by Lee, Nadia
Erin nods, and I let out a breath I’ve been holding.
Even if all we’re doing is watching TV together or quietly reading, I want her nearby. For some reason, I like being around her, just being close and knowing she’s there. It’s something I’ve never experienced with another woman, not even with Shelly. With them, unless we were doing something together, I didn’t necessarily want or need them around, and the feeling was probably mutual.
We also share the peach cobbler, which I can eat without too much pain and suffering since it doesn’t contain chili sauce. Erin made a carrot cake for me once and apparently couldn’t find red food coloring. So she used chili sauce to get the color right. Unfortunately, she didn’t disclose the fact until I bit into it. It was not pleasant. And since I’m too nice of a boss, I didn’t have the heart to yell or scream. I just swallowed it with a fake smile and drank two bottles of orange juice.
With ice cream, the cobbler is at least palatable. Erin and I finish all of it before Sunday evening.
On Monday, about ten minutes before lunch break, I try to do a quick review of a couple of reports, but find myself wondering if Erin will enjoy her shopping trip with the fashion consultant/personal shopper I hired. Josephine Martinez is supposed to be amazing. Erin was hesitant to take time off from work, but when I brought up Mom’s upcoming visit, she left—albeit reluctantly—probably having decided on her own that she needs more than just business casual to hang out with Mom.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, adjusting myself. The weekend has taught me I must be a sexual deviant or masochist or whatever the term is. My libido goes into overdrive every time I think about Erin, how she looks, how she smells, how she felt when I kissed her. My dick, that unhelpful appendage, swells almost painfully.
What the hell.
I forcibly drag my attention back to reviewing the reports, then stop when I spot a receptionist hovering at my door.
“Yes?” I say.
“I’m so sorry,” Bev says. “But there’s a man here who won’t take no for an answer.”
“I have a visitor’s pass,” comes a voice that makes me bare my teeth.
Fucking Fordham. What’s he doing here?
At least Erin’s not around. “Let him in,” I say, even though I can feel my eyes narrowing.
Bev steps back and Fordham walks in, his chin tilted up and his strides long and slow, like a king deigning to bestow his royal presence upon a peasant. Does he walk like that in front of his voters, too?
Or maybe he doesn’t give a damn what I think about him, since I can’t vote in Virginia now.
He’s clean-shaven, dressed in a good-quality button-down shirt and slacks. No wonder security let him through. Besides, he’s a congressman. I despair for our country that a plurality of voters—well, any voters, actually—thought he’d be a good choice. Or maybe his opponent was even worse, and the voters chose the less offensive option.
Bev shuts the door behind Fordham.
“What do you want?” I demand without offering him a seat.
He still parks his ass in one of the chairs. I wish I’d set a thumbtack on it. Juvenile, but it would’ve been amusing.
“Are you always this gracious?” he says.
“Most people have the courtesy to make an appointment. What do you want?”
“Stop screwing around with Erin. She isn’t for you.”
I pretend I’m bored, while fantasizing about throwing him out the window. Mine doesn’t open—we’re too high up and it’s for safety reasons—but I’m sure his head is hard enough to break the glass. “Says who?”
“I’ve known her all my life.”
“And therefore she’s known you. Doesn’t seem to want you, though.”
“You don’t know her like I do.”
“People change, Fordham. She’s changed a lot in the last two years.”
“Has she?” he sneers. “She quit baking crap nobody should ever be forced to eat? Quit angsting about her mother?”
I keep my expression smooth, even as his barb hits the mark. Since I’ve been the victim of her baking attempts, I keep my mouth shut. As for her mom… She’s hardly mentioned her family to me, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about them.
So what? I decide stubbornly. That doesn’t mean she isn’t for me. Fordham can go shove a pen up his ass.
He laughs humorlessly. “I told her to quit baking before she kills somebody, but she never listens.”
What an asshole. No wonder she doesn’t like him anymore. I could sense baking is important to her, which is why I haven’t told her the truth about how terrible her attempts are.
He continues, “She thinks it’s going to keep her sane because her mom told her so.” He ends his statement with a snort.
“Keep her sane? What the hell does that even mean?” She said something about her mom when we were making the peach cobbler, but I didn’t pay too much attention. Now I feel bad because it could’ve turned into a chance for us to get closer. Open up more to each other. My instinct says it’s something critically important for fucking Fordham to act so smug here, and my gut’s never wrong.
“Erin never told you, did she?” He smirks, then leans back in his seat with the superior attitude of someone who has an ace in the hole. “Her mom was”—he makes a couple of circles beside his temple with his index finger—“loopy. Always out of control, making scenes, crying and having outbursts in public for no apparent reason. A real looney tunes. It was embarrassing for everyone. Finally, she hung herself when Erin was in high school. Sophomore or junior, I think. I can’t remember exactly.”
I inhale sharply, sympathy lancing my heart. What an awful, tragic story. Poor Erin. I can’t begin to imagine her suffering.
But…why is this bastard looking so smug, rather than somber?
