by Penny Wylder
He clears his throat. “Have you had a chance to look over the folder more?” he asks. His rich velvet voice fills the space in the elevator.
“Stayed up all night going through it,” I admit. There was a lot, and it was strange reading about a life that is supposed to be mine yet I’ve never experienced any of it. I found myself wishing I was that girl who went to wine tastings with him in Napa Valley, who sat on the rooftop of the apartment building watching the sunset. The girl in that folder is happy and carefree. She has a man who loves her dearly and who also respects her. She doesn’t have to scrimp and save every penny just to survive on toxic food or suffer through an equally toxic relationship. She’s able to go and do things, experience life on a whole different level. Must be nice to live like the girl I’m pretending to be.
“Good. You’ll be meeting my family tomorrow night,” Heath says.
“What? Already?” For some reason I thought I’d have a little more time to prepare, to perfect my character. I don’t know how to be a wealthy person. There are rules, mannerisms. Rich people hold themselves a specific way, head up, chin out. And there’s a certain arrogance to them that comes from either getting too much attention as a child, or not enough. At this point his family will never believe that I am anything more than who I am: a jobless, penniless, desperate girl pretending to be in love with a man who has more money than God.
“I’m afraid so. They got into town earlier than I was expecting,” he says.
My head’s spinning. The elevator feels like it’s moving at warp speed. I sway. Heath catches me before my knees buckle and he holds me in his sturdy arms. Damn, he smells good. I put my forehead against his chest to keep the elevator car from going in circles.
He starts to stroke my hair. It feels good and comforting. One of his hands slips down to my bare shoulders. My body comes alive from his touch and I find myself with temporary amnesia. I’m no longer thinking about his family or my duties. Right now, all I know is that he’s touching me and I want more.
Then the elevator opens, and he steps away from me. “Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m fine.”
We step out of the elevator which leads us directly into the condo. This place is as big as two houses. Windows wrap around, giving us a stunning panoramic view of the city below. The floors are white polished marble tile. The furniture is also white. The leather couches are all straight lines and hard edges. They’re beautiful but don’t look like they’d be very comfortable to sit on.
The wallpapered walls are covered in beautiful art pieces just like in the lobby. This entire place looks like an art piece. That, or a showroom. I can’t believe people actually live like this.
He gives me the grand tour, which is definitely grand. In the wing he’s calling mine, there’s even a library. I feel just like Belle from Beauty and the Beast—if the beast were the sexiest man alive.
“What’s mine is yours. As long as you’re working for me, you have free rein of the place.”
His smile stirs that needy place deep in my core and I find myself imagining him walking around this place wearing nothing but that sexy smile.
“Thank you,” I say.
I ask myself yet again why this gorgeous man is pretending to be engaged and getting married when he could have the real thing with any woman of his choosing. He’s beautiful, obviously brilliant to have gotten this far in life. He doesn’t need to pretend.
“Is it off-limits to ask why you need a fake bride? Clearly you don’t need one. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and kind …”
His eyebrows lift and I blush.
“I’m almost thirty-years-old and my mother thinks I’m lonely and she’s always trying to set me up with someone, so any possible free night I might have is spent on mindless dates trying to pretend to be interested in some pampered brat’s little purse dog. My father thinks a man without a wife is irresponsible and not planning well enough for the future. He’s constantly checking up on me. I just want them off my back for once in my life. I figure if they think I’m married, they’ll leave me alone. They live out of the country and I rarely see them, so they won’t know the difference for some time. When they come back, I’ll give them some sob story about how things didn’t work with my marriage, and hopefully that will be the end of their meddling,” he says.
“You’ve really thought this through.” Of course he did. He’s very good at details. It’s obvious from the folder he’s given me.
“I should get back to work,” he says.
“Do you need me to drive you back?”
“I’ll call for a car.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t suppose you’d want to stay and hang out with me for a while.”
He looks curiously at me. I continue. “We could watch TV, binge-watch something on Netflix.”
His curiosity turns to amusement. “You want to spend time with me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I want to hear more about your family. I’m nervous about meeting them.”
“You’re nervous? Aren’t you used to this sort of thing since it’s your job?”
I shake my head. “This isn’t my normal job. I’m just filling in for my best friend. She needed my help at the last minute and I needed the money, so I said yes.”
He gives me the strangest look, a mixture of surprise and understanding. Suddenly, his whole body language changes and his stiff demeanor crumbles.
“It all makes sense now. You don’t seem like the type to do this sort of thing. And you don’t look anything like the way my friend said you would.”
“Disappointed?”
“Not at all. Elated, actually. I was worried someone might recognize you from one of your other jobs.”
“Not unless that job was the cashier at Burger Hut.”
“I’m fairly certain I don’t know anyone who eats at Burger Hut.”
“Didn’t think so,” I say.
I press my hands together and give him a pleading look. “So you’ll stay?”
“For a little while.” He sits on the couch. I sit next to him.
“You look so uncomfortable in all those stiff clothes,” I say.
He looks down at his buttoned jacked. “This particular suit isn’t made for comfort.”
