Pretending with the Playboy

by Tracey Livesay

  Nothing about the weather. No predictions on the Cubs game. Direct and to the point. He thought Lauren had told no one about the engagement, but Sophie was her best friend. How much did she know? About ten years ago and now? He decided to tread lightly until he had answers to those questions.

  “Why? You know we attended the gala together.”

  “Because you wanted to or because Dorothy talked you into it?”

  “As Lauren’s friend, you must know that I don’t always do what Dorothy wants.”

  “You assume we spend a lot of time talking about you,” she said lightly, pulling a bottle from the wine refrigerator built into the cabinets. “Can you grab some beers?”

  He was getting an interesting vibe from her. Not hostile, but reserved. He did as she asked, placing them on the counter. “You don’t like me, do you?”

  “I don’t know you, but I like to think of myself as an open-minded person.”

  He knew what she was doing. Now he studied her with interest. They had a lot in common. They both relied on their instincts when sizing up a person, to determine who was telling the truth and who was lying. He did it—and well—during negotiations. Sophie did it in public relations. She had a skillful approach that was different from his own, but he recognized the tactic.

  “The third degree isn’t necessary. Lauren and I both love Dorothy. For the sake of her illness and for the duration of my stay, we’ve decided to get along.”

  “And is Dorothy the reason you gobble her up with your eyes like a woman in a cupcake bakery the day after the Master Cleanse?”

  “The what?”

  She smiled. “How about looking at her like she was the autographed basketball Jordan shot to win his last championship with the Bulls?”

  Now that he understood, but he disagreed with her assessment. He’d never looked at any woman like he coveted her. He hadn’t been looking at Lauren in that manner. Had he? Of course not. “She’s a fascinating woman.”

  “I agree. And she needs to have fun. Something tells me she couldn’t be in better hands for that.”

  He could think of numerous places on Lauren’s body where he’d like to put his hands. Places he’d skimmed briefly in the pool the other night. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what Sophie meant, although catching her knowing glance… “I’ve been known to enjoy myself.”

  “Good. Did you like the exhibit?”

  A change of subject to keep him off-balanced in hopes he’d slip up and reveal something. She was good. He was better. He shrugged. “It was fine.”

  She laughed. “That was enthusiastic. You’re not a fan of Picasso?”

  “Before last Saturday, I would have said a definitive no.”

  “What changed?”

  “Seeing it through Lauren’s eyes. All I noticed were weird, unusual shapes, but she went deeper, saw what was beneath the surface. She really knows her stuff.”

  “Especially the Picasso exhibit. She had a hand in putting it together.”

  “How?”

  “She works there.”

  “At the gallery? I thought she was my aunt’s social secretary?”

  “She is, but Lauren likes to keep busy. Plus, if she eventually wants to come back here to work in art, she has to get to know the Chicago art scene. Lauren is very strategic. She’s spent the past couple of years rotating between select galleries and museums. It’s what helped her get the fellowship.”

  “The one in New York?”

  “So she told you about that. Good. That’s progress. In the art world, it’s huge and an honor to be chosen. Thousands of people apply. She should accept it.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “She has this idea that she can’t leave Dorothy when she needs her. She won’t even tell her about it and let Dorothy decide what she needs. I’m pretty sure your aunt would tell Lauren to take the fellowship, but I can’t convince her of that.” She picked up the tray. “Come on. I’ll lose my title as party planning diva if my guests die of thirst.”

  Seeing her strain, he took the drinks from her and headed back into the main room, where another couple had taken their spot with the Wii. He’d had no idea the fellowship was so prestigious. She’d made it sound like some post-graduate internship. Between working for his aunt, pursuing her education, working in museums, and applying for this fellowship, how did she find the time to do anything? Lauren needed more than a little bit of fun. She needed prolonged and sustained entertainment. A temporary, enjoyable distraction.

  He placed the tray on the leather ottoman centered between a grouping of chairs where Kevin and Lauren sat waiting. Lauren raised her brows and he shook his head slightly, hoping to impart that she had nothing to worry about. The day hadn’t come that he couldn’t handle a beautiful woman. Even during a cross-examination. He sat down next to her, shifting his body toward hers and throwing an arm behind her on the chair.

  Sophie grabbed a few drinks off the tray and distributed them to some of her other guests. She came back and settled next to Kevin, snatching a beer for herself. “Speaking of Dorothy, how is she?” she asked.

  Lauren gave him a sharp glance. “You were talking about Dorothy?”

  Carter’s right hand tightened briefly around his bottle of beer. Good grief. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d been waving semaphore flags. He’d agreed to keep their fake engagement a secret. She didn’t need to monitor every word that came out of his mouth.

  Sophie took a sip of her beer. “Actually, we were talking about you.”

  “Oh. Dorothy is doing a lot better.” She set her glass down and stood. “I’ll be back. I’m going to the bathroom.”

  He watched her walk away. He loved those jeans.

  “So…” Kevin leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “Sophie mentioned you’re one of the Richardsons. How did you hook up with Marcus Pearson? It’s not enough that your family owns the largest privately owned shipbuilding company in America?”

