by Remy Rose
Can I do that?
Damon spears a chunk of salmon, chews, dabs his perfect mouth with a napkin and looks at me as if he’s just remembered something. “Also—I’ll need you to sign a contract. An informal one, and I’m not involving my attorney since I can’t risk word getting out to my mother, but it’s probably wise to have at least something in writing.” His toffee-colored eyes are dancing. “Unless, of course, you were a Girl Scout? Then maybe I’d accept Scout’s honor.”
“I was a Brownie. But just for a year. I only went because of the refreshments.”
“I’ll bet you looked cute in your little uniform.”
“Oh, I did.” I lean back against the booth cushion and fold my arms across my chest. If he thinks his charming ways are going to work on me and make me like him, he’s dead wrong. I’m looking at this as a potential business deal between someone who happens to be unbelievably gorgeous and someone who isn’t buying his bullshit.
“So to recap,” I say slowly, “you’d basically be using me and paying me for it.”
“Basically, yes. Although using is a strong term. I prefer borrowing. And you don’t need to fulfill any of the usual girlfriend-y kind of requirements.”
“Requirements?” I decide I’ll try and shock him. “You mean, like blow jobs and fucking?”
It doesn’t seem to shock him. He regards me steadily, evenly. “Right. I don’t expect you to do any of that. I get that you may need to...not sure how to put this, but for lack of a better term, satisfy your libido with someone else...but we’d have to discuss it beforehand—make sure the scenario would be extremely discreet, because I don’t want to take the chance of people questioning your commitment. That same rule applies to me.”
“You don’t need to be concerned about my libido.” That comes out a little harsher than I intend. “And when the four months are up, we go our separate ways?”
“Exactly. What do you think?”
“Honestly? I think this is the most ludicrous idea I’ve ever heard. The only reason I would ever—EVER—consider it is because now that I know you a little better, I’m confident that I have absolutely no romantic interest in you whatsoever. In fact, I have one foot in disgust, teetering on the edge of loathing.”
“But what about your other foot?” He sets down his fork, looking like he’s enjoying himself enormously.
God damn that he’s one-upped me, because I can’t think of a clever comeback. I don’t want him to see that he’s gotten the best of me. I make myself eat, we discuss generic things like work and the weather and I do my best to keep my eyes off parts of him that are attractive, which is all of his parts.
After we’re done and he’s paid the bill, he looks at me hopefully. “So. Do you think this is something you’ll be able to do?”
“I’m going to need a little time to think it over.” Time to think it over, and to Google you and see what you and your company are worth, so I’ll know if you could legit come up with this kind of money.
“All right. I can understand that. But if possible, I’d like your answer by tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He stands up, and I do the same. I’m about to say goodbye when he speaks again. “Let me walk you to your car?”
Shit. It was hard enough being around him in a busy restaurant, and I’m a little apprehensive of why he wants to escort me out, but maybe he’s just being polite. And really, how can I refuse, if I’m considering being his pretend girlfriend?
I nod, and we walk out to the far corner of the parking lot where my Sonata is, since it was crowded when I got here. I click the unlock button on my remote and look up at him, unsure of what to say. He gives me a smile that would be totally endearing if I didn’t not like him so much. “This bit of awkwardness now is hopefully going to make it less awkward later.”
“What are you talking—” And before I can finish, Damon Cavanaugh is bending down, cupping my face in his cool hands and pressing his lips on mine.
What...the...fuck?
I’m clenching and unclenching my fists. The last time I kissed someone was months ago...a random guy on the dance floor at a karaoke bar, and the guy practically put his tongue down my throat.
Damon doesn’t do that. His mouth is soft yet commanding. There is something floating up inside me, like a balloon gently bumping against my chest walls, trying to get free. I feel my legs start to buckle as my body betrays me, and I part my lips just the tiniest bit—enough for him to gently slide his tongue between them and cause me to whimper.
I fucking whimpered, and we both heard it.
