“Sounds like a pretty good deal,” she says. “Was Simone part of your research?”
I smirk, amused. “Jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous of her?” she asks, looking away. “She didn’t seem very nice.”
“You’re not wrong. She’s definitely a bitch, but she gives good head, so … ” I shrug again. “Sometimes you put up with it.”
Libby’s cheeks go pink, probably at my casual mention of sex. I can’t help but laugh at the reaction. She’s nothing like the women who usually flock to me, and she isn’t actually flocking to me, so I guess that would be why.
When we get to the counter, she orders soup and a sandwich with a coffee. I do the same and pay for us both. We take our drinks over to a table and sit across from each other, and it feels weirdly like being nineteen again in her parents’ kitchen.
“What about you?” I ask her. “Huffington Smith, that’s impressive.”
She shrugs, looking self-conscious. “I sort of fell into it, I guess. I got a business degree in undergrad, but I had no idea what I wanted to do with it. My parents are all about the power of the entrepreneur, and I always figured I’d do something with business when I graduated. Accounting just kind of found me one day and it stuck. It drives me nuts half the time, but I’m apparently pretty good at it.”
“Pretty good at it? I mean, you only work for one of the big four accounting firms,” I say. “With international offices and clients. And you’ve managed to score working in Paris for a while which I’m sure people your age would kill for the opportunity to do.”
She snorts, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “People my age? You’re what, three years older than me?”
“Three and some change, probably,” I reply. “It always felt like more.”
“That’s because I was in high school. There’s a huge divide between that and college. I remember when Darren first went away to school. It was like he’d suddenly gotten so much older and more mature.”
“Yeah, I remember Darren in freshman year,” I say. “He wasn’t that old. Or mature.”
She laughs at that, and it’s a nice sound.
Our food comes quickly, and I wait until we’ve both eaten a bit before I speak again. “So, what has you so blue on this lovely afternoon?”
Libby sighs and pulls a crust off the edge of her sandwich. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid, honestly.”
I frown at that. “Do we need to revisit the whole ‘you work for Huffington Smith’ thing?” I ask her. “You’re pretty far from stupid.”
The corners of her mouth lift in a tiny smile, but she doesn’t stop looking sad. “Okay, so. Can I just … Can I get your advice?”
“Sure. You do know that means you’ll have to tell me what’s going on, though, right?”
She rolls her eyes and spears me with a sharp look. “I’m getting there. So. Lucien. That guy I was with the other night? We were sort of … I don’t know. We were … ”
“Fucking,” I supply, and she blushes darkly.
“Ian!”
“What?” I ask, going for innocence. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I mean, yeah, but you don’t have to say it like that.”
For some reason, I don’t like the admission. Libby is so much better than that. So much better than any guy that looks half as squirmy and smarmy as Lucien. Then again, she’s a grown woman. She can sleep with whoever she wants.
Though, it pisses me off that I didn’t get to her first.
“Okay, fine. You were ‘making love.’” I draw it out, making it sound ridiculous.
Her blush doesn’t go away, and she fidgets in her seat for a bit, looking around as if to make sure no one is listening to our conversation. I wait for her to continue, chewing on my turkey sandwich. Hoping to swallow down this sudden rise of jealousy up the back of my throat.
“Fine,” she finally huffs. “You’re right. We were … doing that. Twice. And it was such a bad idea. I don’t usually do that with co-workers, you know? Because it’s a terrible idea. Don’t hook up where you look up and all that.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Sorry, accounting jargon. Basically, don’t sleep with your co-workers. Pretty simple rule, right?”
“More of a guideline, surely?” I suggest.
“Whichever. You’re not supposed to do it. And I did it, and I regret it so much. The end.”
Her answer satiates the primal part of me that longs to claim her. But, I’m still not satisfied with her answers. And I can feel my brow tightening in confusion.
“That’s not the end. You didn’t even get to the middle yet. Why do you regret it? What did he do?”
“Nothing,” she sighs. “I mean, he’s just himself all the time, and I should have known that would get grating after a while. He’s just so … irritating sometimes. He’s always flirting, always sending me these over the top and frankly not work appropriate messages while we’re in the office. Like he’s trying to seduce me every day when I’m just sitting there trying to do my goddamned work, you know? And at first, he asked me out on a date, and I said no because I’m not going to be here for too much longer, and I don’t want to deal with messy break ups or anything like that. And then he whittled me down to us just hooking up, and I said yes because … well … women have needs too.”
“Of course they do,” I agree. “And if you’re leaving soon, it gives you a nice out.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Except now, I think … I think maybe he just wanted to sleep with me the whole time and the date thing was kind of manipulating me into saying yes. Like when you ask to borrow a lot of money when you really only need five bucks so it’s easier for someone to say yes.”
She says all of that in basically one breath, but I get the gist of it. Pretty classic move from Lucien, one I’ve definitely used myself a time or two, but I don’t tell Libby that. For one thing, I want her to think I’m better than this guy, and for another, it’s not what she needs to hear right now. No, what she needs to hear is that she’s better than something like that. She’s better than those tactics. I knew the second I laid eyes on Lucien that night in the restaurant that he was no good for her. He’d never be up to snuff with the kind of man Libby deserved in her life.
