by L.H. Cosway
“It’s because I’m a mess, okay? I’m a complete mess.”
“Everyone is a mess.”
“Not like me. This” —I pointed to my face— “I am crazy. I have severe abandonment issues and daddy issues and mommy issues. I’m not just shy. I’m petrified. And I don’t want to change. I like my life. I like having control over everything. I don’t want….” I swallowed and looked away, no longer able to meet the burning intensity of his gaze. “I don’t want you.”
“I know that’s a lie.”
“I don’t want you, Ronan,” I whispered harshly. “Not enough to change who I am.”
We stood there in silence, and I could feel his eyes on me. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as a war within me raged. I wanted to touch him, and I wanted to never see him again.
Just when the moment grew unbearable, Ronan turned away. He shuffled to the table we’d abandoned, pulling a bill from his pocket and placing it on the table. He paused there, obviously collecting his thoughts, then walked back to me. With measured slowness, he reached for my hand.
“Ronan, don’t—”
“I’m not asking you for anything. I just want to hold your goddamn hand, okay?”
My gaze flickered to his face, found his expression hard and determined. I nodded once and fit my fingers in his, ignoring the spark that traveled up my arm and the deep, fathomless swelling of want that choked my throat, making it impossible to speak.
He led us out of the bakery, down the sidewalk, across the two blocks, and back to my office building. We didn’t speak, and his hold on my hand was firm but not tight. If I’d wanted to, I could have removed myself, but I didn’t. When we stopped at intersections, he’d brush his thumb over my knuckles and between my fingers in a sweeping circle. The movement sent spikes of fluttering awareness to my lower belly.
But I couldn’t speak, and I could barely breathe. I still had the necklace in my bag, and I was still intent on returning it; but I knew now was not the time.
He didn’t let go of my hand until we were in the elevator, on our way up to the office. He stood on the opposite side of the carriage and wouldn’t look at me. The fury was back, the tortured and sorrowful rim around his eyes, and I felt like the biggest jerk on the planet because I had a part in putting it there.
When the doors opened, he waited for me to exit first. I walked in front of him, trying to figure out what to say, how to move us back to a professional space and away from Annie and Ronan. We needed to be Ms. Catrel and Mr. Fitzpatrick; we needed to work together.
I paid no heed to the receptionist as I walked past, but she stopped me.
“Oh! Ms. Catrel! Mr. Fitzpatrick! They’re all waiting for you in conference room two. You need to go there now, like, right now!”
I glanced at Ronan over my shoulder. His gorgeous face was marred with a scowl.
“Why?”
“It’s about the pictures,” she said, jumping to her feet. She looked at him, then at me, then at him again. Clearly, she expected us to know what she was talking about.
“What pictures?” he asked after a pause. “Did Brona publish pictures?”
“What? No. Not Ms. O’Shea. It’s the pictures of you and Ms. Catrel from today….” The blonde receptionist tsked then waved us over.
I shared another wary glance with Ronan, then walked around her desk, and leaned over her shoulder to see the computer screen.
Her next words were whispered. “See, outside the building. His arm is around you, and you’re laughing. And then these” —she scrolled farther down— “where you’re…well, you’re kissing.”
“What?” Ronan flinched then joined us behind her desk.
Sure enough, clear as day, there were pictures documenting my last hour with Ronan—well, everything leading up to and including the kiss. There were no pictures of us walking back to the building. I had to wonder if they just hadn’t been loaded yet.
But I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t process what this meant.
Dumbly, I asked, “And Joan? Joan has seen these?”
She nodded, “Oh, yes. That’s why they’re waiting for you in conference room two. You both need to go there right now.”
I straightened, my mind a mess, and blinked at Ronan.
He appeared to be baffled but not upset. Mostly just perplexed and surprised.
Meanwhile, I was twisting my fingers together and worrying my bottom lip and trying to plan a graceful exit strategy from Davidson & Croft. There was no way, no way on a cold day in Hawaii, that I was going to keep working here. Not after that. Not after my co-workers had seen pictures of me kissing a client. I was…. It was the worst kind of unprofessional behavior.
