Pretend It's Love

by Stefanie London

  True to her word, Libby had set a time with him to work on the business plan for the mixology school idea. She’d come to the bar on a quiet Tuesday night, and they were brainstorming and working through her template as Paul tended to his duties serving the few customers who’d trickled in for a mid-week drink.

  “Why should Des trust your idea will work without a plan?” She reached for her cocktail and sipped it, her eyes narrowed at him.

  “Because I’m his brother…and it’s a good idea.”

  “No, that’s not how it works.”

  “Maybe because I’m not type A like you,” he muttered under his breath as he polished a highball glass.

  “Call me names if it makes you feel better, but we will finish this plan.” She huffed. “Although you’re making it harder than it needs to be.”

  “Because I don’t like planning out every unimportant detail to the nth degree?” He reached for another glass. “I’m a creative person, Libby, not an accountant.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can forgo the numbers side of things. Des is right to ask for this plan.” She tapped at her computer. “You need to suck it up.”

  “You’re exceptionally bossy, you know that, right?”

  “Thank you.” The genuine smile that lit up her face made him laugh; only Libby would consider that a compliment.

  Truth was he felt out of his depth. Numbers and market analysis and contingency funds were so not his thing. The joy of his work came in creating something new, something exciting. He loved the idea of teaching people how to experiment, how to pair flavors, how to make drinks that got people talking.

  But this activity had only showed him just how different he and Libby were. She had a business savvy unlike anything he’d ever seen before. She even put Des to shame. Her understanding and knowledge highlighted that he flew by the seat of his pants…with everything.

  All of that should have made him want to run for the hills, but it didn’t. And that terrified him.

  “Okay.” She tapped her nail against the bar for a moment, her lips pursed. “We need to talk about your pricing strategy.”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  “For the class? How did you come up with that?”

  He opened the dishwasher and started stacking the dirty glasses into the top rack. “It seems like a nice round number.”

  “That you pulled out of your ass?” Libby shook her head. “You need to take this seriously, Paul.”

  “What I need is to run one of these nights and show Des how good I can be. You know I’m better with my hands. If he just gives me a chance—”

  “He won’t unless we get through this document.” The exasperation in her tone made it clear she wasn’t going to leave that stool unless he did what she said. “You asked for my help and I’m going to deliver it whether you like the process or not.”

  “You know, I can see a little of your father in you.”

  A deep pink flush rose up into her cheeks and she glared at him with the force of a thousand suns. “You did not just say that to me.”

  “Didn’t I?” He raised a brow, enjoying knocking Libby off her high horse more than he should have.

  Everything felt like a game with her, a challenge for him to seize. In the past, women had given in to him or he’d simply taken what he wanted. Even Sadie never challenged him outright—all her dissatisfaction came to fruition behind his back. Passive aggressive was her M.O.

  But Libby stood her ground and dug her heels in, happy to argue until they were both blue in the face. It made his blood pump harder through his veins; she matched him. Butted heads with him. Pushed him and didn’t take any of his shit.

  “You know what makes me different than my dad?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest and giving him an eyeful of beautiful, creamy cleavage.

  “What?” He slammed the dishwasher drawer shut and leaned on the bar.

  “I don’t push people because I think I know what’s best for them. I push people I believe in, especially when I feel like they’re slacking for no reason.” She sighed. “I do believe in you Paul…and in your idea.”

  The words hit him as hard as a slap across the face. Now he understood why being with Libby felt different from all the other women he’d slept with. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just attraction and tension and hormones. On some level he knew that she saw more in him than anyone else did. But that wasn’t part of their arrangement.

  “You’re selling yourself short, and I’m not sure why.” She peered at him, her copper-colored brows wrinkling above her tiny button nose. “You deserve more.”

  Wasn’t that the exact reason Sadie had left him? Because she didn’t think he had the potential to give her more, to give her what she craved. Success, affluence, status.

  But Libby believed in him.

  No, no, no. That’s not how their deal was supposed to go down.

  “I…” He opened his mouth, but his brain had no words; there wasn’t a precedent for this situation. No one had said those things to him before.

  Her eyes widened as she looked at him, waiting for a response that wasn’t coming. “I uhhh…where is the ladies room?”

  He pointed to the doors on the other side of the restaurant and she hopped off her stool, scurrying away like a mouse that had escaped a trap. Pink and red danced in the distance as her hair flapped against the back of her dress, her heels clicking loudly in the quiet restaurant.

  “Dammit,” he swore under his breath.

  Why did she have to say those things to him? It was like taking a bite of the forbidden fruit, he could get addicted to her praise. To the way she looked at him as though he was the kind of man who wouldn’t disappoint her.

  That was fine in the bedroom, but not out here. Not in the real world where he knew he’d crush that hope right out of her if he was ever stupid enough to let her in.

  He had to draw a line in the sand and fast.

  Libby braced her hands against the bathroom countertop and stared at her reflection. On the outside she appeared calm; her cheeks had returned to their normal color and her gaze was steady. Inside, however, was another story entirely.

