He was used to being pretty cold where the opposite sex was concerned. Thanks to his early relationships with his mother, he figured a shrink would have a field day with his repressive traits. But the shrinks would also have a field day when taking into account how he was responding to Samantha.
Dammit, he’d loathed her for a lot longer than he’d liked her. And even now, the liking was entangled with a weird kind of anger. She’d broken the looking glass, made him see the truth.
A nasty truth.
Jamie wasn’t the man Josh had believed him to be.
The one person, aside from his grandparents, he truly believed he could say he loved, and it had been a lie.
He firmed his mouth at the thought, refusing to go down that path again. He’d already had too many sleepless nights over the past, and he was intending on helping Samantha out, to rectify the lies Jamie had fed them all.
He’d do what he could, would always be there to support her and Erin come what may.
Josh agreed with the opinion most people had of him. He was cold. But where it mattered, his honor ran true. His grandfather had taught him that.
“Harold, why didn’t you listen to Mrs. Garrett?”
“You insisted she be here by five, sir.”
Josh winced; he remembered that conversation. He’d spoken to Harold that morning about collecting Samantha, and Josh hadn’t entirely been in that great a mood after he’d heard news of a deal potentially going south.
He rubbed his chin. “I might have seemed a tad more forceful than intended. In future, you’re to listen to Samantha if she insists she can’t attend me.”
“Attend you?” Samantha scowled at him. “What do you think you are? A pasha?”
He cocked a brow. “No. You’re fiancé.”
Harold stiffened at that. “I apologize, sir. Ma’am.” He cut Samantha a sheepish look. “I didn’t realize.”
Josh nodded at the man, knowing the apology was truly meant and that the fault rested with him. He reached for Samantha’s arm, sliding his hand under her elbow. Cupping it, he guided her forward and away from Harold. “I’m sorry about that.”
“He treated me like a criminal,” she spat, tugging her arm free from his.
The hiss garnered the attention of the assistant. Josh sighed, well aware he was breaking all of Jacobsons’ rules about silence.
Grateful no other customer was here, he murmured, “That’s because I was in a mood when I arranged for him to collect you.”
“I don’t appreciate being collected like a package,” she insisted. “I’ve had enough of that in my life.”
The reminder wasn’t welcome. Inside, he tensed, but he tried to remain loose and calm on the outside—the last thing she needed was for him to look angry.
He was angry. But not with her.
With Jamie.
Again.
“I’m sorry. I should have called.”
Truth was, he wasn’t in the habit of making arrangements with women. He told them when he was going to meet them, and they accommodated him. That was how it worked with his mother and with his lovers.
It was standard practice.
But there was nothing standard about Samantha.
Nothing standard at all, and that was what concerned him about her.
He hadn’t lied when he said he’d loathed her.
Throughout her marriage, he’d believed her to be a soul-sucking, money-grabbing bitch. Exactly like his mother. He’d hated her on principle, and that was before Jamie had perpetuated the image by describing her in ways that would make even a preacher raise his brows in contempt.
But now, after the loathing was burnt away by the truth of her marriage, he was left floundering.
Josh didn’t like floundering.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She stared up at him, her bright eyes glinting a little as she started to smirk. Surprised, he jolted her arm, jostling her forward. She laughed. “You haven’t called a woman up to make an arrangement with her in a long time, have you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean,” she retorted calmly, “you call them, tell them to jump, and they’re not even expected to say “how high?” They’re just supposed to be your little dolls.” She cocked a brow at him. “Am I wrong?” She smirked again when he stayed silent, just peered down into those new copper penny—bright eyes. “No, I’m not.”
“Our relationship doesn’t preclude you judging me on the way I date,” he said silkily, urging her forward once more to where the blond assistant was eagerly watching the display before her like she was watching a daytime soap opera.
Josh sighed at the thought, and was relieved Jacobsons made their staff sign strict NDAs. The last thing he needed was to go viral on Instagram over this shit.
“No, I guess not,” she agreed, “Still, I’ll gladly give you some hints and tips if you want to improve your game. Lesson one, don’t have your henchmen barge into your prospective date’s house like a bunch of stormtroopers, and don’t have them frog march her out of the house in front of all the neighbors.”
Inwardly, he cringed. Outwardly, he just sighed again. “It was that bad?”
“Worse,” she countered, sounding surprisingly cheerful.
He eyed her carefully. “You’re not mad anymore?”
“No. I like the hangdog expression on your face. You wear it well.”
He scowled at her. “What?”
“I’ve never seen you apologize before. Not even to Jamie.”
“I don’t do it often,” he said stiffly.
“Because you think you’re above reproach or because you never do anything wrong?”
The sweet tone pricked all his warning defenses, activating them into red alert. “I don’t think I should answer that. I’m not a lawyer, but I can sense a trap forming. Even if it’s only with words.”
She winked at him. “Good call.”
He heaved out a breath. “Look, I brought you here today so we could arrange for the ring.”
“What ring?”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re engaged. Your engagement ring.”
She peered around the jewelers. “Somehow, I managed to figure that out, but it’s totally unnecessary. I don’t need a ring. I can wear something Jamie gave me.”