“You could be right,” I tell her with a shrug. “But I mean, can you blame him?”
She furrows her brow. “Excuse me?”
I grin and wink at her, pouring on the charm. “I mean, you’re beautiful and smart and funny,” I say. “He was probably just trying to figure out any way possible to get you to notice him.”
Usually when I tell a woman she’s all of those things, she blushes and thanks me. Libby just sighs.
“Yeah, he said all that, too,” she mutters. “And I believed it like an idiot.”
“Hey, you’re not an idiot. Just because he used it like a line doesn’t mean it’s not true,” I tell her. “He’s an asshole, but you’re gorgeous. More than that, you’re capable. And there’s not much hotter than a woman who knows how to get stuff done, trust me.”
“Why should I?” she asks. “Because you’re the woman expert?”
“I’ve been with enough of them to qualify, probably,” I say, grinning wider. “I’ve been with all kinds of women, and the ones who know what they’re about are the ones who hold my interest for the longest.”
“Lucky them,” she deadpans. I wink at her again.
This time her cheeks go a bit pink, and I chalk that up as a win for me. I’m not even sure what I’m doing. Flirting comes naturally to me, and I usually go through life charming my way through most conversations.
Part of it is wanting Libby to smile. Seeing her look so down just isn’t right, and I want to help her feel better. Another part of it is that attraction. It’s always been there with her, low grade and easy to ignore at first, but now that I see what she’s become, it’s louder and more insistent.
I wasn’t lying about capable women being a turn on,
after all.
I look at her from across the table, and an idea enters my mind. Maybe after all these years I can satisfy my curiosity for what it would be like to be with her.
She likes me, at least I think she does, and that’s a good place to start. The rest will come with time, but already I’m adding her to my list.
Libby
It’s another late night, and I’m exhausted by the time I get home. I drop my work bag on the floor by the door, and walk away from it. It’s the weekend—finally, and I don’t want to look at it until Monday morning. I’m not checking my email, or answering any messages from managers until I absolutely have to.
All I want to do for the next two days is lay around, eat spicy noodles, and watch bad TV.
So of course it only makes sense that as soon as I flop down on the couch, my phone rings. I think about ignoring it. I really think about ignoring it. But I pick it up, just in case it’s an emergency, and look at the caller ID.
My sister. Calling all the way from America.
Usually my family messages me via email or instant messenger, so the fact that my sister is making a phone call makes me concerned. I answer it.
“Who’s dead?”
“Why do you think someone’s dead?” she asks, sounding confused.
“Because you never call me.”
She huffs on the other end. Annabelle is younger than me by two years, making me the middle child. Darren’s older by three and a half years, and I’m sort of the link between my two siblings. The two of them don’t talk much, but they pass messages through me when they have something to say to each other.
If it’s just her trying to get me to tell Darren something, I’m going to be pissed.
“I call you. I can’t believe you think I don’t call you.”
Annabelle also got all the drama in the family. Darren and I are pretty levelheaded, usually preferring to do stuff ourselves rather than drag others into it, and we roll with the punches as best we can. Annie likes to make things into a production as often as possible. Usually I just let her get on with it, but I’m too tired to deal with the theatrics tonight, so I cut her off before she can ramp up to a tantrum.
“Annie, can you please get to the point? I was at work for almost thirteen hours today, and I have a headache from hell,” I say, letting the exhaustion color my tone.
“Okay, okay,” she says, and I keep my sigh of relief quiet. “So, Mom called me to remind me about Nana and Grandad’s anniversary.”
I wrinkle my brow in confusion. “Isn’t that like next month?”
“Yeah, but you know them. They’re already planning the party, apparently. It’s going to be this huge thing, fancy dress, fancy food. Mom says they’re hiring a string quartet.”
“For fuck’s sake. I mean, it’s the 50th, so I get it’s special, but isn’t that a little much?”
“Oh, it’s definitely a lot much,” Annie agrees. “But apparently Nana isn’t backing down on it. She wants all her friends and family to be there to celebrate her and Grandad. That means you, too.”
“I was planning on being there. Their anniversary is what, the 20th? I’ll be back at the beginning of the month.” I can only imagine the uproar if I wasn’t back in time.
Like my brother and me, our mother is pretty levelheaded, but her mother, our Nana, is a real piece of work. She married rich and wants everyone to know it. Mom grew up in the lap of luxury, but hated every minute of it. As soon as she was able to, she moved out of her parents’ house and started fending for herself. Dad isn’t wealthy, and the two of them live a modest life in a small town, much to Nana’s displeasure.
Nana likes to be the star of the show, and there’s no excuse good enough to miss her anniversary party. I’ll have to get a new dress, I’m sure. Nothing I have will be good enough to show up in. Especially if it’s going to be string quartet fancy.
“Okay, I’ll tell Mom, then. She couldn’t remember if it was next month or the month after that you’re getting back.”
