Charade (A Fake Fiancée Romance)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  “Seriously, Camilla. Our coffee today was for me to tell you I’m engaged to Brock Ford.”

  “Fine. Then I want to meet this guy you’re suddenly head over heels with.”

  Erica couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fair enough.”

  “So what next?”

  “I need your help, girlfriend. I have this retirement party thing next week. Something semiformal. All I’ve been wearing the past year has been suits for work and jeans and t-shirts on the weekends. I have nothing to wear to something like this. Nothing.”

  “Then we’re shopping as soon as we finish our coffee. How much money do you have on your credit card?”

  “The question’s not how much I have but how much I’m willing to spend on this silly scheme.”

  “I’d say these are billable expenses. How much is Brock Ford willing to spend?”

  Erica smiled. “Hmm. I can text him and find out.”

  “Buy first; text later. You can always threaten to wear a gray DU sweatshirt and holey jeans to the party.”

  Both women erupted into gales of laughter. Yes, Erica had needed this badly. Time with her bestie was better than therapy.

  * * *

  Goddamn. Brock had spent the last several days having serious doubts about the plan he had concocted, but he felt no regrets as he walked into the restaurant’s large private dining room with Ms. Erica Larson’s arm linked in his. Sure, she looked cute, even a little mysterious, in her day-to-day business attire, but she’d really cleaned up for this. She’d chosen something a little daring—an off-the-shoulder red cocktail dress with an asymmetrical skirt and matching four-inch heels that made her look like a model. Her hair was pulled up loosely with a few wisps of hair falling here and there. She looked breathtaking, professional…and fuckable.

  In other words, she fit the part of a woman Brock Ford would consider marrying. After all, if he was convinced, his family would be as well.

  He’d started to wonder after their long lunch together on Monday, where they hammered out a prenuptial agreement they could both happy with. Most of it was standard—the property they owned before marriage would remain their own, yadda yadda yadda, but this unconventional pretend couple had more than that to worry about. He’d promised Erica to protect her position in the firm.

  Not just the position she already held…but the one he was going to get her promoted to.

  They had to take caution with the wording so it would look like they were talking about the position she held now but so that it would apply to any future positions she might hold in the firm. Of course, even that was easy enough to do, because, of course, anyone with a mind to practice law would want to move up the ladder.

  Just that short time playing lawyer with her helped him realize she was a sharp cookie. She knew her stuff and, even though family law wasn’t going to be her emphasis, she understood the ins and outs.

  The perfect touch was when Harriet, his personal secretary, notarized the agreement. She took a shine to Erica, and that didn’t happen too often. It had taken her over a year to be comfortable with Brock, not that he gave two shits. Now they understood each other and he wouldn’t have another assistant if he could hand pick one. The woman was professional and understood him—but he suspected she hadn’t liked him much when she’d first begun working for him.

  Hell, she might not like him now.

  But Brock focused on the present. He had the lovely Erica Larson on his arm and he had a couple of tricks up his sleeve. He was feeling confident about his plan and eager to move forward. As they entered the long dining room with her on his arm, he could tell by the looks several people gave him as they shared cursory greetings as he and Erica passed by, she was definitely convincing.

  Well...as a date. He hadn’t broken the engagement news yet.

  Part of him felt bad that he was going to do it tonight—almost like trying to trump his father’s news. But he knew that wasn’t something to worry about. Everyone already knew dad was retiring, thus, the point of the playing the part in the first place. Tonight was all about details and pomp and circumstance. And that—hearing about future plans—was why Brock had Erica along. If his father already had hazy plans that were readying themselves to be set in concrete, he needed to let the old man know things in his life had changed.

  The place where they were having this little party was in the heart of downtown Denver. Brock had never been to this particular place before, but it was intimate without being crowded. It had an urban sense to it even while feeling upscale. At a glance, Brock was certain his parents had easily dropped a small fortune on the evening.

  Yes, this was a huge deal.

  As they walked farther in, he was even more impressed. This wasn’t just a little get together. There had to be around two hundred people there. So much for intimate. They checked their coats and then he spied a server with a tray of champagne flutes. He’d been feeling a little nervous, but that was nothing compared to Erica’s emotions. He could sense how uptight she was feeling. They could both use a little liquid relaxation. Taking two glasses, he handed her one. “Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. I don’t know anyone here.”

  “You know me. Oh, and Bret’s around here somewhere. So that’s two people you know. Technically, you know Brandon and my dad, too. So four. Four people.” She gave him a look that was just short of an eye roll, meant to express disdain and irritation.

  “I’m feeling a little on edge myself. I think anyone my dad ever called a close friend is here—I see old clients, other attorneys, both rivals and friends, judges, businessmen, politicians. There’s practically a Who’s Who of Denver here tonight.” Brock took a large gulp of the champagne and then got close to Erica. The intent was to whisper in her ear so she would be the only one to hear him, but it had been a bad idea. Up close, he could smell the fragrance she wore. It was spicy, almost like cinnamon, and he would have loved nothing more at that moment than to bite her neck—or lick his tongue down her skin. As with most everything in his life, though, he was able to keep himself under control. “And this is the night I chose to begin the big lie. So at least you know we’re in this together, darlin’.”

