My Fake Vegas Boyfriend

by Lori Sizemore

  “Anything else?”

  Oh, hell. Layla rubbed at her eye, pretending it itched. She had to do this part, too. It was only right. “I’m sorry I lost my temper, before. My reactions: what was it you said? They’re ‘big.’ Very true.”

  His face softened, and he put out a hand. “Let me help you anyway, Layla. We don’t have to have an intimate relationship. That house isn’t a good place for you.”

  “We don’t want to say no to making love, either of us. And eventually, we wouldn’t. And that’s not good for me, either.”

  He turned and walked back to sit behind his desk. Clearly, he needed the distance. Maybe she did, too. He asked, “Why now? Why do they want to put you away when you’re obviously much better than you were?”

  “I don’t know why my mother does any of the things she does. And this is her, mostly. My father is concerned because of the photography…like the one that started all of this.”

  “You won’t take me up on my offer, and you know that’s a bad place for you. Why stay?”

  “How should I support myself, Jace? I’ve only ever been good at one thing, my whole life. Should I take wedding photos? Or maybe those pictures the casino photographer walks around taking and then charges fifty cents for? How much money is there in that?” Suddenly, Layla wanted to pound on his desk to make him listen. Didn’t he understand she had no real choices? She never had.

  “It’s better than letting them control you.”

  Layla stood and picked up her paper bag of belongings. “Spoken like the male heir to a million-dollar company. I bet you could do no wrong, growing up. ‘That’s our boy,’ they’d say. It may be 1958, but men and women—you and I—inhabit very different worlds.”

  She walked out of his office, clutching her paper bag and scared out of her wits. They couldn’t even have a civil conversation. These feelings between them, good and bad, were too much to ignore. How were they ever going to pull tonight off?

  Layla shut the door behind her. Jace counted to twenty and then slammed his fist down on the desk. When it felt satisfying, he did it again. Then it occurred to him he’d bruised his knuckles and that was about it. That woman could drive him to the edge of his reasoning. But then she was vulnerable and so honestly herself.

  He’d never met anyone like her. He both wanted to lock her in his bedroom and find all the things that made her mad with desire and to wrap her up, somehow, so nobody could ever hurt her again. Impulsively, he picked up the phone but then dropped it right back into the cradle.

  The desire to help Layla didn’t make sense. He knew she didn’t want him to because she believed it came with strings attached. He didn’t care. She’d been the one who blackmailed him, and he didn’t even blame her for that. She was in a hell of a spot with her family.

  That was the trick, right there. He had to figure out how to change the balance of power. Tip the scales in Layla’s favor. Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers together. Maybe she’d be okay away from them. She was trying so damn hard, and he never could resist an underdog.

  When he’d convinced himself he had a dozen reasons to help, besides being crazy about her, he picked up his phone and called his PI. “It’s Russell, from the casino. Remember about a week ago, I called and asked about a girl? You got me her name, Layla Rosas.”

  “Okay, sure. I remember the name. Hang on, let me find my notes from that day.” Jace listened for at least five minutes to drawers opening, then slamming shut again, and papers rustling. Finally, his PI picked the phone back up. “Sorry about that. Had a hell of a time finding them. Whaddya need?”

  “It’s personal, in fact. Not casino business.”

  “Uh-oh. What’d you do, Russell?”

  “Just listen. You know a lot of business people, right? Well, she’s a great photographer; I mean a real talent. Do you know where she could find a job? One that pays enough to live on?” Jace slid down in his chair. He sounded pathetic. He was calling in a favor for a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Why the hell would she want to do that?”

  “So she doesn’t have to depend on other people to support her. Jesus, why does anyone work?”

  “What’d I tell you about her, when you called before?”

  Jace exhaled, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Her name. That she didn’t work for anyone. Or at all.”

  The PI started laughing. Laughing. What the hell?

  “You want to let me in on the joke?” Jace asked.