Thank God he steps back, and I try to figure out what he’s thinking by the expression on his face—he looks puzzled and surprised and maybe even a little uncomfortable, like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I hope to fuck he can’t see that I’m trembling, or if he does see, that he attributes it to the cold breeze.
He reaches his hand out, and I take it reluctantly, tremors rippling through me as his fingers squeeze mine. “Just thought we should practice once, to see if we could pull off this relationship. Thanks for meeting with me, Delaney. You have my number. Call or text me with your answer.”
I nod, he walks away, and I can’t get in my car fast enough. I’m feeling a lot of different, effed-up things right now, and at the top of the list is marveling at how you can dislike someone and still feel your panties ignite when that someone looks into your eyes.
* * * *
Later at home, it doesn’t take long to find the information I’m looking for. Damon Cavanaugh, age twenty-nine, Dartmouth grad, president of Cavanaugh Yacht—a company worth two hundred and forty million.
So I guess he has the money.
It also doesn’t take long to make my decision. There are worse ways to make a quarter million dollars than hanging off the arm of a crazy-hot guy at fancy parties, but I do view this as working, because of my dislike of the crazy-hot guy, so it’s definitely not a handout. Most importantly, once the café’s open, I’ll be able to leave a job I hate and realize my dream of owning my own business.
Heart pounding, I pick up my phone to call him. He answers on the second ring.
I get right to the point. “Before I say yes, I have three conditions.”
“Tell me.”
“Number one...no karaoke bars.”
A pause on his end. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Meaning, you can’t take me to karaoke bars. I hate them.”
“Absolutely. Number two?”
“There’s a piece of property that I want. I would need to have the money for that up front, because the building is currently for sale, and I don’t want to lose out on it.”
A longer pause. Like, very long.
“Damon, I’m going to do this for you. You can trust me. And if it would make you feel better, you can put it in the contract that the deed stays in your name until I fulfill my obligation.”
“All right. I believe I can do that. The third condition?”
A thrill skates up my back, because my dream of having that building is going to become reality. My God.
I take a breath, because this one makes me feel uncomfortable. “The third one is... no physical stuff, beyond like a quick kiss in public or something. I’m talking a quick kiss with no tongue—not like the one in the parking lot,” I add hastily. “I know you said a physical relationship isn’t part of the plan anyway, but I just want to make it clear that I don’t...do that. If you can agree to those ground rules, we have a deal.”
I hear what sounds like a sigh of relief. “Okay. Okay, we have a deal.”
Well. That was surprisingly easy. He didn’t bat an eye at that last condition. He clearly must not have felt anything with that kiss. Maybe that facial expression he gave me stemmed from his expectation versus reality.
As we make arrangements to meet and sign the contract, I’m thinking that I should be glad about how quickly he agreed to not being physical in the relationship.
Then why aren’t I?
Chapter 9 / Damon
That kiss.
I keep flashing back to it, and this rattles the shit out of me because I’ve kissed too many women to count. It’s not even like it was a deep, passionate kiss, either—very minor tongue, and only because she unexpectedly opened her mouth a little and seemed like she wanted it. It was what I felt, inside, when I kissed her.
But her reaction...she acted more stressed out than turned on. I can’t afford to scare her off, not at this point. Besides that—I like her.
The whimper she made, though.
I’m having a tough time knowing which to believe: what I heard in that sound, or what I saw in her eyes...which was almost like fear. She definitely seemed keyed up on the phone when she was listing off those conditions, and when she got to the physical part, it seemed like she thought I’d crossed a line she didn’t want crossed. So I quickly agreed to it, and besides, I’d already decided before we met that the physical shouldn’t happen.
I pass Eva on my way in to my mother’s office. She gives me a big smile and a wink, and I feel a little zing of guilt in my gut, because I’ve got to stop this. I’ll plan to catch her at the end of the day—ask her to come in my office, although not in the sexual sense like before. I’ll be up front with her about how we have to end it, and hopefully she’ll understand.
