by Lulu Pratt
Anyways, it’s sort of a vapid movement, considering that it didn’t amount to much, but given that Pillers was, as Joe mentioned, an actual family operation, the trend had done good things for our bottom line, so I dropped my quibbles.
“So you want me there just to help him put a face to our team?”
“Confirmed.”
Well, that was fair. It was, after all, my job to help this sale go through, and anything I could do to make that happen was a bonus. Besides, I was itching for the chance to move past my social media catastrophe. Jacksonville was a snooze fest, but I could handle it for one weekend.
“We’re staying at Charles’ mansion,” Joe added offhandedly.
Oooh, not bad. “Very nice,” I said mildly, stifling the more pronounced excitement that had just arisen in my throat. As much as I might be a down-home girl, I can appreciate the finer things in life, including, for instance, sprawling mansions on the coast.
In the same bored tone, he concluded, “And you’ll need a date.”
“I-I’m sorry?” I managed to stammer out.
“Yeah,” he replied, casting a sidelong glance in my direction. “Family-oriented, remember? We want this whole thing to scream ‘committed, settled, picturesque.’”
“But, Joe—”
“Doesn’t matter who it is. Guy, girl, I don’t care. Not my business.”
My face colored. I was reluctant to own up to the truth, but there was no way around it. I quietly replied, “I don’t have a, er, romantic partner, Joe.”
I always tried my best to keep personal stuff out of the office, and here he was, dragging it right in. It’s not that I was ashamed about being unattached, exactly, but I didn’t need this pressing reminder that I was nearly thirty and currently prospectless. I wanted a family, kids, the whole shebang, and constant reminders of my proverbial clock weren’t lessening my rampant anxiety.
Joe seemed to entirely miss my consternation, skirting past it to reply, “No worries. We’ll set you up with someone.”
“We?” I questioned with extreme trepidation, my hands pressing into my knees as I tried to contain an outburst. “‘Set up’?”
“Yeeep,” he confirmed. “Don’t sound so nervous, Tom and I will figure it out. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even fall in love.”
I snorted. “With, what, one of your construction guys? Not likely.” I bit my tongue, but Joe didn’t react as he was probably just as nervous about this arrangement as I was.
“Good, because I was kidding. Can’t have our marketing head dating within the company. That’s a good way to mess up a good thing.”
“Yeah,” I said with a mildness I didn’t feel. In my head, I added, you don’t have to worry about that happening. I was a lady, after all. When I pictured my perfect man, I saw one in a perfectly pressed suit with a clean shave and a briefcase. Someone like me — well-dressed, well-educated, well-spoken. Not someone who did manual labor. Not that I objected to that, but I worked with men who did manual labor and I wanted someone I could relate to.
“So you’ll do it,” Joe finished, the end of his sentencing dropping down an octave to indicate that it had been a statement, not a question.
I restrained myself from the indulgence of an eye roll.
“Fine,” I replied, the words barely getting past the uncomfortable lump in my throat. “I’ll do it.”
“Make sure you pack for every occasion. He mentioned golf, dinner, et cetera. Charles has promised us that this will be a weekend to remember.”
I smiled weakly. I just hoped it would be a good memory when all was said and done.
Chapter 2
Jacob
SWEAT DRIPPED down my tanned back muscles, snaking around them like small rivers and pooling around my belt. Frustrated with the heat, I dragged the soiled white tank top up and off my body, then crumpled it into a ball and used it to mop my damp forehead. It felt like I was practically swimming through the air.
This weather was hotter than hell. Tampa’s always humid, but summertime compounded by no breeze made it even worse.
But there was a job that needed finishing, and the job didn’t care how hot it was, or that even my tough team of men were starting to wane.
“Hey, Jacob,” a voice called from the other side of the framework, at least several yards away.
Even at that distance, I recognized it immediately, and thought that maybe it might’ve done me good to keep my shirt on. I then remembered that, of all people, my boss was the last one to care about formality.
“Tom,” I panted back in greeting, trying and failing to keep the exhaustion from my tone. “Come on in, pal. We’re just whistling away. Whistling and sweating.”