  “She don’t need no job, kid. She came into a trust fund from her grandfather when she turned twenty-five. She’s got a million in the bank.”

  Jace stood with the phone. He didn’t know why he couldn’t sit any longer. “She turned twenty-five two weeks ago. God, that’s why they’re trying to put her away.”

  “Is she nuts?”

  “No. But she’s been in the hospital a couple of times before.”

  “Listen, they probably got her to sign a—what do ya call it? Power of attorney. Then they could manage the money, spend it—whatever. If she’s in the hospital, she wouldn’t ever get wise to it.”

  Jace took down the name of an attorney and hung up the phone. His mind couldn’t wrap around the idea—Layla didn’t need anyone to take care of her, not financially. He supposed it was just as well she hadn’t been tempted by his offer for the money. It was better, really. She’d said no in spite of the money. It showed that how torn up she’d been about saying no—and she had been, he could tell—was because she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  How was it, though, she didn’t know about her money? Had they kept it a secret from her? She trusted her father implicitly—how much did he have to do with all this?

  At the bottom of it, none of that mattered. He might never see her again. But he’d make sure she could leave that house, where she’d suffered so much pain, and have a life of her own. He at least wanted that for her.

  He strolled out of his office. “Leslie, I’ll be out of touch for the rest of the day.”

  She stared at him like she’d never met him before. “Well, that’s a first.”

  Yeah, he couldn’t say he’d ever done it before.

  13

  As Layla waited just inside the front door, she tugged on the long white gloves she’d donned to hide her cuts and glanced at the grandfather clock again. After eight now, if only by a few minutes. And he was never late. What if he had decided she wasn’t worth the trouble? She’d played her hand poorly, so overwhelmed in caring for him, by his touches, and over the indecency of ruining Mr. Stone’s life. He had to know he’d get the negatives no matter what.

  Lights swept the yard as someone pulled up at the curb. She smoothed out the crinoline-poofed skirt of her white strapless dress and took a shuddering breath. She’d never tell him because she wouldn’t be able to take the rejection on his face, but she loved him so much her heart seemed ready to burst with it. A smile, one she couldn’t seem to rid herself of, lit her face.

  Instead of worrying about it anymore, she opened the door and walked outside. Her shoes clicked on the walk as she went to meet him. Palms out, she tried to switch her expression from joy to a mocking smirk. “It’s after eight, Mr. Russell. What happened to ‘I’m never late, you’re the one who’s unreliable’?’

  He grasped her hands in his when they met and took her in, from head to toe. “You’re beautiful, as always.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I had a very busy day.” Jace wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, taking her mouth in a hungry kiss that made her breath ragged. “And it also occurred to me, if I were your guy, I wouldn’t give a damn whether your father liked my kissing you or not,” he whispered.

  She pulled back to study his face. “Is everything all right?” Her heart began to gallop in panic, and she let her hand flutter to the bare skin above her sweetheart bodice. The entire point of this evening was gaining her father’s appro
val.

  “Not exactly, but I’m going to fix it.”

  “Mr. Russell,” Layla’s father called to them from the doorway, “it would be very nice to meet you before you kiss my daughter in such a manner on the front walk.”

  “Told you,” she mouthed to him.

  Jace raised an eyebrow, and she just caught his lowered voice when he said, “Is it the manner or the location of the kiss he objects to, do you think?”

  Squeezing his arm as they walked toward the door, she muttered, “Be nice.”

  Her mother, thunderous since Layla showed up dressed for dinner, called out, “I’m sure he’s already done more than that.”

  “Mother has decided to slither downstairs to join us. Don’t look at her head on, just through mirrors, or you may be turned to stone.”

  A surprised laugh escaped him. “Don’t let her get to you.”

  Papà led the couple down the hall and into the living room. He picked up his own drink and gestured to Jace. “We’ve already made ourselves drinks before dinner, Mr. Russell. Can I get you something?”

