After cutting my meeting short at Sophie’s school, I text Laken and tell her to meet me at Trask and Payne. I fully expect some sort of argument from her, demanding to know why and wanting a play-by-play account of what to expect. However, to my surprise, barely a few seconds go by before a return text pops up with a “yes” followed by seven exclamation marks. Seven seems a little excessive, but I think maybe she’s getting into this engagement ruse as much as I am, which gives me hope.
The project Vince mentioned ends up with me alone in a conference room, taking publicity shots of Gloria. It’s for some uppity society page that’s promoting the gala and her ability to have her hands in the workings of every board and pair of pants in New York City. It irritates me that she managed to convince Vince to drag me in for this, but honestly, as long as a vagina does the talking, it’s not hard to convince Vince of feckin’ anything. I should’ve expected it.
The shoot goes as well as I imagined it would—like sitting bare-arsed on an erupting volcano. Gloria makes a play for my cock, which I manage to block with a well-timed sidestep and an “accidental” flash of my camera that blinds the hell out of her. After reminding her I’m off limits to anyone but my future wife, she gives me an unaffected laugh and saunters out the door with a thinly veiled warning not to keep her waiting much longer.
Now, as I stand in the middle of the makeshift photoshoot surrounded by a clumsily hung backdrop, shade umbrella, tripod, and light stands, I kick a wayward extension cord out of my way and curse the missed opportunity.
Where in the hell is Laken?
“Sorry, I’m late!” She rounds the corner, her wild blonde curls wet and plastered to her flushed cheeks. “It’s raining outside, so I decided to catch a cab, and then there was this insane midtown traffic. I know you told me to be here at eleven, so when I looked at the time, I saw it was ten fifty-five, so I just bailed in the middle of Madison Avenue and ran the whole way here. You left my name at the front? Thanks for leaving my name at the front. I made a few wrong turns in this building, because fuck, this place is huge. Oh God, I didn’t mean to say fuck! We’re the only ones in here, right? I mean, there aren’t any managers who could’ve possibly heard me say fuck to ruin my chances at—”
Crossing the few feet to where she stands, I place a hand over her mouth to stop her incessant talking. “Laken, breathe.” She nods, the corners of her eyes pulling down in sheer panic. “There’s no one here. It’s just us. Take it down a few notches, aye?”
“Right,” she agrees, brushing a piece of drenched hair out of her eyes. “So, what’s the deal?”
“Deal?”
“Yeah, I mean, where’s the fire? I bailed on my e-commerce class for this, Mackay. You said you had an amazing opportunity waiting for me at Trask and Payne.” Taking off her rain jacket, she shakes it and splashes of water dampen my pants. “Am I meeting with company bigwigs? Did you get me the internship?”
Laken’s eyes hold so much promise that a part of my stomach knots at the thought of dashing her hopes. I know I’m a shite for holding onto her as long as I can. As a single mother, she needs this job, but I know the minute I get her the internship she’ll walk away. Am I a dick for dragging this out as long as I can? Maybe. Okay, probably, but in my defense, she did lose the bet at Turtle Pond, so I’m under no obligation to cut our deal short.
“Not exactly,” I answer honestly.
She stops mid-squeeze of her hair and gives me a pointed look. “Not exactly? What the hell does that even mean? What am I doing here, Niall?”
I wanted more of an audience for this, but beggars can’t be choosers. I guess now is as good of a time as any. Dropping to one knee, I take her hand while reaching into my pocket. Laken’s eyes widen, and her mouth rounds. I know this is supposed to be a pseudo-serious moment, but I can’t help but think this is the way I imagined her all those times in my shower. Only, I’d imagined she was the one down on her knees, her cheeks flushed just the way they are now as I slipped my cock between her—
“Niall, what the hell are you doing?”
Shite, had I actually closed my eyes? Oh feckin’ hell, did I say something about her sucking my cock? If so, this will be over before it starts.
