by Amanda Aksel
Kent pops into my mind since he’s the only guy I’ve thought of as remotely special in the last five years. But now, he’s no more special than a piece of chewed up gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. “Nope.”
She raises her brow. “Really? There’s no one you have a crush on at least?”
I swallow hard, feeling instantly guilty for having had a crush on her man. The back of my neck heats up and beads of sweat form at my hairline. “Definitely not.”
She keeps her suspicious gaze up for another few beats, then shrugs. “If you say so.”
I let out a breath. “What about you? You’re getting married and you haven’t really talked about it.”
Dahlia cocks her head as if I’ve baffled her, then blurts out a laugh. “Right. I keep forgetting I’m engaged for some reason. It just happened. This week, actually.”
“Wow, this week. That’s . . . recent.” I wonder, was it before or after Kent and I kissed. Oh God, what if kissing me made Kent realize he wanted to be with Dahlia and I read the signs all wrong. But he did say that thing yesterday about thinking non-stop about me. None of this makes sense. What a nightmare! “How did you two meet?”
“At a bar in New York. I was there researching a role. And we just, ya know, hit it off.”
“So you’ve been doing the long distance thing?” Meaning that when the cat’s away the mice will play . . . with other cats who think the mouse is single when he’s not!
“Yeah, I’ll come here. He’ll come to LA. We go back and forth.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” I nod with little head bounces. “Dahlia, are you sure you want to get married and move to London? LA is your home. And what about acting? Are you going to quit pursuing your career?”
“Kent is very supportive of my career. He’s a feminist and respects women who work. And women who own their own business.” Dahlia sounds like she’s trying to convince someone. I just can’t tell if it’s her or me.
“Yeah, but do you love him?” When the words leave my mouth, the thought that I could have fallen in love with him floods my mind.
“Of course,” she says, waving her hand dismissively.
This is it. I have to tell her. She’s my friend, or at least she used to be. Plus, her fiancé is fooling around with other women and their hearts. I brace myself. This may go badly.
I open my mouth to speak, but then she interrupts my thought and blurts, “Why did we lose touch?”
Because I’m a terrible friend, which she’ll soon learn with the news of her philandering fiancé. “I don’t know.” I shake my head, wishing that I had stayed in touch with her. “I pretty much quit having a social life after we moved out.”
“I figured. I heard that you sold I love leggings dot-com for a ton of cash. That must’ve been incredibly rewarding for you.”
“It was.” Too bad I had alienated all my friends and didn’t have anyone to celebrate with. No one that mattered to me. I take in a deep breath. “Dahlia, I have to tell you something.”
She looks eager to hear, but I know once I say it, she’ll be eager to throw her drink in my face. “Okay. What is it?”
“Kent and I kissed.”
Her eyes grow wide and she gasps. “You did?”
“Yes, more than once, and I’m so sorry. I had no idea that he was engaged. If I’d known, I never would’ve done it. I hope you don’t hate me. But you have to know that he is not acting like a man who’s engaged.”
She straightens her face and deepens her voice. “I suppose I should be angry.”
My stomach tightens. “Yes, of course. I would be furious.”
“But I can’t be.” What? “Kent and I agreed we could have one get-out-of-jail-free card before the wedding. I guess he wanted to use his with you.”
Get-out-of-jail-free card? That is so LA. I don’t know if I feel better or worse. “So you’re not mad?”
Dahlia shrugs. “Not at all. What can I say, the guy has great taste in women, am I right?” This doesn’t sound at all like the Dahlia I knew years ago. Back then she was a classic romantic. Possessive too. I suppose people can change. Grow up. I have. She gives a reassuring, yet uncomfortable smile. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”
“Sure.” What else can you say after confessing an unfaithful kiss to the betrayed lover?
TWELVE
Kent
I zone out in front of the sixty unopened emails in my inbox. How can I focus? My assistant is in the hospital. Liz, a woman I really like who now probably hates me, is having lunch with my fake fiancée, probably telling Dahlia what an awful husband I’ll make. I never imagined she’d find out about my “engagement.” I just wish I could explain. But if I can’t do that, I at least need to know what’s going on.
KENT: How’s lunch going?
DAHLIA: I’ll call you later.
I stare at the text response and slam my fist on the desk. What does that mean?
My door whooshes open and Sean barrels in, slamming the door behind him. I look up and set the phone down.
“Mate! What the bloody hell is this about?” He holds his phone in front of my face and I see a picture of Dahlia and me smiling for the cameras, arm in arm after she disembarked from the plane. The headline reads Another Bonnaire Engagement! “Since when are you getting married?”
“Oh, that.” I suppose I left out that little detail when I was confessing on the court yesterday.
“Yeah, that.” He looks furious, even the vein on his forehead is bulging.
I glance down at the photo again, wondering what Liz will think if she sees it. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what the bloody hell is it?”
I let out a sigh. Time to come clean. “You know how Sophia is suing the firm?”
“Yeah . . .”
“The attorneys and my dad thought it would be a good idea for me to clean up my image and get engaged. To help with the case. And make me look better to the board.” I can’t help but scoff at the idea.