“Janice would notice that immediately.”
Janice was exactly like Elizabeth, except she’d been clever enough to be married to Frank before she gave birth—though their relationship had started with an affair too.
A fact Jamie had learned after overhearing a row between his parents one night when he was eight. Josh could easily remember his best friend telling him the next day the vitriol the two had tossed at each other, all within hearing range of their son.
He remembered because Jamie had been particularly down about Frank’s accusations Jamie wasn’t his.
He sucked in a breath as in his mind’s eye, he saw the snot-nosed kids he and Jamie had been, huddled together at recess at an exclusive prep school, both miserable, both clinging to each other for comfort in a world where their parents didn’t give a damn.
They weren’t alone in their class. Rich families weren’t exactly renowned for being ultra-caring, but Josh and Jamie had bonded from the instant. He didn’t know why, and had never questioned it before—had always been grateful for the way they’d made friends.
Now?
Now he wasn’t so sure.
And he hated that. Hated the doubt where once upon a time, there’d never been any.
Still, that wasn’t Samantha’s fault.
He cleared his throat, realizing that, once again today, the women in his life, both permanent and temporary, had been speaking without him processing a damn word.
Crap, this whole situation had really knocked him off kilter.
He wasn’t used to not having his head in the game, and this was really fucking with his control.
That could not be allowed to continue, so, h
is tone like a blanket intended to dampen further argument, he murmured, “Whatever you say, you need a ring if anyone’s to believe that we’re engaged.” The last part he said softly, whispering the words in her ear so the attendant couldn’t overhear—NDA’s weren’t always ironclad after all.
Trouble was, their proximity made it so her perfume, her scent, overwhelmed his senses.
Overwhelmed him.
She smelled like fucking flowers and fresh air.
Who smelled like that?
Like walking laundry detergent? And who made it smell good? Sensual?
He blinked, taken aback by his visceral response to her.
Yet again, he cleared his throat of the emotion gathering there, emotion that was poorly placed, and murmured, “Just take the gift.”
“Only if you don’t expect me to keep it.” She eyed him, shooting a gimlet stare his way. “This is your plan, your idea. I won’t have you thinking I’m in this for a rock.”
He snorted, for the first time finding something amusing in this bewildering situation. “That’s the last thing I think.” He cocked a brow at her. “I want to get the initial meeting with Janice and Frank over with. It will have to be soon, and you’ll need a ring as proof. Mother only hasn’t spoken with Janice over this because she thought she could talk me out of it.”
Samantha propped her hands on her hips. “She called to talk about me?”
“Mother does nothing but call to bitch about something,” he muttered, disregarding her umbrage, disregarding the coolness of his relationship with his mother. “Come on. I want to make sure the ring will fit. I want to see them before the end of the week.”
“It’s Friday tomorrow. When do you want to see them? Sunday? You know they’re always in the Hamptons come Saturday morning,” she mocked.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” he countered immediately, looking at the pearl the attendant had placed on a different cushion to showcase it. Against the burgundy, its luster was enough to catch even his attention… A man more accustomed to being attracted to the sparkle of a large bauble than a delicate piece such as this.
Samantha, sensing his attention wasn’t on her, glowered at his line of sight, then, she froze, her shoulders reared back as she too caught sight of the pearl. “My gosh, it’s beautiful.”
“It’s a vintage piece, ma’am,” the blonde said eagerly, apparently sensing a sale.
“It is? Who did it belong to?”
Josh frowned. “I didn’t think Jacobsons repurposed old pieces.”
The blonde nodded. “It’s something new we’ve been trying out,” she told him politely, her smile bright. “It’s been quite a successful venture for those ladies who wish for something a little more retro.”
What she meant was the ladies who weren’t interested in the flash but the substance.
And though he’d always believed Samantha was the former, he had to admit… she was definitely the latter.
He swallowed at the thought and watched as she reached out to caress the ring. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is. It’s originally from England. From the Duchess of Keithley’s private collection.”
“A duchess?” Samantha whispered, sounding in awe at the prospect. “It totally suits. It’s like from the Regency or something.”
The attendant beamed. “That’s exactly right, ma’am. It’s from the eighteen-twenties. We have all the original paperwork too.”
“What kind of paperwork?” Samantha asked, her curiosity prickling in a way that enchanted Josh.
And he wasn’t the kind of guy to be enchanted.
“The original goldsmith the Duke hired. His stamp and seal, as well as the information from the gold assay office. It’s all very exciting. It’s the oldest piece we have in the collection at the moment.”
Seeing how taken Samantha was with the ring, Josh murmured, “Would you like to see the rest of the collection? The vintage pieces, I mean?”
Samantha turned rounded eyes his way. “Can I have any ring I want?”
When he nodded, the attendant murmured, “There are some quite unusual pieces in the collection, ma’am.”
Samantha immediately shook her head. “No. No way. If I can have anything I want, it’s this one.”
“You’ve changed your tune,” he murmured, turning to whisper the words directly in her ear. He hated himself, but he purposely did so to inhale her scent once more, to breathe in her proximity. To the attendant, he stated, “We’ll take that one, please.”