  It sounded like her father was being polite, but it was really a jab at Jace’s tardiness. Layla gave her father a wide-eyed look, the one that almost always worked to calm his rancor. “Papà, Jace has a very important job. You should understand work can make you late for dinner sometimes.”

  A harrumph was Benny Rosas’s only reply.

  “Please, call me Jace, sir. And, no. Nothing for me.”

  She pulled him to a settee, where her martini waited on the table. Together, they sat, and she sipped the cool drink. His fingers caressed her hand, creating a balm over her ragged nerves. Almost like he read her mind, Jace twined his fingers with hers and offered a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

  Dinner was ready at eight-thirty, just as her mother had instructed Mrs. C. It was now a quarter to nine, and they hadn’t left for the dining room because her father continued to grill Jace about his job. This had continued for at least thirty minutes. Poor Mrs. C., trying to keep the meal warm without burning anything.

  “Papà, let him be long enough for us to go in to dinner. I’m hungry.”

  When her father stepped in front of the settee and offered Layla his hand, she didn’t know what to do. She simply couldn’t imagine disrespecting her father by refusing, but she could see it was yet another shot at Jace. Finally, she stood and walked with him to the dining room, leaving Jace, with an apologetic glance, to escort her mother.

  Dinner consisted of four courses, each more delicious than the last. Layla might’ve enjoyed it, if her Papà hadn’t spent the entirety of it interrogating Jace about his family, his work, and his past romantic history. Had he ever been engaged? Was he divorced? A person marrying into the royal family surely didn’t need vetting this thoroughly.

  “When do you feel is a good age for a man to settle down, Mr. Russell?” Papà continued to call him that, though Jace had very politely offered his first name. Layla had never seen her father in this light. She’d been under the impression that if she were happy, if she were clearly making headway toward a trip down the altar, he would be pleased. It seemed she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “When he finds the perfect woman,” Layla said in a rush, worried Jace would give away his views on marriage.

  Vivian, nearly drunk on red wine, barked laughter. “I suppose that precludes our daughter, then.”

  “Not at all. I can’t imagine a better woman to…devote my life to.”

  Layla took a healthy sip of her own wine. He could barely get the words out. This night couldn’t possibly get any worse. “Don’t pry, please. A man needs to do things in his own time. I’ve heard you say that yourself, Papà.”

  Her father grunted and speared a slice of tomato, which he chewed furiously. “I’m curious,” her father went on, without acknowledging Layla, “why you’ve chosen to work here in a casino for someone else rather than in your family business. Does your father object to this?”

  “No, sir. My father made his company from a store in Colorado into the most prominent candy company in the country. I know it’s not very humble to say, but I thought it might explain why he’s proud I want to make my own way in the world.”

  “Interesting. Family values like that differ from our own.”

  “I would imagine it’s fairly foreign, the concept of encouraging one’s child to be independent of his or her parents.”

  Layla twisted slowly to look at him. This was nearly blatant disrespect. Had he listened to a word she’d said? He didn’t even spare her a glance, scowling at her papà.

  Later, when the topic of politics came up, Layla decided to intervene. “Enough, please. You’re going to scare him away.”

  “Not at all.” Jace wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and dropped it beside his plate. “I don’t scare easily.”

  She looked between the two men, her father and the man she loved. They seemed to be sizing one another up. Maybe they were. Jace appeared to have taken an instant dislike to her papà, and Papà probably felt he needed to be more attentive to any gentlemen interested in Layla after her broken engagement.

  It was at this moment her father asked, “What are your intentions toward my daughter, Mr. Russell?”

  Jace took her hand from the table and grazed it with a kiss. “We’re still discussing the future. Aren’t we, doll?”

  Layla looked at him, alarmed now that the moment of truth had arrived. She knew he was finally following the plan. But the tension between the two men had changed the entire dynamic of the dinner. She pasted on a quick smile. “We’ve certainly discussed it at great length. When we come to a decision, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  The two men had never broken eye contact since Jace took her hand. It was like she wasn’t even there. “I’m asking him.”

