by Cora Kenborn
“Nope,” I say, popping the P at the end and refusing to glance back at him as I poke my boat with a stick in hopes of dislodging it. “All under control.”
Tightening my grip around the useless stick, the only control I manage to have is pushing the shit further into the brush, causing it to tip over and take on enough water to sink. I curse and stomp my foot, spraying water and dousing the top of the newspaper. As the tip of my boat shoots up, it bobs haphazardly for a moment, then begins to capsize under the murky water.
“Piece of shit boat!” I scream and blow a wet piece of hair out of my eyes, frantically jabbing the stick harder as I wade farther into the water.
Niall peers over my shoulder again. “Need some help?”
“Stay out of this,” I say with a growl, still determined not to lose. “Did you sabotage my boat to win this bet? Can’t you get a girl to kiss you without resorting to cheating?”
“Look, if you’ll just let me help you—”
“I. Do. Not. Need. Help.”
I know I look like a drowned rat. I’m half drenched, chasing after a stupid boat so I don’t have to kiss a man that I desperately want to kiss. Makes sense, right? However, what the hell am I supposed to do? There’s no wrong answer in this equation. If I lose, I get what’s probably the most amazing kiss of my life, and if I win, I get the chance for an in at Tate & Cane without doing jack shit to earn it.
So, you tell me. What would you do?
You know what you probably wouldn’t do? Distract yourself while jabbing a stick over a pond on your tiptoes. As I’m mulling this over in my head, the boat finally dislodges the minute I decide to give it one last Herculean jab. You see where I’m going with this, right? There’s only one way this can end, and it’s right in the middle of Turtle Pond.
With one slip of my cute sandal, I dive headfirst into the water. It’s not one of those graceful, oopsie moments either. No, this is a mouthful of dirty-ass pond water, hair in my face, and pond scum now coating my skin, type of swan dive.
The minute I catch my breath, all I hear is Niall’s hysterical laughter in the background. Between holding his stomach and wiping his eyes, he manages to check on my well-being. “Are you all right?”
Embarrassed, I cross my arms over my chest. “If you’re finished being an asshole, you could give me a hand, you know.”
The moment he extends a hand, I do what any female in my situation would do. I plant my feet and use the resistance of the water as leverage, giving his arm a tug. I can’t help the feeling of satisfaction when his eyes widen with shock right before he tumbles headfirst into the water right beside me.
The minute his head pops up, I prepare for him to tell me to go to hell, or even worse, to tell me that the deal is off and I’m right back to sending out worthless internship requests that will undoubtedly either end up in the trashcan or at the bottom of some slush pile of some assistant’s bottom drawer.
Instead, he wipes the water from his face and takes a few steps toward me, his eyes smiling. “Well played.”
I force a smile. “Niall, look at you. You’re all wet behind the ears.”
“And you lost a bet.”
“Well,” I say, beginning to make my way toward the shore. “I suppose we can talk about payment when—”
In two steps, the water parts and Niall gathers me in his arms. All the breath leaves me in one swoosh as his lips find mine, and the cool water evaporates only to be replaced by blazing fire. The kiss starts out soft as he traces the seam of my lips with his tongue, his hands dipping to the base of my spine and pulling me flush against his wet body. A soft moan escapes my lips before I can rein it in, and the minute I embrace him back, he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss so fiercely I can barely breathe.
This. This is the kind of kiss I’m scared of. Because I know I can get lost in it, and in the end, this is a contract—a one-night arrangement that benefits us both. Besides, I’ve somehow let the man think I’m a single mother in need of rescuing. It’s too late to change the game now. If everything goes as planned, Niall and I will be co-workers soon. This can never happen again. Even if it’s physically painful how much I want him to keep kissing me.
Pulling away, I nod toward the blanket where Sophie and Preston laugh and demolish their soggy boats, oblivious to what just happened between us. Extending my hand, I offer a weak smile. “Congratulations on your win, Mr. Mackay. Don’t expect it to happen again.”
