by Nikki Chase
I’ve got to stay professional. I can’t ruin my career over some guy, even if that guy is Brock.
Was it a bad idea to come here?
As these thoughts crowd my mind, the door opens. My heart skips a beat at the soft click, and I step out of the bathroom.
It’s him. Brock. He’s dressed to the nines—tux, shiny shoes, the whole nine yards. Damn, he looks good.
“Hey, thanks for coming. I was worried you might not,” he says, handing over a big, fancy-looking shopping bag to me. “Just put those on, and we can get started.”
My mind goes wild with possibilities as I robotically take the bag by the handles, my hand grazing over Brock’s for a heart-stopping moment.
What’s inside? A sexy nurse costume? A sexy cat woman costume made of latex? A sexy . . .
Stop it. Stop thinking dirty thoughts. It’s probably not a sexy anything. It’s most likely some promotional material—brochures, flyers, whatever.
Glancing at Dean’s mysterious smile, I peek inside the bag . . .
A dress, it looks like, along with some shoes. The tags are still on . . . and the prices, my God. My eyes water at the sight.
What the hell is going on?
If he thinks that just because he gave me a job, he can book a fancy hotel room, buy me some slutty clothes, and then do whatever he wants, he’s got another think coming.
I’m honestly stunned—I didn’t expect this from him at all. I can get another job where I don’t need to sacrifice my dignity, thank you very much.
Brock is standing there, arms crossed, looking very pleased with himself while I have a silent deliberation with myself.
“Come on,” he says impatiently, “what are you waiting for? You said you’d help me out to repay me for ruining that shirt. We’re running late.”
I stand there, open-mouthed. How can he be so brazen?
“Yeah, I said I’d help you out,” I say indignantly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to put a slutty costume on and let you do whatever you want to me in a hotel room. What the hell, Brock?”
Brock stares at me like I’ve sprouted a second head.
And then, he bursts out laughing.
Brock
I feel kind of bad for laughing because she looks genuinely quite scared and offended, but what she’s suggesting is so absurd that I just can’t help myself.
“What exactly do you think I want you to do?” I ask her, more laughter bubbling up to the surface.
She looks like a rabbit in the headlights, her big, amber eyes widened.
“Well, the hotel room and the clothes, and . . .” Nina trails off then looks up at me. “Have I got this wrong? Because from where I’m standing, I’m sure you could forgive me for thinking you wanted ‘repayment’ for the favor in . . . well, sex.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Really? My buddy’s little sister, who I recently saw get harassed by her asshole ex? You think I’m going to invite you here and expect you to sleep with me? Come on, Nina, you know me better than that.”
“Well . . .” Nina reddens charmingly and looks down at her feet. “I kept trying to tell myself that I was wrong, that you weren’t like that . . .”
“And . . .?”
“No! I’m not going to get embarrassed.” She pulls her shoulders up and then stares me right in the eye. “You should have just told me what you were doing—not all of this silly cloak-and-dagger bullshit. What do you expect a girl to think when you invite her to a hotel room and then turn up and say the stuff you did?”
“It’s interesting that that’s the first place your thoughts go, though.” I grin. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s a sign of a dirty mind. Wouldn’t you?”
She blushes again, but there’s the tiniest sign of a smile tugging the corners of her lips up. At least the tension is defused now.
“Look, Nina, I don’t want to toot my own horn too much, but on any given night, I can go to a bar in the city and get any girl I want. I don’t need to resort to dirty tricks. Believe me.”
For a second, I see an expression cross her face, and it almost looks like jealousy . . . then it’s gone.
Interesting.
But keep things professional, Brock. Always remember that. Your dick has gotten you in trouble before, and it definitely will here if you let it.
“Put this on.” I pick up the shopping bag from where Nina’s dropped it on the floor and hand it back to her.
She makes a face.
“In the bathroom,” I quickly add. “I promise I won’t peek at you.”