  “I’ve learned a lot working with him.”

  “What about RichCorp? Will you go back now, especially with everything that’s going on with your aunt?”

  As much as he liked Kevin, his thoughts about his family were private. “No. My place is at PE.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Smooth, Kevin.”

  “What? I’m just talking to the man.”

  “I think Lauren had the right idea about the bathroom. Where is it?”

  “Go through the kitchen. It’s right off the dining room.”

  He found her in the dining room, standing next to a large table, studying a framed print on the wall. He moved behind her.

  “I just checked on Dorothy. The nurse said she was sleeping.”

  The air around her was tense and she fidgeted with her phone, turning it over and over in her hands. He pulled it away from her and slid it into his pocket.

  “Sorry about that back there. I’m not used to keeping things from Sophie, so not telling her about us has been difficult.” Her voice shook slightly.

  He found her nervousness charming. Something had happened between them at the gala. Some steps had been gained, some boundaries crossed. The frozen maiden had thawed a little and allowed him a glimpse inside.

  She pointed to the picture. “I love this piece. Matisse’s Harmony in Red.”

  The picture was predominantly red, with accents of blue and yellow.

  “There’s no focal point,” she continued. “Your gaze is pulled in many different directions. The maid, the vibrant wallpaper, the view outside the window.”

  Adrenaline surged through him, heightening his senses, which were consumed with her. He placed his hands on her shoulder.

  “Don’t,” she protested softly.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Touch me.”

  He bent his head to the curve between her neck and her shoulder, inhaling the cool tropical scent he would always associate with her. “Why?”

  She moaned and tilted her head to the sid
e. “Because I can’t think straight when you do.”

  “Thinking is overrated.”

  She hesitated for one moment before turning to face him. She captured his hands in her own. “Not to me,” she said, her gaze locked on his.

  He didn’t understand why she insisted on keeping her distance. He knew she wanted him. They stared at each other before she released him and left the room. Lauren was a challenge, and Carter didn’t do challenges. Not in relationships. Life was too short and the options were too varied. He was always honest about his intentions and if the woman didn’t believe him, thought she could get him to change his mind, he’d calmly move on.

  Easy.

  Except this time he didn’t want easy. He wanted Lauren. It would be perfect. There was no danger of him falling in love with Lauren, or of her falling in love with him. Hell, half the time they didn’t even like one another. But there was no denying the chemistry between them. What was the harm in enjoying their time together? In scratching an itch that plagued both of them? Soon he’d be going back to DC and, come October, Lauren would be heading to New York. With distance, their interest in each other would wane and they’d both look back on this experience as a fun interlude.

  When he finally joined them back in the family room, Lauren was sitting on the sofa next to Sophie. Their gazes met briefly before she looked away, heat filling her cheeks.

  “We have fifteen minutes until the game starts. I propose a rematch,” Kevin said. “How about it, Carter? You game?”

  Lauren flicked a glance in his direction before picking up her glass and downing the remaining contents in one swallow. He smiled. Was he game for a rematch?

  Oh yeah.

  Chapter Ten

  At the brief knock on the office door, Carter called out, “Come in.” Into his phone he said, “Hold on a sec,” and pressed the mute button.

  Was it Lauren? Need heightened his anticipation as he waited for his visitor to enter. Had she sought him out for a reprisal of their poolside kiss? The one that had curled his toes and shot heat straight to his dick? He’d put the president himself on hold for another kiss like that.

  One of Dorothy’s nurses stuck her head in. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Richardson, but your aunt would like to see you.”

  He swallowed his disappointment.

  “Is anything wrong?” He glanced at the clock across the room, stunned to learn it was after three in the afternoon. He’d had breakfast with his aunt and promised to check in for lunch, but he must have lost track of time thanks to meetings with PE department heads.

  “No. She was settling down for a nap when she jolted awake and called out for you.”

  “I’ll be right there.” When the nurse left the room, he pressed a button on the phone. “I have to go, Kimberly. Go ahead and start pulling together the information I’ll need on that acquisition.”

  He disconnected the call and headed up to Dorothy’s room. She was lying on her side, her hand curled beneath her cheek, her eyes closed. She looked so fragile, this woman who spoke softly and carried a big stick. It was true what he’d told Lauren: he’d thought she was invincible. He stood there, conflicted. Let her sleep or wake her up and find out what she needed? He’d decided to go with the former option when her eyes flew open. She started to sit up and he hurried over.

  “Don’t get up.” He brushed the hair off her face. “What do you need, gorgeous?”

  She smiled, but her eyelids drooped like they were weighted. “I was hoping you’d do something for me.”

  “Anything,” he said. Even as he said the word he realized he’d already proved it to be true.

  “My assistant, Donald, sent me some documents that required my signature. They’re extremely time-sensitive and he needs them back before end of business today.”

  “Your assistant…at RichCorp?”

  “Yes. Can you take them back to the office for me?”

  “Of course.” His chest tightened and anger charged through him. While he was there, he’d make it his business to find out who was in charge pending his aunt’s return. It was irresponsible to assign work to a critically ill woman, whether she was the CEO or not. In the entire company, there had to be someone who could review documents and sign off on them without bothering Dorothy.

