Closing my eyes, I grip the windowsill. My wine tastes bitter as I drain it. Sleeping with her is the last thing I need to think about. We’re going to survive a week with my uncle and his new girlfriend, then forget this ever happened.
5
Simone
My first stop is my apartment, where I grab a selection of scented candles from my obscenely large collection. I even splash out and grab the unused ones stacked ten deep in my linen closet. Yes, I have a problem. No, I don’t want to talk about it. I toss a few throw pillows and blankets into bags for good measure, then head to the local department store. I buy sheets, pillows, and a duvet cover, then stop at the florist to grab some plants and fresh-cut flowers. I stop by the café, using my keys to unlock the door and step into the dark space. I take some pastries and desserts that Jen made, putting them in a big white box, and leave a note itemizing what I’ve taken. Fiona won’t mind. I hope.
My last stop is the bookstore. Agnes is perched behind the front desk, her short legs swinging off the edge of a chair, a pair of reading glasses balanced on the edge of her nose.
She looks up as the door opens, then frowns. “What do you want?”
“Lovely to see you too, Agnes.”
The old woman rolls her eyes. “I haven’t got all day, Simone.”
I glance around the empty bookstore, wondering what could possibly be taking up all of Agnes’s time, but wisely choose not to comment on it. Instead, I lean my hip against the counter. “I need some beautiful-looking books about interior design. Coffee table books, reference manuals, magazines—anything you’ve got. Something that will look good displayed.”
She frowns. “You rent a tiny apartment.”
“Maybe I’m starting a new business.”
“And maybe I’ll transform into a twenty-five-year-old supermodel at the full moon.”
We stare at each other for a beat.
I crack first. “Have you got the books or not?”
Agnes gives me a long-suffering sigh, then hops off her chair and waves a hand. We weave through the stacks to the back corner of the bookstore, and Agnes points to a shelf. “There.”
“Thanks.” As she walks away, I start reading the titles on the spines. Choosing half a dozen books, I haul them over to the front desk.
Agnes says nothing as she rings my purchases through, but I glance around the store. “Would you be interested in having a small display of books at the café?”
Agnes pauses, her hand hovering over one of the books I’ve chosen. Her eyes narrow. “Why would I do that?”
“You could have the display branded with the bookstore logo. Maybe have bookmarks with your address and phone number, put out some classics and bestsellers. People would come in, browse the books while they wait for their coffees, maybe buy one. We’d keep a small portion of the sale and you’d get more exposure and business for the bookstore.”
Agnes stares at me for a moment, pursing her lips. Her face is so wrinkled, most expressions look pinched, but I can see the wheels turning inside her head. Finally, she bags my books up and meets my gaze. “That’s not a bad idea, Simone. I’ll talk to Rudy about getting it organized.”
Rudy is Agnes’s grandson. He’s in his thirties, handsome, and is the apple of Agnes’s eye. Straight white teeth, blond hair, and easy charm. You could plant him next to a stack of books and watch sales skyrocket.
I nod. “Let me know what you decide.” I take my books and scamper back to the truck in time to see Fiona exiting the hotel. She’s wearing yoga clothes, which means she was probably at one of Candice’s classes. Shit.
“Simone?” She walks toward me, her eyes moving to the truck. “Is that Wes’s truck?”
“I, uh…” I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“Why do you have it?”
“I’m, um, helping him out. I told him I owed him a favor when he gave us the lease to the café, and he needs help hosting his family in town next week.”
“Oh.” Fiona smiles, waiting for me to elaborate.
Not gonna happen. Instead, I tell her about my conversation with Agnes.
Fiona’s eyes brighten. “See, this is why you’re a marketing guru, and all I can do is day-to-day management. The café wouldn’t be the same without you.”
I smile, placing the books next to the bouquets of flowers in the passenger seat of the truck.
Fiona watches me, still obviously waiting for an explanation.
“Well, I’d better get going.” I smile awkwardly.
“Simone, there’s something you’re not telling me.” She crosses her arms.
