Liar (a FAUX-MANCE novel)

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  “Will Windbag and Pencil…you know what…be there?” she teased, referring to Winnie and Phillip, using the less than flattering pet names Nick had for them.

  “Of course.” He smiled. “It’s the primary reason I considered attending. McCain Industries wants to collaborate on new contracts too. You should hear what they are offering.”

  Still facing each other, hand in hand, she questioned his intentions more. “Isn’t that an executive role — perhaps that of the vice president of marketing?”

  That was the role she was applying for, and to invite her to act in such capacity spoke volumes. “It is, but I am responsible for that area until the position is filled, and I would love your insight until then.”

  His faith in her was bigger than she realized. “I suppose I can be available that evening.”

  “You should go change,” he said in a low, sultry tone just before he laid a kiss on her forehead. It was sweet and endearing, without crossing any lines. Chivalrous and gentlemanly as he promised.

  Halfway across the space, on her way to the bedroom where her dress was hanging and waiting, she stopped and turned to ask, “If I agree to move in, can we get a few…pillows? Maybe a throw blanket, and some…flowers or something? Maybe something, I don’t know…pink. It needs to look like a woman lives here.”

  It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, and it meant she was seriously considering his offer. Nothing could have pleased him more. With a smile a mile wide, he nodded. “You can have anything you want.”

  CHAPTER 12

  There was definitely a shift in the air between them. They had gotten along famously before, but now it was even better. There was something honest and real about their relationship — it was a true friendship at this point — despite what it was founded on.

  The limo ride to the bakery across the river to the older, rustic, east side of Portland was full of a fast and furious lightning round of get to know you. They discussed everything from their favorite foods to which one of them snored in their sleep. Fries with ketchup for him, fries with ranch for her. He liked to watch TV, she liked movies. Crème Brule for him, Tiramisu for her. Both loved dogs, didn’t hate cats.

  The couple pulled up right behind Winnie and Phillip, who were also just arriving. When Nick stepped out of the car, he offered his hand to help Cori out as they laughed about something silly, almost forgetting where they were or who they were meeting. Pinched smiles greeted them as Nick grabbed Cori’s hand and planted a kiss on her lips before he led her in their direction, each still laughing.

  “Well, if it isn’t the super happy couple,” Winnie greeted, her pitchy tone already hitting that nerve of Cori’s it often did.

  “And the almost newlyweds. Yay,” Cori fired back with plenty of fake enthusiasm.

  “So glad you two could make it. It isn’t every day you can get in for a tasting at such a highly sought-after bakery. We’ve had this scheduled for nearly two years.”

  “Huh. Really? I got us in just the other day,” Nick mentioned with surprise. “Not for a tasting. We don’t need one. We eat Bob’s cakes all the time.”

  “Bob? Who is Bob?” Winnie’s tone was as sour as her expression.

  “Bob,” Nick said with confidence. “The owner, Bob? Surely you know him? Anyway, we were golfing the other day—”

  “Golf? You were golfing with…the owner, Roberto? He’s so upper-crust, he doesn’t even have a last name,” Winnie interrupted, perhaps regretting the invite now.

  “Sure. We go way back, golf all the time. Anyway, he said to let him know the date, and he’d make our cake personally.” Nick smiled. “And it’s Smith…his last name. Roberto is just for branding purposes.”

  “Yeah,” Cori said, hearing this for the first time herself. “Bob is…great.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Nick squeezed Cori’s hand in a silent apology.

  “Hmmm, sounds like it,” Winnie spat. “Should we go in? Some of us do need to try the cake.”

  The cake coordinator brought platter after platter of different samples of cake, fillings, and frostings. Every combination imaginable was presented, and Winnie and Phillip couldn’t agree on a single one.

  The coordinator suggested they each pick their favorite and do half of the cake in each, to which Winnie was appalled, given Phillip’s favorite flavor combination. Her second suggestion was to pick one flavor combination, and add a cupcake buffet with several different combinations for guests to choose from — cupcakes offended Winnie.

