by Autumn, Kyle
“Hey. Where are you going?” he asks, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes.
“Oh, away,” I snap because I can’t help myself. “So you don’t distract yourself from your mission of keeping your company.” Then I wrench my arm from his grasp and speed-walk down the hall.
“What are you…” he starts, but his words drift off once I enter the kitchen.
So I shout, “You should probably call Blake back!” over my shoulder so he’ll get the hint.
He must, because I hear him talking in a conversational tone. It soon gets a little heated though, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. And it’s none of my business anyway. I’m not really his fiancée. He’s not really mine. I must have lost my head when I agreed to do this with him. But, because I agreed, I’ll keep my promise. I’m nothing if not loyal, after all.
In the kitchen, I snatch a bowl from the cabinet and pour some granola into it. Once I’ve added milk, I clean up the oats and bits that spilled from the box, shove my spoon into the bowl, and chomp on a bite. My actions are rough, and I make a mess while I shovel granola into my mouth, but I don’t care. I’m so frustrated with this whole thing. Why in the world did I agree to this in the first place?
Maybe because I got sucked into Chaz’s world. Maybe because he’s so sexy. Maybe because I felt like he really saw me. You know, once he’d apologized for being such a dick. So maybe he is the asshole I thought he was.
Or maybe I was that desperate to find love in a place I shouldn’t have even looked for it. I didn’t think I was desperate, but I certainly feel like I was now. And, suddenly, I don’t want my breakfast anymore. So I push it away on the counter.
Chaz—I mean, Mr. Masters—enters my kitchen, his phone in the air. “Sorry about that. Blake’s not as good with people as I am.”
“Oh really?” I stand up straighter and cross my arms over my chest. “I can’t imagine anyone being worse with people than you are.”
He opens and then closes his mouth. Then he puts his hands up in surrender. “I can see why you’d think that. But I meant what I said. I’d like us to get to know each other, so please have—”
“No,” I say before turning my back to him. I put my bowl in the sink and rinse it out.
“But I didn’t even finish my sentence,” he says.
I drop the bowl, and it clatters against the porcelain. “I know you didn’t. You didn’t have to. The answer is no.”
“Can I ask why? Because things seemed very much yes, yes, yes not ten minutes ago in the shower. And then twenty minutes before that in our bed.”
Spinning around, I explode. “Excuse me? Our bed? What the hell are you talking about?” The daggers shooting out of my eyes should have killed him by now.
He’s in nothing but his pants from last night, so I almost struggle to stay serious. And he has his hands on his hips, one eyebrow raised. But his grin sets the smartass tone.
“We’re engaged now,” he says. No big deal. “What’s mine is ours. What’s yours is ours.”
“Oh, no,” I seethe, shaking my head. My hands form fists at my sides. “Let’s get one thing straight. I may have been in some kind of lust fog, caught up in your sexy voodoo or something.” I almost stop when his grin gets sexier, but I point a finger at him to stay on track. “But this ‘engagement,’” I say using finger quotes, “is strictly business. Literally for your business. So cut through the bullshit and call it what it is.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he says, “Call it whatever you want, sweetheart. But, to me, engagements mean something.”
“Real ones do!” I yell, throwing my arms in the air. “This isn’t real!”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He uncrosses his arms and walks into my kitchen like he owns the place.
I follow him with my gaze, turning my body as he passes me. “I will! Whatever I have to do to protect myself and my normal, simple life, I’ll do.”
He just shrugs like I’m a small pest who’ll find someone else to bug if he ignores me long enough. Then he sets about making coffee.
But that makes me even angrier. My blood boils at his cocky, sexy reaction because I want nothing more than to storm back to our bed and add a third round to our morning match. This guy makes me crazy—but I kind of like it. A lot.
I take a huge breath to calm myself. Too many conflicting emotions are swirling around in my head, so I need a second before I can’t make heads or tails of this any longer. Then I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. When I breathe out, I open them.
“When is this engagement party? How long do we have to pretend to be together before your company will get off your back?”
He pushes the on button on my coffee maker. “Blake just informed me that the party is on Friday evening. It’s black tie, so make some time this weekend to get fitted for a dress.”
And, just like that, I’m back to seething anger.
***
Chaz
“Stop ordering me around!” she shouts.
But all I want to do is order her around so she’ll shout at me more often. Her anger is the cutest thing I’ve seen in forever. I guess I could stand to get out more often around a different kind of people, but I mostly just want to be around her. Which means I should probably stop ordering her around. Well, let’s not be hasty. I’ll tone it down to not so often.
“My apologies,” I say before opening a cabinet, in search of a mug. When I find the right one, I snag two and set them on the counter. “To show you how sorry I am, I’ll make you the first cup. How do you take your coffee?”
“I can do it myself,” she snaps. “I have for years. No need to start letting someone else do it for me now.”
I hold a finger up. “It’s one cup, Shiree.”
She opens her mouth to retort, but something stops her. So she closes her mouth and blinks before opening it again to speak. “Fine. One cup.”
“Great.” I search for sugar, but even though her kitchen is a quarter of the size of mine, I come up empty. “What do you like in it? And where I can find these items?”
