by R. C. Martin
I gasp in jest, playfully bringing a hand to my chest. “That is simply not true. I play plenty, thank you.” Just as the words leave my mouth, my phone starts ringing from where it’s resting on top of my stack of notes. I grin like a fool when I see who’s trying to reach me. “As a matter of fact,” I begin to announce, lifting the device to answer, “I think I may have recently snagged myself a hottie.” I swipe the screen to answer but don’t bother leaving present company.
“Hello?” I can’t contain my victorious giggle when Roman asks if we can push lunch a half an hour. “Sure. Pick me up here, would you?” He agrees and immediately ends the call. “Well, ladies, looks like I have myself a lunch date. So there.” I wink at them and then make my exit.
I’m leaning against the door of my Jeep Grand Cherokee when she comes strolling out of the building. She’s in a green dress that clings to her every curve and stops—surprise, surprise—mid-thigh. The tan blazer she wears is rolled up at the sleeves and matches her high heeled shoes. Her hair is loose today and she tosses it out of her way as she slides her sunglasses on. If she wasn’t so aware of her beauty, I think I’d appreciate it more. Even the thought of telling her she looks gorgeous seems silly; like telling someone the sky is blue.
Instead of walking to the passenger side door, she comes directly to me. I stand up straight, uncertain how I feel about her being in my personal space. With her heels on, her nose is level with my chin.
“You could have come in, you know? Boyfriends come in.”
“Not your boyfriend, sweetheart,” I mutter with a snide smile.
“Not yet, anyway.” She grins at me before making her way around the front and climbing into my car. I follow suit and start driving without delay. We never discussed where we wanted to eat, but I have a place in mind. “So, what changed?” she asks, clearly not concerned with our destination.
“I talked to her.”
She shifts to face me in her seat, tugging her seatbelt away from her neck. “Wait—you talked to Daph?”
“Don’t fret, Double-O-Seven, you weren’t compromised. I barely had to say a word and I got what I needed.”
“Alright, Goldfinger, cough up the goods. What did she say?”
I chance a look at her before refocusing my gaze on the road. “Why do I have to be Goldfinger? He’s the bad—hold on a second,” I pause, realization causing me to shift my line of thinking. “You know James Bond?”
I peek at her once more and note the smirk that tugs at her lips. “Goldfinger was a fat bastard. I guess that’s not a fair comparison. I suppose if you’re going in on this with me, you’ll be undercover, too. Then again, we can’t both be Double-O, now can we? While I’m certainly sexy enough to pass as a Bond girl, they all end up dying, don’t they? Oh!” she gasps. “I’ll just be M. I am the brains of this operation, after all. But we digress! Tell me what she said.”
By the time I fill her in on the conversation Daphne and I had earlier, we’ve arrived at my chosen lunch spot. It’s a Mediterranean place that’s got the best falafel in town. Logan doesn’t seem to mind and, as we wait in line, she asks for my advice on what she should order, having never been. True to her word and against my dispute, she pays for both of us. I carry our food to a table near the window.
“So, should we talk specifics?” she asks.
I stifle a groan and force myself to remember the look on Daphne’s face a couple hours ago. I’m doing this for her. I may live to regret it, but Logan is convinced it will work. Like Ashton said, fake dating The Princess can’t be that bad, right?
I nod, signaling for her to continue.
“The deal was, once I have a boyfriend, she’ll come clean to Trevor. If we’re going to be convincing, we have to give ourselves a little time. I think we could be plausible boyfriend and girlfriend by the end of August. We just have to increase the frequency at which we see each other, talk about one another more often when we’re apart, and—oh—maybe we could try using her as our middle man. You know, to get her to give us information about each other? That would come across totally genuine.”
“Stop, stop, stop,” I insist. Her girl logic is overwhelming. I might be a bit out of practice, but I know how to chase a woman—especially when I know she’s inevitably bound to be mine, which Logan is, if this plot is to play out. “You’re making my head spin. I know how to date a girl. I don’t need instructions. We just need rules. Boundaries.”