  Meanwhile, Nick and Cori were enjoying the samples and picked their fake wedding cake flavors in the first round of samples, agreeing on the combinations without even trying to convince each other of anything. Winnie also found that offensive. Nick and Cori found Winnie’s offense offensive, but continued to play the part because it was hysterical. It all came easy to them, too easy.

  When the coordinator ventured back to the kitchen to pull together more samples and combinations, attempting to find something that would please their fussy pallets, Winnie went on about how they were not able to book Portland’s most prestigious venue at the top of the foothills, surrounded by breathtaking gardens, overlooking the city — Pittock Mansion. Like everything else she wanted, it was booked several years out, and no amount of money, or Wednesday night wedding compromise, would change that.

  It was a stunningly restored building with old-world charm that consisted of tall columns and chandeliers in every room. There were gold statues and a retrofitted dancing fountain that greeted guests on one of the expansive patios. It was once a museum that had lost its funding, and now, the location for every charity fundraiser, wedding, expensive art tour, or special event to Portland’s richest.

  When Nick came back inside from making a business call, practically skipping, it was Phillip’s turn to be a dick. “What has you giggling, Blackthorne? Jesus, the only thing missing is piggy tales and a lollipop.”

  “I have great news, Cori,” Nick said, ready to stick it to Winnie and knock the wind from Phillip’s cocky sail. He hadn’t taken a business call really. He’d placed a call to a friend after Winnie politely insulted Cori’s lack of culture when she mentioned she had only heard of Pittock Mansion, but had not been there for an event or even tour. She didn’t think Nick was listening, but he was. It was Phillip he was ignoring. That friend happened to own Pittock Mansion.

  “Oh, what’s that?” Picking up on his enthusiasm, she was eager to see what he was up to now. They were getting too good at reading each other.

  “Your dream wedding, sweetheart. You’re getting it. Pittock Mansion. It’s ours if you want it.”

  “Pittock Mansion? My dream…wedding? How did you…?” She couldn’t find the words. How the hell did he keep doing this?

  “I know the owner, and—”

  Cori laughed. “Of course, you do. That’s fantastic. That just leaves…flowers.”

  “Branch and Magnolia got back to me. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. They want to know what color peonies you would like.”

  Winnie’s jaw dropped. “You booked Branch and Magnolia? Are you serious? How on earth…and Pittock Mansion?”

  “Just calling in favors. It really goes a long way when you help others out and do well for your community. Clean business — it pays off. Always have a favor to call in,” he said with a wink for Winnie. It was his way of undercutting her after the jab she took at Cori. It was a well-known fact that both the Chesterfields and Chancellors were dirty backstabbers in the business community. They bulldozed their way to their fortunes, and it left them all alone on their tiny little islands. Nobody wanted to work with them unless they absolutely had to. They really only had each other.

  “Wow. Looks like Cori is getting absolutely everything she wants — Portland’s princess. I heard about Gwendolyn booking the dress too. That’s…amazing, considering she doesn’t do custom work anymore.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t,” Cori chimed. “She’s an old friend of Nick’s family — a
nother one of those favors. What did she say, honey? I insist on doing little Nickie’s wedding so I can die a happy Godmother. She’s great.”

  “Godmother, really? How wonderful for you,” Winnie sneered. “Must be nice to have all those connections at your disposal, Cori. It’s like a fairytale — poor, orphan farm girl from a middle of nowhere mountain town marries a rich big-city prince. You’re just a modern-day Cinderella, aren’t you? All that’s missing is your glass slippers!”

  When Phillip chuckled at Winnie’s insult, it fueled her fury, and the claws really came out. “I’m surprised you still work. I mean, surely you have his credit card in your wallet by now, given what you’re wearing. Go you.”

  Winnie took a sip of her drink like she’d tossed a compliment that deserved a big fat thank you. Her posture straightened and that smarmy grin tightened in challenge, daring Cori and Nick to fire back. Just when Nick went in for the jugular, Cori stopped him.