“I can tell, but it looks sexy as hell on you, so I guess that makes it worth it.”
He gives me a sideways smile and takes his jacket off.
“This needs to go too.” I lean toward him and take off his tie and unbutton the top button of his shirt to let his neck breathe. He pulls in a breath. When I look at him to see why, I realize my tank top is gaping and he can see everything. I pretend like I don’t notice, and let him get an eyeful. He doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t try to avert his gaze.
“You smell amazing,” I blurt out. I was thinking it, but hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Too late now. “What’s that scent?”
“Dolce and Gabbana.”
His brilliant blue eyes finally leave my breasts and now they seem to search my face. They leave a sizzling trail from my eyes to my lips.
Please don’t stare at me like that. I can’t think straight when you stare at me like that.
My breathing is erratic. I can hear it. I know he can hear it too. I try to slow it down, to take even breaths, but it’s not working.
Our eyes meet and though I know I should look away, neither of us seem to be willing, or even able to. Before I realize it, I have four of his shirt buttons undone. A small patch of hair on his chest shows through. I want to touch it so bad. He touches my arm and I jump a little. His fingers trace a line along the skin of my arm, down to my fingertips. His fingers weave together with mine and now he’s holding my hand.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about when it comes to my family. If they do or say anything to make you feel bad, you let me know and I’ll put them in their place.”
I look down at his hand holding mine and bring it up to my lips. H
is breathing changes too. I kiss each tip of his fingers, my lips lingering on the last one. His hands smell like soap.
“Is this part of our story?” he asks in a voice that seems off kilter.
I nod. “The more we bond, the more convincing our relationship will seem. Don’t you think? Then I won’t have to be nervous about meeting them and trying to make them believe we’re a couple.”
He nods. “Yes, that’s a good strategy.” He hesitates. “But maybe it’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m your employer. You’re dependent on the money for this job. It’s not a fair distribution of power.”
I grin. “That’s very thoughtful of you to care, but I don’t give a shit. I want you.” I undo the rest of the buttons and open his shirt. He groans in a way that makes me think he’s having an inner moral struggle but losing the battle of wills.
“And I’m pretty sure you want me, too,” I say.
He struggles to keep eye contact, but his gaze keeps finding the gap in my shirt.
I’m not going to make it easy for him to say no to me. I take off my tank top and now he can’t even pretend not to look. His eyes drink me in, pupils dilating. I use my shirt to tie his wrists together.
“There, now I have the power. Does this make you feel better?” I ask.
His low chuckle and sweet smile do things to my body I didn’t know were possible. “It does make me feel better, actually,” he says.
“Good.”
His chest is fully bare to me now. He has an amazing body, just as I imagined he would. Hard muscle, toned. His skin is the only soft thing about him. I lean over and kiss his chest, run my finger through the small patch of hair I’d been admiring earlier. I make my way up to his neck where I lick him. He tastes as good as he smells. When I’m done nibbling his neck, I taste his chin and lay soft kisses against his jaw line. And just as I’m about to kiss his lips, he suddenly pulls away, holding his bound hands in front of him as a barrier.
I’m so confused. I thought he was into it. “Did I do something wrong?” I ask.
“No, not at all,” he says. “It’s just … you don’t have to do that. It’s not part of the deal.”
“I know. I thought we already figured this out.”
“I want you to know that’s not required,” he says.
I get it. He’s in a male dominated business and as the owner of a multi-billion-dollar company he has to be careful, but this is different. There’s no HR team for me to run to if I don’t like the conditions of our arrangement. Then I start to wonder if maybe he’s just not into me.
“Do you not want me to touch you?” I ask.
His eyes widen. “Of course I do.” He moves his hands and I see the evidence of his lust filling the front of his pants nicely. “It’s just not appropriate for our business arrangement.”
“Wouldn’t it be more believable though, if we were intimate?” My voice comes out as a whine. I’m practically begging. I want him so bad I’ll make any excuse to make it happen. I think he knows it too because he lets out a breath of laughter.
“Maybe another time. I need to get back to work.”
I let out a disappointed breath, but I’m not going to pressure him.
He looks at my breasts as I untie his wrists and put my shirt back on. I know this is as hard for him as it is for me, but he clearly has far more will-power than I do.
I go to my wing of the condo. It’s huge. The same size as Heath’s, but not as lived in. The bed is bigger than the room in the apartment I share with Mandi. A girl could get used all this space … though, it’s a bit lonely.
As I look around, I think about kissing Heath’s chest and neck, the way he looked at me without my shirt on. I still can’t believe I did that. This isn’t real, whatever this is between Heath and me, but for a brief moment, it felt like it was and I wanted it. I guess I still do. I can’t stop thinking about him and I want him. He’s so handsome and sexy. Any girl in my position would. But that’s not what he wants from me. He’s looking for a fake bride to get through this time with his parents and I have to hold back these strange and unexpected feelings.
I need a few things from my apartment, so I take several trips back and forth to get them. It’s also an excuse to drive my amazing temporary car. I know I can’t keep it, so I’m going to enjoy it as much as I can while I have it.
On the last trip to my apartment, Mandi comes home and I’m so relieved to finally see her.