My eyes pop open, and before she can slap me, I pull my hand out of my pocket. “Laken Cavanaugh, I knew you were the one for me the minute my kid beat the shite out of your kid at the park. Will you marry me?”
I didn’t think Laken’s eyes could get any wider, but when I pull out my grandmother’s two-point-five carat solitaire diamond ring, I tighten my hold on her hand, afraid she’s going to pull one of those moves in those rom coms she’s always talking about and pass out.
“Where did you get that?” she whispers.
“Family heirloom.”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“I think I do.”
I’m about to explain the virtues of public displays and office gossip when the mother of all office gossip proves my point before I can say a word.
“Holy shit! Niall, you Blarney-kissing motherfucker! Where have you been hiding her?”
As Laken gasps and turns around, I slip the ring on the third finger of her left hand before she can object. By the time she realizes what has happened, it’s too late.
“Vince, meet my fiancée, Laken Cavanaugh.” Even though Vince is in on my charade, Laken doesn’t know that. So, in case she has any idea of blowing my cover, I add, “Laken, this is Vincent Tribiotti, project manager at Trask and Payne.” Then I stand and lean in close to her ear. “In charge of screening intern applications.”
He’s not in charge of anything of the sort.
I’m such a dick.
Laken swallows hard and pastes a plastic smile on her face, extending her newly minted hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tribiotti. Niall has told me so much about you.”
Ever the arse, Vince gives her a wink and kisses the back of her hand. “Funny, Mackay has never mentioned you.”
If looks could kill, the man would be six feet under. After Laken leaves, I’m hitting him where it hurts. I know he has a thing for the brand-new promotions intern, and I plan on telling her exactly what kind of gobshite he really is.
Paybacks are a bitch.
However, Laken, covers like a pro. “Yes, well, our whole relationship happened very fast.” She gives me a side-eye glare that makes me want to protect my dick from being separated from my body. “But any friend of Niall’s is a friend of mine.”
Vince slaps my arm and winks at her again. “Hold on to this one, Mackay. She’s one of a kind.”
You don’t have to tell me.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Vince?”
“Right,” he says, giving Laken one last full-length appraisal. “Just wanted to tell you that I passed the black widow on the way out. Whatever you said to her sent her horns up and her bitch radar on full alert. If you aren’t going to take my advice, I’d introduce her to Laken sooner rather than later.”
“That’s the plan,” I say as I step forward and urge him out the door.
He holds my eye for a moment before reaching for Laken’s newly-engaged finger and kissing her hand again. “A pleasure, Laken. I trust you’ll save me a dance at the gala?”
Laken’s eyes glaze over, but she answers automatically. “Of course.”
Pushing him out of earshot, I leave Laken in the room as I walk him out of the conference room. “Kiss her again, and I’ll cut your lips off.”
“Such violent threats over a fake fiancée, Mackay. What gives? Since this isn’t real, can I have a crack at her when you’re done? She’s hot as fuck.”
“You touch her, and you feckin’ die.” Giving him a harder shove than necessary, I slam the door.
Turning around to face Laken, I immediately hold up a hand to ward off her questions. “Look, I’m tired of the kid dates. The gala is tomorrow, and we’ve yet to spend any time alone. This shite stops tonight. If we’re going to act like a couple,
we need to be a couple. We’re having drinks at the Scribe and Scholar tonight—just us. Alone. You got that?”
She stares at me for a moment, and I’m fully prepared for a Laken Cavanaugh argument. Instead, she cocks her head. “Fine. I have one question, though.”
“What?”
“If things go south with this engagement, what happens?”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. If you don’t get what you want, do I not get what I want?”
“I’m not following.”
“Say someone finds out we’re not really engaged and this whole thing is a sham. What happens to me? I didn’t ask for this, Niall. You have to remember that. Whatever happens, you need to remember that you asked me for this.”
“Don’t worry,” I snap, irritated at the turn of events. “I’ll uphold my end of the bargain. You and Preston will be taken care of.”
Her face blanches. “Right. Me and Preston.”