“Anyway, I thought you should know the situation,” Fordham continues. “Fact is, Erin’s probably going to go insane just like her mom. It runs on that side of the family. She knows it, too, but thinks that if she’s careful, nobody’s going to notice.” He shakes his head as though in pity. “She took after her mother in so many ways, and they shared the same luck, too, including the car accident they were in. It messed up Erin’s ability to smell and taste. That’s why she’s so bad at baking.”
Shock sucker-punches me. I stay frozen, processing this bombshell. Erin never even hinted that she can’t smell or taste. But that also explains a lot about her baking and the lack of improvement.
Fordham grows a bit more serious. “Look, man. I don’t want you to suffer because she made you fall for her under false pretenses. You deserve better. I looked into you a little, and it’s obvious you can have anybody you want. Why go for damaged goods?”
I take a deep breath and regard him. “So I dump her…and then what? You’re going to swoop in and marry her?”
He spreads his hands.
Asshole.
“Why should I trust anything you say? You could be lying.” I know he isn’t, though. He might have the morals of a snake, but he’s not an idiot. He isn’t going to lie about something that I can confirm with a quick conversation with Erin. But I don’t understand his motive for dumping this on me to get her back. It’s clear he isn’t doing it out of love.
“I have no reason to make stuff up. You can verify everything I’ve said. Easily.”
“Still doesn’t explain why.”
“I want Erin.” He smirks again, and it’s all I can do to not slap it off his face. “A successful political career requires more than just a charismatic personality. You also need a wife the voters are going to like and feel sympathy for. Erin’s perfect for that, which makes her a perfect wife for me.”
My molars grind together, but I rein myself in. “If Erin has public outbursts like her mom, as you claim she will, will voters still connect with her?”
“Those can be managed. The important thing is, I’ll be the devoted husband, who’ll stay by her no matter what. I can be the kind of man
people can trust their future with.”
Hot fury rages through me like a powerful storm, barely suppressed violence thrumming in my veins. My whole body tenses with the need to beat Fordham into hamburger meat. “You son of a bitch. You don’t care about her at all. You only want to use her.”
He stiffens, as if I’ve been unfair. “I do care about her. She’s lucky she has somebody like me in her life.”
“Lucky? That’s like saying she should be grateful for a tapeworm because it keeps her weight down.” I always knew politicians were assholes, but this one is beyond my wildest imagination. Every time I think he can’t sink any lower, he surprises me. “Get the fuck out of her life, Fordham. If you come near her—or me—again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“With what? Your money?” An ugly sneer twists his face.
What would get this asshole’s attention? The answer is obvious: never getting elected again. And that would happen if people saw the asshole underneath the faux-respectable mask. Inspired by Matt’s habit of dictating memos to be transcribed by his assistant, I gesture at my phone. “I was dictating a memo, but you interrupted me. Everything you said here has been recorded.”
A vein throbs visibly on Fordham’s forehead. “You can’t release that! It’s illegal!”
“Yeah, but you know how it is. Phones get hacked.” I heave a regretful sigh.
“It would make Erin look bad, too.”
I smile. “That can be managed. Her parts can be edited out. The important thing is that your political career will be over when people hear what a calculating, two-faced snake you are.”
Red blotches bloom on his face. He leaps up. I stand at the same time, willing him to start something physical.
But of course he doesn’t. “Asshole.” His voice trembles with barely suppressed frustration and anger.
“Guilty.” It’s my turn to smirk. “Don’t ever come near Erin again. Or I’m going to make sure you don’t get reelected. Just imagine. You might actually have to”—I sniff and wipe at my eyes—“work for a living.”
He glares at me, opening and closing his mouth like he wants to say something cutting, but can’t come up with a clever line. Finally he spins around and leaves.
I prop an elbow on the desk and rest my forehead against the heel of my hand. Sorrow, empathy and anger twist around in my heart. What Fordham said explains a lot about Erin’s behavior. I ache for the young Erin. What she must’ve suffered. No wonder she proposed we fake our engagement. She probably wanted a way to discourage a sociopath like Fordham.
Then I remember what he said about Erin being careful. Is that why she’s been skittish, not revealing much about her preferences and just generally keeping to herself? I know she doesn’t hang out with people at work much. The developers thought she was hard to get to know. She spent an entire weekend doing online training! And I couldn’t figure out what was with her for a while because she kept flinging the oddly fake “I’m okay” smile.
But now I understand what’s going on. And that means I now have a blueprint to navigate her mood and fears. I can use it to eliminate the obstacles and cut a path straight to her heart. By the time I’m done, rather than keep me at a distance, she’ll whisper and share all her fears and dreams and hopes. And she’ll be mine.
I unlock my phone and let my fingers fly across the screen.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Erin
I sit fidgeting in the lobby, waiting for the person David hired to help me shop. I wish he hadn’t done this, because it’s too much for a fake engagement. At the same time, I’m slightly relieved to get some time away from David.
The kiss is all I’ve thought about since Saturday. And the more I think, the more confused I become. I don’t even know why he kissed me! I wasn’t doing anything to signal that I wanted it, was I?
