by Erin Havoc
“Well,” she catches her breath and I can imagine the curl to her lip. “It’s not a very regal name.”
“Of course it’s not a regal name, mom, I’m not dating a duchess.” From the corner of my eye, I notice Hailee walking in and sitting down across from me. I can’t believe I used her name when she has nothing to do with this.
“Very well,” my mother mutters. “Then bring her to dinner. On the 21st, alright? I’ll let you know once I choose a restaurant.”
Gritting my teeth, I take a moment to try and think of a quick excuse, but none come. Now that I’ve come up with this lie, it’s easier for me to keep it up. I’ll just have to convince Hailee to come along for one night, and mom will stop bothering me for some months.
Taking a breath in, I let that idea sink in. My mother not bothering me about marriage for three or four months is a dream coming true.
I have to convince Hailee to help me with this one.
“Yes, alright, mom, if that’ll make you leave me in peace on that matter. A fortnight from now, on Saturday. Okay. Bye.” Shutting the call off, I drop the phone on my desk and press both my hands over my eyes, grunting.
Hailee chuckles. “That was a fun call.”
As always, I usually try to keep my serious face on with my employees, but Hailee disarms me quickly. I chuckle back. “Do you find my torture amusing, Hailee? That’s very sadistic.”
Our eyes meet. Hailee is a gorgeous, voluptuous young woman that amazes me again and again with how skilled and brilliant she is. Her presence on my team is not only important but essential. Her dark eyes are bright with the morning light as she pulls her gaze away from mine.
She begins to open her laptop with a small smile on her lips. “Torture? Hardly. I just heard you talking to your mother.”
Before she can move on with the meeting, because she is as professional as I am, I stop her action with a hand on the screen of her computer. “Before we go for the meeting, I need to ask you something.”
Shooting her an apologetic look, I pray she accepts the deal I’m about to offer. If all goes well, I’ll have some peace with my mother for the next months.
Hailee clears her throat. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“I need your help.”
“Sure,” she repeats, nodding me on.
I take a breath and spit the words before my good sense stops myself. “I may have told my mother we are dating.”
03
* * *
HAILEE
I blink slowly, waiting for him to continue but he doesn’t, relaxing against his chair.
“What do you mean?”
Mister Hunt sighs, a hand going up to his dark hair. “My mother’s been driving me crazy with how hard she wants me to get married and have kids and that kind of thing. It’s not that I don’t want it, but I’m not actively looking for it either. And every year there’s this same thing where we approach any festivity and she wants to know if I’m taking someone and when I’m committing myself and when I’m having kids…” He interrupts himself, shaking his head. His blue eyes meet mine and he tilts his lips in a remorseful look. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling on. The thing is, I’ve always been honest and told her I wasn’t dating. I’d endure the comments and the arguments. This time I’ve chosen this small lie of telling her I’m dating, just so she could let me work.”
“Oh. And what about it?”
“I’ve confirmed I’d take my girlfriend to our Christmas dinner.” He makes a cute, full-of-regret face that makes me smile.
“Well, why don’t you break up with your imaginary girlfriend right before Christmas?”
He points a finger at me, “I could do that. But then I’d have to hear her complaining about it all through dinner and New Year’s Eve and on for the next year. If I actually take a girl with me, I think, or I hope, she’ll let me off the hook for some time.”
“Wouldn’t that be splendid?” I curl my nose and we chuckle.
It’s always been so odd how Mister Hunt is different than what the other employees say about him. He’s really nice, and easy to talk to. I’ve always adored how he doesn’t expect me to treat him like he’s the president of the world.
“So… What are you doing on the 21st?”
Realization hits me like a rock. “Me? You want me to be your pretend-girlfriend?”
He nods, “Yeah. I’ve already used your name anyway. I mean,” he lifts his hands in apology, “If you don’t mind that much. If you have nothing to do.”
I laugh, “Mister Hunt, I’m not sure your family would buy into this lie.”
He cocks a brow, “Why not? If we rehearse well enough, I’m sure we could do it.”
Pressing my lips in a line, I curl my hands over my lap. “Honestly, Mister Hunt, I don’t look like a CEO’s girlfriend.”
His brows rise far up his forehead. “Well, I’m not saying you’ll have to dress in work suits. We can go to a mall and you’ll buy a dress, something that fancies you. I’ll cover the expenses.”
Crossing my arms, I hold back a grin at how ridiculous this feels. “That’s not what I mean, Mister Hunt. I mean, I’m not very model-like.”
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug, honest confusion crossing his face. “Because you’re not a model. I didn’t tell my mother you were. You’re my best marketing employee. Why would that matter?”
I finally let a laugh burst off me, “Alright.” He might be too desperate to find anyone else. I get that. I’ll let him fool himself. “Alright. So what’s your plan?”
“So you accept it?”
I shrug, “Sure. I have no family, so I usually spend the days around Christmas drinking hot chocolate and reading.”
He clasps his hands together and sighs. “Thanks, Hailee. You’re the best. I’ll pay this back to you, I promise.”
