by Thea Dawson
“Well, let’s give it a try,” says Mom. “Your dad and I would like to get to know him better, and I hate the thought of taking you away from him right at the beginning of your vacation.”
With a trace of bitterness, I wonder if my mother thinks Archer might just forget about me if I’m gone for a few days, and I have to remind myself—again—that this is all pretend anyway.
Archer will say no.
A few weeks from now, I’ll casually mention to my family that I’ve decided things weren’t going to work out with Archer anyway; I won’t be even a little bit heartbroken about it, and things will be back to normal—except that now my family won’t feel sorry for poor never-has-a-date Annabelle.
Mom smiles at me. “Come on, let’s get you back to that man of yours.”
She sweeps back toward Archer just as Aunt Mila is walking away from him. He’s frowning slightly, which makes me wonder if she crossed some line, but he quickly rearranges his expression into a charming smile at the sight of us.
“Archer, we wanted to ask you something,” my mother begins. “Annabelle may have told you that we have a vacation house up in San Luis Obispo County, and we’ll be going up there tomorrow.”
I have not mentioned this to Archer, but to his credit, he nods. “Yes, I’m sorry you’re taking her away from me, but I’m looking forward to getting her back when you’re done.”
My smile gets a little tight. A few minutes ago, I would have eaten a line like that up, but now it feels like he’s laying it on a little thick.
My mother presses on. “Well, we were actually just wondering if you’d like to join us? We'll be going up tomorrow and coming back on Monday. Maybe you and Annabelle would like to drive up together?”
Archer blinks, and for the first time, he seems at a loss for words. I pray that his acting skills don’t desert him now.
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Winter.” He looks like he’s stalling for time while he figures out how to get out of this. “Is it just your family? I don’t want to intrude …”
Mom shakes her head. “Just me and Nick and the girls, but honestly, you’d help keep us entertained. We’d love to have you.”
“Don’t worry if you can’t make it,” I say, putting a reassuring smile on my face. “I know it’s short notice and you’re really busy—”
“Oh, no,” he says. “I’m not busy at all. Thank you so much, Mrs. Winter. I’d love to come.”
10
Archer
I can feel Annabelle tense up beside me, and I can tell without looking at her that she’s confused—and pissed off.
I can’t blame her, but the opportunity is too good to pass up. It gets me out of Alex’s hair and probably keeps me from getting into a fist fight with her boyfriend.
More importantly it puts me in front of one of Zac Borstein’s best friends for a few days—without Aunt Mila beside me, licking her lips.
It’s kind of a jerk move, since I haven’t discussed it with Annabelle, and I’m risking future gigs with Gentlemen, Inc., since we’re not supposed to make arrangements with clients outside of our contracts, but I promise myself that I’ll make it up to Annabelle by being the best fake boyfriend ever for the time we’re together. And with any luck, Cassandra will never find out.
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Winter declares. “Annabelle will fill you in on all the details. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to catch up with Nick. There are some people we really should talk to.”
She glides off. Annabelle puts her hand through my arm. I look down to see her smiling sweetly at me, while her eyes shoot daggers. “Would you mind coming upstairs with me for a moment?” she says in a low voice. “I’d like to talk to you in private.”
Arm in arm like a loving couple, we steer through the crowd and make our way up the grand staircase that Annabelle was walking down when I arrived.
“You’re wearing that perfume,” I say. Having spent most of Wednesday afternoon spraying it on people, I know the scent well. “It suits you.” I don’t really have delusions that I’m going to flatter myself out of this, but I note the scent with interest. I wonder what was behind her motivation to buy it, and whether I can it use that in my favor.
She rolls her eyes as she practically shoves me into a bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind us and whirls on me.
“What the hell are you doing?” she stage-whispers.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” I say disingenuously, as I try to think of a way of explaining myself to her.
“Mind? Are you crazy? What were you thinking?”
I shrug. “Your mom asked you if it was okay to ask me, right? I figured if you didn’t want me, you’d have told her not to ask.”
“I never thought you’d say yes,” she hisses. “This was supposed to be just one night, one fun, memorable night. You weren’t supposed to move in with my family!”
I try to look helpless and innocent. “We’ve been having such a nice evening, I thought we could keep it going a little longer.”
She makes a huffing noise and puts her hands on her hips. She really does have a cute little figure. “Well, forget it. I can’t afford to pay you for that long anyway.”
I shake my head. “No worries, sweetheart. This one’s on the house.” I look around the room, noting the stuffed animals on the bed and numerous prize ribbons tacked to a bulletin board on the wall.
So much cute. So much normal.
I pull my attention back to Annabelle who is glaring at me.
“That’s not the point!” she says.
“Then what is? You get me at your beck and call for a few more days, and it won’t even cost you anything.”
“That’s not—Why on earth do you want to go on vacation with my family?”
I grin. “I like your family.” I know I’m being an asshole, but that urge to tease her is back.
She steps back and I see a look of genuine hurt cross her face. “It’s Carina, isn’t it? Your just like every other guy I’ve ever brought home. Now that you’ve seen her, you can’t get enough of her.”