“You’ve really got the mom thing down, Fi. I feel for Clancy.”
“Simone.”
I take a deep breath. What’s the big deal about this whole working-for-Wes thing? Why am I keeping it secret? I know Fiona, Jen, and Candice would feel weird about me giving a week of my life for their sake, and I just… I’m sick of people questioning my decisions. I don’t want the whole town to know. I don’t want rumors. I don’t want people wondering what else I might have promised for this lease. I’m sick of being judged for anything other than who I am.
And…I’m embarrassed. Fiona came into town and met Grant within about ten seconds. The only man I can get a real date with is my ex-husband, which is about as much fun as it sounds. For the past eight years I haven’t gotten past the second date with anyone, and I’ve slipped up and slept with Nate half a dozen times, the latest of which was six months ago.
Not good.
Here’s Wes, this gorgeous, muscle-bound hottie, and he doesn’t even see me as a woman. No, he wants to hire me to be the damn maid. He’d never want to actually date me. I’m past my use-by date. Forty-five, divorced, and broke. What a catch.
It just… If I don’t tell anyone, I can pretend it doesn’t sting. I can tell myself it’s a simple business arrangement. A means to an end. The cost of getting the lease.
Fiona lets her lips slide into a smile. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Will you be at the café tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
She wraps her arms around me. “When you see Wes, tell him Grant got a temporary board up on the roof. He’s going to get a few quotes from roofing companies to fix the damage and check the rest of the building. Should have some options for Wesley by the end of the week.”
“Will do.” I give Fiona a little salute and slide into the truck. I drive back to Wes’s place, already looking forward to the day when his uncle leaves and I can go back to living life on my terms.
I walk into Wes’s house and smell bleach. Wes exits the guest bathroom with a bucket dangling from a rubber-glove-clad hand, his eyes widening as he looks at my multitude of bags.
“You owe me two hundred and seventy-three dollars,” I say. “And sixteen cents.”
“Is that right?”
“I kept the receipts.”
“And the fact that these purchases were your idea doesn’t factor into that calculation?”
“These purchases are going to help us weave the illusion you’re trying to achieve, boss. Now help me with the bags.”
Within minutes, we’ve got the flowers in vases, candles lit, throw pillows artfully displayed on the living room couch, and new sheets spread over the guest room bed.
Wes puts his hands on his hips and nods. “You were right.”
I cup my hand to my ear. “Come again? What’s that?”
The dimple makes an appearance as Wesley grins. My poor lady-parts quiver with delight. “You were right, Simone.” He takes a step toward me, eyes darkening. “I eat my words. The place looks better now than it did before. Looks lived-in and classy and like I’m here to stay. You are wise and all-knowing and I was a fool to ever question you.”
Another step shrinks the distance between us, and pretty soon we’ll be chest to chest. I can’t handle that much Wesley in my space. If he gets close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, I’m not sure I trust myself not to lean into him and run my fingers over th
at broad expanse of muscle.
I’m working for him. That’s all.
So, I extend my hand, palm up. “Pay up, buddy.”
His grin widens and the second dimple shows up. My lady-parts jump for joy and start a party in my panties. Shoot me now and put me out of my misery. It’ll be better than the torture of being in his presence for a whole week.
My body hasn’t exactly gotten the memo about this being a working relationship.
The doorbell rings before I manage to melt into a puddle of female need, thank goodness. Wesley stiffens, his gaze taking on a hard edge. “They’re here.”
I’m half a step behind Wesley as he opens the door. A man in a crisp black suit greets us. It looks suspiciously like a uniform. His hair is streaked with silver, and he holds himself tall. A car idles in the driveway behind him. I throw Wesley a questioning glance, which he dutifully ignores.
“Mr. Byron.” His voice is a deep baritone, his eyes bright and intelligent. He glances at me for no more than a second or two, but I have a feeling he misses nothing. The driver gives Wes a deep nod that teeters on the edge of a bow.
