by Gigi Black
Not that getting her out of her panties had been the plan. I wanted her to look and feel gorgeous, not only because it would pay to have her feel what it was like to have money for my plan, but because she deserved a little fun.
She sat across from me in the French dining chair in the Plaza, occasionally twirling her champagne flute by the stem and glancing around nervously at the other diners.
Couples, old and young, sat at the tables, wining and dining. A few of the women eyed me when their husbands weren’t looking, but I ignored the attention as I always did.
Tonight, I was all about wooing Hazel… in the professional sense.
“This place is ridiculous,” she said, after a second, taking a fortifying sip of her champagne then putting it down. Hazel opened her menu and scanned the entrées. “I can’t believe I agreed to come here with you.”
“I told you to be ready by eight.” I sipped my beer, gesturing with the glass. “Just be glad I decided not to cancel the reservation.”
She gritted her teeth, chewing on the “fuck you” that was surely on the tip of her tongue. “Do you always have to be so objectionable?” she asked. “What’s the point? Why irritate me?”
“I’m not trying. Have you ever considered that you just have a low tolerance level?”
“For your crap? Yeah, I do.”
The waiter appeared to take our orders, and I went for the walnut and beetroot risotto, while Hazel took her sweet time stressing about how much everything cost.
“The duck is good,” I said, over the rim of my glass.
“The duck.” Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the price on the menu. “That’s…”
“It’s good. My treat, Hazel. We’re here for business, remember? I asked you. It’s common practice for the offering party to pay.”
“Right. OK,” she said, lifting her perfect chin. “Right, the duck, please.” I pictured trailing sloppy kisses down her throat and popping one of her breasts free of that dress.
The waiter sniffed and removed our menus, pulling the usual snobby bullshit they did at places like this. Of course, they never sniffed at me. It took one look for them to wilt and start bowing and scraping.
It annoyed me that the sniff had been directed at Hazel. She had a backbone. She just had to use it.
“All right,” she said, sipping the champagne. “You’ve practically taken me hostage to get me here, so I’m assuming whatever it is you have to say is important.”
“You assumed correctly, though I wouldn’t flatter myself if I were you. Hostage?”
“You manipulated me,” she said. “You gave my dad a documentary to watch.”
I grinned at her. “He said he didn’t want to watch She’s the Man again.”
“Hey! That was one time.” Hazel pointed at me and a couple of the other diners looked up from their meals. Her cheeks pinked.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Christ, she was gorgeous when she blushed, and being here with her reminded me of what’d it been like back in high school. We hadn’t come to fancy restaurants of course, but the conversation had always flowed.
She was too smart not to have a comeback for everything I had to say. Hazel excited my brain more than anyone I’d met before.
“You need a refill?” I asked, gesturing to her glass.
Hazel set down her empty champagne flute. “Not for now. I need to take a break.”
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m sitting across from you, Damien. Of course I’m nervous.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re the devil. Wearing a suit and tie. Why wouldn’t I be nervous?” She tossed back that golden-caramel hair, and I caught a whiff of her coconut shampoo. “If you want to talk, it can’t be good.”
“I have a proposition, and I don’t want you to let our shared past put you off saying yes to it.”
She blinked. “I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t need to trust me. You just need to do what’s right for you and your father.”
Hazel stiffened, green eyes blazing. “What’s Dad got to do with this?”
“Calm down and I’ll tell you.”
“Has anyone ever told you that telling a woman to calm down is liable to get you a glass of champagne in the face?” Hazel countered.
“Duly noted.”
“Not that you’ll ever change, right?” Hazel asked.
“I can only do what I do best,” I replied. “If that happens to get under your skin, all the better.”
Hazel pursed her lips but didn’t fling shit back at me for once. “What’s this proposition you keep talking about? The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can get out of this dress and back to normality.”
Out of that dress. Sweet Jesus, I couldn’t think about that.
“You’re in trouble,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Financially. Your father is ill, and you’ve lost the café, correct?”
Hazel bristled like a particularly sexy porcupine. Was that a thing? Shit, it was now. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that your sister is a financial drain on your family. That she’s borrowed money from you and your father countless times and never paid it back. That she stole money from her ex-boyfriend and that’s the reason they broke up.”
If Hazel had been pink before, it was nothing compared to now. “What?”
“You heard me right.” Time to break out the big guns. “I also know that you desperately want the café back, and that you’re not going to get it without a significant financial injection. Couple that with the fact that I happen to know who bought the café and that they aren’t selling...”
“Are you threatening me?” Hazel asked. “That’s so typical of you, Woods. Get me all dressed up to come out and tell me I’m nothing but a--”
“I can get you the café back.”
That shut her up.
I took a sip of beer and let her stew in what I’d just said for a couple minutes.
“What do you mean?” she asked, cautiously.
“I mean exactly what I just said.” I set my drink aside, focusing all my energy on the plan instead of the desperation in her eyes. “I can get you the café back. I can give it to you, no strings attached. All you have to do is... give me something in return.”