  What the hell was she doing telling Paul how much she believed in him? They weren’t in a real relationship. Hell, they weren’t even really friends. Their arrangement was supposed to be a business deal and somehow sex had snuck in…now she was giving him some impassioned speech about how he deserved more in life.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe slowly for ten counts.

  All she had to do was go back out there and get down to business. That wouldn’t be so hard, planning and strategizing were her strengths. And she wanted Paul’s idea to succeed because it would help her business…it wasn’t about him.

  Yeah right, you’re letting yourself be fooled. Multiple orgasms should not make you forget why you don’t go near guys like him.

  Squaring her shoulders, she smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, adjusted the little bow at her waist, and touched up her pink lipstick.

  Game face on.

  But the second she walked back out into First’s dining area her confidence melted like an ice cube on hot asphalt. A woman stood near her laptop, her forearms resting on the bar as an indecently short skirt rode up her long, lean legs. Miles of blond hair trailed down her back, gleaming like spun gold.

  Paul grinned at the woman, his arms folded across his chest in a way that made his muscles bulge behind the tight confines of his black T-shirt. He laughed at something she said and raked a hand through his short, dark hair.

  Bile rushed up in her throat as she approached. How many times had she watched this exact kind of scene play out with her ex while naively thinking that he loved her? Instead he’d been lapping up the attention, mentally picking out his next conquest while she believed they would be together forever.

  “Libby,” Paul said as she approached the bar. “This is Cassie. We backpacke
d around Europe together a few years ago.”

  “Far too long ago,” Cassie said in a lilting Irish accent. “Although parts of that trip are still fuzzy. You drank me under the table back then.”

  “Still could now,” he replied with a wink.

  “Lovely to meet you.” Libby stuck out her hand and Cassie shook it, smiling warmly. “Are you on holiday?”

  “No I just moved here. Got sick of living in London where it’s gray and drizzly all the time. Paul kept telling me how wonderful Melbourne is so I thought I’d see for myself.” She looked at Paul with such adoration that Libby felt like she might vomit.

  “You’ll like it here, Cass. Plenty of booze and partying.” Paul grabbed a pint glass and held it under the Guinness tap. “How about a pint of the black stuff? It’s on the house.”

  “You’re a good man, Paul Chapman.” Cassie readily accepted the glass of dark liquid and sipped. “But I’m done with the partying, to be honest. I think I’m ready to settle down for a while and just enjoy being here.”

  “You settling down, never!”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Libby didn’t miss the look on Cassie’s face, the yearning and wanting that she’d felt herself at one time. She’d come here for Paul, and he was completely oblivious. Fire ran through Libby’s veins, jealousy burning like a wildfire out of control. She took a deep breath and tamped it down. Those kind of feelings had no place here.

  “So, how do you two know each other?” Cassie asked.

  An awkward pause filled the air.

  “Libby is my girlfriend,” Paul said eventually. “We’ve been going out for…”

  “About a month,” Libby filled in.

  Cassie smiled—at least Libby assumed she was aiming for a smile, but it came out somewhere between that and a grimace. “I thought you didn’t do relationships.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. “I didn’t. But people change, I guess.”

  An image flickered at the edge of Libby’s mind as Paul swept his eyes over Cassie. The two of them in bed, drinking, partying. Young and wild and having the time of their lives. She steadied herself by putting a hand on the bar.

  Paul’s expression was guarded, his dark eyes revealing nothing. Did he still have feelings for Cassie? She would be here when their fake relationship dissolved, or would he try to break the rules and go back to her before then?

  “I actually need to head off,” Libby said, reaching for her laptop and folding it shut. “We can work on the plan another time.”

  “Sure.” Paul nodded absently. “See you later.”

  As she walked out of the bar, heat prickled along her neck and scalp. She’d promised herself she’d never be in a position to feel like this again…and yet here she was. Wringing her hands and wondering what he’d do once she was gone. The sound of Paul and Cassie laughing haunted her as she fled.

  It didn’t matter, he could do whatever he liked. The boundaries had to be established, and she’d remember this moment when that time came.

  Libby’s hands shook as she put the finishing touch on the last of the custom cocktails. Thirty identical champagne flutes lined an ornate sideboard at Gracie’s mother’s house, each with the perfect amount of cherry puree and garnish.

  She and Gracie had decided to debut Paul’s creation at the pre-wedding kitchen tea. It would be a perfect opportunity to gauge feedback before the big day and make any final tweaks, if necessary. Libby had the feeling it would be a tough crowd: a mixture of Cecilia Greene’s society friends and the very traditional Chapman family.

  It would also be Libby’s first time meeting Paul’s extended family.

  She could hardly believe it had been close to a month since they formed their arrangement. He’d slipped into her life quietly and seamlessly, but she already feared that his exit wouldn’t be so unnoticeable, especially since they hadn’t spoken after she’d left the bar abruptly a week ago.

  “Are you okay? If you keep looking so nervous someone will mistake you for the bride.” Gracie patted her on the shoulder.

  “I’m fine. You look lovely, by the way.”