The co-CEO of Pillers strode onto the lot and glanced around, his eyes touching on our piles of empty Gatorade bottles and my damp muscle shirt. I followed his gaze to my team — even the hardiest among them was flagging. To save my pride and theirs, I called out:
“Boys, take a break.”
They all nodded gratefully and hurried away in search of shade. I grabbed a nearby water bottle and turned it upside down over my head, letting somewhat cool rivulets of moisture run out of the bottle and onto my face.
“Looks like hot business out here,” Tom commented.
I chuckled, hopefully without any visible annoyance. “Yeah, what gave you that idea?”
“You’re sweating like a man on trial.”
“On trial for what?”
He grinned. “Knowing you? Some kinda cardinal sin.”
Quick on my feet, I shot back, “I think you mean carnal.”
“That too,” he laughed. Tom wiped sweat off his face with the back of his hand — office boys were delicate in the heat — looked out at the exposed frames, and added, “I gotta favor to ask you.”
I shrugged. “Shoot.” Tom was a longtime buddy of mine — technically a boss, but more of a friend. And there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for a friend.
“Come with us to Jacksonville for the weekend.”
My brows knit together. He was a little young to be this forgetful. “Tom, you already asked me to do that,” I reminded him gently. “You got a little head trouble up there? Tell me, did you run into a steel bar recently or something? You didn’t have to come all the way down here to ask me to do something I was already gonna do.”
He rolled his eyes in annoyance, but then quickly glanced sideways, as if pre-penitent.
“What, what is it?” I pressed. “You’re making a face. Was I too on the money? Aw, man, if you really are sick, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be a—”
“No, no, that’s not it,” he said, cutting me off. Fair enough. Sometimes I opened my slick mouth and it took a damn dishrag to stop it again. I’d stepped on my own toes that way more than once. Or would it be more apt to say ‘put my foot in my mouth’?
He loosened his tie as I leaned back against the wood, and continued, “I came down here because, if you’d let me finish, I was trying to explain that I’m asking for, er, a little extra.”
“Is it my body? You want my body, don’t you?” I said playfully. “I knew it, you’ve always been making eyes at me—”
“Argh, Jacob! Pipe down!” he almost roared.
Okay, that was a larger than usual outburst, but I tried not to take it personally — after all, heat makes the office boys go crazy. I mimed zipping my lips up and throwing away the key.
“Go ahead,” I replied, upright and composed as a church lady.
“Didn’t you just indicate perfect silence?”
“Oh. Right. Wait a sec.”
I elaborately motioned putting a padlock around my lips, clamping it into place and tossing a much heavier key. I think it was probably lost on Tom, but sometimes you have to do the art for the sake of the art.
“Good,” he sighed, relieved at my momentary lapse into silence. “Now here’s the favor. I — meaning Joe and I — need you to bring a partner to Jacksonville this weekend.”
I motioned
to my lips, and Tom nodded, giving me permission to speak. I proceeded to carefully undo the imaginary lock on my lips, but Tom interrupted with:
“Just talk, dammit.”
I grinned. Getting under Tom’s thin skin was half the fun of our friendship. “Tom, I own Got Wood Inc. by myself, you know that. I don’t have a partner to bring. In fact, wish I had a partner. Would probably help lighten the load, proverbially and otherwise.”
Tom’s company, Pillers, had hired my company out for two years now. I did framing for all their big jobs — condominiums, office complexes, so on and so forth. It’d been a good relationship from the jump, and it turned out it was way easier to work almost exclusively with one large company than to bounce back and forth between a variety of bosses. After all, I owned my own business because I didn’t like having bosses, period. I could manage with just one guy, especially one I liked, but any more than that and I started to chafe.
As the jobs grew bigger, of course, I thought it might’ve been nice to bring someone else in, but then we’d be splitting the money and, though Tom paid me fairly, it wasn’t nearly enough, considering I was supporting more than just myself. On the other hand, maybe a partner could help me grow, flesh the business out.
Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, all this to say — Tom knew that I ran Got Wood sans partner. I was beginning to reevaluate my early joke about light head trauma when he proffered an explanation.
“Not that kind of partner, you doofus,” Tom said huffily. “The romantic kind. I assume you’re familiar with the concept?”
“I’ve heard tell of it,” I replied distantly, the gears of my mind already turning.
“Good. Do you have one?”
“A concept?”
