by L A Pepper
“What?” A ring. A giant emerald-cut diamond ring in a vintage setting. I gasped.
“It was his grandmothers. Now that you’re not hiding your relationship, he wants you to wear it.”
I eyed her. She didn’t know that it wasn’t fake. I nodded and played along while she grilled me about my tastes, my current wardrobe, and my needs. I had never even thought of the things she was asking me. By the time we reached the Barneys on Fifth Avenue, my head was spinning. There was no time to think about it as she shuffled me to a private dressing room and shoved outfit after outfit at me to try on.
I decided to just go with the flow, and soon she had me outfitted with shoes, dresses, coats, suits, makeup, even underwear that was far more expensive than I could have or would have bought on my own. I tried to be shocked at the cost, but the more she shoved at me the more I grew numb, and a little bit giddy.
“Very good,” she said, at the end of the whirlwind morning. I was now dressed in a chic sheath dress and high-heeled boots, back in the town car on my way to work. “You look wonderful. The rest of your purchases will be sent to your apartment.”
“This was too much, Bar,” I said, for the twentieth time today.
But this time, maybe because her work was done for the morning. “Don’t worry, Chloe. Nick can afford it, and I could tell by the way he spoke about you that he loves you, and he wants to treat you right.”
I blinked at her, wanting to press her for more information about how he felt about me, but I was supposed to be engaged to him. I shouldn’t wonder how he felt at all. So I just smiled and said goodbye.
The first person I saw was the receptionist, a sunny blonde woman who always intimidated me with her style and grace.
“Chloe! You look gorgeous!” Jennifer cried, as if we were old friends, looking my outfit up and down. We were not. “We’re so glad it’s you!”
My steps faltered. “So glad what’s me?”
She laughed like I made a joke. “Why the woman who finally bagged the great prize!”
I felt blood rush to my face. “He’s not a prize. Don’t treat him like big game. I never should have--”
“Oh my stars girl, you are just so cute! Defending your man’s honor like that. I knew it. When you first walked in here, I said, ‘mark my words, that girl is going places,’ and here you are, the soon-to-be-queen of whole shebang.” Her smile was wide. Too wide.
“I didn’t… I just wanted to write for the magazine.”
“Mmhm,” she said. “Like I said. Going places.”
I nodded at her and left the conversation, slipping away as quickly as possible. I decidedly did not run to my cubicle. Pod. Whatever. I cleared my throat and got to work. Not that I was able to work. Everyone from the office managed to stop by at one point or another and Rachel called me into her office to make sure that Nick wasn’t taking advantage of me or something.
It was unnerving and after insisting that this was a mutual arrangement (she narrowed her eyes at my choice of words but I didn’t feel like explaining anymore,) I made her let me go so I could get back to my work. I finally managed to immerse myself in my work by putting in earbuds and pointedly ignoring anyone who came up to me.
Until lunch.
Suddenly, there was Nick, sitting on my desk right by my computer, un-ignorable. I jumped in my seat and he grinned wickedly up at me. I took my earbuds out and just glared.
“Time for lunch, honey bunches. You look gorgeous. Not that you don’t always look amazing.”
My eyes rolled so hard in my head he laughed out loud, then he reached out and took my hand, pulling it into his lap, he played with the engagement ring on my finger, a small smile lifting the corner of his lips. “Secrets out, sweetling, now I get to spoil you in front of witnesses.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
He shook his head at me, his smile so wide, as if he couldn’t believe me, then he stood up and drew me up with him. “I’m taking you to lunch. Rachel just about cut my head off and I promised to take care of you to fend her off, and I’m starting by making sure you eat lunch.”
“I missed too much work this morning with that excessive shopping trip.” I felt suddenly embarrassed. “Thanks by the way.”
“Anytime, apple blossom,” he said his hand firm on mine, his thumb running over the diamond on my finger. “Now let me feed you.”
“I can eat lunch on my own, Nick. I’m not a child.”
“No you’re not, but I’ve seen you skip lunch four out of five days a week and just grab something from the vending machine, so whether you like it or not, if you’re mine, you’re eating lunch with me.”
I wanted to take issue with the way he claimed me, but I also knew that the entire office was watching us, an eerie silence settled over us as they eavesdropped on our conversation. A bunch of nosy journalists is what they were. And we were the story of the day. Nick saw my concern.
“Come on, get your jacket, let’s get out of here. I can’t wait to show you off.”
“Nick,” I groaned. “I do not want to be shown off.” Even though I loved my new dress, and I finally felt chic.
He pulled me to him and whispered in my ear. “I want to show you off. You look lovely. Don’t worry, Chloe, I’ve got you. We can do this.”
I sighed like I was going to my funeral. “Why did I agree to this?” I muttered.
“Because you love me,” he said, and it wasn’t particularly quiet. Becky from the next pod gasped and Nick wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“Fine, let’s go. Take me to lunch.”