The CEO and I are having a working lunch in her office. My mother is a big fan of working lunches—I have no doubt that it’s a control thing and that she requests them just because she can. She doesn’t reserve it just for me, though—she likes to spread it all around the office, too, so each of us can have the joy of breaking bread with Gloria Cavanaugh. Her usual routine is to eyeball what you’re eating, compliment it in some way, and wait for you to offer her some, because the only things she typically brings for herself are salads and diet Cokes.
My mother asked me—or more accurately, told me—that we needed to meet today to discuss how production has been falling behind completing orders. So we’re talking about this while I chow on my leftover Chinese food.
She glares at me over her reading glasses, forking a wilted piece of lettuce and bringing it to her lips. She’s clearly got lunch envy, and I have to tighten my jaw muscles to keep from cracking up. It’s also hard to take her seriously, since she’s wearing three layers of paper napkins that look like a huge bib over her ivory jacket.
“Damon, I know you’re aware that we’ve lost one of our best finish carpenters and need to replace him as soon as possible.”
“I’m very aware, Mother. In fact, I believe I was the one who shared the news with you in the first place.”
“You’re being insubordinate.” She fixes her gaze on the food in my styrofoam container. “What is that? Chicken lo mein?”
“Yes, and spring rolls. I’ll make sure to get Kevin on finding a suitable replacement for the carpenter.”
“Suitable isn’t what we’re looking for. We need exemplary. Nothing less.”
I twirl my fork in the lo mein noodles and slurp them up noisily while my mother gives me dagger eyes. “Exemplary. Got it.” It hits me that I probably should offer her some of my lunch to sweeten her mood, seeing as I’m going to be making an announcement that has the potential to make that tight blonde bun explode. But it has to be done.
I met Delaney yesterday after she got done work, in the parking lot of the Ellsworth library, so she could sign the contract I drew up. She looked cute as hell in a bright pink jacket and jeans, her hair up in a ponytail, but she seemed flustered and nervous and wouldn’t really make eye contact, which bothered me, honestly. I can’t blame her, though—it was only the day before that I’d given her the proposal, and something that major takes a while to sink in.
She read the contract carefully, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. Once she was done, she took the pen from me and signed the paper with a shaky hand. I told her I’d be in touch when I needed her to start playing the girlfriend role, and she drove off in her silver Sonata.
And now, to get the ball rolling with Mommie Dearest. Jesus.
I stand up with my styrofoam container and fork a spring roll into her salad. She pounces on it immediately. Makes no goddamned sense that she continues to bring salads for lunch when she obviously doesn’t like them. One of the many quirks that make Gloria Cavanaugh, Gloria Cavanaugh.
“I’ve been keeping something from you, Mother.”
That gets her attention, but not to the extent I expected. She finishes chewing, lifts a brow and regards me coolly. “Let me see if I can guess. You’re clearly not a homosexual, so that’s off the table.” Her lips twitch. “You’re screwing Jocelyn in accounting. You’ve stolen from the company. You found out where I hide the Godiva chocolates. You’re screwing Bridget in receiving. Ah, the irony...”
Gloria looks immensely pleased with herself as she finishes off the spring roll, which I am now pretty bullshit about giving her. “Am I close with any of those, Damon?”
“No.” Now, I almost relish the thought of telling her. “I’ve been seeing someone.”
“That’s what you’ve been keeping from me?” She snorts, pulls open her desk drawer, takes out a little bottle of breath spray and gives her open mouth a few squirts. “You see people all the time, Damon. This is nothing new.”
“It’s new in that this is serious. It’s a relationship.”
Her cheek muscles tighten as she reaches in her drawer for a lipstick and mirror, painting her mouth scarlet and then blotting it with her napkin bib. “Funny that this relationship—” (she makes air quotes) “—just happens to come to light after I’ve told you my expectations surrounding Portia Bellamy.”
“It’s just a coincidence. I’ve been planning on telling you.”