Oh, give me a break. Wes’ll need a little wagon to cart around his own ego after this.
“Hi, Eli.” Wes glances at the car. “Are they in there?”
“We wanted to make sure you were home. I’ll grab the bags.” The man spins on his heels and heads for the car as the two rear doors open.
“They brought their own driver?” I whisper as I paint a smile on my face. “No wonder you needed a maid. This is keeping up with the Joneses on steroids.”
“Eli’s basically a personal concierge, assistant, and driver all in one. He must have thought I wouldn’t have staff. We’ll need to find a place for him to stay. I told you my family was well-off.”
“You told me your family was difficult.”
“Same thing, no?” His eyes glimmer in that way that always makes me want to tear his clothes off.
“Wesley!” An older gentleman exits the car and spreads his arms wide.
“Uncle Sean,” Wes says, his voice oddly flat. “Good to see you.”
Uncle Sean slides his meaty hand over his salt-and-pepper hair, his dark-green eyes assessing. He’s built like a man who worked out most of his life, and even into his sixties, he’s still carrying a decent amount of muscle. A hard stomach bulges slightly over his pressed trousers, but he doesn’t look fat. Just solid. And scary.
This was a terrible idea. I’m going to hate this.
Then Sean’s new girlfriend exits the car, and everything turns to shit. Wes freezes beside me, his face a dull mask of rage. Something’s very, very wrong.
The young woman gives Wes a smile that says a thousand things. It’s triumphant and gloating and cruel. She’s tall and thin, built like a model—except for the massive tits. Her nipples poke through the pale yellow fabric of her dress like two headlights. The clothes hug her flat stomach and generous hips. She has long, chocolate-brown hair styled in loose waves that were definitely done by a professional. Deep, olive skin is set off by the yellow of her dress, and dark eyes flash under finely groomed eyebrows. A tailored jacket is thrown over her shoulders like a cape, rich-person style.
Yeah, I feel frumpy as hell, old, and worried that I’m missing some crucial piece of information. Does Wes know her?
“Alina,” Wes says through clenched teeth.
“Hello, Wesley.” Her voice is a purr.
Wes looks like he’s about to shoot flames from his eyes. He turns to his uncle. “What’s going on, Sean? What is she doing here?”
“Don’t be rude, son.”
“I’m not your son.” He turns to Alina. “Why are you here?”
Oh, shit. He definitely knows her. He…dated her? Am I reading this right? Some sort of sick drama is unfolding right before my eyes. If I stand really, really still, maybe no one will notice me. Where’s my feather duster when I need it?
Eli grabs suitcases out of the trunk, oblivious. Either that, or he’s used to it.
Alina ignores Wes’s question and turns that plastic smile to me. “Who’s this?” Her eyes drop down to my leggings, my sneakers, my loose top.
Wonderful. I meant to change before they got here, and I feel more than a little sweaty and disheveled after my shopping trip and rush to set up the room. Honestly, a sexy maid’s uniform would be better than this.
Then, Wes hooks his arm around my waist and drags me closer to him with a hard tug. I crash into his hard chest with a low oomph, barely catching myself against his pecs as the edge of the porch looms closer. He stops me from falling with another yank in the opposite direction, his side a hard wall against my front, his arm wrapped around my waist. What the…?
“This is my girlfriend, Simone,” Wes says, his hands gripping me with iron strength.
His what? Excuse me? What the fresh hell is going on?
Frantically, I stare up at his face. He meets my gaze, his lips stretched in a tense smile. I’m still pressed against his side, smelling wood smoke and cedar and Wes. Another tug, and I’m even closer. Breasts crushed against his chest. Legs tangled with his. In literally any other situation, I’d be over the moon with this development. Except for the fact that none of this makes any sense.
Wes’s lips skate over my cheek, his breath tickling my ear. “Play along.”
Play? Along?? That’s the explanation I get? Are you freaking kidding me?