“It’s okay,” I wave a hand dismissively. “I’ll be paid in eating better food for Christmas than what I usually cook for myself.”
He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “You make small case of yourself. You could just buy something beforehand and warm it up.”
“True, but I’m still sure your family’s dinner will be way better.”
“I hope you’re not wrong.” His smile turns warm, warmer than I’ve ever seen, and he spreads his hands on the table in front of him. “So just for some details. What you said before wasn’t wrong. About us not looking like we’re dating.”
Cocking my head, I wait for him to tell me to lose weight. My whole point with this is that I’m a curvy girl who loves my rolls. My hair is its natural dark brown color and I love its waves. There’s not a hint in me that says model.
Leaning forward, he goes on. “We’re going to need an intensive.”
“On what?” A part of me, that part that admires his antics and wonders why people think he’s cold-hearted, hopes he’s not going to tell me to go on a crazy fasting diet for the next fortnight so I can lose weight.
“On dating, of course. I’m thinking we could go out after work, twice a week or something, so we can know each other better. You know, make the lie more convincing.” I internally sigh in relief as he grunts. “God, I hate this. I hate that I have to lie, and now I’m trying to make the lie more convincing.”
Laughing, I stretch an arm to pat on his wrist. “It’s alright, Mister Hunt. You’re not the first liar humanity has ever produced.”
“That’s a group I had intended to stay away from,” he grins. “But here we are. Let me know about your free days so we can go out and quiz each other.”
“That’ll be easy. I have almost every day free. Should I prepare a questionnaire?”
“That’s not a bad idea.” He taps his chin until he gets me chuckling and figures I was kidding. “Oh, I see. You’re making fun of a desperate man. Go on, laugh to your heart’s content.”
“Sorry, sorry. Just let me know where we’re going so I can dress properly.”
“Sure. And don’t worry, everything is on me. I’ll get you some extra hour
s for the time you spend quizzing me.”
Opening my laptop up, I smile at him. One will never catch me rejecting money. “Very well. Shall we go back to the point of this meeting?”
He runs his hands through his hair and sighs. I catch myself wondering how soft his strands would feel between my fingers, but it’s a fleeting thought, gone before I can stare into it.
“Yes, please. I’ve been anxious about your next idea. They’re always great.”
He says this so easily it makes me blush. It’s so odd how easy he is around me when everyone else is complaining about how hard it is to please him.
Shooing that thought away, I turn my laptop so he can see the screen and present to him my idea on the new convention. Though there is a tiny, tiny new thing in my brain now, and I can’t stop stealing glances in his direction.
This fake-dating thing should go on smoothly. If only I wasn’t admiring him more and more.
04
* * *
ASHER
“This way, Mister Hunt.” The waiter weaves his way through the tables and the two of us follow, trailing across the restaurant to a seat next to the window.
The city lights glint under us, and the night sky is clear above. Pulling the chair for Hailee, I sit across from her a moment later.
“This is the very definition of fancy,” she mouths as the waiter reaches us the menu.
Right click for menu to add groups and entries. Edit or re-order any item. Use right click in editor to select which entry to paste.
Looking away as if I’d been staring into the sun, I clear my throat. “Honestly, I didn’t think much. Just the closest restaurant.”
She scoffs, “Really? If that was the case, then why not the hot dog stand right in front of the building?”
Laughter escapes my lips. “You got me. Should have gone there. So we could get an infection together.”
She laughs again, that ringing sound that fills the place. “But wouldn’t that be something a couple would do?”
“Get sick together? I’m not so sure.”
She leans forward, “There isn’t a more romantic thing than holding someone’s hair back while they puke, Mister Hunt. You’re missing out.”
An answer halts on the tip of my tongue. Her leaning forward brings her amazing cleavage over the edge of the table, and my gaze is drawn there.
I’ve always found Hailee gorgeous. She has big, expressive, chocolate eyes and her dark waves always make her look like a pin-up girl from a vintage calendar. And those curves… They’re a sight to look at when she’s in a pencil skirt — I’m a man, it’s impossible not to notice that ass walking away from me. But today, she’s especially delectable.
But she’s my best employee and doing me a grand favor. She cannot notice the heated gazes I’m shooting to her breasts. I can’t let my lust screw this.
Clearing my throat, I look back to the menu. “I’d rather go with something health inspectors wouldn’t rule out. They have a splendid salmon in here.”
With a small tilt to her lip, she announces her choice to the waiter. We do small talk for some minutes until our dinner rolls in.
Grabbing my silverware, I look up to find her staring at the food with her lips pressed together.
“Are you going to tell me you hate salmon? They had chicken too.”
She chortles, a cute sound that makes my worry melt away. “No,” she shakes her head. “It’s just that…” She shakes her head yet again, “Nothing.”
I cock my brow, waiting for her to go on. “You never were one to avoid insulting.”
Her mouth drops and she covers her chest in a fake surprised manner. “What! You say it like I’m a terrible person that says the first thing that comes to mind.”
“Not saying that. You’re just open. Honest.” I gesture a fork between the two of us, “Which is why I trust you enough to do this.”