  “Wow, look at the time,” she said, looking at her new expensive watch. “We have to go.”

  “We do?” he questioned, standing alongside her.

  “Yes…pillow shopping, remember?” she asked of Nick before turning her attention back to Winnie and Phillip. “His place is such a bachelor pad — mancave, really — that’s what they call it.”

  “Right,” Nick nodded. “Pillows…for the mancave.”

  Wrapping her arms around Nick’s waist and looking up into his steely blue eyes, she said in the dreamiest annoying voice she could muster, “We’re moving in together.”

  Nick’s eyes brightened and his excitement plastered across his face when he realized what she was saying. “We are. That’s right.”

  “Yep,” she said, turning back to the jaw-dropped couple still unable to pick a cake flavor. “Tonight. Just need some…pillows. Farm girl to Portland penthouse. I mean, is this really my life? I have to pinch myself these days.”

  To really lay it on, Nick tossed in the final coat of sickening sweet love story. “No, it’s our life, sweetheart.”

  His kiss wasn’t intended to be so sultry, but it was, and it was perfect. So much so, Cori could barely feel her legs. “Let’s go, my prince.”

  Twirling her around him, in the direction of the door, he replied, “After you, Cinderella.”

  Both fell into the waiting limo, laughing. “Did we really just do that? We’re acting like children!” Cori laughed.

  “Welcome to Portland’s elite brat pack. That’s how they all act. One up each other, then toss a friendly insult.”

  “I’m really sorry I sprung that on you like that. She’s just so—”

  “Mean, evil, calculated, conniving—”

  “And then some.”

  Dropping to a more serious tone, he asked, “Are you really moving in?”

  “I sort of have to after that, don’t you think? I can have James bring a bag. He’ll know what to bring me. He’s James…and of course Bronco. I’m going to be watching her,” she laughed.

  “Let’s go get pillows, dinner, and go home!” Nick was going to need a shower after that dirty exchange with Winnie and Phillip — more so, though, at the thought of having Cori in his home, sleeping in his bed.

  CHAPTER 13

  A mini home décor shopping spree and take-out dinner later, they were back at the penthouse, relaxing and settling in. Cori had only been kidding about pillows and something pink, but Nick insisted so she would feel comfortable and threatened to charge Eve with the task if she wasn’t willing. She begrudgingly gave in.

  Getting acquainted on a whole new level, as roommates, they enjoyed their time and talked about everything from what to eat for breakfast and sharing bathroom time to get ready for the day. The one thing they hadn’t discussed was sleeping arrangements. It was clearly only a one-bedroom apartment, despite the space, and that also meant one bed.

  “So, I’ll take the couch,” Nick offered.

  “The couch?”

  “Sleeping. Unless you want to share a bed, I’ll take the couch,” he clarified with an awkward chuckle.

  “Nick, no. I can’t let you do that. This is your place. I’m just…visiting. I’ll take the couch. It’ll be fine.”

  “Exactly,” he confirmed. “You are a guest, and a lady. You get the bed.”

  “But it’s your apartment and your bed. I can’t.”

  “It’s our apartment, and our…well, your bed too. At least for now. Please take the bed.”

  “As comfortable as this couch is to sit on, I can’t imagine it being as comfortable to sleep on all night. You won’t even fit on it — you’re too tall. I think we are having our first argument,” she teased, trying to make light of the situation.

  “Hold that thought. Actually, meet me in the bedroom. We are not having an argument.” Nick turned on his heels and headed toward the bedroom, but stopped just shy, turning into the laundry room.

  She couldn’t tell what he was doing in there when she passed the doorway headed to the bedroom, but heard clanking and shuffling, followed by an, “Ah ha!”

  Joining her in his room where she was sitting at the edge of his bed, he held up an unopened box, and said, “Problem solved. I’ll sleep on this.”

  “A box?” she joked.

  “It’s an air mattress. I was going to go camping once, but ended up at the Ritz and never used it. I’ll just blow it up on the floor and slide it under the bed in the mornings.”