Fine. Fine. You want me to play along? I’ll play along, you big burly oaf. I’ll play along so hard you won’t know what the hell hit you…you mongrel. You little shit. Maid, my ass. Did he plan this? Was this his idea the whole time?
Play along. Pfft. Right. Sure.
I spin in his arms, leaning against his chest. “Welcome.” I’m the woman of the house. Welcome to my domain. This is my lover, Wesley. Nothing to see here. This is all perfectly normal and expected.
My lips curl into a smile. I nuzzle and spin against Wes, grabbing his hands to hook both arms around my waist, my back leaning against his front. I grind my ass into him for good measure.
Wes freezes. Ha! Play along with that, asshole.
Recovering quickly, Wes puts an inch of space between his crotch and my ass. His arms hold me in place so I can’t back into him again. Damn his strength. He deserves to be uncomfortable.
“Looks like we’ll be able to double date!” Alina bares her teeth, eyes flicking between the two of us. She’s…mad? Is she psycho? Why would she be mad Wes is dating someone when she showed up here with his uncle? Whatever family drama is going on, I don’t even want to know. I did not sign up for this.
Wes’s voice is low when he speaks again, rumbling through his chest and along my spine. “How great. Come in.”
Alina somehow manages to walk gracefully on six-inch heels through gravel to the front of the car. Dang. I would’ve broken my ankle a dozen times trying that.
Sean slides his thick arm around the younger woman’s waist, his eyes almost predatory as they meet Wes’s. “I wanted to tell you in person. That’s why I didn’t warn you when we spoke on the phone. I thought it would be better this way.”
Wes still has his arms around me, holding me between him and his uncle like a shield. Great. Exactly where I want to be right now—in the middle of some family boxing match that I have literally no desire or right to be witnessing.
I glance back to see Wes’s face. Totally blank. His voice is frigid. “Tell me what.” A muscle feathers along his jaw, his arms stiff by his sides. Oh, no. This is very, very bad.
And I’m in the middle. Literally—in the middle.
Oh, Wes is going to hear about this. He is going to get a very large piece of my mind. I’m not going to take it easy on him. This wasn’t part of our deal. Nuh-uh.
“We met at a fundraiser last year.” Alina’s voice is like velvet. She turns to look at Wes’s uncle, a flirty smile playing over her lips. “It was—”
“Don’t say love at first sight.” Wes is shaking
now, the length of his body trembling against mine. I need to do something.
I turn toward him and slide my hand over his arm. He nearly jerks his entire upper body away from me. Smooth. Real convincing, loverboy.
Wide-eyed, he glances at me and lets out a long breath. He clasps my hand in his much larger one and with visible effort, clamps down the rage flaring in his eyes. Then he turns back to our guests and inclines his chin. “I’m happy for the two of you. Please come in.”
As we turn around, I glance at Wes and speak out of the corner of my mouth. “You dated her?”
“I was engaged to her.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, his gaze turned inward. His body feels stiff beside mine, his control obviously a hair away from slipping.
Alina was his fiancée, and now she’s dating his uncle. We’re supposed to host them for a week and pretend that everything is okay. Oh my goodness. And now…I’m his girlfriend? I close my eyes for a brief moment to gather myself. Difficult is right. Vile and conniving never seemed so accurate.
With a deep breath, I rearrange my face into a placid smile. I survived eleven years as Nate’s wife. I can do one week as Wes’s girlfriend, fake or not.
It’s for Fiona, Candice, Jen, and me. For the café. It’s so I can hold my head high and keep my word, and continue to live life on my terms. I’m doing this because I need to do it, and I won’t let a bit of family drama drag me down.
I pat Wesley’s arm. “Why don’t you go crack open a bottle of champagne in the kitchen? I’ll show them to their room.”
Wesley nods and turns on his heels. His movements are jerky, as if some puppet master is yanking his strings all wrong.
I turn to the guests, pointing Eli, bags in hand, to the guest room. He drops the bags and does that weird nod-bow thing that will definitely make me uncomfortable if he does it all week, then heads back to the car.
Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2) Page 5