“How did things go?” she asks.
“Kind of amazing. He’s nothing like I thought he’d be. He’s really nice and sweet.”
Mandi sighs. “I was afraid this was going to happen.”
“What?”
“You’re falling for him.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes you are. I see it in your face and I can hear it in your voice. You can’t get involved with these guys, Sylph. They are clients, not people.”
“They are people,” I say.
“But not our people,” she says in the same lecturing tone I just used on her. “These men would never date anyone who doesn’t come from a family with money, or who isn’t on their level.”
My face must give away how crestfallen I feel because she gives me a sympathetic look and says, “I know. It sucks. I once had a client who I thought was into me. He took me on lavish vacations, wined and dined me. We even had sex on several occasions. I thought we had something special. But it turned out he was just trying to make his ex jealous. It worked. As soon as she was back in his life, he gave me the boot. I knew better, but I let myself fall for him anyway. It was heart-breaking. That’s why you can’t feel things, Sylph. You have such a big heart, which is why you have to protect it.”
“I know. You’re right,” I say. And I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “I’m not falling in love or anything. I’m just enjoying my time with him.”
“Good.” She looks at my suitcases. “What’s all this?”
“I’m staying with him while his family is in town.”
“That’s normal. But like I said, sleeping with him isn’t part of the deal, so don’t feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to do.”
There’s nothing I don’t want to do with Heath, but there’s plenty I want to do with him—and to him. Problem is, he isn’t budging. “That won’t be a problem.”
Heath calls to let me know he’ll be back at the condo by eight in the evening and wants to go over a few things with me before I meet his parents tomorrow. While I wait, I decide to run to the grocery store to pick up a few things since his refrigerator is bare.
I stop at a roadside stand for fresh fruit and vegetables. I pick a few things up there and stop at the store for everything else I’ll need for tonight. I love to cook. My mom taught me from the time I could walk. Since I grew up on a farm, we never ate out, so learning to cook was essential.
I decide to make peppercorn steak with glazed carrots and a salad. Rooting through his cupboards, it’s obvious none of his pots and pans have ever been used. Some of them even have price tags and stickers attached. Now’s a good time as any to break them in. I learn my way around his kitchen. Since it’s clear he never uses it, I take the liberty of switching things around so the arrangement makes more sense.
I finish making dinner just as Heath walks through the door. He stops in the walkway and looks at the table that’s set.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I say.
He’s still looking confused when he hangs up his jacket and walks over to the table, studying the dishes I’ve set out. “I am, actually. I was about to ask you if you wanted me to call in something, but I see you’ve already done it. Who brought this? It smells amazing.”
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “No one brought it. I made it.”
“You made this?” he says.
I giggle at the way his says this, as though it was some great feat of engineering. “Yes, I did. Sit bef
ore it gets cold.”
He does as he’s told. I watch his face as he takes a bite, afraid he won’t like it. It’s just down-home country food. Nothing fancy. He’s probably used to eating in five star restaurants similar to the one in the file where we had our second pretend date. When his next bite is so big it barely fits in his mouth, I know he likes it.
“This is extraordinary,” he says with his mouth full. “Did you go to culinary school?” he asks, taking another heaping bite.
“No, just picked up a few tips and tricks from my mom. She’s a far better cook than I am.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
He cleans his plate and fills it again with seconds. I forgot how much I love cooking for someone. Mandi never eats my cooking because she’s always on some new diet. My ex always enjoyed my cooking, but he never appreciated it. Cooking was always just expected. It was required. Dinner on the table at 6PM sharp, or else …
“I can’t eat another bite,” Heath says, then takes another bite.
I laugh. He’s so adorable. It makes me happy to watch him eat. It’s good to be appreciated once in a while.
I get up and start to clear the table. “No, don’t. I’ll take care of it,” he says.
“You’ve been working all day, grab a beer and go relax,” I tell him.
“There’s beer?”
“In the fridge. I didn’t know what you like, or if you even like beer, so I just bought something from the local brewery.” I shake my head. He’s probably more of a wine kind of guy. That didn’t even cross my mind.
“I like beer,” he says and opens the fridge. He pauses at the door. “It’s full,” he says in surprise.
“You needed a few things.”
“This is more than a few things.”
“You needed a lot of things, actually.”
He grabs a beer and follows me into the kitchen as I grab our dirty plates. I fill the sink with soap. He sets his beer on the counter and grabs the plate from me once I’ve washed it. He dries it with a towel and puts it in the cupboard.
We fall into easy conversation while we work. It’s surprising that, even though we have nothing in common, we have so much to say to each other. There’s never a lull in the conversation or uncomfortable silence. He tells me all about his family, and we go over the plan again and again. Then I ask him about his day. He tells me about his meetings and the insufferable building inspectors. He asks about my day, which surprises me a little. A lot of things surprise me about Heath, I guess. My ex never asked about my day. He never helped me with the dishes. He never told me I was talented in the kitchen. He just ate my food and burped, then plopped down on the couch and watched whatever game was on at the time. Turns out my fake relationship might be the best one I’ve ever been in.