“A partner.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “You know I don’t, we’ve covered this before.”
Tom nodded. “I remember. Though if a guy like you can’t get a girl, we’re all screwed.”
While Tom and I were friends, it didn’t seem workplace-appropriate now, or ever, to tell him the truth, which was that I could get a girl, just not the girl. And what was the big deal, making me think about such painful shit while on the job?
Without going into grisly details, let’s just say there was this woman two years back who I screwed up with, in a big, royal, ‘no takebacks’ kinda way. You can’t even imagine this girl — smart, funny, drop dead gorgeous. God, even thinking of her makes my heart — and if I’m being frank, my pants — tighten. She was the sort of girl where, if you saw her standing next to me, you’d go, “What the hell is she doin’ with that bum?” And they were right. Suppose it’s for the best, for her, that things ended, so she didn’t get pulled further into my hurricane of a life.
Since then, there’d been a chick or two, I’m no slouch, but no one close to “romantic partner.” It was embarrassing, the whole thing. It wasn’t like we stood a chance in hell of getting back together — I didn’t even have her phone number or email address, and I sure as shit wasn’t on social media — so just moping around, waiting for her and acting like a wounded puppy wasn’t a very impressive approach. Did I say waiting for her? I meant… um… well, I don’t know what I meant. Something different.
I hope.
Anyhow, Tom’s face was spreading wide with a grin, which was never a good sign.
“Yes?” I asked, knowing he was waiting to be goaded into a reveal.
“Of course I knew you don’t have a girlfriend,” he said simply. “You think I don’t listen when you talk? Come on, I’m a good bro. But so here’s what we’re gonna do. I already figured you didn’t have a steady gal, so I’ve set you up with one.”
My whole body seemed to heave a profound sigh. “No, thanks.” Tom had a lovely wife, but so far as I knew, if he were left to his own devices, he’d stray towards the exotic dancer variety of gal. Not my bag.
“It’s just for the weekend, Jacob.”
“I have to go on a blind date for a whole weekend?!” I exclaimed, already gearing up for a fight. “Hell no. Pass. You would do that to a friend? Sheesh, what ever happened to the bro code?”
He waved his hands in a pacifying way, the sleeves of his suit flapping. “Oh, Jesus, no. Not a blind date, a fake one.”
I leaned forward, crossing my arms over my chest and saying, “I don’t take your meaning.”
“There’s a woman in the company who can go with you. She doesn’t have a date either and she’s already agreed to the whole thing. We need you both there, and this Charles guy goes in hard for the whole ‘family values’ thing. The only thing the two of you have to do — in fact, the only thing you’re allowed to do, under Pillers company policy — is pretend to be in a relationship. Makes us look good. It’s only for a few days, and she’s a pleasant young lady.”
He paused, and took a breath, then continued, “So? What’d ya say?”
I considered it briefly. On the one hand, this would be awkward. What do fake couples do? Fake hand holding, fake kissing? How far did I have to fake go with this woman to make it believable? Would we be required to share a bed? That would be the worst, because as a gentleman, I’d be obligated to then sleep on like a nearby chair, or the floor, because it goes without saying you cannot force yourself into the bed of a stranger, even if she is your fake girlfriend slash partner slash wife.
If this really was just an elaborate charade for the client, who was I to say no? It was no skin off my arse. It was probably just some woman from accounting who ate bagels from mall shops and had a thing for parrots. Tom had a shitty taste in women, but he was a pretty accurate judge of character. I’m sure she was nobody I couldn’t stand for a few days. And besides, Pillers was my biggest client. This wasn’t the hill I wanted to die on.
“All right,” I agreed. “I’ll do it.”
Tom punched a fist in the air. “Yes, perfect! I’ll text Joe.” He pulled out his phone and began to turn away.
“Oh, and Tom?”
He glanced over his shoulder, back in my direction. “Yeah?”
“Make sure she doesn’t bring any noisy birds.”
His entire face crumpled with confusion. “What the fuck?”
I shook my head. He wouldn’t understand the mythical woman from accounting and her flock. “Never mind. I’ll see you in Jacksonville.”
***
Thank you for reading the first chapters of Want You Back. Want more? Go to Amazon.com to read the full book. Thank you!
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