Mr. Misunderstood
Page 4
Mr. Mistake wanted the perfect life—or at least the appearance of perfection. And that bastard did everything he could to mold me into his model wife.
I refuse to be boxed in by another man’s ridiculous quest for perfection.
Three years since my divorce and I’m still reminding myself of that fact. But it’s worth repeating. Money, success, and status—those things don’t define me now, and they never will again.
Drawing a deep breath, I march into the kitchen, ready to give Gavin a piece of my mind. I freeze two steps inside the room. My muscles contract as if daring me to interrupt the heart-melting tableau on my tile floor.
Gavin’s right arm is looped over Ava, hugging her to his side. My sweet girl has the face of a Shepard. When she grins, the view of her teeth has a tendency to appear menacing. But I recognize her toothy smile as a sign of pure bliss. Ava is one belly rub away from falling head-over-paws for the billionaire.
And she’s not the only one.
My terrier selected a spot on Gavin’s long, outstretched legs. Cleveland looks as if he would happily play the part of a house cat as long as Gavin let him stayed curled up like that forever. Rocky, my old Labrador mix with the gray muzzle and bat-like ears that suggest he has some Shepard in his parentage, is perched on Gavin’s left side, happily licking his unshaven jaw. The scene is equal parts moving and hot.
My heart isn’t the only thing in danger of melting.
“Before you get mad, hear me out,” Gavin says as Rocky continues to bathe his day-old stubble in doggie slobber. “I have a proposition for you.”
I raise an eyebrow. Ginger presses up against my legs. At least one of my cats is eager for my attention. “I think you were supposed to proposition me before announcing our engagement to the police. When you wait until after, the correct word is trap.”
“You can still say no.” Gavin’s voice rings with sincerity. “But you have to admit, everyone would believe our sudden engagement. It’s a good story. If you’d let me finish telling the cops how seeing you covered in blood—”
“I get it,” I interrupt. I can see last night’s reality rewritten and transformed into a happy-ever-after romance too. Once upon a time, I was a bonafide romantic. That’s how I fell for Mr. Mistake. He swept me off my feet with fancy meals at the best restaurants and expensive jewelry. In the months of our relationship, I felt like I was cast in a classic romance movie. I never questioned what it would cost me to keep the role of Mr. Mistake’s perfect wife.
But now I live in the real world, and my version of everyday life comes with a half-dozen four-legged dependents. I might have more soon.
“I’ll make it worthwhile for you too,” Gavin says.
I bite my bottom lip. I have thoughts about that. So many thoughts. But I’m locking them all away in a mental compartment labeled Things You Do Not Discuss with Your Best Friend.
Plus there’s reality to consider.
“I can’t leave my dogs and cats up here while I jaunt off to the city and play your fiancée for a few weeks,” I say.
“Bring them,” he says. “Cleveland, Ava, Rocky, Luna and the cats. Bring them all with you.”
I let out a laugh. “You want me to move four dogs and two cats into your Manhattan penthouse? I went to college with your interior designer remember? She’s one of the few friends I stayed in touch with over the years. I know how much your furniture cost. I barely feel comfortable sitting on your couch. And you want me to move my animals in?”
“Yes.” He gently guides Cleveland off his lap. Giving Rocky and Ava one more pet each, he pushes himself off the floor. “We’ll spend weekends up here. At my house or yours. As long as my schedule allows. We need to make this look real.”
“I’ll need to go out with you in the city,” I say.
He meets my gaze and nods. Yes, we both know what that means. I’ll need to reenter Mr. Mistake’s world—a place where money, appearance, and image matters.
“I know what I’m asking,” he says. “I wouldn’t go through with it if this wasn’t important. If Alexandra had come at me with another sex tape …” He shakes his head.
“You’re sure you need to fight Alexandra?” I already know the answer. He wouldn’t have driven up here in the middle of the night if he thought a one-time payment would make the threat go away.
“Yes,” he says. Ava returns to his side and sits. Her tall, long ears stand at attention, and his hand brushes the top of her head. “The only way I survived was to believe I could be someone else. That kid in the picture—Terrance …”
He says the name, his name, the one given to him at birth, with such revulsion that I take a step back. But my sweet Shepard leans closer to Gavin’s side as if sensing his need for K-9 support.
“That kid,” he continues, “was weak and powerless. He couldn’t run a billion-dollar company. He couldn’t convince investors to give him the capital required to start a lemonade stand, never mind a tech venture.”
“I always thought Terrance could be more,” I say softly.
He shakes his head. “You’re the only one. Remember the shrink I had to see when the cops finally got involved?”
“My mom set it up,” I say, recalling my parents’ frantic search to find the best childhood trauma specialist in New York State.
“The psychologist explained that I might be ‘held captive’ by my childhood trauma,” he says. “She predicted the rest of my life would be overshadowed by PTSD, and warned I might become addicted to drugs or have suicidal thoughts. She’d seen it happen before with kids who were bullied for years, and many of those children had supportive families. My foster parents were worse than the kids at school.”
“I know, Gavin.” I talked to him after his appointments with the doctor. As a teenager, I was terrified for my friend.
