good at and like doing.”

  “When’s the last time you were here?”

  “It’s been five years at least.”

  “It’s changed a little…so be prepare
d.”

  “Ah, what I love about Gunnison is the people—and they never change.”

  Really? Knowing that Brock loved about her hometown exactly the things she’d found endearing brought a human side to him she hadn’t seen before. She’d never discovered another town like her birth place, which brought truth to that old saying, “There’s no place like home.” One of the things she loved the most was the melding of the people there. There were the old “cattlemen,” the proud ranchers of the community, and then there were the college kids, lots of tourists and locals alike who appreciated the great outdoors, along with a real creative, artistic element at both the college and in town. It was a unique blending she’d never seen in any other college town and, even though she hadn’t attended the university there, she understood the appeal. She would always love it there.

  “So you didn’t mind the cold?”

  Brock laughed. “Well…does anyone love it? At least I was able to brag to my brothers that I had survived the Coldest Spot in the Nation.” They went to school in DC and California, so I got ‘em beat.”

  “Yeah, Denver’s winters have always seemed warm to me. But I don’t hear the ‘Coldest Spot’ hype anymore. I guess it’s not as big a deal.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that it gets damn cold. I don’t know that I’d want to live there longer than I did. Forty below is extreme.”

  “Oh, come on, Brock. Haven’t you always heard that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”

  “Yeah, well, don’t believe the hype. I prefer to pick my battles, and fighting the cold isn’t one of them.”

  The two of them lapsed back into silence as Brock’s car whirred down the highway in the dark. They’d left Denver earlier that evening after dusk, contending with some rush hour traffic, but once they got out of the city, traveling west on 285, the traffic eased up a bit. It wasn’t until they were an hour out that they really noticed lighter traffic.

  And now, over one hundred miles later, the cars were few and far between. It wasn’t that this stretch of Highway 50 didn’t have travelers, because it did, but because it was close to ten PM, there weren’t many cars around anymore. They’d stopped for a quick bite and a restroom break in Poncha Springs before scaling the mountain, but they’d otherwise made steady progress.