“There you are.” Joan’s voice roused me from my panicked planning. I didn’t even get two seconds to prepare before she was on us. “You two need to come with me.”
Insinuating herself between Ronan and me, she grabbed both of our elbows and pulled us forward down the hall.
“Joan,” I croaked, “I can explain.”
“No need, dear. It was brilliant. You are both brilliant.” She glanced at me and gave me something resembling a smile. “I’m so proud of you.”
“What?” I blurted, my wide eyes moving from her to Ronan. I found him looking at her in plain confusion. He was obviously just as befuddled as I was.
“The pictures. The laughing, the hugging, the kissing. It was all brilliant, though I wish you’d talked to me before putting your plan in action. But it’s fine. You’re perfect. You’re exactly what we want for Ronan’s image. Ian can’t believe he didn’t consider it before now. It makes complete sense, given your background. You’re the perfect candidate—you meet all the criteria.”
It was my imagination, I know for a fact it was; but I felt the world tilt, pitch to the side, and I heard the sound of a thousand screaming tea kettles in my ears.
“Wh-what?” I breathed, shaking my head, trying to bring Joan and Ronan and the hallway into focus.
Joan had no choice but to stop because my feet had stopped moving. She glanced at me with an expression that displayed her bemusement and gave me a once-over.
“Are you feeling well?”
“What do you mean I’m perfect? Perfect for what?”
She blinked at me. Her gaze flickered to Ronan and then returned to move over my face in a shrewd examination.
At length she said, “I mean that little act you two put on over the last hour was perfect. You, Annie, are perfect to act as Ronan’s fictional date, partner, and love interest for the foreseeable future…obviously.”
Chapter Nine
@RonanFitz: So this is Twitter. Can’t say I’m impressed.
@Tomsouthernchef: @RonanFitz Oh, go drink some prune juice, Granddad.
*Ronan*
For the second time in the space of a week, I felt like kissing Joan, and it wasn’t because she was such a handsome specimen of a woman. Seemingly, she was becoming my very own fairy godmother; I wasn’t yet sure if this was her intention, but I’d roll with it anyway.
Annie had gone very, very quiet ever since Joan announced her misunderstanding that we’d planned and staged our earlier interactions, that we’d planned for Annie to pose as my fake girlfriend. Her worry was written all over her face. In a way, I could understand her obvious reluctance since I’d been sending her gifts all week, and she probably thought I was some sort of obsessive psycho.
I’ll admit I’d been coming on a bit strong, but I was in New York all alone and had a lot of time on my hands. For some reason, over the past few days my mind had kept wandering to Annie, hence the gifts. So yeah, it was a combination of boredom and spending way too much time thinking about her lips and that lush little body of hers. I wanted in, and my dick thought presents would be the way to get there. God, I could still taste her on my tongue, could still hear the tiny moans she made, the way her breathing stilted and became sexy little pants.
I could also still taste the bitterness o
f her rejection. It hadn’t just caught me off guard; it had pissed me off. She didn’t want to change; she said she liked hiding in her comfortable little world, and yet the way she kissed me said otherwise. Now all I could think about was rattling her cage.
We followed Joan into the conference room where Rachel and Ian were waiting. Rachel wore a big, encouraging smile while Ian’s face was schooled into an expression of grudging respect with a dash of cynicism. Perhaps he suspected those photos of me and Annie weren’t so much staged as they were perfectly real.
I sat down on a chair, and Annie took the one beside me. Her movements were slow and awkward like she was in a daze, and when she placed her hands in her lap, I could see that they were shaking. I didn’t like seeing her like this. I knew she was reeling from the fact that pictures of us shoving our tongues down each other’s throats were currently making the rounds on the World Wide Web. And now I wanted to kill the Internet just for making her feel that way. I’d always been protective of the females in my life, but this was coming on so quickly it was almost disconcerting.
