by Julia Bright
“I can’t, not yet.”
“Just tell them she left.”
If I were sane, that’s what I would do, but my dad already didn’t like me. If I failed at being engaged, he would never allow me to live it down.
“Heather, how many stories did I tell you about my parents?”
She rolls her eyes and then drinks the last of her wine. “Okay, but, Baxter, you know this is me. I’m happy like this. I won’t change for you even just for this one week. I hate what your dad has done to you. I hate how he treats you. The way he’s caused you to doubt yourself, it’s terrible.”
Hope fills me and I want to hug her. Instead, I hold back. “I just need you to pretend until they leave. For old time’s sake, please.”
She eyes her empty wine glass and her shoulders drop. I know I have her. Then her gaze meets mine and I wonder once again why I didn’t jump on her when I had the chance in college.
“Okay, I’m going to regret it, but I can do that.”
Her words fill me with hope and I’m about to hug her when the alarm on my phone rings. It’s show time. I pull my phone from my pocket and see I have a text from my mother.
“What’s up?” Heather asks.
“She thinks I should make sure you wear appropriate clothing to tonight’s dinner.”
Heather’s chin drops and her eyes go hard. “What? Appropriate clothing? What the hell does that mean?”
I sigh and wonder what hell I’m going to catch from this. “Ignore her.”
Heather’s hand tightens on my arm. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like your mother.”
I grimace because what else can I do. “Funny, she’s always been the nicest one, it’s usually my dad who is the asshole.”
Heather shakes her head, a frown making her lips turn down sharply. “Okay, let’s go. But I’m heading home from the restaurant so I have to take my bag.”
When we’d been at Stanford, Heather impressed me with how unconventional she was. She didn’t follow the rules. She was exactly the opposite of what my parents would want for me. When I’d met Sandra, I knew she would appeal to my mother and father. She had no originality, nothing I thought special. Maybe that’s what kept me from falling in love with her. Sure, I’d been engaged, but I didn’t love her. Heather was different. When she left, and she would leave, my mom and dad would welcome whatever woman I chose next which made me sad. Heather wasn’t my girlfriend, but maybe someone like her should be what I’m looking for.
“It’s fine. I’ll keep up with it. Don’t worry; I have you covered.”
A light rain fell, turning the pavement slick. On the way to the restaurant, two cars almost hit the Uber we‘re in. Heather grabs on tight to my arm and doesn’t let go until we’re standing on the sidewalk. We both laugh a little as the car takes off.
“That was crazy,” Heather quips.
“Totally.”
We step into the restaurant and my mom’s gaze travels down Heather’s dress. The curl of my mom’s nose is unmistakable. I was going to say something, but Heather steps forward and takes my mother’s hand, her smile is so bright it’s nearly blinding.
“Lucinda, it’s so nice to see you again. I’m glad we get to eat dinner together.”
The look my mom gives me is a mix of bewilderment and annoyance. I want to laugh. My mom wasn’t used to people being open and real like Heather was. Mom’s friends were fake and full of shit. Heather was sweet and down to earth. Maybe she was being too sweet. Nothing my mom or dad said threw her off her game. But when we stand to leave the restaurant and my parents aren’t looking at her, I see her face fall. I can’t let her go home alone, not after seeing the despair—maybe that wasn’t the right word—on her face.
My parents’ apartment is only two blocks away so we say our goodbyes. My mom doesn’t make any noise about us coming over, and I don’t offer to walk them home. But I do turn to Heather, catching her frown.
“I’ll call an Uber.” I want to reach out and hug her, but I keep my hands to myself since she seems too skittish not to run.
She gives her head a short shake. “No need. I can take the subway.”
I don’t like the idea of her taking the subway alone. Saying so would probably get me an earful from her, so I keep quiet. But I’m not allowing her to travel home alone. She may not be my real fiancée, but I care for her. “I’ll go with you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m perfectly—”
“Capable?”
