by R. R. Banks
I'm still silently fuming when I catch Cesar looking at me. He shakes his head, a smile pulling at his lips as he peers at me from over his cocktail.
“What?” I ask. “What's that look for?”
“Nothing,” he replies.
We both know that it's not “nothing,” though. I can see it in his face. I tilt my head to the side and glare at him until he bursts into laughter.
“It's just, I don't see what the big deal is,” he admits.
“You think I should sleep my way to the top, Cesar?” I ask. “Or at least, sleep my way to a paycheck?”
“No, I said nothing about sleeping with anybody,” he says. “You did, you little virgin.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he's right. Cesar doesn't know that I've already had sex with Colin. Normally, I tell my best friend everything, but that fact has stayed tucked away in my brain until now. It's been fueling my own fantasies, but I haven't felt the need to share just yet.
From the look he's giving me, though, I can tell he suspects something is up. He's just waiting for me to fess up.
“Fine, I slept with him,” I say. “And I might have played with him under the table at Dickie's the other night. But it's not happening again.”
“At Dickie's?” he asks and laughs. “How appropriate.”
“Shut it, Cesar,” I growl, without any actual heat behind my words.
“Let me just say, for the record – I knew it!” Cesar says, wiggling in his seat as if celebrating the fact that he was right. “So, it really happened, right? It finally happened!”
I nod sheepishly.
“I knew you had a crush on Colin. I told you so.”
“I don't have a crush on –” I start to argue, but then stop myself as I realize how silly the argument sounds. “It was a mistake. I shouldn't have let my guard down like that with him. He's hot, but he's an asshole. It was a one time thing. A total fluke.”
“Uh-huh,” Cesar says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “If you say so, Bailey. But, it sounds to me like you're trying to convince yourself.”
“I do say so,” I say, “Which is why I can't accept his offer. If I accept his offer, I'm admitting that I'm nothing but a glorified prostitute, and my grandmother raised me better than that.”
“Do you like him?” he asks bluntly.
I hesitate a moment and then nod. “Yes,” I say quietly.
“And, does he like you?”
“He says he does, but I don't know if I believe him,” I say. “I mean, if he likes me, why can't he just introduce me as somebody he's seeing? Why the subterfuge?”
“Oh, subterfuge. Another good word,” he says. “Do you just sit around reading the dictionary in your spare time?”
“Blow me,” I say.
“I would, but you don't have the right equipment, sweetie,” he says and chuckles.
“My point is, why do we have to fake this relationship thing?” I ask. “Why can't he just – I don't know – tell them we just started seeing each other?”
“From what you told me, he already lied to them. Told them he has a fiancée – ergo, an established relationship,” he says. “If he backtracks on it and introduces you as somebody he's been seeing for five minutes, they'll descend on him like a pack of starving wolves. Sounds like he's just trying to cover his own ass, honestly.”
I sigh as the waitress sets a fresh round down in front of us. Cesar looks from his still half-full glass over to the fresh one, and shrugs. What he's saying sounds plausible, I guess. I'm assuming he talked to them before we slept together, which would make sense, I guess. I mean, the day we had sex, he did say he wanted to talk to me about a business proposal. That jibes with what he asked me the other night.
“Yeah, maybe,” I grudgingly admit. “I just don't like the idea of being paid to be his fiancée. It makes me feel dirty – like a prostitute.”
“He didn't mention sleeping with him as part of this business deal, did he?” Cesar asks.
“No, he actually insisted there'd be no sex involved,” I say. “But I don't believe him. I can tell by the way he looks at me, he wants to jump my bones every chance he gets.”
“What I wouldn't give to have him look at me that way.”
“Yeah, but you're a slut,” I say.
He shrugs. “That’s true,” he laughs. “But, you should see your face when you talk about him – or when I know you're thinking about him. You get this starry-eyed glow about you. It's actually adorable. I'm pretty sure there's something inside you that wants to jump him every chance you get, too.”
“Oh, shut up. I do not,” I say, though I feel my cheeks flushing, because Cesar’s probably right.
“Bailey, sweetie, I think you're overthinking all of this,” Cesar says. “The man just wants you to pose as his fiancée. According to you, he was adamant sex wouldn’t be part of the deal. Meaning, there's no pressure coming from him, so if sex were to occur – again – it would only be because you wanted it to.”
My cheeks flush bright red and burn as hot as the sun as I look away, staring at my bottle and wonder how it got half-empty already. I shrug and tip the bottle back, draining the rest of it. When it's empty, I slam it down on the table, my mind and stomach churning like mad, pulling me in a thousand different directions. I want Colin to like me, not think of me as some freaking business commodity.
I need another drink. Turning my attention to the bar, I search for our waitress. When I don't see her anywhere, I decide to take matters into my own hands.
“I need another beer,” I mumble, standing up.
Cesar grabs my hand and holds me fast. “Do you really need another beer?” he asks. “Or are you just trying to avoid this conversation?”
Damn. He knows me too well.
I sit back down.
“He's toxic, Cesar. He's everything I hate,” I say, falling back on the same, tired argument, just to try and preserve my sanity – and my heart.