Reaching over, I tried to take one of her hands in mine to soothe her, but she quickly pulled away. The glance she gave me was a very clear communication: No.
“So, we’re a little ahead of the game with this,” Joan began as she sat down at the table. “Brona’s story won’t be going live on this side of the world until this evening, and already the Internet is abuzz with these pictures. Everyone loves it when a celebrity starts dating a non-celeb. It gives them hope that it could one day happen to them. I swear, you two” —she paused and waggled her finger between me and Annie— “this was a stroke of pure genius. Annie, darling, I may need to give you a raise.”
“There’s no need for that, Joan,” Annie said softly. “In fact, about those pictures….”
“We’re very surprised how quickly they got online. Shocked the fuck out of me, pardon my French. We were only at the café twenty minutes ago,” I cut in, sensing that Annie had been about to confess everything.
“Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick, the wonders of modern technology continue to astound and amaze,” Joan replied. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a touch of sarcasm in her voice. Then she clapped her hands together. “There’s lots to do, lots to do, but first, the uncomfortable part. I need to ask you a question, and you need to answer me honestly.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Go for it.”
“Is there any truth to your ex-fiancée’s claims? Or, I’ll put it more bluntly, did you ever beat your ex?”
Annie sucked in a shocked breath while Rachel and Ian stared on blandly. A knot of anger tightened in my stomach at being reminded of Brona’s most recent antics. Spending the morning with Annie had made me forget for a time, but now all the frustration and fury were easing their way back in.
“No, there’s no truth to her claims, Joan.”
“So you were never violent with her?”
I tightened my jaw and flexed my hands. “No.”
“Well, I’d like to say I’m surprised, but sadly there are a lot of ambitious sycophants out there with dark and vivid imaginations, imaginations that allow them to dream up all kinds of titillating stories. Unfortunately, the press eats these stories up like cockroaches at a restaurant in New Jersey.”
I winced both at her analogy and also at the fact that, well, in a way I was lying. Don’t get me wrong—I never once lifted a hand to Brona in physical violence—but I suspected where her story was coming from. And, quite frankly, if she did have proof, then I was well and truly fucked. I could actually feel myself sweating just thinking about it.
Joan was still talking about strategies, and I was staring at Annie, trying to gauge how she was reacting to all this. I felt certain she would not be pleased about being my girlfriend—pretend or otherwise. Only a half hour ago, she was quite fervent in proclaiming that she didn’t want a relationship with me. That she was too messed up.
“So what do you think, Annie?” Joan asked as she came to the end of her spiel.
“I….” Annie began hesitantly and cleared her throat. “Of course, yes. I’m so pleased to help.”
At her words, I felt electricity shoot through me. She wanted to give this a go? I wanted to high-five the fuck out of myself then do a victory dance. But I didn’t, because, you know, manly.
“Well, obviously. You did come up with it, didn’t you?” said Ian with a derisive chuckle and a hint of impatience. I didn’t like his tone. In fact, it made me want to smack the prick.
Annie swallowed. Ian’s comment had clearly made her even more anxious than she already was. Without thinking, I put my hand softly on her thigh beneath the table; surprisingly, it seemed to calm her. At least her hands stopped shaking.
She continued, her voice still quiet but with a flat matter-of-factness, “I match the majority of the criteria, and my past makes up for any deficiencies in physical appearance. I’ll be a sympathetic figure with the public.”
I couldn’t help but give her face and body a quick up-down-sweep, nor did I try to stop my single-eyebrow raise. Deficiencies in physical appearance? She must not own a mirror or be at all aware of the wolfish stares that followed her around the street…and the office.
And what was this about her past making her a sympathetic figure?
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” said Joan. “You match all of the criteria. Now what we have to do is continue to have you both seen in public. A romantic rendezvous here, a stolen glance there, perhaps a passionate clinch or two along the way, and you’re all set. I’m taking it you both possess the acting skills to pull this off.”