“Okay,” she concedes, setting down her fork. “Rule number one: no one knows it’s a lie. Except for Ashton, because he was there when I first broached the idea.”
“Okay. Deal.”
“I mean no one—we have to be thorough. The only place we are free to not be interested in each other is when we’re alone.”
I don’t argue. She’s right. If we’re going to get this past Daphne, we have to make everyone believe it’s real. She’ll go hunting. The two of us together is that unbelievable. We don’t need to leave breadcrumbs along the trail for her doubt to follow and uncover the truth.
“PDA,” I proceed. “No mouth on mouth.”
She scoffs. “No kissing? Fuck that—she’ll never believe us if we don’t kiss!”
“No f-bombs, either,” I insist, pointing a finger at her mouth, which is currently turned down in a pout. “I get on her about it all the time. If I let it slide with you, she’ll notice.”
“Compromise,” she says, leaning her elbows against the table. “I’ll stop saying fuck if you agree to occasional kissing.”
“Fine. No tongue.”
“Deal.” Seemingly pleased, she picks up her fork and resumes eating.
Now that we’ve got her conditions laid out, it’s my turn. “One more thing.” She looks up from her salad, her green gaze meeting mine. “I want you to help me get Daphne to come to church again.”
She chokes on her bite and endures a small coughing fit before she’s able to speak again. “You want me to manipulate Daphne into a relationship with God? Are you crazy?”
“How is manipulating her into a relationship with God any different than manipulating her into a relationship with Trevor?” Saying the words out loud makes me realize how terrible this whole plan really is. At the same time, what Logan and I are doing won’t force Daphne into anything. We’re simply encouraging her to explore her options.
“Are you being serious?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “How about, she’s already in waist deep with Trevor? She’s in love with him! As for her and God…” She shrugs her shoulders, as if she finds the gesture to be an appropriate conclusion to her statement.
“You came up with this whole thing so that we could help her overcome her fear of being honest with Trevor about what she wants. My intentions are the same.” I draw in a deep breath, raking my fingers through my hair. “Look, all I’m asking is for you to help me get her into the building. It’s been a really long time. Her choice to choose God, or not, will still be hers; but I believe what I told you yesterday. They’re looking for more than a relationship with each other.
“Besides, Trevor goes to my church. Who knows, maybe they’ll both find what they’re looking for. Maybe if we merge our goals together, they’ll end up being better off than we ever imagined they could be.”
For a moment, she just stares at me. She doesn’t say a single word as she fidgets with the long necklace that drapes around her neck. “My plan is fool proof. Yours is not,” she says flatly. “I can try but I can’t make any promises that it’ll work.”
“Your effort is all I’m asking for,” I assure her.
“Fine. But you have to let me do it my way.”
“What way is that?” I ask, skeptically.
“I don’t know yet. You’ll just have to trust me.”
I study her for a minute. I know I don’t have a choice. The truth of the matter is, we’re in this together. This whole crazy scheme is mutually beneficial. The moment one of us backs out, neither of us gets what we want. “Okay,” I agree.
“Good. Now—let’s talk about tonight. Are there plans for after the game?”
“Not yet.”
“The Tap Room. Make it happen.”
For the rest of our meal, we don’t discuss our fake relationship. Instead, we try our hand at casual conversation. Logan thinks it’s good practice for us and that any and all information we can gather about one another will help make our connection more authentic. When I pull into the parking lot in front of her workplace, it’s one-thirty on the dot.
“Alright, Double-O, game on. Walk me to the front,” she instructs as she opens her door.
I arch an eyebrow before I remind her, “I’m still not your boyfriend.”
“Maybe not; but you are a gentleman, aren’t you? No way you’d be able to snag the likes of me if you weren’t,” she challenges.