  He did just that, quick to unroll the blue, flat, plastic mat and plug in the electric air pump. Within a couple minutes, he had his own makeshift bed, and the solution — though not the one he wanted — was sleeping next to her when he would rather sleep in bed with her. He promised chivalrous and gentlemanly, so this was his compromise.

  They took turns in the bathroom, each getting ready for their first night as a fake engaged couple living together. Ladies first, Nick waited for Cori to finish her nightly routine in the bathroom before turning in for the night. When he returned to the room, he paused in the doorway at the sight of her sitting in the middle of his bed. He’d give anything to be one of the two dogs lying next to her — hell, he’d even be the small one with a pussy name. He would have to settle for lying next to her…on the floor.

  Closing the gap between them, he stood at the edge of the bed, each taking the other in. “So, do we hug, or…?”

  She laughed. “I think we do whatever we want to do. Nobody sees this part — except Bronco and Bunny — but they won’t tell.”

  With him still standing there, awkwardly staring at her, she broke the ice and scooted to the edge of the bed, raising to her knees. She leaned in, as did he on her cue, and raised her hand, throwing him for a loop. “High-five. Put’er there, Blackthorne.”

  A boisterous laugh erupted, and he met her high-five before laying down on his new air mattress — on the floor — where he couldn’t see, hear, or feel her.

  It was quiet for a few moments, and they both found themselves lost in thought. Cori was self-shaming, mortified with her choice to high-five a super-hot guy standing before her, half-dressed in only low-slinging sweats, broad shoulders and abs for days proudly displayed. He was already uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the mattress and everything to do with a hot little brunette sleeping in his bed in nothing but a thin white cotton nightgown that was a little snugger than she probably realized across the chest.

  Nick was the first to wake the next morning, and he was as uncomfortable then as he had been when he went to sleep. He was hard as a fucking rock. What was worse — both dogs had left her in the big comfortable bed and crowded in with him on the much smaller mattress, creating an unnatural tilt. He felt like a snob for a moment because he missed his big, expensive, comfortable bed.

  Finding his way to the bathroom without embarrassing the hell out of himself, without giving Cori a glimpse of the hard morning he was having, might have made for a tricky feat — especially since he didn’t know if she was still asleep or if he would run into her, or r
ather his goods would run into her, in the hallway. It took some cajoling to get the dogs to quietly move just enough so he could carefully and slowly sit up and peek over the edge of the bed to see if the coast was clear.

  Still snuggled up, hugging his pillow, she was sound asleep and the sweetest thing he had ever woken up to. Messy bedhead, smeared, leftover makeup, and a little drool — she was still the prettiest, most pleasing thing he’d ever seen. There was something special about her, and it was becoming more and more obvious as he was becoming more and more smitten.

  With a plan to make a quick dash to the bathroom, he darted as fast and quiet as he could so as not to wake her. He needed a minute to calm his…mood with a cold shower. His morning run would be pretty painful otherwise, and the obscenity he carried front and center might get him banned from the park.

  Slightly disoriented, she woke to the smell of woodsy man scent and eggs. Why that turned her on and made her stomach growl was beyond her. It was new.

  Fully awake, the realization she was not in her own apartment and the previous day, and night, came flooding back. With a glance at the empty floor where the blue air mattress and sexy man once lay, she smiled, remembering it wasn’t so empty last night and that the woodsy smell surrounding her was from him.

  Refreshed from one of the best night’s sleep in one of the most comfortable beds she’d ever been in, she was reminded of his sweet sacrifice. He wanted her in his bed, and he would take the floor — a gentleman, who made her libido do flips when she thought of him sleeping in this bed every night before her.

  He was sweet and kind, thoughtful to a fault — all things she wasn’t used to finding in men, or the city in general. He made her smile with a mere thought, and she appreciated his die-hard desire to defend her honor in a childish ruse that should have ended the moment it started. He was so invested, though, and she didn’t understand why, but she did appreciate it.