by Nikki Chase
“Never mind.” Brock sighs and squeezes his temples. I suspect he’s gotten far more than he bargained for. “I guess we’ll just have to keep up the pretense for a little while longer.”
“Okay.”
“Can you . . .” Brock takes my hands and looks into my eyes, the intensity in his gaze making my heart race. “Can you promise me to tone it down a little from now on, though? If you carry on like this, before long, my mom is going to have a wedding venue booked and start asking me to pick out flowers.”
“I’m not promising anything,” I tell him, ignoring the tingles running up and down my spine at his touch. “I’m having fun, and if you didn’t want that, you shouldn’t have sprung this whole thing on me without any warning. You reap what you sow, Creepy Old Man.”
He rolls his eyes. “I need a drink. Come on. Let’s find the bar.”
We spend the next couple of hours milling around the party, making small talk with Brock’s extended family. Out of some (probably misguided) sense of sympathy for him, I tone down my quips and jokes. I play the role of the sweet, quiet, new fiancée.
Brock’s family all seem like pleasant, polite people, friendly and welcoming. I find myself almost forgetting I’m only pretending to be his fiancée.
After a while, I excuse myself from the party to find the restroom. It’s just as luxurious as the rest of the hotel. Checking myself out in the mirror, I note that Brock was right—my boobs do look really great in this dress.
As I make my way back to the party, I hear someone call my name. “Nina! Stop!”
You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.
I whirl around to see Peter charging down the swanky hallway towards me. He looks absolutely terrible, like he hasn’t slept for days. His hair is wild and his eyes wilder.
“Peter, you need to leave.” I draw back from him, actually afraid—he looks completely out of his mind. “Don’t do this.”
But Peter doesn’t stop advancing, stalking me until I’m backed into a corner. I look around, desperate for someone to save me—where the hell is the hotel security?—but there’s nobody. Just me and my crazy ex.
“I’m not going anywhere, Nina,” he rasps. He’s got a smile on his face now—a horrible, cruel smile. “You’re mine, and you’ll always be mine. You just need to be made to realize that.”
“Ouch, Peter, you’re hurting me,” I protest when he grabs my arm, hard, and tries to drag me away with him. “Just let go, leave, and get some help. You’re not well.”
As he leans in close, I smell the stale booze on his breath.
Damn it. He’s always extra crazy when he’s drunk.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “I’m not well. You ripped my heart out of my chest without any warning, and then you expect me to just get over it and move on? It doesn’t work like that, Nina. You can’t do this to me.”
I struggle now, the panic setting in.
Peter is slight for a guy, but he’s still a guy. I read somewhere that almost all men are stronger than almost all women, and Peter is definitely demonstrating that for me right now.
I know all I need to do is break free and get back into the ballroom—I doubt he’s crazy enough to follow me in there.
But try as I might, I can’t get his claw-like fingers off my arm.
“Are you here with him? That meathead from the lobby the other day?” Peter’s voice is pure venom. “How dare you think you can just drop me and go fuck a brainless asshole like that? He’ll never treat you as good as I can, Nina. He’ll never worship you like I do. He’ll—”
Pete lets out a strangled cry as he disappears from my view.
Wait. He didn’t disappear. Of course he didn’t
He fell. Like a sack of bricks.
I hear the sickening sound of a fist connecting with Pete’s face before I notice Brock with his hands on Pete’s collar, hauling him off me.
Before I can fully process what’s going on, Brock’s fist smashes into Peter’s face again.
“I told you,” Brock says, breathing heavily, “to stay away from her, you fucking freak.”
Blood is oozing from Peter’s nose as he struggles to get back to his unsteady feet.
“Don’t get up,” Brock growls. “Stay down there if you know what’s good for you.”
“Fuck you!” Peter screams, even as he remains lying on the carpeted floor of the hotel hallway. “You stole my fucking woman! You think I’m just going to let you have her? You’ll have to kill me!”
“Don’t tempt me,” Brock says in a low, threatening voice. He looks so sincere that I actually start to think he might.
Okay, I sometimes fantasize about how much better my life would be if Peter were to get hit by a bus, but actual, pre-planned murder probably isn’t a great idea.
Somehow, my wobbly legs take me close enough to the men for me to put a shaky hand on Brock’s shoulder.
“He’s not worth it,” I say, my voice thin. “Just leave him here. He’s done. Let’s get back into the ballroom.”
Brock gives me a small nod, keeping his dark glare on Pete.
That’s when four security guards turn up, obviously drawn by Peter’s shouting. They see Brock standing over a bleeding man and immediately grab him.
“He assaulted me!” Peter screeches, pointing an accusing finger at Brock. “Arrest him!”
“We’re not the cops. If you morons want to fight, do it someplace else.” one of the burly guards says. Judging by the way the other two guys look at him, he appears to be the leader.
“He was just protecting me,” I say, indicating Brock. “This man on the floor was harassing me and threatening me.”
“I don’t care who did what to who,” another guard says. “All three of you need to leave. Now.”
Brock looks furious as he pulls himself up to his full height.
