My Big Fat Fake Engagement

by Landish, Lauren

  To anyone else, she’d look like an expensive version of a porn secretary. To me, all I see is the Cheshire Cat grin on her painted-red lips that foretells catastrophe. My eyes glance at the folder on Jeffrey’s desk again as I replay everything I learned about Jeffrey Sanders beyond his portfolio.

  He was married and his wife died after having four daughters. The Sanders girls are famously press-shy, avoiding even so much as a photograph at their eccentric and protective father’s instruction.

  “Hey, Ross . . . Kaede,” she says, sashaying over to perch on the corner of her father’s antique desk, her legs dangerously close to my knee and her wares a scant inch from full visibility. To me, at least.

  “Gentlemen, when my wife was diagnosed with cancer twenty-three years ago, I made her a promise,” Jeffrey begins as though sharing a bedtime story by the fireplace. “She told me to make the world better for my daughters. Four girls, all of them nearly the spitting image of my beautiful Heather. So I have. Each of my daughters has been given the absolute best in everything.” He looks lovingly at Missy, whose eyes haven’t left me.

  “As you obviously intended, I’m surprised to learn that Missy is your daughter,” I tell Jeffrey. My voice is even and steady, and I refuse to move my knee, even though I’m itching to cringe away.

  “Daddy decided he didn’t want us to become the next Paris Hilton, so we all keep a very low profile,” Missy answers for her father. “Maddie, Mindy, Meghan, and I all use Mom’s maiden name for any public contracts.”

  “And I’ve made sure never to have a family picture published in the press,” Jeffrey says. That explains why I couldn’t find one.

  “It’s a noble goal,” Ross says, trying to maintain control of this conversation. “I know what it’s like to grow up with privilege and the pitfalls with it.”

  “True, and your strength to learn from it, grow under that microscope, and come out of it able to stand on your own two feet is admirable. It hasn’t been perfect, but you’ve done well for yourself . . . and your friends.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask sharply.

  Jeffrey’s eyes go steely, calculating and analyzing me. “Mr. McWarren, Missy confided in me during her time researching One Life that she’s taken quite a shine to you.” A few minutes ago, he was calling me Kaede. Now, it’s Mr. McWarren. To quote a certain madman . . . and here . . . we . . . go.

  “Hmm.” Completely noncommittal and inoffensive, though my heart is racing out a drumbeat of no, no, no, fuck, no.

  “It would be nice to keep business in the family. You and Ross are brothers of a bond deeper than blood, and that is one of the things that makes your partnership so formidable. I would like to forge an equally deep bond.”

  The implications are clear and at the same time sinister. He’s not outright saying the contract depends on my dating Missy, but I understand him perfectly.

  I glance at Ross, fighting to keep panic from showing. Ross’s face is impassive, seemingly blank, but I know him better than I know myself and can see the worry in him too.

  Quickly, my brain moves chess pieces and plays the game out to completion.

  How about . . . no, if I give in and date Missy, I would be giving up more than my integrity. Jeffrey controls Missy, Missy would try to control me, and ultimately, One Life. Our twenty-six, twenty-six, forty-eight breakdown would change drastically by a control of the purse strings.

  Okay, how about this move? Here . . . fuck no. If I say that Missy makes my dick want to crawl back up inside my body rather than touch her, Jeffrey will definitely take offense and drop the contract.

  Missy smirks, our entire plan going to hell in that cocky tilt of her lips. Gotcha, that look says, and I realize this has been her plan all along. She sees what she wants, and she’s going to do whatever it takes to get it.

  I thought Ross and I had planned for everything, every possible scenario, every potential pitfall, but not this.

  How in the world could we even think of something like this?

  “I . . . ah, I’m flattered, Missy,” I finally stutter out, “but I have to say, I’m seeing someone.”

  “Oh?” Jeffrey says with a blink, his face going stoic and blank. Missy gives me a doubtful lift of a perfect eyebrow.

  “Well, we’ve kept it quiet, much like you have your girls,” I blab, my mouth just running. I’ve never been good at this part, tap-dancing, as Ross calls it. But I can’t just lateral this ball to him. I’ve got to do it my damn self this time, with all eyes on me. “Actually, it’s serious. We’re . . . engaged.”

  Jeffrey leans forward, his hands steepled beneath his chin. “How lovely.” I can tell that he thinks it’s anything but. The question is, is he disappointed at an inability to get something for his daughter this time, or is he enough of a shark that he’s upset at watching his corporate plans dissipate before his eyes?