That warning bell goes off again, but I can’t figure out why. As I walk her out of the room, a nagging feeling follows me. It follows me all day and stays with me all night.
There’s an old saying that goes, “When you love someone, you can’t see the fault in that person.”
Apparently, you can’t see their lies either.
7
Laken
The Scribe and Scholar ends up being a low-key bar filled with dark furniture, dark lighting, and over twenty taps of beer. It’s the kind of place where patrons go to unwind after a long day on Wall Street, which pretty much describes most of the clientele.
Men in pressed business suits crowd the round booths, slamming shots and nursing dark stout beers. They keep to themselves mostly, quietly chatting with friends, laughing over a joke here and there, and loosening their ties. The place is relatively small, and definitely not designed for the overly exuberant, drink till you puke crowd. I appreciate the darkness. If I run into anyone I know from NYU with this rock on my hand, I’m fucked.
Now ask me why I haven’t taken it off since Niall slipped it on my finger.
Go ahead. I’m waiting.
Notice I haven’t answered? The reason is because I have no fucking idea why.
The minute he put it on my finger, it was like the band fused with my skin. My mind knows everything is fake, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t like the way it sparkles on my hand, or that I didn’t write Mrs. Niall Mackay twenty-seven times with little hearts around it like I was back in eighth grade and crushing on the cute boy in class.
Keep rolling your eyes. Do you know the first rule of marketing? If you don’t believe in what you’re selling, the buyer will see right through you. That’s Advertising 101, and it works in all facets of life. Don’t believe me? Look it up.
Yep, eleven thousand dollars a semester to learn how to delude myself. I’m living the dream here, folks.
I’m sitting in a booth in the back alone, while Niall is outside calling to check on Sophie. I had a moment of panic when he asked if I needed to check on Preston as well, so I made up some shit about having just sent a text and that he was fine.
I’m going to hell for that one.
As I glance around the place, my eye catches a patron at the bar who’s nursing a highball and staring at me like I’m on the menu. Now, I’m not one of those holier-than-thou bitches. As you can see, I’m a prime example that those who live in glass houses cannot cast stones. However, one fake relationship per month is my limit, so deciding to use my newfound status to my advantage, I run my fingers across my face and make a huge production of flashing my ring. Diamonds are like kryptonite to some men, and I’m not shocked when he turns around in a huff.
Drumming my fingers on the table, I’m just about to check my watch again when the door opens, and Niall smiles as he makes his way over. Without hesitating, he slides in right beside me. Normally, I’d roll my eyes and make some comment about personal space. I mean, tell me I’m not the only one who sees couples do that same-side sitting shit in restaurants and wants to slap them? Unless your table is so huge that you need FedEx to deliver a salt shaker, scoot the fuck over, and eat like normal human beings.
But for some reason, the simple gesture from him flusters me in a way I’m not used to.
A moment of silence barely passes before a waitress in tiny shorts and a white crop top swings her hips over to our table and winks at Niall. “Hi, I’m Molly. What can I get you, handsome?”
I narrow my eyes at her and lift my left hand, tracing my bottom lip with the pads of my fingers.
Hi, bitch. I’m right here. See the ring?
Niall is oblivious to the whole thing, smiling like the village idiot at both of us.
Men.
Raising an eyebrow at me, he motions to the drink menu. “Laken?”
Molly can bring us two glasses of motor oil for all I care. I was over this the minute she walked over and opened her mouth. It’s the jealous woman in me. We all have her inside us, and if a girl tells you any different, she’s lying.
“Whatever you’re having.”
“We’ll have two pints of Guinness and two shots of Irish whiskey.” Niall holds up two fingers on each hand, because I suppose Molly’s too stupid to comprehend the order without visual cues.
Molly winks again and leans over much farther than necessary to place cardboard coasters in front of him. Once she’s sufficiently shoved her overinflated tits in Niall’s face, she gives him a syrupy smile. “Be right back with that, sugar.”
Wink at him again, and I’ll fix that eye tick for you, honey.