“Did this relationship (more air quotes) happen before or after our intern was on her knees?”
Knew she’d go there, but I’m prepared. “I ended my involvement with Eva the night I met Delaney.”
“So this relationship is new.”
“Fairly new, yes. But it’s serious, and I plan on a future with her.”
“How very serendipitous. Who is she?”
“No one that you know. And I’ll be honest, she’s not in the social circles I know you prefer. She actually works for a machine company in sales and customer service.”
“This just keeps getting better. Is there a ring on this girl’s finger?”
“No, Mother. As you know, we haven’t been together that long. But I expect that will happen in the near future.”
“How did you meet her?”
“Saw her at a bar in Ellsworth. She’s very beautiful—the type of woman to really stand out in a crowd.”
My mother’s gaze is steely. “You’ve always surrounded yourself with beautiful women. Just like your father, may he continue to burn in eternal hell.”
“Dad’s not dead, Mother.”
“Oh, but he’s dead to me.” She tosses her half-eaten salad into the trash can beside her desk. “All right—you’ve told me your little secret. And it doesn’t matter. You’re not married, you’re not even engaged, and I really don’t care how many women you choose to fornicate with, as long as you’re discreet. Portia will be here in nine days.” Her blue eyes look like cold marbles. “Arranged marriages are a thing of the past. Unfortunately. But you will get to know Portia, personally as well as professionally...entertain her, so to speak, and be open to the possibility of a relationship with her. I have no doubt that when she meets you, she’ll want to pursue you. I want what is best for this company. And what is best for this company is acquiring Bellamy Marine—which can be accomplished with a marriage between you and Portia. Have I made myself clear, Damon?”
It’s not a good thing to despise the person who gave you life, but I fucking do. There’s a hot rush of blood to my face, but I’ve got to stay calm. She may not be able to force me to marry, but I know all too well that she could fire me in a heartbeat, and I don’t think s
he’d bat an eye. “Perfectly clear, Mother.”
“Good. You’ll be picking Portia up at the airport next Thursday. I’ll get you her flight schedule.”
Standing up to leave, I dump the remnants of my lunch in her wastebasket, getting a little satisfaction that she would have liked to eat it.
“Damon.” My mother is smiling, but it’s not a friendly smile. It’s an I’m plotting something kind of smile. “Why don’t you introduce me to your newest conquest before Portia arrives, so I can see for myself how committed the two of you are? Kensington Winery is hosting Pairings at the Point this Saturday. They’re having a benefit and a food drive for the homeless shelter. You can bring her to that. Just make sure she cleans up properly—you know, from being in the machine shop.”
There are days that I consider my father to be the luckiest guy on Earth to be away from Gloria, and this is one of those days. She may have won this little skirmish, but I sure as fuck plan to win the war. Even though I’m well aware she’s planning to sabotage my new relationship, there’s no use in refusing to go this weekend—I need to get the initial meeting over with.
Delaney Brewster, get ready for your acting debut. Opening night is Saturday.
Jesus, I hope she’s able to handle the audience.
Chapter 10 / Delaney
I’m walking around my bedroom in my bra and panties, fanning my armpits after about my twenty-sixth application of Dry Idea, Powder Fresh. Damon’s going to be here in about fifteen minutes to pick me up and take me to some wine pairing, which already feels out of my league. I tried to get him to meet me there to keep our alone time to a minimum, but he thought it would look weird to his mother if we showed up in separate cars. So I’ll have to suck it up and be a big girl—mostly because there’s big money involved.
Speaking of the big money...Damon agreed to act as an anonymous benefactor for my purchase of the building and will make the funds available at closing in about a month. The seller agreed to a purchase price of two hundred thirty thousand, so I’ll have twenty grand left for renovations and start-up costs, minus what I have to pay at closing. Buying the equipment for the café may wipe out my savings, but it’s an investment that will hopefully be worth it. The deed will remain in Damon’s name until the conditions of the contract have been met. So it’s all up to me.
