Rules of Engagement

by Katrina Liss

  The female part of me clenches tight with want. With need.

  No.

  Heartbreak Hotel lies ahead if I go down that path again.

  There it is, a neon red sign, taunting me. Daring me.

  I can’t see him again. I just can’t. Already I’m getting too involved. My stomach flutters just to look at him. I can’t resist the guy. I’m pretty sure not many could.

  How could I ever rewind from this point, and go back to being purely business after what went down?

  Impossible.

  I’ll just get deeper and deeper, more and more into him. Fall crazy in love, no doubt. And I know that’s not what he wants. He’s made that quite clear. That’s why he hired me. He doesn’t want emotional entanglement.

  I’ll only end up getting hurt.

  I sigh, dragging my eyes away from the source of my problems. I don’t know Vic that well, but somehow I’ve given him a special part of me. A part I can never take back.

  Victor Walker is my first, and despite how we met, he’ll always own a little piece of my body and my heart.

  But he did me wrong. He knows it. I know it.

  Sure, he was sweet and gentlemanly, taking care of me when he knew it was my first time. But the fact remains, it shouldn’t have ever got that far.

  He’s been pushing all my buttons, the whole time since we met.

  He ignored my red lights. All my reminders of the rules.

  Not that I didn’t love it. Every damn moment of it. And in the end I wanted it just as much as him.

  My whole body heats up like a torch just remembering his lips on me, just about everywhere. I’m craving him again already.

  Christ almighty, my emotions feel like they’ve been put through a blender.

  I need to get out before I cave, admit defeat, and crawl back in bed beside him.

  Quiet as a mouse, I grab my fancy shawl, slipping out of his apartment door, popping my shoes on and calling a cab while waiting for the elevator to arrive. I ask the cab to meet me outside the coffee shop down the street. I desperately need a strong black coffee with ten sugars.

  I set off, wobbly on my high heels, wrapping myself in my shawl to hide the brief sparkly black dress, keeping my walk of shame to a minimum.

  I have to admit, there is nothing sweet about this Sweet Something.

  The nasty taste in my mouth grows stronger and stronger, until I feel sick enough to hurl.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vic

  I’ve never slept better in my life.

  The way Ella fit in my arms is damn near magical. I never thought I’d get stuck on a woman quite so fast.

  I think we need a serious talk.

  “Baby,” I murmur, reaching across the bed in search of the warmth of her body.

  All I find is a cool vacant sheet.

  I sit up abruptly and look around, taking in the silence of the empty room.

  It doesn’t take me long to see her clothes are gone.

  She can’t have snuck out on me?

  Fuck!

  Is she angry about what happened? Regretting it in the cold light of day?

  If last night has proven anything to me, hopefully to the both of us, it’s that we are no fake. The time I’ve spent with her is one of the best I’ve had in a long, long time. There’s nothing fake about that. Or what we did last night. And I know she felt the same way.

  A possessive growl rips through me.

  She wants proof I’m for real? She’s gonna get it. She wants a grand gesture? Never been good with half measures.

  I’m so angry she's gone, without a single word, I ignore the voice of reason in my head that's telling me… don’t do anything impulsive...

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ella

  “Thank you, dear. But what are they for?” Morag asks, frowning at the calorie laden box of double-chunk chocolate cookies I’ve set in front of her.

  “No reason," I lie. "Just a gift. Baking's a hobby of mine.”

  I may have spent the whole morning stress baking, but no amount of sugar or melty smooth chocolate seemed to ease my troubles. Or my guilt.

  Morag doesn’t know it's my way of dealing with stuff. Always has been.

  We’re seated on the sidewalk outside a chic little café-come-bar, in the best part of downtown. This place I’ve been summoned to is apparently a favorite meeting spot of Morag’s. Looking around, I can see why. But I do feel very underdressed compared with the other customers, and Morag’s super stylish purple pantsuit is putting me to shame. We sip coffees and smile awkwardly. Well, I do. I’m a bundle of nerves. She’s her usual state of cool and intimidating.