“Our goldsmiths can handle the resizing now if,” the attendant coughed, “timing is of the essence?”
“It is.” He shot the woman a narrow-eyed stare, one that had her blanching. Then, he felt an elbow in his side and gaped down at the woman beside him. “What?”
“She’s doing us a service. Don’t be rude to her.” To the assistant, Samantha shot her a smile. “Don’t worry about my fiancé, he’s just a bear sometimes. You know how men can be.”
The woman sputtered, and damn, Josh couldn’t blame her.
He felt like sputtering himself.
Chapter 8
Samantha
Back in her kitchen a couple of hours later, Samantha shot her ‘fiancé’ a look. Erin was on his knee, and they were discussing—in a tone that belonged to a geopolitical debate—Erin’s day at playschool.
Before Jamie had died, even though Erin had been of age, he’d refused to allow their son to do something as ‘plebeian’ as attend a playgroup.
The first thing she’d done had been to sign him up.
Just the memory of that small rebellion, however slight, had her lips twitching, then her eyes accidentally caught focus on the new ring which sparkled as she moved her hand—she was preparing dinner for the three of them.
Whatever she’d expected when she’d been marched out of the house barely four hours ago, it hadn’t been to be dragged to a jeweler’s. Especially not one that spoke of such class and wealth, it was like entering a gallery.
But Josh’s guy had treated her like a criminal, a fact she didn’t appreciate and was only grateful that Erin hadn’t been there to see!
He’d already seen his mother being hauled around by his father, the last message she wanted to send was that it was fine for a woman to be treated like that.
There was no way in hell she was passing on that kind of mentality to her son.
His father had four years’, just, of influence on him. She intended to use the rest of his childhood to eradicate anything like that, refused for her son to be anything like his father.
No way. No how.
For a second, she wondered if Frank had beaten Janice. Kids learned from their parents, after all, and that was why she was so scared for Erin.
But Samantha simply couldn’t imagine Janice taking it.
Which sounded unfair.
Many women might think she wasn’t the kind to ‘take’ being hit and abused, but it had happened to her. Still, Janice was… ebullient. If anything, Samantha could imagine her father-in-law being the recipient of slaps and angry shoves.
Maybe that was where Jamie had learned such behavior was right?
She pursed her lips, jerked her attention from the creamy pearl nestled on her finger and the sparkling opals that were like fire on her hand. Stirring the sauce, she called out, “Dinner’s almost ready, boys.”
She purposefully ceased pursing her lips and curved them into a smile—boys. Ha. The last time Joshua Lewis had been called that, she’d bet he’d been fourteen!
“Time to wash up, Josh,” Erin said, his tone serious. “Mommy won’t serve dinner if we’ve got dirty hands.”
Her grin widened as she peeked over her shoulder and saw Erin leading Josh to the downstairs bathroom.
The sight of her son, the older and bigger man’s hand clutched in his, had her licking her lips. It didn’t disturb her. Didn’t upset her. But it did put her nerves on edge.
She hadn’t meant to introduce Josh into Erin’s life. Af
ter Jamie’s passing, either through grief or lack of interest, he’d barely spent any time with her son. If he checked up on them from time to time, outside of her awareness, that wasn’t something she knew about. But dragging Josh into their world… maybe it would have a positive effect on Erin.
Maybe, just maybe, when this was over, and her in-laws had ceased this ridiculousness, Josh could stay a part of Erin’s life?
She couldn’t imagine her son grabbing his father’s hand and tugging him away to the bathroom.
Now she thought about it, she couldn’t remember one instance at all. She’d thought she’d hid the real truth of her relationship, but Erin had always been cautious around Jamie. He’d been all smiles and hugs for her, but he’d been taut and strained with his father.
She bit the inside of her cheeks to quench the emotion her thoughts stirred, but her attention was averted anyway when Josh and Erin returned.
Having served dinner—breaded chicken fillets with mashed potatoes and home-made gravy—she placed the plates on the table, then grabbed her own and took a seat opposite Josh.
The square table didn’t allow for there to be ‘heads’ at the table. They were all just seated around it in a way that felt distinctly, and disconcertingly, cozy.
But she had no right to find this situation cozy. No right at all.
“Do you mind my spending so much time with your mommy, Erin?” Josh asked after he’d taken a few bites and had thanked her and complimented her on the meal.
She almost choked on her own food at the question. Shooting him a glare he ignored, his attention fixed firmly on her son, she kicked out under the table, satisfied when her foot connected with his shin.
He finally returned her look, but there was a blandness to it that told her she was about to be avoided.
Gritting her teeth, she grumbled, “This is hardly talk for the table.”
“Why not, mommy?” Erin said, carefully picking up a piece of chicken and nibbling on the crust to reveal the white, tender flesh beneath. “I like Josh. I like him being here. He makes you smile.”
Her eyes widened—Erin really thought that? Loathe to contradict him, even if Josh did grin at her son’s retort, she grumbled, “Can I help being a smiley person?”
Believing Her: An Enemies to Lovers Fake Fiancé Romance Page 6