“But, you can't resist him, right?”
I nod, biting my lip. I've never felt so vulnerable in my entire life. The idea that this man – a man who is the complete and total opposite of me in so many ways – can come into my life and do this to me, to make me question and doubt myself like this is crazy. Beyond crazy. I’m a lot like Colin in that regard – I don't handle emotions very well – another reason I was a virgin until very recently.
I mean, I'm not the type of woman who falls head over heels in love with a man just because he's easy on the eyes. I need more than a good-looking man. I need a partner who shares my passions. My values and morals. A man who shares my vision for how the world should be.
And yet, here I am, undeniably attracted to Colin Anderson – who represents everything I hate in the world. A man who stands on the wrong side of the divide I've fought so hard and bitterly against for so long.
Another voice inside my head tells me I know better than that. I've seen into Colin’s heart, and I know he's not like the others. Not really. There's a nagging feeling in the pit of my belly that forces me to constantly re-evaluate what I think about him. There is so much about him that remains shrouded in mystery to me. So much of him that remains an enigma.
Maybe I don't know the real Colin? Maybe, the gap between us isn't nearly as wide or deep as I think. Maybe, the differences between us are ones that we can overcome – together. And maybe, I can get him to reconsider his views on poverty, and the poor, in general. I mean, I've seen signs of his willingness to at least consider it in the conversations we've had. I know he’s started to realize that his perceptions may be entirely wrong. That's a start, isn’t it? That means he can change, right?
Yeah, that sounds like crap, even to me. The type of crap girls tell themselves when they fall for assholes. Oh, they can change. They can be what you want. Yeah, right.
Cesar sighs. “Girl, you need to pull your head out of your ass,” he says. “You know, I'd kill to be in your shoes right now.”
“I know, I know,” I say. �
�I have the opportunity to get a fat paycheck, and a showcase in a large, prestigious gallery –”
Cesar stops me with a chuckle. “Well, yes, that too. But I was more or less talking about being wooed and seduced by that rich, successful, gorgeous, hunk of man who seems to like you.”
I frown at him, and Cesar sticks his tongue out at me playfully. He's teasing me, and I know it. At least, I hope he is. I'm pretty sure neither one of us would sell out our morals or betray our beliefs for something as petty as a man – even one as charming as Colin.
Although he's teasing me, I also hear the truth in his words. For whatever reason, he’s giving Colin the benefit of the doubt, and obviously thinks I should too.
And here I am, considering committing to a fake relationship just to get myself ahead. Just because I know what Colin's contacts would mean for my art. For exposure. It feels like cheating. It feels like something my grandmother would be ashamed of me for. But nevertheless, I'm considering it anyway.
I want to kick myself, but I'm actually considering it.
The waitress finally makes her way back to our table, taking up my empty, and setting down a fresh bottle, while I contemplate everything Cesar has just said.
“It still feels wrong,” I say.
“Why does it feel wrong?” Cesar takes a sip from his neon blue cocktail.
“Because – well – I'm against corporatists like Colin. I'm against the elitists, and those who have no care or compassion for the poor,” I say. “And to have him help me succeed – only because I agree to be his on-call fiancée – goes against everything I stand for.”
“Is it so wrong to want your work to be seen by more eyes? Your art is amazing, Bailey. It's important, and it can do a lot of good. Especially if you can change the minds of people like Colin through it,” he says. “But, the only way to share your message with more people is to actually be seen by more people. You have the opportunity to do just that. Sure, maybe it's not the way you imagined, and some might call it cheating – though I'd argue it really isn't – but at the end of the day, the good far outweighs the bad. He's not paying you to have sex with him, so your morals remain intact. There really is no downside, and the only hang up is the one between your ears.”
I groan, rolling my eyes at him. Not because he's wrong, but because he has a valid point. All this time, I wanted to fight against everything Colin has to offer just because. It's a natural reflex. I haven't fully let my guard down yet, because of who he is and what he stands for. Though, even I have to grudgingly admit, that unlike other elitists assholes I've dealt with before, at least Colin seems open to learning and growing.
But, at the same time, I also want to find success, and not dwell in obscurity like my grandmother. I want to get my art out to a wider audience. Maybe Colin is the means to that end.
“I was really hoping you'd tell me what a bad idea this was,” I say.
Cesar shrugs, giving me the smug, annoying smirk he's practically patented. “Sweetie, how many times have I told you, that you're only getting the truth from me? What kind of friend would I be if I didn't push you outside of your comfort zone from time to time?”
I’m far, far outside my comfort zone with this whole Colin situation. And although I'm ashamed to admit it, I’m intrigued, and maybe, even a bit excited, by what Colin's connections can mean for me and my art, but there's more to it than that.
At the end of the day, I just want him to like me. I just want him to see me as a girl he can fall head over heels in love with and call his own. That's what I really want, as painful as it is to admit – even to myself.
Which is why I'm ultimately screwed, no matter what I decide to do.