She reaches for a canister on the counter and opens the lid, showing me the contents. “Here’s the sugar. I don’t do cream, but I have milk in the fridge.”
“Huh. Imagine that,” I say, dumping some sugar into our mugs. Then the coffee maker beeps, so I pour the black liquid into our mugs next.
“Imagine what?” she says as she watches me.
“We have something in common. Who would have thought?” I give her a brilliant smile, one she can’t seem to help but return. “See? We’re getting to know each other. That’s what this time is about.”
But the reminder makes her rigid again. “After your coffee, you need to go. I need to clean and get back to my normal life.”
As I stir her coffee, I think about this. She’s probably right, if I’m honest with myself. If I’ve learned anything since I met her, it’s that I have to stop playing this game by my rules. Her spunk and sass will win, and I’ll lose this incredible woman. So I’ll play by hers. For today, anyway. She’ll learn to bend one of these days.
Both inside and outside the bedroom.
“Okay. Here.” I hand her one mug and then stir the sugar into mine.
“That’s it?” she asks, sounding incredulous. “You’re not going to fight me on this?”
I blow on my coffee and take a sip. Delicious. “Nope. No fighting. You see, engaged couples compromise sometimes.” Over the rim of my mug, I smirk at her.
With that, she spins on her heel and storms back down the hall, presumably to the bedroom. Which is confirmed when I peek around the corner and see—and hear—the door slam. Perhaps she doesn’t remember right now, but she’ll have to see me again before I leave. My clothes are in there. Though I don’t think she’s mean enough to make me leave in nothing but pants.
But maybe she is. She wouldn’t be my little spitfire if she weren’t.
Either way, I sit at the small kitchen table and enjo
y my coffee. And look around the room. It’s quaint. Comfortable. Much like the rest of her house. It’s homey, perfect for a family kitchen. Quite the opposite of mine—which is all stainless steel and marble. Instantly, I feel right at home here in her kitchen. Which will be ours if I have any say in this.
When I’ve finished my morning mug, I head down the hall and knock on her door. “Shiree, I need my clothes before I leave.”
A drawer smashes shut before she yells, “I’m sure Jay can bring you something to wear when he picks you up!” through the closed door.
She’s right, of course. And it’s just the borderline-mean thing I was hoping she’d do. This woman will keep me on my toes, and I love it.
“Okay, then. I’m leaving my phone number on the kitchen counter. Call me later so we can coordinate to get you a dress for our engagement party.”
“I can get my own dress!”
“I know you can,” I say as I walk away. Then I raise my voice so she’ll hear me. “But this one is on me!”
I think I hear her growl, but I ignore it. Instead, I remove my wallet from my pants pocket, take one of my business cards out, and set it on the counter. Next, I get my phone out of my pocket and call Jay, requesting a shirt and a ride home. Lastly, once I’m out on her front porch, I make one more phone call. One she’ll probably hate.
If she doesn’t call me about the dress, she’ll for sure call me about this.
Chapter 9
Chaz
Right on cue, I get a call from Shiree at noon.
“What. The. Hell.” It’s not even a question. She’s that mad.
Though she’s probably not really mad. I’m sure she secretly loves the break in her normal routine. But I did expect the lashing out anyway. See? I know her better than she thinks. This engagement is going well, if I do say so myself.
“Are you actually upset because you can relax today instead of having to spend it cleaning?” I ask her as I sit back down at my desk.
Yeah, on a Saturday. Contrary to popular belief, I do work for my company. Which includes occasional weekends. And late nights. And early mornings. The media doesn’t seem to care about that boring stuff though.
“No, Mr. Masters,” she says. “I’m not upset because I can relax. Because I can’t relax! Not when strangers are cleaning my house!”
“They aren’t strangers to me, Miss James.” Since we’re back to last names. “They clean my house every week for me. They’re professionals, excellent at what they do. You have nothing to worry about,” I assure her.
“I didn’t agree to this. I don’t need your money or your help. I was fine before we met, and I’ll be fine when this fake engagement is over.”
Of course she’ll be fine when this rouse is over. Little does she know, when this fake engagement ends, the real one can begin. So I’ll let her keep up with her charade while we work together keep up with mine.
“I’m sorry. I should have asked first. But, in my defense, I need you free tonight so we can get you that dress you need for Friday.” I kick back in my chair and put an elbow on my desk. “And, before you fight me on it, I insist. I understand how independent you are, but this whole thing is my fault, and I’d like to be financially responsible for anything you’ll need for the party.”
There’s a long pause before she speaks again. Maybe I’ve shocked her with my acknowledgement. Hopefully she’ll start to see how serious I am about all of this. Including her.
“Okay. That sounds reasonable,” she tells me. Finally.
“Good.” I’m about to tell her when I’ll pick her up, but then I remember who I’m talking to. So I clear my throat. “What time will you be available this evening?”
She sighs into the phone. “Seven. Text me the address to this phone number and I’ll meet you there.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she beats me to it.
“No buts. I’ll drive myself. See you at seven.” And then she hangs up.