Wait, why the hell am I being so territorial? Niall and I aren’t a real couple. We’re together for a purpose. That’s it. There’s no “us.” So why does it make me insane that this chick is hitting on him like there’s a neon available sign flashing across his forehead? This is nuts. Nothing about today makes sense. My brain is twisting everything, making four and four somehow equal twenty.
Because there’s no possible way it can equal twenty, right?
After Molly disappears, I shake the fog from my head. “Beer and liquor? Be careful. A girl might think you’re trying to get her drunk and take advantage of her.”
Niall looks up, his gaze hooded and electric. “A girl might be right.”
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Not in the “ha-ha, what you said is asinine and ridiculous” way, but more in the “inappropriate giggle during a funeral” way.
I know, way to kill the moment, Laken. Just go right ahead and deflate the ego of the guy both you and Molly are lusting over. Well, cut me some slack. Nervous laughter is kind of my thing.
When I was a junior in high school, Bobby Herron and I were making out behind the gym after school. I was inexperienced, and he was a popular football player. Things got hot and heavy, but the minute he put my hand on his cock, I started laughing. I didn’t mean to. I was just nervous. Yeah, the guy every girl wanted to be with and I laughed at his dick. Try coming back from that one. Guess how many dates I got after that?
“Come on, Laken. You’re a college girl. Are you telling me you can’t handle your liquor?” Niall’s smile doesn’t fade as he places his hand on my knee and squeezes.
Screw you, Bobby Herron.
I raise my chin in response to his challenge. “I don’t drink much. When I’m not at school or studying, I’m with Preston.”
Before I say anymore, Molly sashays her ass back over to the table with our drinks. I stare holes into her skimpy outfit and wonder what the maximum sentence is in New York for justifiable homicide when she brushes her hand with Niall’s while handing him his drink. Just as I open my mouth to warn her she’s going to pull back a nub if she touches him again, she hands me some fruity pink drink in a martini glass.
I frown. “I didn’t order this.”
Molly swivels around and points to one of the crowded barstools. “I know. He did.”
My eyes follow her pointed finger and land on the same guy from before.
The one at the barstool who obviously has no regard for the sanctity of marriage.
Yes, I know. Hypocrite, party of one, your table is now available. That’s like the toilet calling the outhouse full of shit. I get it.
Niall glances over his shoulder and lets out an aggravated groan. “Feckin’ arsehole.” Pressing his lips in a tight line, he furrows his brow and pushes the drink back toward Molly. “Send it back. She doesn’t want it.”
Something in my chest expands. Pride? Independence? An acute inability to shut my mouth? “Excuse me?” I fire back. “I think I can answer for myself.”
“Yes, and as your future husband, so can I. This bar is down the street from Trask and Payne, Laken. How will it look if you accept drinks from other men while wearing my ring?”
I open my mouth to argue, but to my horror, no sound comes out. Damn him. I hate it when he's right. I hate it, even more, when he knows it.
Placing the drink on Molly’s tray, he dismisses her and hands me my beer while raising his. “To the future Mrs. Mackay.”
He chuckles as if we didn’t just have a minor standoff concerning our fake marriage and my fake rights as his fake wife. I sigh, wondering if achieving my dream this way is even worth it. “Cavanaugh-Mackay,” I mumble as I take a small sip of the thick, dark beer, immediately coughing and spitting it out.
“Are you all right?” he asks, trying and failing miserably not to laugh.
“This tastes like shit!” I blurt out. “What the hell kind of beer is this?” It’s wet and heavy and honestly tastes like a soggy scrap of molded bread. I don’t want to be rude, but holy hell, I’d rather suck on battery acid.
Niall’s eyes crinkle at the corners, his laughter finally getting the best of him. “It’s Guinness, a nice pint of the black stuff. Official drink of Ireland.”
“It’s black, all right.” I wrinkle my nose and push the offending glass away.
Still grinning, he takes a hefty drink from his own glass and smiles. “I thought all college girls were connoisseurs of this stuff.”
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 60