“That’s not it,” Nina says, unable to hide her smile anymore. “I, uh . . . Can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Once you’re dressed and ready, we’ll head down, and I’ll fill you in on what’s going on,” I promise.
“Can’t you just tell me now? I’m bored of Brock’s Magical Mystery Tour already.”
“No time.” I shake my head. “Quick, get dressed. Or we’re going to be late.”
Nina hesitates, looking like she’s going to insist, but eventually, she turns and goes into the bathroom with a sigh of resignation.
I wait impatiently on the couch while she puts the dress on. I haven’t been looking forward to this evening, and I just want to get it over and done with.
I’ll admit having Nina by my side makes things better, though. I laugh softly to myself as I recall her expression mere minutes ago.
The door to the en-suite cracks open a few minutes later, and Nina emerges.
My breath catches in my throat.
Damn . . .
She looks like a million dollars. Utterly amazing.
I picked out the dress myself because I needed her to make a statement . . . but wow. She fills it out very nicely indeed.
It’s a red dress, low-cut, and cinched in at the waist to highlight her hourglass figure. The color accentuates her blond hair perfectly.
“Brock, I’m not sure about this.” Nina shuffles out of the bathroom. She turns her back on me to face the full-length mirror.
Fuck. Her rounded ass looks amazing in that dress too.
“I don’t normally go for dresses that show quite so much cleavage,” Nina says, looking self-consciously at herself.
I drag my eyes from that perfect ass with much effort and give her an encouraging smile, forcing myself not to stare at the reflection of her creamy, gravity-defying tits in the mirror. “What? You look great. Really, really great. And I mean that 100 percent.”
“Well, if you say so,” she says with a sigh, even as her face lights up at the compliment. “Okay. So what are we doing?”
I hold out my arm, and she links hers with mine as we leave the hotel room and take the elevator down.
Crossing the main lobby, I notice heads turning, eyes staring at Nina. It’s almost a crime that she never dresses up like this. She looks fit for the red carpet.
“It’s an . . . wedding,” I say. “I didn’t want to come, but my parents are forcing me. I needed a date, or at least I needed to pretend I had a date.”
“Why, though?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.
I take a deep breath. May as well come out and tell her the whole truth. It’s probably too late for her to back out now.
“Well . . . the person getting engaged is my cousin, Philip. And he’s going to get married to my ex, Rosa.”
Nina’s eyes widen. “Oh . . . that might be awkward.”
“Might?” I laugh. “It’s definitely going to be awkward. Like I said, I’d rather be at home right now, but my parents have guilt-tripped me into coming. ‘That’s all in the past,’ and ‘You should be happy for your cousin, Brock.’”
Nina looks up at me in sympathy. “But . . . why do you need a pretend date? Couldn’t you have just picked up one of those women at a bar like you were talking about before?”
She smiles sweetly to hide the barb, but I still wince. That’s a good burn.
“I’m not looking for anythi
ng serious right now,” I say. “So you don’t need to worry. I’m not interested in whatever you thought I wanted back up there. I just need to get my family off my back.”
Now it’s her turn to look uncomfortable, but we don’t have any time to somehow make things even more awkward because we’re standing outside the grand ballroom where the reception is taking place.
“Thanks for this,” I lean in and whisper in Nina’s ear before we enter. The intoxicating scent of her perfume fills my nostrils. “I owe you. You can let me do the talking if you like.”
I pull a diamond ring out of my pocket and quickly slip it onto her finger. She looks down at it, and her gaze darts up at me.
“Brock! What the hell is this?” she asks with wide, shocked eyes.
“Just play along,” I say. “It’ll be fun.”
I wink at her as we enter the ballroom together. It’s already busy, with people laughing, chatting, eating, and drinking. Rosa and Philip are smiling for pictures while a team of photographers follow them around.