I roll my eyes. “Which is why I added the date to her calendar. I don’t know why she has it if she’s never going to use it.”
“She’s as stubborn as Nana about some things. You know that.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll hit the roof.”
We both laugh at the image, and I’m hit with a sudden wave of missing my family. I love them, however annoying they can be. When I needed to get away from everything after what happened, they stood by me and wished me well, doing what they could to make the process easier.
It will be nice to get back to the States and see them again.
“There’s one more thing,” Annie says.
“What?”
“It’s kind of sensitive.”
“What?” I ask again. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s not about me. It’s about you, I guess? Well, it has to do with you. Mom said I should wait to tell you but that seemed like a really bad idea, so I figured I’d just get it out of the way so you can decide what you wanna do, you know?”
Dread seizes me because that can’t be good. “Annabelle, what is it?” I ask, and she can tell I’m serious because I hardly ever use her real name like that.
She sighs. “So, the thing is, Nana is inviting all their friends. And you know they’re really close with the Covington’s right?”
I close my eyes because of course. How could I forget that? My grandparents being friends with my ex’s grandparents is the whole reason we met in the first place. Of course they’d be there. I don’t even want to think about what they might have heard about why I wasn’t marrying their grandson. I was probably painted as the bad guy to help Chris save face.
“Okay,” I say. “Well. That sucks.”
“Yeah,” she says. “And there’s more.”
“How the hell is there more?” I demand, upset.
“Chris is invited, too.”
For a second I just stare at nothing, completely dumbstruck that my grandmother would invite my ex to her party. She doesn’t know the truth about what happened, just that it didn’t work, but still. You’d think not causing her granddaughter stress just for the sake of a party would matter to her.
“Great,” I say. “Awesome.”
“Mom apparently tried to reason with her, but … You can guess how that went.”
“Prolonged guilt trip about how she moved out and broke their hearts and turns down all of their offers to buy her a new house or a new car or whatever else they think she needs?”
Annie snorts. “Pretty much, yeah. I don’t think she’s going to budge.”
It feels like there’s a lead weight in my chest, dragging me down every time I think about seeing Chris again. I know he’s going to still be gorgeous. I know he’s going to want to show off whatever bimbo he’s seeing now. He’ll put on airs and act like what happened between us was a misunderstanding and I overreacted and that’s why it didn’t work out.
It makes me so angry just thinking about it. Being upset and humiliated in front of my own family just because he has the nerve to show up to a party for my grandparents.
It’s not like I have a lot going for myself to make him jealous of me. Other than work, my life is dull. I could talk about living in France for a few months, but he’s traveled all over the world. He won’t be impressed.
“Libby?”
I’m startled out of my thoughts. “Sorry,” I say. “I was just … Spacing out.”
“I’m sorry. I know this really isn’t what you wanted to hear.”
“No, it’s not. But thanks for telling me. I’d rather know now than be surprised later.”
“That’s what I thought. I do have an idea for what you could do to get back at him.”
“Set his car on fire with a Molotov cocktail?” I suggest weakly.
She laughs, and it’s easy for her. This doesn’t affect her that much at all. “No, you have to make him jealous.”
“Sure. Easy. I’ll show up in
my work clothes with my permanent dark circles and talk about doing walkthroughs at overpriced clothing retailers that will go unnamed.”
“Or you could come with a date.”
“Annie—”
“Hear me out,” she insists. “I know you haven’t been dating, but it doesn’t have to be someone you actually, you know, are dating. It could be a friend or someone you hire. Just someone hot and funny and smart to hang on your arm and make Chris regret ever being a huge asshole to you.”
“I can’t do that. That’s … I don’t know. It’s something someone in a romcom would do and then get caught doing. And there’s nothing more pathetic than getting caught in a lie like that.”
“So don’t get caught,” Annie responds. “You’re better than that. Smarter. You can coach whoever it is. And honestly, you know Nana and Granddad aren’t going to ask any questions. Mom and Dad might, Darren definitely will, but it’ll be enough to just show up with him and act like you’re having a wonderful time.”
The more she talks about it, the more it makes sense, and I hate myself for starting to consider it. Because the thing is, it would be really great to make Chris feel like shit. To rub his face in how little I care about him and whatever he’s doing now.
I can picture myself showing up with some handsome man, laughing and mingling and introducing him to people, and not looking at Chris once.
But it’s just a fantasy. I can’t actually see it working, and I don’t even know anyone I could ask.
The truth is, I’m not over him. I can admit that to myself if not anyone else. I don’t still love him, not after what he did, but I’m still hurt by it. I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, reaching for him after seven months. I still imagine what he’d say about certain things, and I can’t shake his voice in my head whenever I do something he’d find funny or stupid.
He’s still a part of me and showing up at the party with someone I’ve paid off isn’t going to do much to change that.
“Just think about it, okay?” Annie says. “I don’t want you to be miserable the whole time you’re there.”
Off Limits: A Brother's Best Friend Fake Relationship Romance (Fake It Book 1) Page 4