“I had to give up on Terrance. I needed to be someone else. I still do,” he says quietly. “Please help me, Kayla. I can’t let the world see me as the kid in that picture.”
I glance at the Shepard nudging Gavin’s hand with her long nose, eager for more petting. Rocky moves to Gavin’s left side, unwilling to let Ava get all of the attention.
This won’t end well. My dogs will accidentally pee on his expensive rugs, and my cats will destroy his furniture while sharpening their claws. I glance down at Ginger. Perched on my sneaker, my tabby’s washing her face with one paw.
Ginger will shred his fancy couch intentionally, and she’ll enjoy every minute. That’s the reason her last family turned her over to the shelter. She ruined their furniture. I’m still so furious with her former owners for choosing inanimate objects over their cat that I let her tear apart mine. But everything in this house is second hand. I didn’t take a single piece of furniture from the Westchester home I shared with Mr. Mistake.
What if Gavin holds the destroyed upholstery against Ginger? What if he gets mad at her?
And what if he doesn’t? What if he allows her to wreck everything in his home?
The furniture won’t be the only thing torn to pieces. He’ll shred my heart.
“Bring your pets,” Gavin adds quickly. “But that’s not my proposition.”
“There’s more?” I murmur. I am going to agree to his crazy plan regardless of his proposition. I won’t let anything, past or present, hold my best friend captive.
He doesn’t crack a smile. Not even a hint. His fingertips brush the top of Rocky’s head. My pup returns the love, licking his hand.
“Don’t you dare offer to pay me,” I add.
The “what ifs” return, flooding my mind with questions. What if he kisses me in front of his friends to prove our engagement? I can’t accept money for kissing my best friend. I can’t take money for kissing anyone.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.
This time he smiles. And oh my, the movement draws my attention to his stubble. His jawline is model perfect.
“I would offer to fund Kayla’s Animal Farm Sanctuary for Unwanted Dogs,”
he continues. “Or whatever you’re calling your project these days.”
“I don’t have a name,” I say faintly. “Yet.”
But I do have a vision. If I had the capital, I would renovate the dilapidated barn on the border between our properties. Technically, it resides on Gavin’s side, but he would let me use it. It’s not like he’s planning to store hay and cows at the country house he rarely visits.
In the barn, I would create a farm for dogs to run and play. Then I’d reach out to shelters in the area and offer to take the pups that have spent years waiting for a home. Dogs like Ava, the ones passed over by families who thought her fierce smile meant she might bite young children. Or dogs like Luna who seemed a little too resistant to house training. Or the ones like Rocky who were simply too old when compared to the cute puppy in the cage next door … I would give them all a forever home.
But the settlement from my divorce would never cover the start-up costs, especially if I wish to continue eating too. I’m currently living off the money the judge forced my ex-husband to hand over. The occasional dog-training gig or the days spent substitute teaching at the local elementary school don’t cover the cost of maintaining my four-dog household, never mind a non-profit sanctuary.
“I’ll fund the initial costs as a donation,” Gavin continues. “I’ll have my team help you get set-up as a non-profit. Then we’ll throw an engagement party that doubles as a fundraiser. We’ll build your donor list in a single night.”
“You’re talking about hundreds of thousands of dollars,” I say.
“For a good cause. Please say yes.”
Rocky stops licking Gavin’s hand long enough to give me his best beggar’s look. Please can we keep this dog too? My old lab mix doesn’t need to say the words. I can see the plea in his dark eyes.
“Yes.”
I hear the word and I can’t believe I said it out loud. I’m going along with a plan that will break my heart.
Maybe.
There is always a chance we survive this wild scheme and remain best friends. We’ve been through so much together. This doesn’t have to break us.
“I’ll do it,” I add.
Gavin crosses the kitchen in three long-legged strides. He pulls me into a hug. Holding me tightly so I can’t see his face, he murmurs, “Thank you.”
“I would have agreed without the funding for the sanctuary.” My cheek is pressed to his chest. I can hear his heart racing beneath the thin layer of his cotton t-shirt. He smells like dog and an edgy, woody fragrance that I don’t recognize. The decidedly masculine scent reminds me of pine trees and salt air all at once. “I would have helped you no matter what.”
Because even after all of these years I can’t stand to see you afraid.
I know it is torture being the kid harassed by bullies. I watched it happen, day after day. Back then I would have given anything to protect my friend, to keep him from walking down a path that might lead to the psychologist’s worst predictions. Now I have the chance. I just never expected my stand-up-and-fight moment to arrive with a mock engagement.
Will he buy me an actual ring? I’d honestly prefer a month’s worth of dog food. But that wouldn’t photograph well at the fancy New York City events he attends.
“Sure, you would have helped,” he says. He’s still holding me tightly. “You would have hired an actress who’d probably fall head-over-heels for my lifestyle if not for me and demand that I actually marry her.”
“The horror.” My sarcastic tone is not lost on Gavin. He draws back, but keeps his arms around me. I place my hands on his biceps, ready to push free if I need a little space. But my grip tightens as if my hands have other ideas. Because wow—I think Gavin might spend those long hours in his office bench-pressing boxes of software instead of designing it.