And that was the beginning of my public engagement to Nick
* * *
Every day, he took me out to lunch at the glittering restaurants that were the hardest to get into. We never had to wait and were always seated at the best tables with the best service, as they all smiled at Nick Meryton and his fiance. He’d be the perfect gentleman, the perfect man, the perfect boyfriend, as they took their photos of us. Every evening he’d drive me home. We met a couple of times for coffee before work, to maintain the illusion that we were together more than just at work. For the early part of the week, the office was abuzz, but it settled down pretty quickly. The paparazzi, however, were a different story. They followed us everywhere.
“How do you do it?” Flustered for the millionth time by the strangers sticking cameras in our faces and flashing lights and calling Nick’s name. They’d even started calling my name.
He shrugged, “You get used to it. But yeah, it can be a bit annoying. When they realize we’re not that exciting it will die down.”
Except it didn’t die down. Maybe it would, but I was getting jittery, and it wasn’t dying down soon enough. Someone had gotten to one of my roommates, which roommate, I didn’t know maybe it was all of them. Details were getting out about me and our relationship, and since there really wasn’t anything to say, they were making things up, with just enough truth that I knew it had to be one of my roommates.
“That’s it,” Nick said when he drove me home that night. “You’re moving in with me.”
“I’m what?”
“You can’t live with these people. You don’t like living with them. And this neighborhood isn’t safe.”
It wasn’t a fancy brownstone neighborhood like his, but it was perfectly fine. “We’re not really engaged, Nick. Living together is making it a bit too real.”
“You’re living with these backstabbers and aren’t engaged to them, either. You can stay in my guest room, where there are no spies, I won’t have to drive you home every night or meet you in the morning for our ruse. I can keep the paparazzi off of your back and focused on me where it belongs. And if we’re always together, they’ll start getting bored, because there’s no story. Say yes, Chloe. It would make everything so much simpler.”
“If I say yes,” I said cautiously because I didn’t think this made things simpler, my pulse was racing at the thought, but he brightened, hopeful. “If I say yes
, then that means that when this ends, I won’t have anything at all. If I live with you and work with you and spend all my time with you, when it’s over--”
“No, Chloe. Because it’s not real, see? Your job is safe. Your boss is Rachel, not me, all your assignments go through her, HR is on board. We’ll keep your apartment here. You can just stay with me, don’t give it up, keep your stuff here if you want, but you don’t have to stay here while we’re doing this. I won’t make you pay rent at my place or anything. And come on, we’re friends. When this is over, we’ll still be friends.”
“Are we friends now, Nick?”
He looked over at me sharply before bringing his eyes back to the road.
“Yes, I’m your friend,” he snapped, a bit sharper than I expected. Insulted? He shook it off. “I’m not going to stop being your friend when our little arrangement finishes.”
“Engagement.”
“Fake engagement. It’s just an act. Just, come on. Stay with me. It’s much closer to work. And my house is better than yours. No creepy roommates.”
So Nick took me to my apartment where my three roommates gaped at us as the glorious Nick Meryton made pleasantries and stunned them all with his beauty, and I packed my bags. Just like that, my fake engagement turned into something that ward hard to pretend wasn’t real on some level.
The worst thing was that it WAS easier. It was so easy. He made no moves on me at all, far from his reputation as being a womanizer who would go after anyone, he kept his kisses with me to the casual and public pecks on the cheek or lips, and the deliciousness of standing outside my apartment, alone, while we ‘practiced’ kissing each other was never repeated.
Never.
We talked about everything; my hometown and scholarship to Princeton and the smell of the spring when it finally broke through winter in the mountains, his rivalry with his brother and his wild years in prep school and Harvard and after, when he was still finding out what he wanted to do and travelling to search himself out. The more I talked to him, the more I liked him. He was fun to be with in public, but when we started sharing a house, without any witnesses, I found myself wanting to crawl inside of him and live there. I never wanted to go to sleep, because it meant I’d have to say good night to him.
I found myself looking for reasons to spend time with him. Even when it was too late to go out for dinner, we’d order from the fancy restaurants he loved and have our exotic gourmet meals of Hawaiian Poke, or Tunisian harissa. I was starting to get addicted to it. There was no way to get those meals back in my old neighborhood. I forced him to eat with me, and he’d laugh and pretend to resist and then light candles for ambiance, even though I made fun of him. But making fun was okay, as long as we got to be together.
Whatever I could do to get him near me, even though this relationship was fake, and he’d never shown me that he felt the way I was feeling. He was the perfect gentleman, always taking care of me and making sure I was okay. He’d refused to let me help out around the house, having his maid clean up behind me and even doing my laundry, and dry cleaning.
I didn’t want to but I loved it!
I forced him to watch a documentary on the Oceans, because I told him it was good for his magazine to be aware of ecology, and he grumbled, but sat with me, after our candle light gourmet delivery dinner was done. I eyed him, on the couch next to me, his perfect jawline looking even sharper with his dark hair ruffled from running his fingers through it as he slouched on the cushions next to me, a glass of scotch on the table in front of him. I might have poured him the scotch. This was his second, and it was down to ice melt now.
“Another drink?” I offered, reaching over to lift the bottle from the side table.
He laughed, amused. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
I just stared at him.