She plants her hands on her hips. Now I’ve angered the beast. A thrill races through me. “What, you doubt my capability?”
Her question turns me on. I want to pull her into my arms and go all caveman on her. I’m not usually like that. With Sandra, I knew she would be safe because she only took town cars or Uber. Heather would skip into a subway station with no cares on her mind…well, maybe she wouldn’t do that, but she would face danger head-on. That scares me.
“You’ve not had to take the train after sitting through dinner with my parents. I’m sure you’re tired.” I pull out my phone and open the Uber application. “What’s your address?”
Her lips twist and she shakes her head. “You’ll not give up, will you?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Fine, let me see your phone and I’ll enter the address.”
She holds out her hand and I give her my phone. With her address entered, I make sure I have the correct pickup location before I start the search for a car. It only takes a few seconds, and better yet, the Uber is right there dropping off a fare. We load into the car, and the driver takes off. He’s not too chatty, which is fine by me. It takes us fifteen minutes to cross the city and head even further uptown. The vehicle stops, and we both get out. The driver leaves without a backward glance. I’m not sure if she’ll invite me up, and maybe she shouldn’t, but I hope she does.
Heather screws up her face and shakes her head. “You should call another Uber. They aren’t as readily available here in the hood.”
I laugh, feeling relief since we aren’t with my parents. “You don’t live in the hood.”
“It’s not Madison Avenue. There aren’t any restaurants here for drivers to haunt.”
“I want to make sure you get inside safely. And I need to carry your bag.”
She rolls her eyes and waves for me to follow. The building where she lives is well kept, almost nicer than where I live.
“Hi, Heather,” a woman calls out.
“Hi, Emily, how are you doing?”
“Great. I’m running a yoga seminar next week. It’s going to be a good photo op.”
“Sure, I’ll get with you this weekend and discuss.”
“Thanks for everything,” Emily calls out as she heads downstairs.
In the weirdness that had come about since my real fiancée left me high and dry, I haven’t even asked Heather what she does for a living. I’ve been focused on me and my problems, ignoring her totally. During dinner, my dad had monopolized the conversation, so she hadn’t really had to speak. I knew Heather was into art in school. Photography would explain her weird clothing. If she worked in an artist based industry, she could get away with almost anything.
Heather’s apartment is on the fourth floor, a climb for sure. I will shamefully admit I’m winded by the time we reach her floor. I’m not in bad shape, but maybe the drinks I’d consumed had been too much, or maybe I need more gym time.
“Okay, this is my place. I guess you could come in.”
I nod, unsure why I don’t want to walk away just yet. “I’d like to if that’s okay with you?” God, what is wrong with me? I haven’t acted like this around any woman in years. I think back, trying to figure out how long since I’d been nice to one of the women I’d dated. Had I turned into my father? Fuck, I’d turned into my father. Depression muddles my thoughts.
“What’s wrong?” Heather is staring at me with her brows bunched. I want to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles.
“Nothing. I was just th
inking about dinner.”
“Yeah, so how long is that going to go on?” She steps into her apartment, and I follow. The place is large by New York standards. I count four doors leading off the main room, and her kitchen is almost disgustingly huge compared to the tiny space in my apartment. I’d rented the place to conserve money. My father not only didn’t like paying me, he also didn’t like paying me a lot of money. I may be related to the founder of the company, but I wasn’t given any breaks.
“My mom doesn’t like to stay in New York for long. She loves the beach, and they’re only up here for a meeting my dad wants to attend. So we won’t have to pretend for long.”
She nods as she moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. “I need more. Do you want any?”
“Sure, I’ll have a glass.”
“I have beer if you’d rather.”
I shake my head. “No, wine is fine.”
She brings over two glasses and motions to the couch. “Here, have a seat.”
I take a sip, enjoying the smooth, dark taste of the wine. “It’s good.”
“My favorite. So your parents, you were saying they don’t like to stay long.”