“Go ahead and mock me,” he says. “I like my life the way it is.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I think.
“Or the way it was before Alexandra,” he continues. “I don’t need to add a gold-digging actress into the mix with blackmail.”
“I like my life too.” I push against his arms and gently break his hold on me. “I’m going to return to it when this is all over, which is why we need ground rules.”
“Rules,” he repeats with an eager grin. “Now I see what my past relationships have been missing. I forgot to break out the legal pad on the first date.”
I shake my head. “You mean that don’t you?”
“One hundred percent.” He moves to my kitchen desk and plucks a pad of paper from the messy piles. Then he riffles around for a pen. “I always have a goal and a strategy for success. Let’s sit down and map out how we plan to fool the world.”
CHAPTER 5
GAVIN
I have never been selfish when it comes to Kayla. Best friends don’t walk into your life and announce their presence. They grow over time. Then they help each other survive.
Kayla’s been helping living things, animal and human, survive for as long as I can remember. The first time I met Kayla, she enlisted my help to coax a lost dog into her house. It was starting to snow and my five-year-old future best friend was afraid the pup would freeze. Then she demanded that her parents find the owners.
Now, she is ready and mostly willing to get me through Alexandra’s blackmail threat. But it’s my responsibility to make damn sure she leaves this deal the same way she walked into it. I can’t let this plan chip away at the person she’s become since her divorce. I need to ensure her emotional survival in a world that already tore her to pieces once.
“No sex,” Kayla declares. She is seated across from me at the kitchen table, clutching a coffee mug that reads, I prefer dogs over people.
“Not with me or anyone else while we’re engaged,” she continues.
And I was worried about her fragile emotions.
I write NO SEX in all caps at the top of the page. “Next rule?” I ask.
No need to mention that I wasn’t planning on seducing her and destroying our friendship. Without Kayla, I will lose my mind. I’m not exaggerating. It’s been that way since elementary school. Why would I ruin the best part of my life with sex?
“No kissing,” she says. “Unless it is absolutely required.”
I cock my head and put on my serious expression. I have had a lot of practice looking like I’m contemplating a proposal when I’m dying of laughter inside. “How do you define ‘required kissing’?”
“No one will believe this farce if we don’t look like we’re together,” she explains. “That may lead to an occasional kiss. You need to appear head-over-heels in love with me. I haven’t met Alexandra the blackmailer, but I’m guessing she was gorgeous—”
“You are too,” I cut in. “And you know it.”
“That’s not my point. You had your hands all over Alexandra when you were in public, didn’t you? Constantly looking for ways to slip away for some alone time?”
Holy shit. She knows.
I blink and try to find the appropriate response. “I promise to keep my sexual kinks in check for the duration of our relationship” sounds … flat-out wrong.
“You’re crazy if you think most of Manhattan, or at least the people in your social circle, don’t know about your habit of disappearing from public events with your girlfriend-of-the-hour to find a semi-private location.”
That explains how Alexandra set up the perfect relationship trap.
I turn my focus to the notepad. “No kissing unless necessary to maintain the ruse,” I say as I write the words. “Kayla is in charge of defining necessary.” I glance up. “Sound fair?”
“No, it needs to be equal,” she says. “You’re better at reading these people than I am. You might see a moment that demands a kiss that I completely miss because I’m too worried about running into my ex-husband.”
“Good point.” I revise the rule and then glance up at her. “Can I add one now?”
She nods to the legal pad. “Of course.”
“Thank you,” she says and draws a deep breathe. She exhales and adds, “That brings me to rule four. I will decide what I wear to events.”
“Done,” I say quickly. I know it tears into her memories just to say those words. Experience has taught me that looking backwards always hurts. I know the same is true for her.
“Kayla can wear I love cats sweatshirts to black tie events if she wants,” I say as I write out the rule.
“It’s not a joke,” she says.
But when I look up, I see she’s fighting a smile.
“I’m not going to wear something that embarrasses you,” she adds. “I just need to choose my own clothes and shoes. I have to feel like myself when we go out.”
“You won’t embarrass me,” I say. “If someone starts to wonder why I proposed to the woman in the cat sweatshirt, I’ll play the Necessary Kissing card and drag you away to a quiet corridor where we will take a break from the party without having sex.”
“Are you going to tell your publicist the truth?” she asks.
“Last night, you said we should keep it from her,” he points out.
“I’m starting to wonder if we’ll need Margaret’s help to make this work,” she says.
I turn the question over in my mind. Margaret is one of the few people in the world who knows the truth about my past, but bringing her into this deception doesn’t sit right with me.
“No,” I say. “I think you’re right. I need her responding to the news like everyone else. Plus, if we can convince her, we can fool anyone. Then Margaret will dive into action when Alexandra comes forward with her threat.”
“So that’s rule five,” she says. “We keep this between you and me.”
“And your mother,” I add quickly.
Her eyes widen. “She’s in Florida, retired and golfing.”
“She’ll still hear about it. You’re her only child, and she lives in a gated community filled with other widows who obsess about their children and grandchildren.”