Many of the guests, no doubt Rosa’s relatives, look like the intimidating, hardened mobsters they are. I’m not even kidding—the Guerrieros are actual, real-life mafiosos—but that’s a story for another day. I’m just glad I don’t have anything to do with that whole family now.
Aunt Nancy and Uncle Ted are standing over near the canapés, and they spot me almost immediately, waving us over.
“Brock, darling, we’re so glad you decided to come along.”
I lean in and give Aunt Nancy a kiss, but she’s already focused on Nina, looking her up and down. Judging by the smile on her face, she quite clearly approves.
“And who is this, son?” my uncle asks, smiling.
“This is Nina,” I say. “My fiancée.”
“Your fiancée?” Aunt Nancy asks, exchanging surprised looks with her husband. “My, you do keep things close to your chest; don’t you, Brock?”
“I can agree with that,” Nina laughs, giving me a meaningful stare. “It’s lovely to meet you both. Brock has told me so much about you.”
They chat away for a while, and I immediately note just how good of an actress Nina is. She’s a natural, charming my aunt and uncle with wit and humor. Nobody would ever suspect that she only learned about being my ‘fiancée’ right before we entered this room.
I’m impressed. Really impressed. But I also take a mental note.
If she’s this good of a liar, I need to keep my guard up around her. Who knows what else she’s capable of?
But for now, I’m simply happy that she’s playing along, just like I asked her to, and she’s doing such a good job of it.
“So, how did you two meet?” Uncle Ted asks, smiling.
The question catches me momentarily off-guard, but Nina steps in smoothly.
“Roller derby,” she says. “We met at roller derby. Brock’s a whizz on his skates.”
“Roller-derby?” they ask, both laughing.
“Oh, yeah,” Nina says, grinning. “I’ll have to get him to demonstrate just how good he is for you some time.”
“Brock, how many other secrets are you hiding from us?” Aunt Nancy asks.
“Not many.” I smile tightly and squeeze Nina’s hand.
She squeezes right back and gives me the sweetest smile, the kind that’d make me almost believe she’s actually besotted with me if I wasn’t the one who invented this lie.
She’s enjoying herself a little too much.
I tell my aunt and uncle we’re going to look for a drink and drag Nina away before she says something even more ridiculous.
“Roller derby?” I hiss as we make our way through the crowd. “What the hell made you say that?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, giggling. “First thing that came into my head, I guess. I think you’d look good in skates. Maybe some chunky, hot pink ones.”
“You will never see me wear roller skates,” I say through gritted teeth. “Never.”
“Oh, but Aunt Nancy and Uncle Ted would be so disappointed.” She pouts.
Before I have the chance to tell her to tone it down a little and let me do most of the talking, I suddenly hear my name being called.
I turn and groan internally.
It’s my parents.
Nina
I just can’t resist ribbing Brock a little.
When he slipped that ring onto my finger without so much as a warning . . . Well, I was somewhere between thrilled and horrified. I’ve barely had a chance to look at it, but it seems to be a real diamond—and a big, shiny one at that.
Anyway, if he’s going to put me on the spot and make me lie for him, the least I’m going to do is have some fun with it. If he expects me to be demure and quiet, he’s picked the wrong girl for his weird little ruse. I may as well have some fun with this whole situation if I’m going to be forced into it.
I’m still giggling from the roller-derby thing as we walk away. The expression on Brock’s face when I came out with that was something to behold. He looked like a weird combination of amused, confused, and horrified. His aunt and uncle weren’t far off that either.
The mental picture of muscled, serious, intense Brock scooting around on hot, pink roller skates just won’t leave my head, and it’s cracking me up, big time.
Brock doesn’t look like he appreciates the joke quite so much, though. He’s stone-faced and silent as he grips my hand just a little too tight as if he’s afraid I’ll run around and tell his entire family he also freelances as a clown at the local circus.
All of a sudden, Brock stops and lets out a little groan.