  Gracie wore a floaty red dress with huge, dangling earrings that chimed when she shook her head. Her dark curls were pinned up loosely, several tendrils falling down around her face.

  “So do you. I’m so jealous of those heels.”

  Libby looked down to the towering emerald green stilettos on her feet. They had plaited straps and a delicate gold buckle at the ankle. “They’re my good luck charms.”

  “You don’t need them; everyone is going to love the cocktails.” Gracie grinned, her eyes twinkling. “And if they don’t, who cares? I love them and so does Des. By the way, he asked me to tell you to bring a few samples to the bar whenever you can. He wants to do a tasting session with a few of his regulars.”

  Progress. Libby clapped her hands together. “Great, I’ll bring them around tonight.”

  “Paul must be so proud of you. I have a feeling your business is going to do very well.” She winked.

  The future for Libby Gal Cocktails was certainly looking brighter. After meeting with Des during the week, he’d agreed to take her on for a trial period. She’d drafted a press release, which had been picked up by a few Australian food bloggers and one online industry magazine. It wasn’t worldwide domination, but it was a start.

  Since then she’d been contacted by a few smaller restaurants who’d expressed interest in her product. They weren’t as high profile as the ones she’d started out targeting, but they seemed passionate about trying new things, and she’d come to realize that was just as important as the size of a restaurant’s reputation. Not to mention a thirst for creativity over celebrity endorsement.

  “Thanks. I think he’s proud,” she said, forgetting for a moment that she had to play the role of happy girlfriend.

  “Of course he is.” Gracie shook her head, fiddling with the centerpiece in the middle of the table that would house all the food. “I can tell.”

  The bouquet of white and silver silk flowers had been sewn with a smattering of crystals that caught the afternoon light. A lace tablecloth covered the dark wood, and two large white letters—G and D—sat on either side of the centerpiece. In that moment, Libby understood why some people got caught up in the excitement of weddings.

  Ordinary things seemed special because they carried the weight of a greater meaning. The letters weren’t just G for golf and D for Delta. They represented the union of two people who loved each other enough to risk a lifetime of messy emotional entanglement.

  Libby swallowed against the lump in her throat.

  “You should see the way he looks at you,” Gracie continued. “I’ve seen Paul around a lot of women. Believe me, he hasn’t looked that way at any of them except you.”

  “What do you mean?” She didn’t care, but a happy girlfriend would ask that question.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  “He gets this expression on his face when you’re around. He looks…content.” She gave Libby’s shoulder a squeeze. “You make him happy. Even Des has noticed a change.”

  “Really?”

  “He said the other night that Paul seems more invested in his work, he’s more motivated. You’ve been a great influence on him.” She drew Libby into a hug. “I’m so glad you two met.”

  A large stone settled in the pit of Libby’s stomach. Gracie and Des—and Paul’s parents—were such wonderful people, and she was lying to them over and over. They’d embraced her with such warmth and acceptance, she didn’t know how she’d ever go back to the cold criticism of her own family once it was all over. These people didn’t deserve to be lied to. The truth hovered on her tongue; she wanted to clear the air. Settle the score with her conscience.

  But Paul had held up his end of the bargain, and now her product was going to be on the menu at First. She had to see it through to the end and hope that she’d be able to make it up to them.

  “D
on’t look so worried.” Gracie released her with a grin. “Everything will work out, trust me.”

  The doorbell rang, and within moments the Greene household was buzzing. Waiters had been hired to serve drinks from silver trays, including the special cocktails. No detail had been left unattended. Everything matched from the invitations to the name tags to the trimmings on the seats that lined the large dining area.

  Games had been set up and a table had been cleared for presents, which was soon filled to bursting. Libby hung back, introducing herself to anyone who came near, but she didn’t want to get too involved. After all, her relationship with Paul was due to expire in two weeks. It made her feel like a carton of milk.

  An elegant woman with glossy blond hair dropped down into the chair next to Libby and slipped her feet out of a pair of low, sensible heels.

  “I love your shoes,” she said, looking forlornly at Libby’s heels. “I miss high heels so much.” She placed her hand over her stomach for a moment and sighed. Other than some dark shadows under her eyes, everything about her was perfectly polished. A diamond the size of a beach pebble sparkled on her left hand and matched the two smaller stones in her ears. “No one ever tells you how tired you get when you’re pregnant.”

  “How far along are you?” Libby asked. The bump on the woman’s stomach was small, and if she’d been wearing a flowy top you might not have been able to see it.

  “Just over four months. Though it feels like even longer since I can’t get through the night without needing to go to the toilet a hundred times. And don’t get me started on the morning sickness.” She cringed and tucked her hair behind an ear. “I don’t get these women who say pregnancy makes them feel beautiful.”

  “You look lovely, if that means anything.” Libby caught the attention of a passing waiter and grabbed a cocktail.

  “Oh and I’ve been craving a drink like you would not believe.” The woman shook her head. “But enough about my pregnancy woes. I’m Sadie.”

  Libby shook her hand. “Libby. How do you know Gracie?”