“Seriously? What’d you do? Pick up some girl off the street?”
“No, we hired her. She’s an actress. I met her in New York. I told you about her—the lady in red.”
“I can’t keep up with all your conquests.” Ordinarily, this statement wouldn’t faze me. But the thought that Dahlia or especially Liz—two women I haven’t slept with—are nothing but a conquest bothers me.
“She’s not a conquest. And for the time being she’s my fiancée.”
He looks at his phone, studying the picture. “She is hot. Does this arrangement come with benefits?” A grin stretches across his face.
“No,” I snap. “Besides, Dahlia and I aren’t exactly compatible.”
“What? Is she a lesbian?”
I spit out a laugh. “No.”
“Well, when this is all over, do you mind if I have a go?” he asks, gawking at her photo.
“Please don’t,” I say, annoyed. My phone vibrates against my desk, and I glance at it. Dahlia’s picture pops up on the screen. “Speak of the devil,” I say, reaching for it. “Hello,” I answer, trying to look cool and calm in front of Sean.
“Kent, oh, my God, that was the strangest lunch I’ve ever had in my life.” She sounds somewhat horrified. I clutch the edge of my desk, bracing myself.
“What do you mean? What happened?” My heart beats in my chest and I can hardly swallow because my mouth is so dry.
“She totally confessed to kissing you.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, I think she felt guilty since we’re friends.” Now I’m the one who feels guilty. I never meant to put her in a spot like that. “I also think she’s really pissed that you didn’t tell her you were engaged.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. How did you handle her confession?”
“Good, I think. Thanks to all those improv classes. I told her it was your last hurrah before the wedding. But the whole time I was dying inside. You have no idea how badly I wanted to admit the truth.
If your family lawyers hadn't already scared the shit out of me, I probably would have.”
“No, you can’t. Let her go and think I’m the biggest ass she’s ever kissed.” It’ll be easier that way. At least I think it will be.
“What’s the big deal if we let her in on the secret?” Dahlia whines. “I know you like her.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that she’s off limits.”
“So we’re back to Daddy’s rules?” The words are a clear challenge, but I ignore them.
“You’re not helping by telling her.”
She sighs. “Fine, but I think you’re making a mistake.”
I don’t answer, because she’s wrong. The mistake would be getting caught and losing everything that I’ve worked for over a woman. I end my call with Dahlia and glance up at Sean who is standing with his arms crossed, glaring at me. “You’re the biggest ass who has ever kissed?”
“Liz McKenna,” I say, slouching in my chair.
“Why does your fiancée know about Liz?”
I shoot him a caustic look. “You don’t want to know.”
Sean practically dances to the chair in front of him and takes a seat. “Oh, yes I do.”
If I tell him the whole thing from top to bottom, then maybe he’ll run out of questions. By the time I’m finished, he looks as disturbed as if I had told him that the last woman he shagged used to be man. “Shit, man. For the first time since I’ve known you, I actually don’t envy you at all.”
“More women, more problems,” I say, dryly.
Sean and I commiserate for a few minutes more and then I head downstairs for some much-needed fresh air, even if it’s freezing outside. When I arrive on the first floor, the doors open and Liz stands just outside of the lift looking stunning in her bright-red overcoat and those black stockings . . .
She rolls her eyes, groaning, then turns the other way.
I dash out of the elevator hoping to stop her. “Wait, where are you going?”
“I have nothing to say to you.” She stomps along the marble floor, heading for the stairs.
“Liz, I’m sorry.” I stay on her heels. “Let me explain.”
She whips around, narrowing her eyes like she’s ready to slap me across the face. “Oh, so now you want to explain? Why didn’t you tell me that you were engaged and that the night we met was just your hall pass?”
“I know it looks really bad, but there’s so much more to the story than—”
She holds up a stiff hand. “Let me guess, it’s complicated.” The employees walking around us begin to stare.
“It is complicated,” I say, hushed, hoping she’ll give me the benefit of the doubt.
“Whatever.” Liz turns back toward the lift. “Don’t follow me, okay? Just leave me alone!” I watch her hair swing back and forth as she storms off. A tinge of something rings in my gut, something like guilt and regret. Maybe if I had told her the truth, she’d still hate me, but maybe she’d hate me a little less.
THIRTEEN
Liz
Why am I always running into Kent Freaking Bonnaire? Isn’t there anyone else on the planet, or at least anyone else that works in this building? I just wish I wasn’t so furious with him. It takes so much energy to actively hate someone. But the truth is, I wouldn’t be so mad if I didn’t like him so much. This is why I don’t have crushes. The ending is built into the name. And the fact that he’s marrying Dahlia is the biggest crushing factor of it all. I can’t wait to leave here next week so I don’t have to be tortured by running into him all the time. Maybe I’ll even go home this weekend and wipe my hands of this whole fiasco. The only consolation is the great deal for my company, but this is the last time I work with someone I have a crush on.
Before I walk into Margot’s office, I straighten my jacket and suck in a fresh breath of air. We sit across from each other, going over the results of the last few meetings I’ve had. I’m trying to put Kent out of my mind, but she keeps saying things like “Kent said we should” and “Kent wants me to” and Kent, Kent, Kent, Kent!