Making a show of wiping our kiss off his bottom lip with the pads of his left fingers, he shakes with his right and winks. “Oh, I expect that and a lot more, Miss Cavanaugh. Count on it.
Chapter Six
Niall
“Have you kissed her yet?” Sophie purses her lips and glances up with a knowing look.
When the hell did this kid turn into an adult? And when did she pay enough attention to know that Laken wasn’t just one of the regular playdates I dragged her to?
“No, and it’s none of your business.” I try to fix the mess I’ve made of her hair before school. Dragging a brush through the rat’s nest, I again attempt what should be pigtails, but ends up looking like one cheesed off donkey humping another.
Completely ignoring me, she winces as I pull the elastic bands tighter and give up. “Are you gonna kiss her?”
That’s the million-dollar question. When I kissed her at Turtle Pond, something changed between us. Now, three weeks later, we’ve seen each other almost every weekend, spending time with the kids at Central Park Zoo, a day trip to Coney Island, the Children’s Museum…hell, almost anything but spending time alone. Not that she hasn’t been giving me some serious signals. With purposeful touches, lingering caresses, and her outfits getting skimpier and skimpier, something needs to give. At the end of the day, I’m still just a man.
Plus, I’m starting to get callouses from jerking off all the time, and I’m going to go broke paying my water bill from all the cold showers.
We’ve learned the basics about each other, enough to not look like feckin’ liars if someone questions our union, but Laken’s still holding back. It’s almost as if she’s afraid to let me see the real her—like there’s something she doesn’t want me to know. It irritates me, because I’ve let her into my world more than I’ve allowed any other woman since Sophie’s mother wrecked my trust.
“No. Yes. I don’t know, Soph. Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because you like her.”
That’s beside the point.
Dropping the brush, I chuckle and scratch my head with my index finger. “When did you become an expert in anything but Oprah and being mad at the world?”
“I like Preston,” she says with a blank expression.
Sophie has always been a master at schooling her emotions. It freaks adults out, and as abrasive as she is, I used to think I was doing something wrong. Eventually, I realized it’s just in her genes. She’s one of a kind and marches to the beat of her own drummer. Kind of like her dad.
I raise an eyebrow. “You do?”
“Well, not in the beginning,” she admits. “But he’s not so bad. I like Laken too. You should marry her.”
“You think so, huh?”
Chewing her thumbnail, she thinks for a moment. “Tomorrow works for me. I’ll wear a dress, but no shiny shoes. I like sneakers.”
“Nobody is getting married, Soph.”
A hint of a smile crosses her lips. “That’s what you think.” Bounding down the hallway of our small apartment, she stops at her bedroom door and turns over her shoulder with a wink. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got this under control.” With a maniacal laugh, she throws her head back and disappears into her room while slamming the door.
Oh, feckin’ hell, this can’t be good.
Sophie has never been what you’d call a conventional child. Spirited and unique is what her teachers tend to call her. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to translate to, but I’m thinking they probably get together, down a few shot
s of tequila, and draw straws to see who ends up with the Mackay kid the following year.
Is that horrible to say about your own child?
However, Sophie is right about one thing. I do want to kiss Laken again. If I close my eyes, I can still smell her jasmine perfume and hear her throaty laughter from the pond. The way she looked dripping wet, with her clothes stuck to every curve, warms my skin just thinking about it. Her body is amazing, and the more we’re together, the more I imagine what it would feel like underneath me all slick and wet as I thrust into it. Would she scream my name or moan softly in my ear as she came?
This definitely isn’t good.
Reaching down to adjust my inconvenient erection, I try to think of anything but Laken. I’m not supposed to want her, but the fact that this is just a business arrangement of convenience makes me crave her even more. Maybe it’s that whole forbidden fruit thing. Maybe wanting what I can’t have makes her seem way more enticing than she is?