* * *
Colin is already seated in the corner booth when I arrive at the Sunny Side Up Cafe. He doesn't see me when I come in, since he's sitting with his back to the door. He's not wearing his suit jacket, which is draped casually over the side of the booth, and from where I stand, his shoulders look broad, strong, and sexy in a pale blue dress shirt that clings to him enticingly.
“Damn it, Bailey, don't ever use the word sexy to describe this man again,” I curse myself under my breath.
I slowly walk over to the table, reminding myself to leave emotion at the door and treat this for what it is – a business transaction. Nothing more, nothing less. And emotion has no place in business. When I get to his table, I clear my throat to announce my arrival. Colin looks up at me and smiles – and being the perfect gentleman that he is, stands up and greets me.
“Bailey, thanks for meeting with me,” he says, his voice softer than I expected.
For a second, it feels like he might hug me, which might be kind of awkward, given the fact that I'm still warring inside internally – the thought of selling out versus using this man as a means to an end has been a bitter, repetitive fight in my mind lately.
Thankfully, he bypasses the hug, and reaches out, taking my hand in his instead – just like a proper business meeting. Though, honestly, there is some small part of me that is disappointed he didn’t, and I would have really liked to feel him wrap me up in those big strong arms. But, this is business. Nothing personal, just business. Right. Got it.
His hand envelops mine and there's a warmth and softness to his touch that for whatever reason, surprises me. It’s warmer and more personal than a normal handshake. Maybe I should expect it, given the things we've already done together, but I'm left speechless for a moment as my body tingles, and small starbursts of pleasure go off inside of me
“Uh, thanks,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”
I pull my hand away and slide into the booth across from him. It sounds stupid, even to me, and I scold myself for apparently forgetting how to talk. Just because he's hotter than hell, doesn't mean I'm contractually bound to behave like a love-sick fool in his presence.
Colin sits across from me. He waves for the server to come over to our table, and we don't say much until she takes our drinks orders and leaves.
“So, I'm assuming since you called, that you've given my proposal some thought?” he asks.
Now, there's the Colin I'm familiar with – always one to get down to business, straight away. The cynical part of my mind adds, thinking about himself, first and foremost. I know that's probably not fair, I mean, he does need an answer. I can't blame him for that. But, part of me is disappointed. I realize I was hoping, on at least some small level, that he'd tell me he'd reconsidered his idea, and had found another way to appease his family that doesn't involve me acting like a paid escort.
Doesn't seem like that's going to be the case, though.
“I have, and I just have a few concerns I wanted to discuss first,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow, but gestures for me to continue.
“I want to be one hundred percent sure that, as long as I'm technically your employee, there will be no sexual contact. Nothing, whatsoever,” I say. “I am not to be treated like your personal call girl. I will pretend to be your fiancée for the weekend in question, and that's it. If this is a straight business transaction, then let's keep it professional.”
His lips pull back into a smile, and he's clearly amused by me. Bastard. Holding his hand over his heart like a good Boy Scout, he flashes me a smile and speaks.
“I solemnly swear that I won't seduce you, Bailey,” he says. “Like I promised you before, that's not what this is about. You can trust me to behave like a gentleman.”
“You make it sound like you have some magical power of seduction that makes you irresistible to me or something,” I mumble.
“Don't I?” he teases.
I scowl, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “You're not making this any easier, Colin,” I snap. “If you want this to happen, stop with the games. I'm serious here. I am not going to make myself feel like some cheap, knockoff prostitute. Got it?”
I can tell he's trying to keep things light and not too serious. Part of me wants to believe this is as awkward for him as it is
for me because he has feelings for me too. Romantic feelings have no place in this kind of deal, though. He knows better than that. And although it's hard not to give in to the mixed bag of emotions I feel for him, I'm smart enough to know that too.
He looks at me with an abashed look on his face. It feels pretty good to watch the smug smile slip from his face as the mask of emotional control returns. At least now, I know he's serious. Colin is no longer teasing or taunting me, and he’s back to his normal, serious self. Which means I'm safe. For now.
“Fine. I promise. You have my word. I just need this one favor. Pretend to be my fiancée, and I'll make sure you're well compensated, and ensure that you get a gallery exhibit of your very own,” he says. “And there will be no more sex. You have my word.”
No more sex. I love how he throws that in there for good measure. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as the waitress brings us our drinks. Though, a small part of me is sad about it. By walking through the door of this partnership, it feels like we're closing the door on any potential for a relationship between us.
Maybe, I'm just naïve. But, it almost feels like it has to be one or the other, and that once we walk down this path together, we can't turn around and go back down the other one. That if I accept his money and influence to play house with him, I can't turn around later, and be with him for real.
That thought – that feeling – leaves an empty, hollowed-out pit in my stomach, and sends a sharp lance of regret straight through my heart.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asks, opening a menu.
“No thanks.”
“Not hungry?”
“No. And besides, this isn't a date, Colin,” I say.
He puts the menu back and waves the waitress off. I focus my attention on my iced tea, adding in some sugar and swirling it around a bit while I think over the next thing on my mind. I turn it over and over again, not quite sure how to phrase it that doesn't make me sound like some backwoods hick. All the while, Colin’s watching my struggle with translating my jumbled thoughts into actual words.