The view from her window has gone dark as the evening approached, and now I know that today has to be my last day in this building. “Margot,” I start, just as we’re about to wrap up. “Do you think I could do next week’s meetings by video? I really need to get home.”
“I’m sure that will be fine. Is everything okay?” she asks, concern filling her brown eyes.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say in a way that does not soothe her sympathetic look.
“Well, since it’s your last night, why don’t you join me downstairs for a drink?”
“Downstairs?”
She smiles. “It’s our annual company Christmas party.”
Definitely no. “I’m not an employee so it would probably be inappropriate for me to attend.”
“No way!” She playfully shoves at my knee. “Clients and partners come too. Plus, it’s open bar,” she sings in a tempting way.
Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but I’m really not in the mood to be at another cocktail party with Kent. “No, I’m kind of tired. I think I’m going to head back to my hotel.”
“What? No, come on. Have one drink with me. It’s Christmas.” She widens her eyes with that “pretty, pretty please” stare.
Finally, I cave in. If I do see Kent, I’ll just throw said drink in his face. “Okay, one quick drink and then I have to go and pack.”
She smiles and claps her hands the way women in their early twenties do. “Brilliant!”
I leave my red overcoat and briefcase in her office. The two of us head to the first floor for the celebration where the lobby has been transformed into a chic Santa’s village. A live jazz band plays Christmas tunes while twinkle lights and candles shimmer off the white marble flooring.
“I’ll get us some cocktails,” Margot offers and leaves me in my own corner. Now I feel exactly like I did when I was at that networking event and didn’t know anyone. Totally alone. Glancing around the room for Kent, I tuck myself back behind an ice sculpture of a swan. I can’t spot him from here and hopefully he won’t spot me.
Margot returns, carrying two red martinis with some kind of white frosting on the rim. “Here. It’s a Clausmopolitan.” Isn’t that cute, frosted with coconut flakes.
“Thanks.” I take a sip. Pretty tasty. “Hey, have you heard anything about Kent’s assistant, Poppy?”
“Kent said the doctors sent her home this afternoon. You were there. Why did she faint? Was she dehydrated or something?”
“I think she was shocked to find out that Kent was engaged.” And so was I.
“We all were. No one knew that he was even seeing someone. Seriously, anyway,” she says, looking around the room, and I find myself doing the same thing.
“Are you looking for someone?” I ask.
“No,” she says, still averting her eyes. I glance in the same direction as her and spy a tall, handsome guy, smiling and laughing with a small group of people, seeming to have a great time.
“Are you looking at that guy?” I say, pointing to him.
Margot lowers my hand. “Be cool, Liz. I don’t want him to see us staring at him.”
I smirk. “Oh, so you are staring at the guy.”
She shoots me a knowing look.
“Who is he?” I ask, glad to have a distraction from my own train wreck of a love life. Margot’s has got to be better than mine.
“He’s an associate in my division. His name is Sean.”
“So go over there and talk to him,” I say, nudging her arm. “Just make sure he’s not engaged before you hook up with him.”
“Excuse me?” Margot cocks her head.
“Nothing,” I take a swig of my drink.
“Anyway, I can’t go over there.” Margot lowers her head, playing with the stirrer in her martini. “He doesn’t think of me like that. He’s this confident big shot who can get any girl he wants, and I’m the workaholic who spends my evenings watching reruns of Footballers’ Wiv
es and eating ice cream from a tub because I live alone.” With her head drooped, her eyes draw up and she lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that. You probably think I’m pathetic.”
I may not eat from a tub of ice cream, but my life really isn’t that much different from hers. But she’s young, pretty. There’s no reason that a guy like Sean wouldn’t be interested in her. “I don’t think that at all. Besides, I can relate more than you know. But you are right about one thing. How can he have a high opinion of you if you don’t have a high opinion of yourself?”
“I never thought about it like that.” She sneaks another glance at Sean and her expression brightens. “Oh, there’s Kent with his fiancée.”
“Huh?” I crane my neck and see Kent’s and Dahlia’s heads over the crowd, joining Sean’s conversation. I crouch down a bit and back away.
Margot looks back at me, and by now I’ve shrunk myself down to the size of an elf. “What are you doing?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I have an idea. Come with me.” I wave for her to follow me to the bathroom. When we make it to the sink, I down the rest of my cocktail and set the glass on the counter, letting out a little cough.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” I cough again. “Think I got a coconut flake stuck in my throat.”
“So, what’s your idea?” Margot asks.
Um, slip out of the bathroom, sneak upstairs to get my things, and leave the building without running into Kent. But that’s not my idea for her. “You like Sean, right?”
“Shh!” Margot holds her finger over her mouth, wrinkling her brow. She stoops low, checking that the stalls are all empty.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I have an idea but I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”
“I guess,” she says, unsure.
“Okay, good.” I reach for her bun and pull out half a dozen bobby pins. Her long wavy hair falls over her shoulders and it smells freshly washed. I rustle the strands loose, giving her a much sexier look and hand her the siren-red lipstick from my handbag. “Put this on.”