I like being here. The sounds of the street below are muted. With only one light on in the kitchen and a little light spilling in from outside, a soft glow makes the room appear cozy. I take a sip of the wine. Why am I stalling, and why am I still here? I didn’t need to stay. This was a friendly arrangement that would probably turn into a business arrangement. I need to discuss money with her, but not yet. What I really want is to spend hours enjoying Heather’s company. I want to turn the lights low and talk about everything under the sun. I want this evening to last. I’d been on dates, lots of them since leaving Stanford, but I hadn’t experienced this feeling with any of those women.
I shrug and push away my feelings. “I’m sure they’ll be gone in a week.”
“A week?” Heather shouts.
“What? Is that too long? Can’t stand to be my girlfriend for that long?”
She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of wine. “This isn’t college. I have—never mind. Okay, one week. I can do this for one week. But that’s it.”
I hold up my hand and say, “Scout’s honor.”
“Please, you were never a Scout.”
“I was.”
She rolls her eyes again. “Did you all camp in Central Park?”
“No, we camped at the Four Seasons, it was dangerous making our way through the city streets. We had to dodge Range Rovers, Rolls-Royces, and Porsches. It was dangerous I tell you.” She gives me her best side-eye, and I sink deeper into the couch. I could get used to her and this. The situation sinks in a little more, and I grow serious. “Really, thank you. I’ll owe you.”
She points her finger at me and pokes me in the chest. “Yes, you will. I don’t know what I’m going to ask for, but you will owe me big time.”
When I’d first stepped into her apartment, I’d paid attention to the size, but not much else. Now, as I sit drinking wine, I notice a few small statues; red, blue, and green vases; photos from around the world. I get up and move to a photo taken in China in front of the Forbidden City. Heather is smiling, her dimples showing. She’d always been quick to smile. I can’t remember a time my mother had smiled like that. I feel Heather beside me. When I look, she’s studying the photos which gives me time to observe her.
Her head turns just a little, but then her eyes meet mine. All those long years ago I’d wanted to kiss her. I’d told myself she was too good for me. She blinks, her lashes resting against her cheeks and I can’t hold back. I angle myself a little and place one hand behind her head, letting my fingers dive into her thick hair. With my other hand, I cup her cheek and move closer. She doesn’t back away. Excitement zings through me and I can’t believe I’m about to kiss Heather, the woman of my fantasies.
I hesitate, wondering how muddy I’m making the waters? We were pretending to be engaged, but there wasn’t anything pretend about this moment. My lips slide over hers, and it sucks the air from my lungs. I’m unprepared for the impact and lean in because I can’t stand up on my own.
She’s got some magic over me because I’m ready to do whatever she wants. My hand drops low and rests on the sexy curve of her ass. My cock hardens, and I wonder how difficult it would be to convince her to take this further. I want to take this much further and I wish she was my real fiancée because not once in my relationship with Sandra had a kiss felt this good.
Heather pulls away. I’m thinking she’s about to suggest we head to the bedroom, or maybe have a fun little romp on the couch. Again, she surprises me.
“You should go.”
Her words hurt. I’d thought we had a connection. We were pretend engaged, but she is asking me to leave. I step away and tug at the cuffs of my shirt. It was a move I made when I had no clue what to do. I knew this about myself and yet I still did it.
“Sure. I need to head home anyway. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when to show up for dinner.”
Heather’s eyes grow darker with anger. I feel bad since I’m being a dick. It comes so naturally.
She moves to the door and gives a stiff smile as I pass by. There is no goodbye kiss, no hug, no kind words, just a door shut behind me. I must be getting sick. Nothing that has happened this afternoon was natural.
I order a car, which takes five minutes to show up. It’s okay because I use that time to open my email and work. Work centers me, and I dive in, not coming up for a breath until two in the morning. I’d barely said thank you to the driver when I left the car. Not allowing anything to distract me, I rip through email after email. I may not be the head of Baxter-Scott Enterprises, but I was going to prove I could be.