She falls silent and I wonder if I was the one offending this turn. Finally, she bats her lashes at me. “It’s just that… Don’t take this wrong. But you’re a big man.”
I blink, surprised at the comment. “Yes?”
She leans and drops her voice to a murmur, “Never thought this much food would keep a man your size going.”
Oh. I laugh, looking down at my plate. It is a small amount of food indeed. “Don’t think I’m trying to starve you. I honestly just picked the closest restaurant I knew.”
She smiles, “It’s alright. Just let me choose next time.”
Even though I know there’ll be a next time — since that’s the deal — a thrill runs through my veins. As if this was a real date.
Which it isn’t.
“One condition,” I smile at her, something I can’t seem to stop doing. “No hot dog stands.”
She pouts her lower lip in mock sadness, but cracks up a moment later. We go on like this and even without a questionnaire, conversation flows. I tell her about my family and why I decided to lie this time, and she tells me about her lack of parents and siblings.
We talk about work, but mostly about goals. I coast anything that would make it sound like a boss talking to an employee, but we never had this problem.
I turn the subject to hobbies as we lay the silverware back on the table. She dabs at the corners of her plump lips with a napkin.
“There’s something I usually do when a character I like dies,” she prompts and I can’t keep the smile from my face. “There’s this ice cream parlor some blocks from my place. It’s fantastic, they’re super generous with add-ons, like sprinkles.”
“Wait, so if a fictional character you like dies, a person that does not exist, you feel so sad you have to go have pity ice cream?”
She grins, “Exactly. They mean a lot to me. Since I lack family, I end up getting too close to them.”
Cocking my head, I watch her for a moment. This beautiful, bright woman with curves to die for. For a moment, I wonder how it would be like to get close to her. To care for her and have her care for me.
But those what-ifs are a place I shouldn’t approach. We’re in this deal because she’s honest and reliable, and I need that in my team. I can’t get involved.
“Would you like to get that ice cream then?” I offer, wanting to extend the time with her. To know each other better, so I can fool my parents, of course.
She nods, “I thought you’d never ask.”
I let her walk out of the restaurant in front of me, not with the noblest of intentions. Since I can’t put my hands in those curves, I’m taking whatever time to watch her hips sway in front of me. She offers to drive us to the place, and I let her, mostly because she isn’t comfortable with my Mustang parked in her neighborhood.
It’s a rather humble part of the town, and I dislike the thought of her living there. Driving in those dark streets and leaving late when I ask her to do some overtime. I make a mental note to try and solve this, even if I don’t really see a way. I can’t make her move out.
The ice cream parlor is a small family shop tucked away from the street. There are benches on the lawn in front of it, and, after we get our orders, we sit out under the stars, next to one of the lamps. We’re too far south for December to be freezing, but it’s cold enough that a chill runs down Hailee’s arms as we settle down.
Slipping out of my suit jacket, I drop it on her shoulders. She looks up with questioning eyes.
“Even if this isn’t a real date,” I point as I sit, “I’m not letting a lady freeze in front of me and do nothing about it.”
With a smile, she slips her arms in. “Fair enough. It’s nice to be treated like a lady for a change.”
“You are a lady. Why does it come as a surprise?”
She shrugs, her eyes on her ice cream. “Not usual. People have different expectations of what a lady looks like.”
This thing again. I frown, leaning closer to her. “I don’t know who beat those ideas into your head, Hailee. But if you point me the way I’ll go and punch their noses in.” She loo
ks up with wide eyes but I don’t stop the words pouring out. “You’re gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Silence covers us for a moment as we eat our respective ice creams. I wonder if I’ve gone too far. My heart is racing in my chest, and I honestly feel like beating whoever made this woman feel anything less than amazing.
When our eyes meet, she’s smiling softly. “You surprise me sometimes.”
“How so?” I ask, not taking my eyes from her. She looks gorgeous in that soft light, but she looks gorgeous in every other way too.
She snuggles in my jacket, “My colleagues are usually going on about how rigid and hard to please you are. But then we’re laughing and you’re lending me your jacket and telling me this kind of thing.”
Curling my fingers around the glass, my gaze lingers. “Yeah. To be honest, I don’t know why this happens. I try to be a rigid boss. You’re the one who usually breaks this. I guess you’re easy to be around.”
She scoops a spoonful of my ice cream and brings it to her lips, licking the spoon clean. The sight gives me an instant, involuntary hard-on. “You’re the first to tell me that.”
“So we’re two hard people that somehow get along.” I scoop a spoonful of her ice cream this time, and watch her eyes glisten with a different light. “It’s good that I don’t do dating or else we could fall for one another.”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. She looks away, flustered, and I feel like I’ve ruined the night. This is not a date. We’re not together and we can’t ever be.
And here I am, talking about feelings and ruining the mood. No wonder I’m single.
But as easy as if I hadn’t said anything, she changes the subject and we chat for another hour. The night is not long enough, and as she leaves me by my car, I regret not asking her to stay more.
My instincts flare within me. And they tell me this might get out of my control soon enough.