Then I remember the heat in her eyes when I tried to pull her out of the water. This is completely new territory for me. I’ve never had to work so hard for a woman’s attention. Normally, they throw themselves at me and I have my choice of which one I want for the night. The fact that it has taken so long for Laken to warm up to me pisses me off and entices me at the same time. What kind of mental bullshite is that?
It’s clear to me that I won’t be able to get over her until I’m balls deep inside her.
That settles it. I’m fucking Laken Cavanaugh.
I stare at my cell phone sitting innocently on the coffee table. I’d put it off, but the simple arrangement I thought I had under control has turned out way more complicated than I imagined. I’ve kept this whole charade to myself for weeks, but maybe enlisting some help isn’t such a bad idea.
And besides, who better to help me sleep with a future Tate & Cane employee than a guy who’s fucked probably half of the females in the building? Swiping my phone off the table, I fight a yawn as I punch in the number I know by heart.
Vince answers on the first ring. “What’s up, dickhead? Where the hell are you?” he yells, his voice muffled by clanging and chatter in the background. “Please tell me you’ve decided to tickle Gloria’s happy button because she’s especially bitchy this morning.”
Vince Tribiotti is about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“Not happening, get over it.”
However, he refuses to give up the fight. “You know you’d be making everyone’s lives more bearable, right? I mean, this is worse than the shittiest case of PMS I’ve ever had the misfortune of witnessing.”
“I’d rather get my dick caught in the ceiling fan.”
The unmistakable sound of air sucking through clenched teeth fills the line as Vince groans low in his throat. “Man, quit it with the dick threats. I don’t care if it is just your pathetic shriveled up piece of meat on the line.”
This conversation is headed nowhere fast and I’m already late for a meeting with Sophie’s teacher. I roll my eyes as I pour another cup of coffee. “Look, I need to go, but are you free for lunch today? I need your opinion on something.”
“Not today, man, but it doesn’t matter because I need you and your camera-toting ass at the office as soon as you can get here. I’ve got a campaign I need you on.”
I tilt my head down the hallway to make sure Sophie’s door is still closed before answering. “I took today off for some bullshite teacher conference. I can’t bail on it.” Although I’d love nothing more than to bail. Even to fight off Gloria and her twelve hands.
“Non-negotiable,” he says with a smug edge to his tone. “Have your ass on Madison Avenue in an hour. Don’t fucking let me down on this, Mackay, or I’ll kick your ass.”
Taking one more gulp of coffee out of my mug, I grumble and pour the rest down the drain. There must be another photographer at Tate & Cane who can cover the project. As much as I want to help my friend out, the last place I want to be is anywhere in Gloria’s grabbing distance. “Can’t you get someone else?”
“No can do. You were specifically requested. I’m just following orders.”
I sigh and scrub my hand down my face. “Can you at least take me out for dinner before you screw me over next time?”
“Be here in an hour.”
“An hour and a half, and you’d better have a shite load of coffee.”
***
Vince mentioned Gloria, and I made a decision. Why wait until the gala to start showing off my new fiancée? Three weeks of planning was more than enough preparation to present the lie Laken and I had concocted. I’ll admit to having somewhat of an agenda when inviting Laken to meet me at the office, and I hope a surprise attack doesn’t backfire on me.
However, this is Laken Cavanaugh we’re talking about, and nothing she does should surprise me by now.
After cutting my meeting at Sophie’s school short, I text Laken and tell her to meet me at Tate & Cane. I fully expect some sort of argument from her, demanding to know why and wanting a play-by-play account of what to expect. However, to my surprise, barely a few seconds go by before a return text pops up with a “yes” and about seven exclamation marks. Seven seems a little excessive, but I think maybe she’s getting into this engagement ruse as much as I am, which gives me hope.
The project Vince mentioned ends up with me alone in a conference room, taking publicity shots of Gloria. It’s for some society page only rich people read that’s promoting the gala and her ability to have her hands in the workings of every board and pair of pants in New York City. It irritates me that she managed to convince Vince to drag me in for this, but honestly, as long as a vagina does the talking, it’s not hard to convince Vince of anything. I should’ve expected it.