“Let’s go,” I whisper in Brock’s ear. “He isn’t worth getting arrested for. I think we’ve convinced your family we’re engaged, right? So we can leave.”
Brock’s jaw is clenched, but he nods—tersely.
Two of the security guards haul Peter up off the floor.
“Take him to the side entrance. And make sure he’s off the property before you let him out of your sight,” the lead guard says.
As Pete is being dragged off, he stares at Brock and me with pure murder in his eyes. It’s so intense that I shiver a little. I used to think he wasn’t capable of anything truly scary, but I’m revising my opinion on that now.
“Let’s go. We’re taking you two out through the other entrance.” The lead security guard puts his hand on Brock’s shoulder.
“We can walk,” Brock snaps, shrugging off the guard’s hand.
He takes my hand, the warmth of his skin distracting me from the cold, curious stares of other hotel guests as we’re being marched off the premises.
A few minutes later, we’re outside in the warm, balmy, summer night.
“Thank you,” I tell Brock.
He nods. “You need to go to the cops about that fucking freak before he does something really bad. He’s not right in the head.”
“Yeah, probably,” I say. “Another day. I think he got the message tonight.”
We sit on a bench by the sidewalk silently for a little while, looking out of place in our party attire.
“Sorry I sprung that whole thing on you,” Brock eventually says, turning to look at me. “You handled it well, though.”
“Oh, I know.” I grin.
Brock chuckles. “But if I have to go buy a pair of pink roller skates just to keep up appearances, I’m going to be mad as hell.”
I giggle at the mental image, and Brock laughs along with me, the tension melting away
“Sorry my weirdo ex keeps turning up and trying to fight you,” I say. “But it looks like you can handle yourself pretty well.”
“I wish I didn’t have to do it, but I get the impression this Peter guy isn’t one to take subtle hints. I don’t think he’s
done yet, either, by the way he was looking at us as he got dragged away. The guy creeps me the fuck out. You should watch yourself, Nina.”
“I will.” Knowing that Brock is on my side gives me some sense of security.
“So,” he says, elongating the vowel as he lets out a big breath, “I guess we’re going to have to keep up this whole pretend engagement for a little while longer, now you’ve accepted my parents’ invitation. I’ll have to think of a reason for us to ‘split up’ after that I guess.”
“I vote for ‘you snore too loud, and I just couldn’t bear it anymore.’”
“Nah. Won’t work. My parents know I don’t snore.” He shakes his head, a big grin splitting his gorgeous face. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘she’s way too high maintenance, and she kept on saying stupid shit, and I just couldn’t bear it anymore.’ Far more believable.”
I elbow him in the ribs, and he holds his hand over his side, acting like he’s been mortally wounded.
“Careful,” I warn him. “If you think I’ve reached the limit of stupid shit I can say, well, you haven’t seen anything yet. Don’t push me.”
We sit there on the bench with traffic rushing by for a while longer, laughing and talking about nothing.
This is probably the best night out I’ve had in a long time.
Nina
I’m back at work after my unusual weekend, and now I’m faced with an unusual Brock.
I still can’t get over his weird decision to pretend that I’m his new fiancée, but whatever. It was fun, and I was actually really enjoying myself until Pete showed up and ruined everything.
But one thing I’m finding it difficult to adjust to is how different Brock can be at work compared to how he was outside.
Sure, he was a little gruff and not amused at the hilarious stories I concocted for his family, but overall, he was sweet. He stood up for me when Pete threatened me, and then we had a ton of fun simply sitting on the side of the road, watching traffic go by.
Today, though, Brock’s all business—even more than normal.
He’s taking on a new project, and the stress is obviously taking a toll on him because today, he’s been either locking himself in his office or stomping around, shoulders tense, forehead creased, and gaze firmly locked on one of his many gadgets.
This morning, as I entered his office, he barely glanced up when I greeted him. He seemed fully absorbed in whatever work he was doing at his desk. It puzzled me a little to suddenly see him so distant.
It got worse when he had some new task for me to do. It was a proposal of some sort about a new team he wanted to create.
I agreed to write it up for him but accidentally left in some spelling mistakes. When I emailed it to him, he printed it out and came striding over to my desk, papers clutched in his hand.
“What’s this?” he asked.
I blinked at him. “The proposal you asked me to write.”
“Look.” He placed the print-outs down on my desk, spelling errors circled in angry, red pen. “Mistakes like these aren’t acceptable. I want you to fix them.”
To me, the errors seemed so small that probably nobody would have even noticed them. But sure, I guess it was kind of sloppy.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get them fixed right now and email you over a new copy of the proposal.”
I was expecting him to go back to his desk, but instead, he stood at my shoulder. “Great. Well, let’s go then.”
And he stayed there, watching as I corrected all the errors, breathing down my neck as he checked to make sure I did it properly.
I stayed silent and got on with the work, but it was irritating—both his tone and his demeanor. Also, the heat emanating from his body sent tingles down my spine, making it hard to concentrate.
“Brock, you’ve already outlined the mistakes on the hard copy. I can handle it. You don’t need to watch me actually make the corrections,” I protested eventually.