“That’s hardly ‘no strings attached,’ then.”
“Do you know who bought your father’s café?” I asked.
“No.”
Likely she hadn’t wanted to get involved. Perhaps it had hurt her too much. “Woods Enterprises,” I said. “My father’s company.”
She choked on air.
I raised a hand. “Before you accuse me of anything too ridiculous, Hazel, I wasn’t involved in the purchase of your father’s café. But I did find out about it, and I can help you get it back.”
“As if I’d ever trust you to help me,” she snapped.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I asked. “I’m an exceptional businessman.”
Hazel chewed on her bottom lip.
The waiter returned with our entrées, but she didn’t pick up her knife and fork. It seemed a shame to waste such good duck, but I didn’t blame her.
“What do you want?” she asked, at last, the first trappings of defeat in her words.
“I want you to pretend to be my fiancée. My father wants me to become the CEO of his company, and if I don’t do what he wants, he’s going to cut me off. I need a woman to be ‘the one’ for thirty days. All fake, of course, but real in his eyes.”
Hazel opened and shut her mouth like a fish who’d been swept out of water and was struggling against the net.
“So, the deal is, you be my fake fiancée, and I’ll give you the café back. Hell, I’ll even finance your first two years of business. What do you say?”
“You’re a vulture,” she spat.
“Not the reaction I anticipated, but all right. Explain.”
“You think you can invite me here an
d I’ll just, what roll over and do what you want? All because you can’t stand to live without your daddy’s money?”
“It’s not his money alone. It’s my mother’s too.” That was bitter on my tongue. Memories threatened, but I held them at bay. “And it’s mine.” I’d worked damn hard at my father’s company, all so I could build the company I’d dreamed of. The one that would wipe his off the face of the fucking planet and do mom’s memory justice.
“I can’t believe that I ever let you talk me into coming out here,” Hazel said. “You’re nothing but a spoiled brat.”
“What you think of me doesn’t matter, Hazel. You need the money.”
“I need your money like I need to miss my period. Screw you, Damien. Screw. You.” She got up and stormed from the restaurant, turning heads with her departure.
12
Hazel
“I’m sorry, Miss McCutcheon, but I can’t assist you.” The dude in the suit pushed my portfolio and business plan back across the desk toward me.
I’d waited for over an hour to see Mr. Banks—typical name for the guy who’d decided to reject me for a loan—and it was all for nothing. I fought back despair. “Please, you have to help me. I know that I can make this work. I can—”
“Miss McCutcheon,” he said. “You have no capital to speak of, no assets, and the property you’re interested in buying isn’t currently for sale, from what I can see.”
“Yes, but I know the guy who owns it.” Regrettable fact. “And I could get him to sell it to me.” Could I though?
“I’m sorry,” Banks said. “It’s not happening.”
I pressed my lips together, holding back fury and pain. Talking to Damien Saturday night had forced my hand. I couldn’t possibly do what he’d asked, but I wouldn’t give up on my dream of running the café. My dad’s café.
“Please,” I said, one last time. “Please. You have to help me.”
Banks simply shook his head and sat back in his chair.
The consultation was over, and while he probably didn’t want to be a dick about it, the rejection still stung. I collected my portfolio and left his office, my cheeks burning bright red. The guy who was next in line gave me a sympathetic look that only made my blood boil even harder.
Outside, I got into my car and sat there for five minutes, fuming.
In all honesty, I shouldn’t have come to talk to the guy today, but I’d spent the whole of Sunday poring over my business plan, fueled by coffee and anger at Damien’s bullshit proposition. A frustrated shriek bubbled up inside me, but I didn’t let it out.
Of course he was a user.
What had I expected? He’d slept with me and left, and I’d fully wanted to put that night behind me and forget he existed again. As I’d done for the past fourteen damn years. But Damien wouldn’t let that happen.
I wasn’t important enough to him to believe he’d come back because he wanted to upset me or torture me or whatever.
It was because he wanted something. Money from Daddy Dearest. Spoiled as ever. And selfish. This was all about Damien.
And how shitty was it that I had even considered his proposition for a second there, wearing that ridiculous lowcut dress that he’d ogled me in?
You considered it because it would make everything easy. You could get the café back. You could help Dad with his hospital bills. You could…
“Stop,” I said to myself.
Thankfully, none of the people walking by seemed to notice me talking to myself. I pulled out of the parking space and drove through the city, heading home and barely seeing anything but the road in front of me.
I wasn’t considering it. I wasn’t.
Pretending to be his fiancée? Out of the question. I didn’t want to think what that would entail. I wasn’t about to become Damien Woods’ sex toy.
I arrived back at the house, my stomach practically buried in the tips of my toes, and stormed up the front steps. I let myself in, trying not to think about how, just a few days ago, I’d been making out with Damien on this very step. How he’d nearly taken me right here.
My throat closed up, and I choked on angry tears. I forced myself to calm down—never let a man get in your head—and squared my shoulders.