  Darlin’? Where the hell had that come from?

  She might have been annoyed with him, but at least she believed the champagne was a good idea as well. He could tell because she was downing it faster than he was. “Come on,” he said, linking her arm in his again so he could lead her all the way inside.

  In spite of the fact that there were a lot of people talking, he could hear music overhead—piano was the main instrument but there were others involved. It was some classical piece but there would be no figuring out what is was over the low roar in the room. He spied a long table across the room where his mother was standing, but she was talking to a member of the wait staff. Brock had no idea where his father or brothers were, but both sisters-in-law already sat next to each other at the table where his mother was.

  “We’re headed over there.” His intent was to avoid as many extra people as possible, because he knew most of the folks here. He wanted his parents to hear the story first. Bret walked over and said, “Glad you could make it. Dinner’s served in five minutes.”

  “Just in time.”

  His oldest brother cocked his head, just the same way their mother did when she couldn’t understand something. “You know Erica?”

  A smirk formed on Brock’s face. Wait’ll he heard the big lie later on. “Yes, I think that’s obvious. At least I don’t need to introduce the two of you.”

  Bret got closer. “Go ahead and sit down. Mom’s wanting to get started but she was waiting for you to get here.”

  Brock, biting his tongue, nodded and led the way once more. All the guests, as if sensing his mother’s wishes, seemed to be heading toward their tables to sit down. It made it a little harder to get to the family table since there were lots of bodies in motion, but they would make it.

  “Brock. How are you?”
>
  “Doing great.” He nodded at a man in dark gray suit. Then he leaned his head toward Erica while still moving forward. “That’s Jensen Smithers. A decent attorney but a bit of an asshole. You’ll get to know most of these guys soon enough.”

  “I haven’t heard of him.”

  “He’s not flashy. Doesn’t do courtrooms much.”

  By the time they arrived at the table, Brandon was already seated next to Lisa. Fortunately, his parents had been wise enough to know Brock would bring a date. The surprise would come later. For now, he’d let them relish how gorgeous she was. The red dress really brought color to her face, making her cheeks look pink. Just lovely.

  He noticed that they would have to sit on the other side of the table, next to his mother. Of course, she’d done everything in an unconventional way. It looked like dad would be seated at the head of the table, but his mother was at a diagonal from him. On the other side of dad was probably Bret (big surprise—but Brock wouldn’t know for certain until his brother got to the table), followed by Elle, his wife, and Brandon’s wife Lisa. Brock analyzed every possible place he could sit and decided that if he was playing a guy in love enough to want to marry, he’d want to be right next to his fiancée. Moving his lips to her ear again, he asked, “Would you rather sit beside my mother or brother?”

  Erica inhaled deeply and he wanted to tell her to guzzle what was left in her flute. “Your brother.”

  He wasn’t going to ask why, but it was likely because Erica had met Brandon once or twice. Or maybe mothers were more intimidating—but he had no idea why she’d made that choice. He waited until she sat to push her chair in and then he pulled out his own chair. His mother’s eyes had been darting all over the room but she paused when she saw her son. “Brock, good to see you, son.” She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. As she pulled away, she asked, “Who’s your date?”

  “She works at the firm. I’ll do introductions once we’re seated.”

  Ah…mom didn’t like that much, but she didn’t have a choice. He sat just as his father and Bret joined the table. One of the servers approached his father and handed him a microphone. He said a few quick words into it, thanking everyone for coming, and then the crowd grew quiet and the last stragglers made their way to tables. “We’re going to have dinner and then I want to speak to all of you for a bit. But, first, enjoy the meal.” As he turned to the table before sitting down, he said, “I’m so glad all of you could make it. This would be nothing without my family here.”

  Dad hadn’t said anything or even looked at Erica, but Brock knew his father had seen her. The first part was done. Now maybe he could truly loosen up a bit and try to eat.

  * * *

  They were well into the main course of beef medallions in bordelaise sauce surrounded by various vegetables, and Brock could tell Erica was a bit out of her element. He’d grown up eating meals like these where presentation was far more important than the actual meal, but Erica seemed to be pushing her food around more than she was eating it.

  Then again, she was pretty thin—maybe that was why.

  Brock’s father had eaten most of the dinner on his plate and set his fork down. “So, Brock, why don’t you introduce us to your date?”

  Guess he’d have to be done eating, too. Placing his utensils on his plate, he said, “Everyone, this is Erica Larson. She works under Bret. Erica, this is my mother, Harper, and you know my father, Brady. I know you also know my brothers. But this,” he said, indicating the woman directly across from himself, “is Elle, Bret’s wife, and next to her is Lisa, Brandon’s.”

  A shy smile covered Erica’s face. He felt so grateful that she looked the part—she seemed graceful, beautiful, captivating, and he was sure his family would fall in love with her.

  Brock’s father looked at Erica, his face bathed in gentle smile, much like he often looked when he met a new employee. “So nice to meet you, Erica. I must apologize for not already meeting you. What’s your specialty?”