I follow his gaze and see an older couple bustling through the crowds toward us, big smiles lighting up their faces. They have to be his parents—the family resemblance is striking.
“Brock, darling!” his mom beams. “We’re so happy you came! Aren’t we, Art?”
His dad sort of grunts, non-committal. He mumbles something about “rather be at home." He looks like he wants to be here about as much as Brock does.
Well, I can see where Brock gets that side of his personality from.
“Mom, Dad, this is Nina,” Brock says. “She’s my fiancée. We, uh . . . got engaged recently.”
His parents are shocked silent for a moment, jaws agape. Even his dad looks wide awake now.
His Mom recovers first, sweeping me into a great big hug then planting a kiss on my cheek. “Well, don’t you look gorgeous, Nina.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She rounds on Brock. “What are you doing, getting engaged without us ever meeting Nina? Honestly, Brock, I can’t understand you sometimes. Poor Nina probably thinks you’ve been hiding her from us.”
Brock opens his mouth to speak, but I cut in.
“It’s been a bit of a whirlwind romance,” I say with a smile. “We’ve barely had a chance to get to know each other, let alone meet the family.”
“Our Brock has always had a good eye for girls,” Art says, eyes twinkling as he gives me a hug of his own. “I’m glad to see he’s still got his dad’s good taste.”
I blush before his Mom frowns and bats at her husband’s arm.
“Shush, Art, scaring the poor girl like that. She doesn’t want you slobbering all over her.”
“I’m not slobbering, Barb,” he says. “I’m appreciating. There’s a difference.”
She rolls her eyes at him then puts a protective arm around my shoulder. “Now, we need to make up for lost time; don’t we, petal? Say, we’re going away next weekend to the lake house at Grand Lake. Why don’t you come along?”
“Great idea,” says Art. “It’s beautiful up there. Isn’t it, Brock?”
Brock nods, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the way this conversation is panning out.
“That sounds wonderful,” I say, “but next weekend is no good for me, unfortunately. I’ve got plans that I really can’t change.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Barb says. “We’re retired; we can go anytime. When a
re you free, sweetheart? Next week? The week after? Let us know. We absolutely must get to know the newest member of the family.”
I look up at Brock, but he just shrugs.
Well, if you’re going to be like that, I’m going to accept the offer of a free holiday, Mr. Grumpy. Sorry, not sorry.
“The week after next sounds lovely,” I find myself saying.
“Great,” Art says. “Can’t wait. I used to take Brock up there when he was little. Once, we were fishing, and he fell right into the water. He got his pants snagged on some weeds and ended up naked with the fish nibbling at his little worm. Remember, Barb?”
“Oh, I remember it so well,” she says, laughing so hard she’s running out of breath. “Brock was always such a serious little child. I’ll never forget the expression on his face when we eventually hauled him, butt naked, out of the water. Like a grumpy, old man trapped in a little kid’s body.”
“I’m not sure he’s changed all that much in the years since,” I say, laughing along with them, thoroughly enjoying myself. “I like to call him Creepy Old Man—it’s one of my pet names for him.”
Brock clears his throat and not-so-subtly kicks my shin. He’s probably regretting getting me to do this for him now, but I’m having the time of my life.
His parents and I chit-chat for a little while longer while he stands there stone-faced, looking like he’d rather be anywhere except here.
Art and Barb eventually excuse themselves, mentioning that they need to go catch up with the rest of the family, leaving Brock and me alone again.
“What the hell was that?” Brock asks as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I asked you to pretend to be my fiancée for one night—not go for weekends away with my parents.”
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m a method actor. I was just getting into my role, playing my part, like you asked me. Besides, it’ll be fun. Grand Lake is supposed to be beautiful.”
“I was hoping you’d be able to wriggle your way out of it,” he grumbles. “It’s not like I could have. Not without raising their suspicions.”
“An outright ‘no’ would’ve looked suspicious coming from me too,” I say.