The shoot goes as well as I imagined it would. Like sitting bare-arsed on an erupting volcano. Gloria makes a play for my cock, which I manage to block with a well-timed sidestep and an “accidental” flash of my camera that blinds the hell out of her. After I remind her I’m off limits to anyone but my future wife, she gives me an unaffected laugh and saunters out the door with a not-so-veiled warning to not keep her waiting much longer.
Now as I stand in the middle of the makeshift photoshoot surrounded by a clumsily hung backdrop, shade umbrella, tripod, and light stands, I kick a wayward extension cord out of my way and curse at the missed opportunity.
Where in the hell is Laken?
“Sorry, I’m late!” She rounds the corner, her usual wild blonde curls wet and plastered to her flushed cheeks. “It’s raining outside, so I decided to catch a cab, and then there was this insane midtown traffic. I know you told me to be here at eleven, so when I looked at the time, I saw it was ten fifty-five, so I just bailed in the middle of Madison Avenue and ran the whole way here. You left my name at the front? Thanks for leaving my name at the front. I made a few wrong turns in this building, because fuck, this place is huge. Oh God, I didn’t mean to say fuck! We’re the only ones in here, right? I mean, there aren’t any managers or anything who could’ve possibly heard me say fuck to ruin my chances at—”
Crossing the few feet to where she stands, I place a hand over her mouth to stop her incessant talking. “Laken, breathe.” She nods, the corners of her eyes pulling down in sheer panic. “There’s no one here. It’s just me and you, all right? Take it down a few notches, aye?”
“Right,” she says, brushing a piece of drenched hair out of her eyes. “So, what’s the deal?”
“Deal?”
“Yeah, I mean, where’s the fire? I bailed on my e-commerce class for this, Mackay. You said you had an amazing opportunity waiting for me at Tate & Cane.” Taking off her rain jacket, she shakes it, splashes of water dampening my pants. “Am I meeting with company bigwigs? Did you get me the internship?”
Laken’s eyes hold so much promise that a part of my stomach twists to dash her hopes. I know I’m a shite for holding onto her as long as I can—as a single mom, she needs this job—but I know the minute I g
et her the internship she’ll walk away. Am I a dick for dragging this out as long as I can? Maybe. Okay, probably, but in my defense, she did lose the paper boat race bet at Turtle Pond, so I’m under no obligation to cut our deal short.
“Not exactly,” I answer honestly.
She stops mid-squeeze of her hair and gives me a pointed look. “Not exactly? What the hell does that even mean? What am I doing here, Niall?”
I wanted more of an audience for this just to create a buzz, but beggars can’t be choosers. I guess now is as good of a time as any. Dropping to one knee, I grab her hand and reach into my pocket with the other. Laken’s eyes widen and her mouth rounds. I know this is supposed to be a pseudo-serious moment, but I can’t help but remember this is the way I imagined her all those times in my shower. Only then, I’d also imagined her down on her knees, her cheeks flushed just the way they are now as I slipped my cock between her—
“Niall, what the hell are you doing?”
Had I actually closed my eyes? Oh feckin’ hell, did I say something about her sucking my cock? This will be over before it starts.
My eyes pop open, and before she can slap me, I pull my hand out of my pocket. “Laken Cavanaugh, I knew you were the one for me the minute my kid beat the shite out your kid at the park. Will you marry me?”
I didn’t think Laken’s eyes could get any wider, but when I pull out my grandmother’s two point five carat solitaire diamond, I tighten my hold on her hand, afraid she’s going to pull one of those moves in one of those rom coms she’s always talking about and pass out on me.
“Where did you get that?” she whispers.
“Family heirloom.”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“I think I do.”
I’m about to explain the virtues of public displays and office gossip when the mother of all office gossip proves my point before I can say a word.
“Holy shit! Niall, you Blarney-kissing motherfucker! Where have you been hiding her?”