I mean…the cobbler was hot and gooey and just perfect, but surely it wasn’t gratitude that got him to lean over and lick my lips…
At the same time, I can’t deny that I enjoyed it. His mouth was so heated and firm…but also gentle. I couldn’t think, my mind going blank of everything except the texture and feel of him. I was so into it that I started using my tongue, then thought my body would combust when he stroked me back with his. My nerve endings are still tingling from the memory, the air in my lungs thick.
David’s kiss is nothing like the aggressive slovenly mess from high school boys or the practiced lukewarmness from Warren. I wonder if I was okay. David was hard, so maybe he liked it.
If I hadn’t pulled back…
My cheeks heat. I don’t know how far we would’ve gone. The prickle between my legs says it would’ve been very, very far.
Stop thinking about that unless you want to meet this Josephine with wet panties.
But is she going to notice? It isn’t like she’s going to actually be dressing me. I can do that on my own, thank you very much.
An impeccably dressed brunette walks in and pauses in front of an elevator. Her stilettoed stride is sure and confident. She’s in a yellow dress with blue and green accents. I love her makeup, so subtle and chic. It emphasizes the bright red of her lips.
A visitor’s pass flashes at her waist.
I raise a hand. “Um… Josephine Martinez?” I say, hoping I’m right so we can get started. I only have an hour for lunch. Although David said I could take some extra time, I’d prefer not to. Don’t want to look like I’m abusing his good will.
She turns around and looks at me, dead on. “Yes?”
“Oh, good. I’m Erin.” Maybe she’s not going to know which Erin. “Erin Clare?”
“Hi. Nice to finally meet you.” She pumps my hand, her grip firm and dry. “You didn’t have to come down here to meet me. I could’ve gone up.”
I clear my throat quietly. “I thought this would be easier.”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” She gives me a quick smile, but her eyes are scanning me from head to toe, then back up, missing nothing.
She even tilts her head to check out my cubic zirconia earrings. I flush, trying not to squirm and failing. I feel like a newly discovered animal being displayed in a zoo. Actually worse. An animal might like the attention. I don’t.
“Do I look okay?” I ask finally, wondering if she’s disappointed. I have no clue what David told her when she hired her. Maybe he said I needed to look like I’m not about to go to work. Or look like I’m at a job interview when I meet his mom.
Josephine smiles, but I’m not really reassured. Maybe she’s smiling to reassure herself. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look. The only question is, are you happy with it?”
“Uh…” Is this a trick question before she starts judging? I know I’m not the most fashionable person. I don’t want to stand out, and I don’t see the point of spending a lot of money on clothes when I could be donating it to worthy causes that would make a difference in the world. I look down at myself for a moment, then back at her. “I guess?”
She taps her chin twice with a perfectly manicured finger. “Let’s walk to my car. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
Oh my God. That sounds…ominous. “Okay.” I give myself a mental pat on the back for keeping my voice steady and not letting my legs shake.
I can just imagine the embarrassment if I trip and fall in my Mary Janes, while Josephine walks runway-model-perfect in those screwdriver-thin heels.
She drops the visitor’s pass off in the security bin, then leads me to the garage and into her Lexus.
As she starts driving, I run my fingers along my purse straps. I should probably set the right expectations. One of the training videos I watched said setting expectations is more than half the battle in all boss-employee relationships. Not that I’m her boss or anything, but she is here to work for me. Or…is she the one in charge and I’m the peon who has to do what she says?
Ugh. This is confusing. “I’ve never hired somebody like you, ever. I didn’t even know people like you existed
.” Especially in real life.
“It’s okay.” Another smile. “So. What do you wear when you go out with friends?”
“I don’t really go out much.” I don’t want to be out in public, in case I lose control over myself. And I don’t want friends because, well…in my experience, friendship isn’t worth much.
“But you have friends in town.” She says it like it’s a given.
“I moved here not too long ago,” I explain, hoping it’s enough.
“Okay. What did you wear when you went out with friends before you moved?”
She’s frowning now. Why? What did I say? I wish I’d looked up how to manage this kind of relationship.
“Um…I don’t know,” I say, since I didn’t really have friends in Virginia, either. Well, I sort of did, until I found out they weren’t my real friends. But I doubt she’s asking me about my high school fashion choices. “Kind of like what I’m wearing now?”
She just stares.
Crap. “I just want to look normal and neat. Stable,” I add hurriedly. “I don’t want to shock Mrs. Darling.”
“Mrs. Darling…?”
“David’s mother. She’s coming soon. And David and I want to look nice for her. I mean, we both want me to look nice. I’m even going to bake cookies, since I heard she likes them.”
Josephine blinks, and I stop, realizing I’m babbling. My face feels hot.
“That’s fine. Uh…baked goods are fantastic icebreakers,” she says.
Great. Now she thinks I’m weird. This is why I try not to meet too many new people. I don’t know why I blabbered. Maybe my usual shield isn’t working as well because of my endless obsessing over the kiss. Or maybe I’m just nervous about this forced shopping trip.
“Don’t worry,” Josephine says after a moment. “I’m really good at playing fairy godmother. I’m going to turn you into a princess every prince wants to marry.”
That sounds…horrific. Doing my best not to cringe, I give her a weak smile.
Chapter Thirty-Four