I roll my eyes as I step out and walk her to the front of the office. The double doors that lead inside are made entirely of glass. Through them, I can see we’ve caught the attention of a couple of her coworkers. She doesn’t notice, but that just makes what I’m about to do even better.
“So, I’ll see you tonight?” she asks, holding out her hand as if to shake mine—officially sealing our deal.
I take her hand in mine. “Yes, M, I’ll be there.” Before she can pull away from me, I lift her hand to my lips and brush a kiss against her knuckles. I smile mischievously when I catch her surprised expression. I drop her hand and whisper, “Game on,” into her ear before heading toward my vehicle. I climb back in the driver’s seat and leave without a single backwards glance.
My hand tingles from where his lips touched me and I can’t help but watch him walk away.
This might be more fun than I thought.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I hardly notice the little gathering of people watching me from where they stand in the sitting area that’s set up in the middle of our office space. Brittany catches my attention first. When our eyes meet, she fans herself and winks at me. I giggle softly. She’s such a cute little hussy—she reminds me of me. Next, I spot Kim. She’s biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt to hide her grin, but instead of looking back toward the door—to insinuate she’s thinking of Roman—her eyes flicker to the person standing beside her. My gaze follows.
It takes every muscle in my body to keep my jaw from hanging wide open in awe.
I know I’m looking at Judah without an introduction.
He. Is. Gorgeous.
He’s no shorter than six four. The navy blue, three-piece suit he’s got on might cloak him from neck to toe, but it doesn’t take much to imagine what sort of god-like-sculpture he must be covering up. His broad shoulders and tapered waist, along with those strong thighs his lucky pants hug perfectly—yeah, they all speak of his body’s secrets. His hair is brown, a few shades darker than Roman and Daphne’s, making it almost black, and he wears it parted and slicked to the side. It’s confusingly sophisticated and adorable at the same time.
And his eyes…
His eyes are gray. Not blue. Not hazel. They’re gray—like charcoal. Currently, they are hooded under a tense brow. There’s a voice in my head, speaking no louder than a whisper, warning me that I should be concerned about the way he’s looking at me right now. But there’s also another voice, yelling so loud I can hardly think straight, insisting that I need to get my shit together because I. Want. Him.
“Logan, dear, there you are!” cries Edda, pulling me from my wanton thoughts.
It takes every ounce of willpower I’ve got to take my eyes off of the handsome creature in front of me in order to focus my attention on his aunt, who is making her way towards us from her office.
His aunt. Shit!
I reach up to run my fingers through my hair, needing to massage the back of my head for a second. Reality seems to have smacked me upside the noggin. I can’t have Judah. He’s my boss’s nephew. Even if that weren’t true—I’m about to have a fake boyfriend!
My eyes flicker back to Judah and I cough out an airy laugh when I find him still staring me down. He’s so hot that I internally curse Daphne and Trevor and myself for being the amazing best friend that I am. I’m about to take on their bitch of a relationship and because of that, the first guy in a really long time that just about knocks me on my ass is annoyingly out of bounds! I couldn’t flirt with him if I wanted.
I take a deep breath, appalled at the effect he’s had on me, and try and grab hold of a more rational line of thinking. Judah is here for a job—a job that I want to be a part of—a job that would be such an amazing learning experience. As sexy as he might be, The Archibald Hotel is a more realistic aspiration.
Besides, I tell myself. He’s a play thing and I’m not playing anymore. Roman or no Roman, he’s a bad idea.
“I trust you enjoyed your lunch?” Edda asks, taking hold of my arm once she’s closed the distance between us.
“Umhmm,” I hum, unable to manage more. Currently, I don’t trust my voice for a second.
“Good. Now that you’re back, I’m throwing you directly into the lion’s den. Judah has chosen you, along with Brittany and Kim, for The Archibald project.”
“M-m-me?” I stutter, looking from Edda to Judah, then back to Edda. “Even though I—” I stop myself, suddenly realizing how idiotic it would be to question his choice—although I am shocked. Sure, I wanted in, but I thought I’d have to fight for it. We haven’t even been properly introduced.