So far, my plans are working out perfectly. I can only hope I’ll be able to keep my streak up when we no longer have to see each other at the end of the week.
~~~
At seven on the dot, her car pulls up to the valet. She steps out of her vehicle, wearing a stunning sundress the color of the ocean. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in clothes that aren’t a toddler’s pajamas or her work uniform. And my heart, the pussy it is, skips a beat. Of course I want to tear the dress off her gorgeous body, but I can also appreciate what she looks like in the dress. And she looks like more than my net worth.
Her curls fall past her shoulders, and they make me want to run my hands through them. Wrap them in my fists and pull them in the throes of passion. My knees almost buckle, and I’m losing the ability to make heads or tails of this whole situation. So I shake myself out of it and focus. We’re here to find her a dress. For our engagement party.
What the hell happened to my life?
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” she says when she reaches me.
I blink a few times, but then her words register. “Funny,” I say. “I could say the same for you.”
She’s clearly never been to a store this upscale before. And she doesn’t look like she wants to be here, either. But I won’t have my fiancée wearing just any dress. So this store will have to do.
“Yeah, well,” she mutters. Then she passes me and walks through the doors like she owns the place.
That’s my girl.
I’m in big trouble if I just thought that. Big trouble.
I follow her in, and Candy meets me by the door.
“Hi, Mr. Masters. It’s so good to see you again,” she coos. “We already have a selection of dresses ready for Miss James to try on, so if you’ll follow me…”
As we follow her, she offers us beverages, but Shiree declines, looking well out of her element. Though she doesn’t seem intimidated at all. In fact, I think she might come to realize how good my lifestyle can be—even if she doesn’t seem to approve of it.
Even if she rolls her eyes at me as she steps into the dressing room. She may think I’m being ridiculous or extravagant, but the life I lead requires me to take certain steps. Dress a certain way. Act in an appropriate manner. She’ll figure that out on Friday, if not sooner.
Candy asks one more time if I’d like something to drink before leaving Shiree to it. Though Candy offered to help her, Shiree again declined. She does her own thing, and that makes me proud. I’m so used to women who do what I say and can’t think for themselves that Miss James is a breath of fresh air. Air I can’t suck in deep enough, try as I might.
Five minutes go by, which seems like enough time to take one’s clothes off and put a dress on. I’ve certainly been with women who can do a whole lot more in a lot less time, so I call for Shiree to see if she needs any help.
“I’m on the second dress. I’m gonna need a little more time than that to get through the, like, twenty dresses in here.”
“Well, I didn’t see you in the first one,” I say from the chair in the waiting area. “Put that one back on and come out here.”
Suddenly, she rips the curtain door open and hits me with a look of disgust. “Excuse me?”
I’m taken aback for a moment, but then it makes sense. I put my hand over my heart and say, “I’m sorry. I should have asked you to put the dress back on so I could see it.”
Her face softens, but she closes the curtain, so I have no idea if she’s complying or ignoring me. I only know that I have to get more used to asking for things. Demanding them never works with her. And I somehow love not getting what I ask for when it comes to her. She does what she wants, and that turns me the fuck on.
What turns me on even more is how she looks when she pulls the curtain back again. The dress is a shiny cobalt blue that perfectly complements her skin tone. It goes down to the floor, but her arms are bare. So are her sculpted, sexy shoulders. Package handling looks good on her.
If my dick’s twitch has anything
to say about it. Jesus, this woman.
“Pick your jaw up off the ground,” she teases. “It can’t look that great. Even though it fits like a glove.”
“I most certainly assure you that it does look that great. Stunning, even. You’re a vision in blue,” I tell her honestly.
She waves a dismissive hand before turning around to enter the dressing room again. Two minutes later, she comes out in a dress even more striking than the one before. While the other dress had my dick twitching, this one has it hard as fucking stone. I have to discreetly palm it to hide what could very well be terribly embarrassing. Though I don’t care if she knows how much I want her. Because I really do.
In and out of this dress.
This lavender dress that brings out the slightly purple hue in her eyes. This halter dress that showcases her ample breasts. This dress that slants on an angle at the hem and shows off one smooth, tan leg I want to lick from her ankle to her slit. Holy shit. This is the dress.
“Do you need a napkin?” she asks. “You might actually be drooling this time.”
When I bring my gaze up to her face, she’s smirking. And I kind of want to kiss that smirk off her face. I really shouldn’t have thought that, because before I know it, I’m out of my seat, striding over to her. And then literally kissing the smirk off her face.
She makes a noise and resists at first for a split second. But her resistance is futile, because a moment later, she melts into me, going so far as to wrap an arm around my neck. And that noise she made before turns into a sigh of appreciation and a groan full of lust and desire. When I snake my arms around her waist, I’m greeted by her bare skin. I smooth my hands up her back, kissing her deeply. Then I want to see the rest of her dress, so I cup her shoulders, break our kiss, and back away.
Her eyes are glazed over, like she’s drunk on her lust. Her hair is a little messed up in the front, though her curls hide it well. And her cheeks are flushed a bright pink. Package delivery isn’t the only thing that looks good on her. Attraction and satisfaction do too. Although I saw those on her twice this morning, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