I shake my head, genuinely contrite. “No—”
“Brianna, then?” Her voice is a little choked and a shot of guilt punches me in the chest. “Crap, I can’t even pay a guy to not look at them,” she mutters, half to herself. She looks me in the eye and raises her chin. “I’ll warn you right now, she won’t be interested. Neither of them will be. They’re much too loyal.”
I shake my head again. “No, I promise you, this has nothing to do with your sisters.”
And it truly doesn’t. Sure, if I’d met either of them under different circumstances, I might not have held back, but I’m not such a reprobate that I’d make a play for one of them right under Annabelle’s nose. Plus I suspect she’s right: the Winter sisters have each other’s backs.
Of course, I’m not going to tell her that her dad and his friendship with Zac Borstein factors into this. That might not be as tacky as making a play for one of her sisters, but I’m guessing it wouldn’t go over all that well.
I go with my favorite fallback: the truth.
At least partially.
“Look, here’s the deal,” I say, turning on my most sincere expression. “My roommate and I had a big fight the other day and I need to get out of the apartment for a little while.”
She looks at me in disbelief. “What are you, eight years old? You had a fight with your friend and now you’re not talking to each other? Grow a pair and deal with it!”
I have to repress a smile at hearing her say, “Grow a pair.” It’s like watching a Yorkshire terrier try to act tough.
“If it were up to me, I would,” I say, trying to maintain a straight face. “But I owe Alex a lot, and I’m worried that our friendship won’t survive if I don’t get out of the way for a while.”
“Don’t you have any friends you can stay with?”
“Not really, no.” It hurts a little to admit it, but no, except for Alex, I really don’t have any f
riends in LA. “I’m still pretty new to town,” I add, although I’ve been here more than a year. The truth is, I’m kind of a loner. I can charm the pants off people—literally in the case of some women—but I’m not good at maintaining relationships.
Alex is a rare exception. The fact that she’s not speaking to me right now is more painful than I want to admit to myself.
And I’m certainly not going to get into it with Annabelle, who I barely know.
Annabelle folds her arms over her chest and glares. The gesture draws attention to her cleavage, and again, I note that she really does have a sweet little figure. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say so, but if I do she’ll think I’m just sucking up.
She’s smart, and she’s not used to men kissing her ass, so my normal tactics won’t work here.
Idly, I pick up a framed photo that’s standing on the desk. It’s a younger Annabelle dressed in a fluffy pink prom dress. She’s standing next to a skinny dude in glasses, who’s smiling proudly. They both have braces. Despite the skinniness and the glasses and the braces, he’s not a bad-looking guy, and I wonder again if her insecurity is really justified.
“Who’s this lucky fellow?” I ask.
“Tommy Lipstein. I dated him in high school. Obviously,” she grumbles.
“First love?” I ask. What would that have been like, I wonder—having a high school girlfriend, going to prom, and all that teenage stuff that everyone complains about but no one really wants to miss out on?
Annabelle gives a snort. “Until Carina came home from college and she was all he could talk about for the rest of the summer.”
Ouch.
I feel bad for bringing it up and put the photo back. “But you still keep his picture on your desk.”
She rolls her eyes in exasperation. “I haven’t lived here in years. I’ve just never gotten around to cleaning it all out.”
I imagine a psychologist having a field day with that one, but I let it go. “What are all those for?” I ask, nodding at the board covered with ribbons.
“Science fairs, mostly,” she says. “Don’t try and change the subject. You can’t come on vacation with us.”
I turn to look at her, doing my best to project sincerity and earnestness. “Why not? This will work out for both of us. I get out of town for a couple of days. You get more of the princess treatment, for free this time. I’ll be an excellent guest, your parents will be impressed. Everyone wins.”
She cocks her head at me as if I’m missing something obvious. “A date’s one thing, a vacation means it’s serious. How am I going to explain it to my parents when I never bring you around again?”
“You tell them we broke up. Tell them I wasn’t smart enough for you. You’re too young to settle down anyway. What are you, twenty-two?”
“I’m twenty-four,” she growls.
“See? Much too young to settle down. You want to play the field for a while. Or focus on your studies, or whatever. We’re spending a weekend together, not getting married.”
She still looks unconvinced.
I lower my voice and look her in the eye, going in for the kill. “For the time we’re with you’re family, I swear I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I won’t so much as look at your sisters, and I’ll treat you with all the respect and adoration you deserve.”
For the briefest moment, something in her expression shifts and I can tell I’ve hit on her deepest desire. She wants a man who will treat her like she’s the only thing he can see. Hell, she’s a nice enough kid—she probably does deserve someone like that.
I’m not her forever-guy, but I can at least make sure she looks good in front of her family for a weekend. It's a small enough price to pay for a potential connection to Zac.
But the look of longing on her face vanishes in an instant. Her expression closes up and she shakes her head.
“It’s ridiculous. I can’t even—”
She’s interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway and someone knocks lightly on the door.