“Aunt Eddalyn has informed me that you’re quite talented. She showed me the work you contributed to your first project. I would appreciate your fresh eye. I also aim to pass along as much knowledge as I can, which is why I chose two junior associates. It’s a big project, but I think the four of us can handle it.”
Good. God.
Brittany was right. At the sound of his voice, I think I’ve started to melt from the inside out.
“Th-t-thank you, Mr. St.Michaels,” I stammer like a blubbering idiot.
“Please, Miss Schwartz, call me Jude.”
“In that case, you should call me Logan.”
“Well, Logan, we were on our way to the conference room. I’d like to brief all of you on the meeting I had this morning.”
“Sure,” I reply, relishing the way my name sounded pouring from his lips. “I’ll be just a minute.
He delivers a curt nod and then turns to leave. Edda pats my arm before she heads back to her office and Kim and Brittany saunter their way ahead of Jude. Before I can make my feet move, Jude stops and looks back at me. My breath catches in my throat when he closes the distance between us in three decisive strides.
“You can do better than him,” he mutters under his breath.
My eyes shoot up to meet his in an instant. “What?”
“When he left, he didn’t even pause to catch one last glimpse of you. He’s a fool.”
This time, as he walks away, I let my jaw fall.
I get off work at four and head straight to Generation Ink. I spend a lot of time here, seeing as it’s where the majority of my friends are all day. Pete and Willow aren’t surprised to see me walk through the door. They’re both behind the counter in the front, Willow propped on a stool and Pete standing close by. Really close. He’s making her laugh and I grin at the sight. Over the last couple of months, something has begun to shift in their relationship. They like each other, which is just so downright adorable I can hardly stand it. When I can get Willow alone, I’m going to dig for more details.
“Hey, Daphne!” she greets through her laughter.
“Hey, Daph,” says Pete.
“Hey, yourselves.”
“We missed you yesterday.” Willow comes from behind the counter to give me a hug.
“Yeah, I had to put in some roomie face time. I promise not to miss next week,” I reply, returning her embrace. I skip the small talk, hoping to let them get back to their flirting. I also haven’t heard from Trevor all day and I’m anxious to see him. “So, is he—?”
&n
bsp; “Oh, the Highway Robber is free,” grumbles Willow as she goes to reclaim her perch. “His last client just left.”
I huff out a sigh. They call him the Highway Robber when he’s got bags under his eyes because he didn’t get any sleep the night before and he’s horribly grumpy. When he’s tired, he’s irritable and sometimes he can be a real hard-ass. Nobody likes it when the boss is a hard-ass, so they generally keep their distance. The only people who aren’t afraid to push back when he’s like this are Harvey and me.
“Let me see what I can do.”
“Please,” begs Pete. “We need his head in the game tonight, not up his ass.”
I laugh quietly as I wave at them and head back to Trevor’s room. It’s the furthest one down the hall. It’s also the biggest, next to Harvey’s. The walls are covered in some of his best sketches and photographs of his award winning tattoos. His desk is situated in front of the back wall and there are shelves and filing cabinets that curve their way around half of the room, filled with supplies and design books. He’s got his workstation and his chair set up in the middle of his domain. He likes to have plenty of space when he’s working. He also likes for there to be enough room for any bystanders or supporters who might be around to hold the hand of whoever is in the chair.
When I walk in, I close the door behind me. He looks up at the sound.
“Hi,” is all he says before he continues disinfecting the recently vacated chair.
Great. He gave me one syllable. It appears as though I’ve got my work cut out for me.
I discard my purse on top of his desk, covered in sketches, and make my way toward him. I reach for his backwards baseball cap, lifting it from over his locks before placing it over my own. He sighs, standing up from his task. He discards his gloves and the wipes before looking at me with a blank expression. He’s obviously exhausted.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly.