  Her brows arch. “Mmm, unexpectedly tasty,” she says, taking a tiny nibble and setting the cookie back down in the box. “I got word from Victor that he was very pleased with your performance yesterday.”

  My heart thuds like a big bass drum.

  “Oh, was he?” Good she doesn’t know exactly how pleased he was.

  “The reason I asked you here, rather than talk on the phone, was you sounded upset when I booked you in for tonight. What’s the problem?”

  The problem is my inability to say no to Vic. How do I tell her that and still keep my job. Not gonna happen.

  “Well,” I begin, munching a potato chip, trying to act all casual. “I was wondering if I could have a different assignment… another client, maybe?”

  “Why? What’s wrong with the client you have? He likes you.”

  “I know. And nothing is wrong with Victor Walker particularly.”

  “Well, thank God for that. Because I can’t cancel the assignment scheduled for tonight.”

  “Right.” I snap, shoving in some more potato chips, and accidentally biting down hard on the inside of my cheek.

  Flesh crunches. I taste blood. I pick up my cup of coffee and take a few sips, enjoying the pain. It distracts me, but not enough.

  She leans in. “He has a private dinner party arranged at his home. He wants you to play hostess.”

  “I see.” If I’m right, I suspect it will be just the two of us, privately partying in the bedroom.

  And dammit if I’m not heating up with excitement and expectation. All I've thought about all day was how wonderful it had been to have Vic all over me, in me, his mouth crushing mine, his large hands pressing into my tender parts, those long fingers of his caressing so expertly, the weight of his body pinning me down. Last night was so damn amazing I still have aftershocks of pleasure rolling through.

  “Five thirty, okay?”

  “I… uhm…” I falter. Shit. How can I refuse? What excuse can I possibly give? That I don’t trust myself? The rules state to remain professional at all times. I’ve already failed miserably once. I’m likely to fail again, tonight, in spectacular style. I start to waffle, ramble, not really knowing where I’m going. “I'm finding it hard to explain my misgivings—basically it's proving difficult, being new to this, and, uhm, doing three nights in a row, with the same client. It’s too hard. He's so demanding. I really could use a night off duty. To chill.”

  “I do sympathize, dear. Acting the part of a fake girlfriend can be quite challenging. Draining even. And from what I understand of Mr Walker so far, he can be demanding. But I’m sure a woman of your capabilities can cope with three nights straight? After all, you used to work much harder in that cafe, did you not?” She’s right. I did. Way harder. I worked so hard, I could drop. But this is a completely different type of exertion. It’s more mental overwhelm. She pops her chin on her fist and stares deeply into my eyes. That probing, evaluating stare brings forth guilt and shame pouring from every cell I possess. I feel she can read me like a book, and I’m praying I’m not right. “He needs you there tonight, dear. Like it or not, you’re playing the girlfriend and that role needs fulfilling when he decides. I like to please my clients. Give them what they want. When they want it. Keep them happy, you know? Especially the new ones; those who pay well over the odds for what they need. Which brin
gs me to mention… have you checked your bank account today, Ella?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Well, you should. You’re on double the rate of pay. Two hundred dollars per hour. He insisted. Now this assignment is an important business deal of his, I gather. If he's very exacting with his requirements, he's paying for the extra attention to detail. In fact he’s meeting us here, right now, to expand on this in person. I hope you don’t mind?”

  Oh. My. God.

  Right on cue, a familiar deep and croaky voice resounds behind me.

  “Good afternoon, Miss York… Ms Jenkins.”