“Of course you’re not,” he chuckled. “Anyway, no more for me. It’s a work day. This is the last episode, then it’s bedtime.”
He reclined back against the couch, one arm stretched out along the back, the sleeve of his t-shirt stretching over his bicep. I could run my hand along his muscles and see what happened.
“Of course, I’m not,” I said, and drained the last of my beer. “Old man,” I said and plopped the beer bottle on the coffee table. He sat up and turned to me.
“I’m sorry, what did you call me?”
“I said ‘old man.’ Gramps. Fogey.” I cocked my head like a challenge. “It’s a work day, gotta make it an early night. Can’t stay up for another episode of this documentary and have another drink.” I leaned into him. If my tank top was low-cut enough to give him a glimpse of my cleavage, was it really such a bad thing? “I thought you were a bad boy, Nick?”
He gaped at me.
I shrugged. “I guess you’re not,” I shrugged, and then leaned back. I clicked my tongue. “I am so disappointed that our reputation did not live up to the reality. Run to bed, Nick, I’m going to stay up and have a wild time with David Attenborough.” I reached for the remote and pressed play on the next episode.
He stared at me stunned. “What are you doing, Chloe?”
I had to laugh. He looked so scandalized. Like innocent little me could never push him, or get frustrated, or not work all the time. I fluttered my lashes at him. “I’m messing with you, Nick.”
He narrowed his eyes.
God, he was so suspicious. “Messing!” I poked him in the side and he jumped and squirmed back.
“Chloe!” he cried shocked.
“Oh my gosh, Nick, are you ticklish?”
“No!” he shot back so quickly I knew he was.
“You are!” I couldn’t help it, and before I could think about anything other than how much I wanted to be in his lap I’d climbed on top of him and slid my fingers under his shirt so I could tickle him and make him squirm. He was so warm and firm and I was making him squirm. It was delicious.
“Chloe, no!” But I was already there, and he was trying to get away from me and I tortured him the way he had been torturing me these past few weeks just by being alive, and so close to me, and almost mine but not really. He was my fake boyfriend, but I suddenly realized I wanted him to be real.
With scarcely any effort, I was no longer on Nick’s lap, but he had flipped me and pressed me down onto the couch, his hands capturing my wrists above my head and his body heavy above me.
I was breathing hard, and so was he.
I could do nothing but buck underneath him, trying to get him off of me. Or something.
His eyes burned into mine, and I wanted so much.
He kissed me, ravenously, as if he’d been dying to do it, and he tasted of the scotch he’d been drinking and something all his own. A scent that had floated just out of my reach every night that I went to bed, thinking about him, an elusive essence of pine and salt and smoke and man that made me feel safe at the same time it made me yearn for something I’d never had, something that belonged to me.
When had he released my wrists? All I knew was that my hands were sliding across his skin, hungry for his touch, the hard steel of his muscles under the hot silk of his skin. I hung on to his shoulders and pulled him deeper into my kiss, his tongue caressing mine. I wanted it all.
I tugged at his shirt and pulled it off of him, letting my palm run over his torso before tangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him back down into my kiss. Mine.
“Wait,” he said, and pulled back.
“No,” I said and tried to get him back.
It didn’t work. He stared at me with his left hand under my head, wrapped in my hair, and his right arm embracing me. “Chloe, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You’re not,” I yanked at him, hungry for his kiss.
“I’m serious, Chloe. Please.”
He was still taking care of me. “Okay, okay,” I said, licking the traces of his kiss from my lips. “But, Nick, just because this engagement is fake doesn’t mean we can’t have this, too. We’re
both adults, Nick. I don’t need you to save me from myself.”
“But I have all the power here, and it’s not fair, you’re vulnerable.”
I laughed deep in my throat and the his pupils dilated. “I’m not vulnerable, Nick. I want you. You know what you look like. Everyone wants you. And you’re just here, all the time. Kissing me for pretend. We can do this and no one has to get hurt. Do you…” I leaned away from him as much as I could with in this position when a thought occurred to me. “Do you not want me?”
He blinked. “God, no. I mean yes. Yes. I want you. God Chloe, I’ve been dying to kiss you again, for real, to get my hands on you, I thought you didn’t trust me. Or wanted to keep it all business. I was trying to be respectful.”
I grunted. “Well knock it off.” I tugged my tank top over my head and he let out a low growl, crushing me to him, and taking my breath away with his plundering kiss.
Chapter Eleven: Wish
She entwined her arms around my neck, and I never felt anything so intoxicating as her sweet skin pressed against mine. Before I knew what I was doing, I had no choice in the matter, my body reacted and I scooped her up from the couch.
“Is this okay?” I asked, because I had to know.
Her lashes fluttered. “Oh yes,” she said, and she licked a hot stripe up my neck and bit me lightly where my pulse beat.
I carried her into my room while she laughed into my skin and I thought it was everything, until I tossed her onto my bed and she smiled so wide up at me, her ocean blue eyes sparkling. Then I knew THAT was everything. She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at me, in nothing but a nude bra and flannel pajama pants. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” I said.
Her smile softened into something tender. “Since I first met you, Nick.”
“Really? But you hated me.”