  She exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut. “I hate this. Something so simple that I used to do on my own and now I have to rely on others.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  A couple hours later, Carter took his anger and guilt and used them as fuel to motivate him under the concrete and steel overhang and through the automatic glass doors that housed his unwanted legacy. He stepped off the elevator on the thirtieth floor of the RichCorp office building. The air shifted, molecules reformed, and a quilt of familial responsibility shrouded his body.

  The lobby was a harmonious blend of styles, dark wood and leather furniture, light granite and metal pendant lighting. Elegant art pieces dotted the walls and lit displays. He wondered if Lauren had picked any of them. An older woman sat at the receptionist desk, the company’s name a golden crown above her head.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Richardson, we’ve been expecting you. Your aunt’s assistant is waiting for you at the end of the corridor.” She pointed to her right.

  “This company has been in our family for generations. One day you will take over and help RichCorp successfully transition into the twenty-first century.”

  The memory of his father’s voice followed him as he headed toward the executive suites and the young man standing at the door to the office his father had once occupied.

  “Donald?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Carter inspected him, taking in the slim fitting, three-buttoned suit, red striped tie, and polished black shoes. He looked cool, competent, and professional. “Here are the documents my aunt asked me to drop off.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s important that I get these out first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “You are aware that my aunt is ill, correct?”

  Donald swallowed. “Of course, sir.”

  “And she hasn’t been into work for at least six weeks, since her surgery?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You are aware that my aunt requires total rest?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So why are you bothering her with work when she needs time to heal?”

  Donald’s eyebrows steepled together. “Sir?”

  “Sending documents for her to sign and having her worry about returning them on time isn’t restful. Who’s been taking care of these things in my aunt’s absence?”

  “Several people, sir. But there are some things Ms. Richardson likes to handle herself.”

  “No longer. From this moment on, contacting my aunt about RichCorp or any work on its behalf is off-limits until she comes back officially. Is that understood?”

  Donald cleared his throat. “That may be a problem.”

  “Not mine. Yours. Get it done. Dorothy wouldn’t have hired you if she believed you incapable of completing a simple task.”

  “What about the prospectus? Braddox Technology is anxious for our report. They passed impatient two weeks ago. When you came in, I thought she’d sent you to prepare it. She often spoke of you.”

  Carter frowned. Dorothy hadn’t mentioned anything about outstanding work. He had no problems delivering papers for her in between meetings. It gave him the opportunity to inform Donald that contacting Dorothy about work wouldn’t be allowed. But what wasn’t on his agenda was getting involved in actual work for RichCorp.

  He shook his head. “Find someone else.”

  The young man sighed. “I’ll have to send a memo to Ms. Richardson.”

  Panicked anger exploded in a colorful mist and momentarily clouded his vision. “Did you not understand what I said? Under no circumstances are you to contact my aunt.”

  Donald shifted from one foot to the other. “I understand, sir, but it’s m
y job to keep Ms. Richardson informed. Braddox Technology is an important client and before she fell ill, she worked hard on this deal. She wouldn’t want it to fall apart.”

  His aunt had managed to hire a loyal assistant and Carter admired that. In today’s world, others in Donald’s position would have taken the “not my problem” attitude and risked the company losing a valuable business asset. But appreciating Donald’s allegiance didn’t solve his immediate problem. The prospectus needed to be done and Carter couldn’t allow Dorothy to complete it.

  Dammit. Coming to RichCorp was akin to tempting a pit of quicksand. He’d been a fool to believe he could submerge a toe and still escape its immersive clutches. But in a choice between his comfort and Dorothy’s health, there was none. “I’ll take a look.”

  Donald expelled a huge breath and relief settled on his features. He consulted his iPad. “The financial reports from the past three fiscal quarters are waiting for you on the desk,” he said.

  Carter stopped at the threshold of the office, another memory detaching itself from his subconscious and floating to the fore. His father sagged against the floor-to-ceiling windows, sobs overwhelming his body.

  You don’t understand! What am I supposed to do? How do I go on without her?

  Even through the distance of time, the raw pain in his father’s voice affected him like an aggravated exposed nerve.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, something to eat?” Donald asked.

  “Coffee,” he said, grateful to be pulled back from the recollection. Donald retreated, quietly closing the door behind him.

  Carter walked farther into the room, noting the pale blue and cream palate that currently decorated Dorothy’s bedroom carried over to her office. Sitting down in her chair, he picked up the ornate silver frame perched on the corner of her desk. It was an older picture of him and Lauren, taken the summer he’d graduated from college. His arm was around her shoulders and they both smiled into the lens.

  He and Lauren shared history, yet he hadn’t let himself think about her in years. Now she was his mind’s favorite subject. It replayed on a loop highlighting the soul-stirring kiss and the salacious sensation of her body pressed against his in the pool. It was becoming harder—no pun intended—to remember this was all pretend. Especially because the effect she had on him was so fucking real. She was an incredible woman.