“Dad?” I called out.
Mr. Piddlywump padded down the hall, his little bell ringing merrily. I scratched behind his ears and dropped my keys, the doomed business portfolio and my purse on the front table. “Hey, cutie,” I whispered and kissed Piddly on his ginger head. “How are you today?”
He meowed at me and bumped his head into my palm. Piddly was the friendliest cat I’d ever met, but it hadn’t always been that way. We’d rescued him from a shelter when he’d been emaciated and timid. Time and care had healed his emotional wounds. That was how it worked for cats, anyway.
“Dad,” I called again, straightening. “I’m home. Are you hungry?” He hadn’t been eating much lately and it made me nervous. “Dad?”
Silence, apart from the blare of the TV. My heart pitter-pattered in my throat.
“Dad?” I hurried into the living room.
He was in his chair, green-eyed gaze on the screen.
“Dad.”
“Oh, hey Nut,” he said and paused the channel. “How was your meeting?”
“It was… fine,” I replied, brow wrinkling. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
“Hmm? No, sorry, I was watching Blue Planet. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.”
“Right, OK.” I nodded slowly, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip. My anger had simmered down, at least—being around my father helped. He’d always had a calming presence. He was the rock of our family. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the series.”
“You bet your ears I am,” he said, pinching his fingers together. His little joke—as a kid, he’d have pinched my ears while saying it. “Speaking of which, have you heard from that Damien again? I expected he’d come by and take you on another date.”
“It wasn’t a date,” I replied, slowly, my anger rushing back. I had to relax! “It was just two old… friends catching up.” Man, it was difficult to say “friends” while thinking about Damien.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Just don’t want you to close yourself off, Nut.” Piddlywump jumped into his lap, and he scratched the cat’s furry head, gently. “Damien’s a good, successful man. He seems to like you.”
“It’s complicated, Dad. And he’s not as good as you think he is.”
My father raised a fluffy gray eyebrow. “Don’t let the past get in your way.”
“Dad. It’s fine. I’m fine, OK?” I took several cleansing breaths. “Can I get you something to eat?”
“Not now, honey. Maybe later.” My father hit play, and the soothing tones of Attenborough boomed from the TV.
I left him to it, trying not to worry too much about his lack of appetite.
The front door opened, and I froze then relaxed. It was just Kara, coming for a visit. My sister entered, stumbling, a massive bag slung over one shoulder. She spotted me and offered up a sheepish grin.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, then walked over. “What’s this?”
“It’s a bag, Hazel. A bag full of my shit.” She laughed. “I mean, not judging you or anything, but it’s pretty obvious what it is. Unless you need to get your eyes checked?” Kara didn’t meet my eye. She shut the door, tucking her key into her palm.
“You lost your place,” I said, hoping against hope that she wasn’t about to confirm it.
“That’s not technically true.” Kara blew her hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t lose it so much as I was kicked out of it.” She kicked one of her fingers up. “Ha. Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Well, I was living with Timmy, and we broke up, so he decided to lobby our roommates to kick me out and here I am.” Kara swallowed, drily. “But listen, it’s just for, like a week while a look for another place to stay.”
“A week.”
>
“Yeah,” Kara said. “I’ve still got that job, remember? The toothpaste commercial? So, that’s going to pay me loads, and then I’ll just… pay the first month of rent somewhere else.”
“Are you sure you’re OK?” I asked.
My sister’s hair was stringy, and dark half-moons hung beneath her eyes. Her makeup was smudged too—very unlike her. Kara was all about keeping up appearances.
“I’m great,” she said. “I mean, it’s not the best thing ever that I got kicked out, but whatever.” She waddled past me, carrying her bag, and heaved it up the stairs, heading for her bedroom.
Damien’s words rang in my mind, and doubts took seed. Kara stealing from Timmy. And now she’d been kicked out. I could barely afford to pay for the utilities and food for just Dad and me, and he hardly ate anything at this point, let alone have another mouth to feed.
“Ka,” I called out, and followed her up the stairs. She’d already reached her bedroom and kicked the door open. “Ka, I don’t mean to be a dick, but if you’re going to stay here, I will need a little financial help.”
“Huh?” Kara dropped her bag with a thump and fisted her hips. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, things are expensive. It’s just me looking after Dad and paying the bills, and he’s got doctor’s appointments and… stuff. You know? If you’re going to stay, you’ll need to contribute something.” It was better to get this out of the way now. I knew my sister—she’d avoid the topic if she could.
“Dude, I just got here. Can you chill?”
“Kara…”
“I don’t have money for you right now, OK? Jesus. Chill the fuck out.” My sister turned her back on me. “Can you give me one damn second to settle in here?”
“Kara.”
“Seriously! Just get the fuck out of my room.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose and my scalp prickled, but I backtracked out of the room and shut the door. Easier than arguing with her and potentially upsetting our father. Who she hadn’t even said hello to yet.