  “Fair enough, Mr. Rosas. I love Layla. I think she is refreshing, clever, funny, and, of course, absolutely stunning.”

  Layla sighed wistfully at this. She knew how pathetic she sounded. It didn’t matter though. He appeared so sincere in that moment. Until he followed up with, “I’m going to do my very best to take care of her, if she’ll let me.”

  Layla tucked her head down and tried to disguise the tears welling in her eyes. A masterpiece of dessert—tiramisu—blurred in front of her. She would eat to hide her sudden withdrawal from the conversation, but her stomach churned at the idea of food. He’d come across as so genuine. Her father had no idea what Jace really meant by the phrase, “take care of her.” Her father finally made a sound of assent, then excused himself to retire to his study, as he did every evening.

  Her mother rang the ridiculous crystal bell on the table to call in Mrs. C. “Letta,” she said, using a shortened version of Mrs. C.’s first name. “Everything was lovely. Bring us coffee in the living room and then once the dishes are done, you can go home.”

  Layla turned sharply to her mother. “It’s after eleven o’clock. She has spent the entire day cooking on top of everything else. Send her home, and I’ll come help with the dishes in the morning.”

  Mrs. C. protested she would be fine, but Jace stood and said, “Then I’ll come help now.”

  Mother, absolutely mortified that a guest, especially a male one, found her treatment of a servant unfair, shot a glare at Layla and immediately reversed her position. “Don’t be ridiculous. Letta, you must be exhausted. Go home. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll call the hotel tomorrow and see if they can spare a couple of girls to help you.”

  Layla raised her eyebrows because a spirit with human decency had clearly possessed her mother. Ignoring Layla, Mother stood and directed her attention to Jace. “I’ll see you in the living room for coffee.”

  With a secret smile for Jace and Layla, Mrs. C. left for the kitchen to make the coffee.

  Jace pulled Layla’s chair out and offered her his arm. She took it, leaning into him. “I’m not sure how well that went.”

  He stopped, and Layla lo
oked up at him, conscious again of how much taller he was than her, even in her heels. The first time they’d kissed flashed through her mind, the way he’d lifted her to his level, then sealed his lips to hers. She swallowed, trying to push the thoughts away.

  His brow was furrowed, lips set in grim lines. He looked more worried than she felt. And that didn’t make sense—none of tonight did. He’d locked horns with her father like the outcome didn’t matter, like her freedom wasn’t at stake. “What is it?”

  “None of this with your parents is going to matter. I have proof your parents have ulterior reasons for trying to hospitalize you. They’ll never have the credibility to threaten you again.”

  Layla looked around quickly, making sure no one listened in. “I can’t imagine what would accomplish that. Just go with the plan, Jace. You’re really starting to frighten me.”

  He stopped her paranoid scan, capturing her chin and tilting it up so she faced only him. “Trust me. You need never be frightened again.”

  Layla wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her head rest on his shoulder. God, she was tearing up again. She’d never been this emotional in her life. “I told you—I trust you. You don’t know how much that would mean to me, never having to be afraid again.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He pulled back, holding on to her wrists gently. “You’ll have to come see me. There’s a document you need to sign, right away, after you read it. Never sign anything again without reading it first, no matter who hands it to you. Okay?”

  “Uh…okay? Listen, I’m going to thank Mrs. C. for the wonderful meal and pop in the powder room, check my makeup.” She waved a hand near her eyes. “I’ll read and then sign this document when I bring you the negatives tonight.”

  “You’re bringing them after this? Tonight?”

  “That’s what I promised you and Mr. Stone.” She didn’t hint at her ideas about what might happen. She’d started to question her own beliefs. And she didn’t tell him she was thinking about what he’d said, about how poisonous this place was for her. All that would keep until later.