  “For the moment, it’s research. But I’d actually love to get my feet wet in social justice and civil rights.”

  “Oh, are you an activist of sorts?”

  “No, not really, but I got into law because I wanted to help people.”

  “Wonderful. That’s a noble reason to join the ranks. But you’re doing research now?”

  Bret let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I’ve got her helping me with a couple of big tort cases right now, dad. We’ll get her up and running soon.”

  “Actually,” said Brock, “I was going to talk to you all about that. But, first, I have a bit of an announcement.” He could see the shimmer in his mother’s eyes. It was hope—the hope she’d had for all her children at different ages, usually having to do with milestones: graduation, marriage, babies. God, he almost felt like a complete dick pulling the wool over her eyes like this.

  Almost.

  He waited until his entire family’s eyes were looking at him rather than their plates. “Erica and I met each other a while ago—she works some late evenings. We got to talking and, before you know it, we hit it off.” Clearing his throat, he made sure everyone suspected what he was going to say before he spoke. “I know now that Erica is the love of my life. She is beautiful in every way imaginable.”

  What followed were all the requisite gasps and giggles Brock had come to expect when delivering news like this and he wondered how his real engagement, possibly ten or twenty years in the future, would resemble this one. He could only hope that he was convincing enough. And he was pretty sure he had it in the bag, because what was coming next would even be a surprise to Erica, his pretend betrothed.

  He could hardly wait.

  Chapter Four

  WOW. THIS WHOLE NIGHT thus far had been a little overwhelming. Erica had met a few rich kids in college, but in that environment, they’d been removed from their element, so they hadn’t been too overbearing or obnoxious. She’d also encountered several wealthy attorneys now that she’d finished school, but nothing could have prepared her for the strange sensations she was feeling at the moment. Playing Brock’s intended was pressure enough, along with trying to eat food designed to look like art rather than a meal. Being surrounded by obvious money really put a load on.

  And the champagne hadn’t helped.

  Finally, in the middle of the main course, Brock decided it was time to break the news. He kept their supposed backstory simple but Erica wondered if telling everyone there that she was the “love of his life” was over the top. Would they question that statement when, a month or two later, they told everyone they couldn’t stand each other?

  Well, that was Brock’s problem, not hers. Yes, she’d have to deal with it, too, but she could shift the blame to him fairly easily. He was domineering, overbearing, opinionated, arrogant…the list could go on and on as reasons why she couldn’t picture herself married to him forever.

  She wondered how long Brock was going to drag out his little speech, because everyone had put their eating utensils down and their food was going to grow cold. But he continued talking as if he didn’t care. “She is beautiful in every way imaginable. We’ve made up our minds, and so I wanted to announce our engagement.” Erica could feel their eyes on her, could hear the noises they made—whether of delight or cautious surprise, she didn’t know. But Brock commanded her attention—especially when he pushed out his chair, got down on one knee, and took her hand in his. She looked down, starting to feel a little giddy, caught up in the fake excitement, and that was when she spied the very real ring he was holding poised at the tip of her left-hand ring finger.

  Time almost slowed as she assessed the chunk of jewelry he held. It was probably the loveliest ring she’d ever seen—a band of silver or white gold (she couldn’t be sure which) with a big solitaire diamond, but the band was accented with tiny diamonds down both sides, and the top looked like two bands of yellow gold were wrapped around the entire ring, in essence, hugging the rest of it. Now that she was o
gling it, she couldn’t take her eyes off the tiny piece of jewelry. It was big and beautiful without looking gaudy or pretentious, a work of art.

  If this had been a real engagement to a man she truly loved, she would have been moved to tears. This gesture had been unexpected and unbelievably romantic, in spite of the fact that she had none of those feelings for this man.

  She had to give him credit, though—he was smooth.

  There was no controlling the emotions on her face. What he’d done had been so surprising that her reactions were real. Maybe, in his brilliance, that had been his plan all along. If so, it had worked. Without thought, she brought her right hand up to her mouth, covering it, because she couldn’t seem to pick up her jaw.

  He was a damn fine actor, too…even she was almost convinced. The way his cool blue eyes captured a look of sincerity, the genuine sound in his voice of a man smitten, his loving gestures—he was on his game. She knew he’d had plenty of practice doling out emotions meant to seem real but actually completely under his control in the courtroom, but seeing him in action blew her away.

  In fact, he was so good that she doubted she’d ever believe anything he said again.

  His solid baritone voice was all she could hear when he said the words. The clinking of forks against plates, the piano music wafting overhead, the muted conversation of diners at other tables—all that was gone when Brock said, “Erica, will you make me the happiest man on the planet and say you’ll marry me?”

  She pushed out of her mind the fact that none of this was real, because his proposal was the kind girls (including a tiny part of her own self ) dreamed of. She allowed herself to feel elated and thrilled, and, now that her mouth was once again closed, she felt her lips spread in a wide smile.

  As silly as it seemed, he had taken her breath away. How would this compare to a real proposal someday? Would Brock’s little act make all genuine suitors’ efforts pale in comparison?