Annie quietly nodded, and I grinned at her, running my hand down her thigh and squeezing her knee before letting go. I knew for a fact that neither one of us needed acting skills. Hell, the sexual tension between us could almost be considered another entity, it was so thick. Every time I looked at her, all I wanted to do was bury my face in her neck and lose my hand up her skirt.
The fact that she was now wearing clothes that highlighted her supple figure, rather than disguised it, made not touching her that much more difficult. Then I remembered the reason why she was dressing this way, and I frowned. I needed to have a word with Joan.
Thankfully, the meeting was brief, and while I’d been scanning Annie’s body, everyone stood to leave. Annie was the first one out of her seat. I caught her by the elbow before she could escape and murmured in her ear.
“Don’t leave without me.”
All she did was nod and then hurry out. Once Rachel and Ian were gone, I told Joan I’d walk her back to her office. She seemed surprised but walked with me anyway.
“First off, I’d like to thank you for being on the ball with this. It might be hard to believe, but when I first met Brona, she was actually quite a sweet girl. A little dim, yes, but still sweet. Then things began picking up with my career, she got a couple modeling jobs, and all of a sudden fame was the crack in her crack pipe. Nowadays she’ll do anything for a bit of attention.”
“I’m well acquainted with the likes of Brona O’Shea,” said Joan, giving me an understanding look. “You don’t need to explain her behavior to me.”
“I appreciate that,” I went on. “Annie’s a sweet girl, too. She’s not dim like Brona—”
“No. She’s bright like the sun,” Joan cut in, giving me a sharp smile. “Don’t underestimate her, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Annie is highly intelligent.”
I raised an eyebrow at this interruption but continued my thought, “She is also extremely timid and vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Understand, I’m not trying to tell you how to run your business, Joan, but I will tell you upfront that it doesn’t sit right with me how you’ve been treating her.”
We’d just reached the door to her office when she stopped and looked up at me, eyes slightly narrowed.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve been telling Annie she needs to dress differently. More sexy, or whatever the fuck, and I do
n’t like it. You don’t have to remind me that she’s incredibly intelligent and amazing at her job, and you don’t need to capitalize on her beauty just to make clients more amenable. It’s sexism in the workplace, pure and simple.”
Joan blinked at me, was silent for a beat, and then let out a yip of laughter. “First of all, I would never mandate that my employees dress ‘more sexy,’ as you state. That would be highly inappropriate. I reminded Annie that we have a dress code and then saved her the time of having to shop for it by purchasing a wardrobe for her. All the outfits are stylish, tasteful, business casual, and high quality. Nothing about Annie’s new clothes is meant to tantalize, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
I scoffed, curling my lip, my disbelief of this last bit plain on my face.
Still, Joan continued, “I’m very fond of that girl, but she’s been living in a shell; and I’m just doing my bit to help her out of it. So if you feel the need to protect her, you have nothing to fear from me. I want to protect her just as much as you, if not more so.”
Well, that put me in my place. I didn’t know what to say right then, so I simply furrowed my brow, cleared my throat, and gave her a gruff, “It’s good we’re on the same page, then.”
“Yes, very good,” said Joan, opening the door to her office and walking in. “Until next we meet, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
Turning on my heel, I went in search of Annie’s office and found her drinking a cup of tea and chatting quietly with her assistant, Gerta. I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her as she set the tea down, then bent to open a drawer, and fished out some folders. I might have been a little mesmerized for a moment as I took in the sight of her shapely backside. It was incredible. I just wanted spank it and bite it and worship it and completely fucking defile it.
Gerta was the one to see me first, smiling at me wide and friendly. “Oh, Ronan, I didn’t see you there. Is there anything we can help you with?”
Gerta and I had become well acquainted over the phone after I made a point to apologize for jerking her around last week, thus the familiarity of her addressing me by my first name. In fact, I’d been purposefully using charm to win her over. I needed her on my side in the Annie v. Ronan phone-call-avoiding wars. Annie quickly stood and spun around, looking a little frazzled as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