“Annabelle?” someone says. It sounds like one of her sisters. “Are you in there?”
The doorknob starts to turn.
A disconcerted look flashes across Annabelle’s face. Her sister is going to catch her fighting with the guy who’s supposed to be doting on her.
So I do the first thing that comes to mind.
In two long strides, I cross the room, take Annabelle in my arms, and kiss her.
11
Annabelle
Archer’s mouth comes down on mine, warm and demanding and completely unexpected. His strong arms wrap around me, and my own instinctively grab onto him, partly for balance—because this kiss has definitely knocked me off kilter—and partly because out of a newly awakened sense of possessiveness. His tongue plays along my lips, seeking entrance. My lips, with no conscious direction from me, part of their own accord to let him in. The texture of his beard makes a strangely erotic contrast with his surprisingly soft lips. I’m lost in the feel and the taste and the scent of him.
For a few seconds, all rational thought is simply switched off.
As if from very far away, I hear the door open.
There’s a delicate cough. Brianna’s voice. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
Rational thought switches on again, and I spring away from Archer, my face burning.
“Oh, hi, Brianna,” I mumble. “What, uh …”
“I just wanted to let you know that Aunt Mila’s getting ready to head out. I know she’d like to see you before she goes.” She’s talking to me but her cool smile is directed at Archer. I wonder if Mom’s told her he’ll be joining us on vacation.
With that thought, I realize I’ve capitulated. While the sensible part of me knows that it’s a terrible idea, the part of me that wants attention—and maybe another one of those kisses—has given in.
“Archer, I hear you’ll be joining us at the lake this weekend,” Brianna says.
He nods, damn him, and smiles cordially, not at all flustered at being interrupted while kissing me—of course, I realize he wouldn’t have kissed me if it hadn’t been part of the act. I’m not such an idiot as to think that was simply spontaneous attraction.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it,” he says.
“So are we.” Brianna pulls her gaze back to me. “Don’t forget about Aunt Mila.” She pauses just a beat. “Maybe redo your lipstick before you come down,” she suggests with just a hint of a smile, and steps away, closing the door carefully behind her.
I turn on Archer, embarrassment turning rapidly to anger. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“Sorry,” he says, and he does, in fact, look sorry. Maybe a little sorrier than I’d really like him to. “I didn’t want her to walk in on us looking like we were fighting.”
“Well …” I splutter, trying to reassert control of a situation that has gone completely haywire. “Don’t do it again!”
As soon as I say it, I want to slap myself. Of course I want him to do it again.
And again.
And again.
But that way lies madness.
He nods, looking genuinely contrite. “I won’t, I promise. Please, Annabelle,” he gives me an imploring look that could melt hearts a lot stonier than mine. “How about it? You and me at the lake. You’d really be helping me out, and I promise I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you ever had.” The imploring look morphs into the hint of a charming smile.
I refuse to smile back, but it doesn’t matter. We both know a deal has been struck.
“Fine,” I grumble. “Just make me look good. That’s all I ask.”
The rest of the evening goes surprisingly well. Except for the fact that he’s acting, Archer continues to be the perfect boyfriend, attentive to me, charming to everyone, and effortlessly attractive. I continue to enjoy the looks of envy I get from other women and knowing what it feels like to be doted on.
Nothing has changed.
But everyth
ing has.
The kiss replays itself over and over again in my mind. I don’t fool myself for a minute that I’m Archer’s type or that this ridiculous arrangement could last any longer than a long weekend … but I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him and that the opportunity to extend this fantasy for a few days is too tempting to pass up.
As midnight draws near, the crush of partygoers starts to thin out.
Archer pulls me out onto the patio. “I’m going to have to get going,” he tells me quietly.
“Don’t forget to leave behind a glass slipper so I can find you again,” I say drily.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll leave you my phone number.”
Gentlemen, Inc., being protective of both clients’ and employees’ privacy, doesn’t give out direct contact information for either. It’s not too late for me to back out of the whole weekend deal. He has no easy way of getting in contact with me after tonight. If I refuse to take his number or to give him mine, the deal is as good as off.
“Isn’t this against the rules of your company to do this?” I ask.
He grimaces. “Yeah, it is. I’d be really grateful if you didn’t tell Cassandra about what we’re doing.”
What we’re doing. Bit by bit, he’s making this as much my project as his. I’m aware that he’s doing it, but I don’t know how to stop it. Of course I’m not going to say anything to Cassandra—I’m pretty sure there’s something in the contract that says I’m not allowed to make arrangements to see Archer again without going through her—and having to pay for his company for four straight days would wipe out my savings and then some.
And I’m drawn to Archer like a moth to a flame. A dowdy little moth to a bright and glamorous flame—a flame that’s hot in more than one sense of the word.
I’m very likely to get burned … but at the same time, I can’t resist the opportunity to shake up my boring little life. My whole life, I’ve felt drab and dull next to my sisters, but tonight something has shifted. I’m having fun being the center of attention for once, and I’m not going to miss the chance to feel this way a little longer.