  I turn round to see Victor striding past the table behind me. He steps forward and rests his hand on the spare chair back. He’s beautifully turned out, in an immaculate light grey suit, his glossy dark hair all finger combed and lush. The light scruff of beard at his jaw makes him look even sexier. A delicious man meal. One I already know I enjoy. I could literally jump on him, wrap my legs around his hips and take a great big bite. Smother his mouth with mine until he’s gasping for air. But that would be professional suicide. I sit rock still, straining to keep my composure, while idly wishing I’d made more of an effort to look better than I do. My super faded jeans, pink Sketchers and black Hello Kitty T-shirt are cute, I guess, but a world apart from his kind of style.

  “What a surprise, Victor. What are you doing here?” I ask politely. Keeping my voice as calm as I can manage.

  “I have a good reason to speak with you. But first, here’s a token of my appreciation. For being a wonderful companion.” He thrusts a huge bunch of pink roses in my hands wrapped with a double whammy of a smile which sends my heart leaping everywhere in my chest.

  “How lovely. Thank you,” I murmur burying my nose in their scent. I place them down very carefully on the table with shaking hands.

  He cooly plants a kiss on my cheekbone and sits down in the spare chair, drawing it closer to my side at the table.

  When I agreed to meet Morag today, I’d resigned myself to never seeing him again. Told myself I couldn’t. I was going to tell Morag I didn’t get on that well with Victor Walker. That I couldn’t possibly take on any more engagements with him. For some unknown, stupid reason, I backed off, and couldn’t say it.

  Well, more fool me.

  Now I’m deeper in doo-doo than ever.

  I’m actually ashamed of myself, of how delighted I am that he’s sitting next to me, with flowers and compliments. Smiling at me the way he is, his grey eyes so intense.

  I’m a lost cause when he’s around.

  Victor pats my hand.

  “I’ve been speaking to Morag earlier. She’s on board with all this.”

  “On board with what?” My eyes dart between the two.

  “This arrangement we have,” he says softly. “I need to step it up. You can’t be seen with any other client from today.” He turns to Morag, “As we agreed?”

  She nods.

  What have they conspired about? I’m utterly confused about what's going on. I shake my head at her. “What are you saying exactly?”

  “This.” He produces a beautiful velvet box from his jacket. Inside is a rock of humongous carats set on a wide gold band. The diamond is circled by a halo of tiny, shimmering rubies.

  My hand clasps over my mouth as I give a startled squeal.

  “Whoa!”

  You don’t get presented with a ring like this and not squeal a little.

  Morag is watching with keen eyes.

  “You’re now my fake fiancée,” he says, with the best poker face I’ve ever seen. “Until further notice.”

  I’m fully aware, this isn’t any kind of proposal. This is a business transaction, pure and simple. My continuing agreement to play along is the price.

  “O-kay.” I nod, feeling trapped and kinda numb. He picks up my hand and slides the ring onto my finger, where of course it fits like a dream.

  “I think a professional hug is in order, Miss York.”

  I’m pulled into his arms. Melting into his body, I feel as if I belong there. Wishing I did. Knowing I don’t. And I won’t.

  It’s all fake. Glossy pretense. A pile of shit wrapped up in a pretty paper. With a big diamond ring on top.

  After we briefly embrace, I lift my hand to examine the ring more closely.

  It's stunning.

  If this engagement were real, I’m sure I’d be floating on cloud nine right now.

  Having a guy like Vic, who loved me enough to plant this huge rock on my finger, claiming me for his own, would be a dream come true.

  The moment is so very bittersweet, I could cry.

  I fight to keep the pain from my face.

  Morag laughs and claps her hands. “What fun—I’ve never had this happen in my whole ten years!”

  How thrilling for her.

  Me, I'm not so thrilled.

  Against my better judgment, I'm forced to be spending more time with Vic. Part of me craves it. The other part wants to run and hide—to protect myself.

  “You understand where I'm going with this, don't you?” he asks, his brow furrowed in a deep frown, his voice distinctly serious.