Chapter Four
Heather
You should leave? You should leave? What the heck was wrong with me? I lie in bed, the covers thrown back as I relive that kiss. Hell, Baxter was freaking sexy, and I want him. Want him so much it hurts. He was the sexiest man I’d ever not dated, and I was kicking myself for asking him to leave. I could have had a taste of all of him. Instead, I’d kicked him out.
Tossing and turning isn’t my thing. I get up to draw some fabric I’d wanted to create for something special. I have an intern, Rachel Cane, coming in today to work with me. Maybe she’ll enjoy giving me input on this fabric.
Close to one, I drop to the mattress and this time I sleep. I swear I don’t even roll over. The next morning, I think of texting Baxter, but our relationship is fake. Instead, I dive in. Work is chaotic and I have to take care of an issue in my Hollywood store. Worry hits me about five minutes into the conversation with the manager because I think I’m going to have to fly out there. I don’t want to miss seeing Baxter. He’s my fake fiancé and already he rates higher than any of the boyfriends I’ve had in the last few years.
I haven’t received a call from Baxter by the time I finish eating lunch. I stare at my phone, mulling over sending him a text when I open my email. He sent me an email instead of texting. It’s a little odd, but whatever. We’re meeting at a restaurant around the corner from my store at six. I decide to work late instead of heading home or out to do yoga.
Rachel steps in from off the street, lighting up the store. If only she would work in my shop, but she has better things planned for her life than being my sales clerk.
“Rachel, it’s good to see you.”
“Heather, thank you for letting me come in again today. I know you’re busy.”
I wave her back to my office. “Sure. I have some fabric I designed last night. I wanted to see what you had to say about it.”
“OMG, so exciting.”
We head to my office where fabric litters the table. Rachel goes over and starts touching the cloth. I was just like her when I’d been younger. I loved touching every fabric under the sun when I was her age. I still do. Fabric is my life. I’m happy. Maybe everything with Baxter will turn out okay. He’s a week-long inter
ruption, and then I can get back to reality.
“Here we go.” I pull my sketch pad out of my bag and open to the page design I’d started last night. It was bold. I like browns and oranges, but this is in shades of blues—colors that compliment Baxter’s eyes. I was being silly. I roll my eyes before I turn to face Rachel.
“Oh my, it’s beautiful,” Rachel purrs.
“You like it?”
“God, yes. It’s gorgeous. I love it. I could see this as a dress.”
“I was thinking pants.”
“Pants would be good, but could you imagine wearing a dress in this beautiful fabric? You’d be the talk of the town.”
“It would be nice.” I could picture myself wearing this dress on Baxter’s arm. This afternoon, I’ll contact the company who weaves my fabric and see if they can get me in. I need this dress. A depressing thought hits. The design would be created too late. Baxter and I will only be together for a week. One week, that’s all I have to get my fill of him.
“Can I show you my drawings?” Rachel asked.
“I would love to see them.”
We spend the next two hours talking about dresses, looking at swatches, and working on a design for one of her classes. She is an amazing designer. Her style is different than what I design, but maybe that’s why we work well together.
Her phone buzzes and her lips twist as she rolls her eyes. “Ugh,” she says as she packs up her things.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, I just have to attend a family dinner. Yuck.”
I laugh because I have to attend a family dinner, but it is with my fake family. After Rachel takes off, I finish my work, helping out in the store after I’m done with orders. I love talking to customers, finding out what works for them. It’s one reason I designed my Hips collection. It isn’t just as stylish as the rest of my lines, it’s maybe a little more so. The collection was made for women who weren’t slim through the hips. Even some skinny women had big hips based on their DNA makeup and I’d seen more than one designer make their clothes to fit only women who had no hips. Since I wasn’t just paying lip service, I had carved out a niche market where many high-end designers failed.