“I just want to make sure you catch them all,” he said. “I need to make sure this project goes perfectly.”
He didn’t seem angry; just overbearing and strict. Nothing like the guy I’d sat and laughed and joked with on that sidewalk on Saturday evening.
Eventually, all the mistakes were fixed, and he went back to his desk, leaving me confused.
Someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.
Later that afternoon, he brought over a little notebook and pen to my desk.
“I’m going to give this to you,” he stated. “I need you to write down everything I say in case we need it later.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Everything? Like, what you’re having for lunch and if I could get you a coffee?”
He didn’t look amused at my attempt at humor. “You know what I mean, Nina.”
I opened the notebook and wrote that down. He tried not to smile, which was at least a small victory.
But all said, it was proving difficult to adjust to Work Brock Who’s Got a New Super Important Project, as opposed to Not Work Brock, because they were quite different people.
I’m sitting in the lunchroom, eating, when Paula walks in. She smiles and comes and sits next to me. I know her name but not much else about her.
Brock’s been keeping me so busy that I’ve barely had time to get to know my coworkers. Paula seems chatty and friendly, though.
“Hi, Nina. How are you settling in?” she asks, taking the chair across the table from me.
“Good. Thanks, Paula. Brock’s keeping me busy.”
She laughs. “Oh yeah, Brock can be a little intense, can’t he? Especially when there are new clients to impress. I guess that’s why Luke promoted him—he gets the job done.”
I smile. “‘Intense’ is one way of putting it; that’s for sure. He’s being so nit-picky and micro-managing. He stood over my shoulders to make sure I didn’t make spelling mistakes, for God’s sake.”
Paula’s eyes are positively gleaming as she listens.
“He’s going away on a business trip to New York in a couple of days,” I continue. “To be honest, I’m looking forward to it. At least, I’ll be able to get some work done without him breathing down my neck.”
She nods. “If things ever get difficult for you, I’m always a sympathetic ear, hon.”
“Thanks, Paula.” I glance at my watch. “Well, lunchtime’s over. I guess I’d better get back to my desk before he sends out a search party.”
I go back and sit at my desk. A few seconds later, Brock himself shows up, all business.
“Nina, write this down,” he begins. He comes and stands near to me. As much as I hate it when he does this, I have to admit that his proximity to me is more than just an annoyance.
He smells so damn good—whatever cologne he uses is intoxicating. And when he leans over me to point out something or another on the screen, when his body brushes against mine, it’s like a little electric thrill passes between us.
It almost makes me want to make deliberate mistakes so he’ll keep doing it. Almost.
He dictates his itinerary to me—flight times, meeting locations, stuff like that. Boring stuff, but I’ll admit my heart is beating slightly faster than normal.
“Thanks, Nina,” he says when I’m done, shooting me a small, tired smile that reminds me of Not Work Brock for a second, starting flutters down low in my stomach.
Then he’s gone, off to his next engagement.
And I sit there, wondering why the hell I feel like this when he’s around me even though he pisses me the hell off sometimes.
He’s your boss, nothing more, despite this fake engagement weirdness. Pull it together, Nina.
But that’s far easier said than done.
Brock
Fuck. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.
I’m in New York for this new project, and it’s all going wrong. To be fair, we’ve already had a few meetings, and they’ve been okay.
But tomorrow morning, we’ll need the notarized
original of a specific document to finalize the deal . . . and I don’t fucking have it.
I’m kicking myself for being an idiot. I fucked up, and I need to fix this.
Luke’s with me on this trip—it’s a big enough deal that his presence will help ease the investors’ minds. He’s taking a few days off his busy schedule as a happily married family man to play at big-shot CEO again, and he seems to be enjoying himself.
“Man, it feels good to be back at work,” he says as he lounges on a couch and sips from a cold bottle of beer.
I take a break from my fretful pacing to cock an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, looks like you’re really sweating.”
Luke shoots me a grin. I’ll never admit this to him, but it feels good to have him here. It feels like old times.
“It doesn’t matter, though,” I say. “We just need your pretty face here as a figurehead while the rest of us do the real work.”
He thinks for a moment then laughs. “I guess I’m cool with that. And my face is pretty—you’re right.”
We’ve worked together long enough that we’re more like good buddies than boss and underling. Luke originally hired me because I’m a straight shooter and not a sycophant.
In his wilder years, before he met Tessa, he needed an influence like that in his life. He was still adjusting from the life of leisure and parties he’d been leading to being an actual CEO with actual responsibilities when his old man stepped down.
I’ve gotten him out of more than a few scrapes, and we trust each other implicitly.
Doesn’t mean he can’t still be an arrogant jerk sometimes, though. But I guess that’s part of his charm.
“Anyway,” he says. “You need to get this document, Brocky Boy, or the deal’s off. What are you going to do?”
I bite my lip, thinking. “I’ll deal with it.”
I pick up my phone and dial Nina’s number.
“Brock?” she answers. “What’s up? I wasn’t expecting a call from you. Is everything okay over there?”
I take a breath. It’s late, after office hours, and so I have to make sure I sound apologetic and conciliatory because I’m going to need a big favor from her.