  I stare at him silently for a moment. “Do I need to?” I'm being deliberately obtuse. I know full well what's going on here. After my disappearing act this morning, he thinks I'm gonna bolt. Leave him in the lurch. Upset the applecart with his mom. And that wouldn't do. He wants this fake arrangement with benefits. It suits him. Vic needs me to stay the course, for as long as he chooses, so he’s devised this charade. Using Morag as an unwitting ally, ensures my part.

  Still the same poker face stares at me. How differently he looked at me last night. Caring. Tender. That was probably all fake too.

  He’s far too clever, this guy. One step ahead. I was not expecting this at all.

  “But you like the ring?” he asks.

  I can’t help being snippy. I am not going to take this lying down. “Well it certainly looks fake enough. Where d’you get it, the fairground?”

  He laughs in surprise, and I notice Morag glare at me.

  “Hardly. It’s priceless. Make sure you look after it, okay?”

  I guess it’s on loan or something. I’ll take perfect care of his pretty bauble. Because despite everything, the sleaze I’ve brought upon myself, that’s the kind of woman I am. An honest, kind and nice one.

  I stroke it with a finger. “It's very beautiful. But totally unnecessary.”

  “Being engaged gives me more stability in my personal life. And hopefully it provides a degree of comfort to you." He flares his eyes as if there’s a deeper source of meaning to his words. No Victor it does not provide me comfort, any which way. I smother my reaction. "Tonight I'm having dinner with a prospective business partner. I want him to consider a joint enterprise in a risky market I have far too little knowledge in.” He gives me a pointed look, which I take to mean something about last night… the crypto thing. “He's someone I’ve known for a long time and a little traditional in his views. He’s bringing along his wife and you’re going to play my charming fiancée and help win them over.”

  I swallow my immediate reply. I know this is utter bullshit—pure crap for Morag’s benefit. Victor works alone. He trades metals, alone. He told me he liked it that way. There’s no business deal going down. There was no need for a fake engagement either. It's just his way to control me.

  "I'm pretty sure you could charm the snakes from the trees… all on your own." I provide a blasting smile. Very fake, obviously.

  He laughs. "Maybe I could, but it’ll work far better with you around."

  I roll my eyes.

  "Ella?" Morag gives me a sharp look.

  "What? Sorry, I'm just tired."

  She doesn't realize how he’s set me up. Tied me to him. The only way I can escape him now, is to quit the job.

  But he knows I won’t do that. Because I need the money. I shouldn’t have told him I was so broke. But I never imagined he’d use it against me
like this.

  “A celebratory glass of wine, ladies?” he says, all smiles and charm, as he summons the server.

  As he and Morag chat about business and other stuff, I’m in my own little bubble, very aware I’m in way over my head.

  I probably have been since I first locked eyes with Victor Walker.

  He has engineered our path to this point.

  Idiot that I am, I dropped into his traps all the way. Now here I sit, like the sacrificial lamb on the altar, waiting to be eaten alive by the devil himself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ella

  I arrive at his apartment, dead on time, and press the buzzer.

  I’ve had time to think and I’m ready with my plan.

  “It’s Ella.” I announce when he answers.

  “Hey, baby. Come on up.” He releases the door lock with a buzz.

  I open the door and enter the foyer, pressing the button for the elevator.

  As I ascend to the top, floor six, I’m trying to keep myself together, but I’m so angry I could scream.

  After he left us in the cafe, Morag gave me a proper ticking off for being rude. She told me I should be thankful I had such a generous and handsome client. Grateful for the double pay. That was the icing on a shit cake. If I wasn't feeling the hooker already, I was after that. I was incensed, trying to keep myself in check. Everything boiling like a cauldron inside of me. I got up, offering a blunt goodbye, leaving my new boss sitting there with a confused expression.

  I traveled home in a daze. And sat there for two hours… just thinking. The only thing which broke the spell was my landlord banging at my door. I've now settled the rent, so he's off my back at least. Some black clouds do have a silver lining, I guess.

  The elevator stops and the doors slide open. When I get inside his door, I’m gonna tell him exactly what I think.