  He glances at Missy, who gives a barely perceptible shake of her head before intoning flatly, “That is surprising news.” A bare instant later, her eyes narrow. “Who’s the lucky woman? I’d love to send her a congratulatory note and gift.”

  My mind whirls, wondering what I’m going to do. The whole world spins, and suddenly, it feels like the words tumble out of my mouth unbidden.

  “Courtney Andrews.”

  Wait . . . who just said that? Did I just fucking say that?

  Based on the clink as Ross sets his whiskey down on the table in front of us a little too hard and chokes on his sip of scotch, I must have.

  “Congratulations, I suppose,” Missy says through gritted teeth. “Daddy—”

  Ross jumps in, trying desperately to get this meeting back on track, as if there’s any hope of doing so. “Jeffrey, are we ready to make this a done deal? We came here in good faith, planning a partnership that would allow us to move forward with our expansion and franchising opportunities and provide a great return on your investment while fostering that positive change in the world you seek.”

  The whole time Ross speaks, Missy’s eyes scan me like an FBI lie detector. One I can’t possibly pass. If we don’t sign those papers and get the hell out of here, she’s going to see right through me.

  “Of course,” Jeffrey says, but there’s a fresh tension in the room even as he opens the manila folder.

  Jeffrey pulls a gold pen from a stand on his desk, signing the last page with a flourish. He holds the pen out to Ross, who takes the time to read through the contract to insure it’s the same as what we went over with the lawyers, and then he signs too. Lastly, he hands the pen to me. I read the contract as well, as it’s the first lesson in good business practices, and finding it to be acceptable, I sign.

  It’s done.

  “One more thing, Jeffrey. You mentioned your umbrella. I was wondering if I could get a few names inside your media conglomerate for marketing opportunities. I figure if we’re spending your investment money, we might as well spend it in your own companies.”

  “Of course,” Jeffrey says, standing up. “Melissa will be happy to get that information for you, won’t you, honey?”

  “Of course,” Missy replies, standing too. “When would you like them, Ross?”

  “As soon as possible,” Ross says with a nod. We both stand, sensing the end of the meeting now that the signatures are done.

  Jeffrey shakes hands with Ross and then me. Missy shakes Ross’s, but when she shakes mine, she leans in and holds it a little too long. With a soft smirk on those red lips, she says lightly, “I can’t wait to meet her since she’ll be part of the family now.”

  Fuck. Shit. I am so hosed, possibly literally, given the way Ross is glaring at me.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll be in touch.” And that’s it. Jeffrey’s back to work, filing our manila folder in a desk drawer he pulls open. Inside, I can see an entire foot of manila folders lined up like soldiers. One cog in a wheel of companies.

  Missy leads us out of her father’s office and into the waiting room where she takes out a tablet and writes dow
n some names on a piece of paper before handing them to Ross. “These’ll get you started. If I remember more, I’ll email them to you.”

  “Thanks . . . Missy?”

  Missy nods, smiling a true smile for the first time since I’ve ever met her. “Only Daddy calls me Melissa.” To me, she only offers that man-eater grin. “See you at the gym, Kaede.”

  * * *

  “What,” Ross asks after shutting the door to his office at the gym and yanking off his suit coat, quickly followed by his tie, which he throws on his desk, “the actual fuck were you thinking?”

  I shrug off my own coat before collapsing into the soft couch Violet chose for Ross’s office, knowing he’d have days where the work and workouts would make him too sore to sit in his office chair. Running my hands through my hair, I pull at the strands, knowing I’m probably making even more of a mess but unable to stop.

  “I don’t know, man. I just . . . fuck. Missy has been throwing herself at me. Literally!” I groan as I recall all the times she’s hit on me. “I’ve tried to be polite about putting her off, or at least as much as I can. But shit, I never dreamed that she was part of Jeffrey’s research team, and you know we both scoured for every morsel of intel on the guy. We couldn’t have known.”

  I think back, trying to figure out if I’ve ever been rude, crude, an asshole, or in any way done something that could hurt us. Nope, other than the huge, glaring, big, fat lie about having a fiancée, we’re golden.

  Just that.

  Ross has moved on to pacing, which is never a good sign. It’s step three of his ‘losing it’ tells. “I know, but fuck, man! Why Courtney? Why my sister, of all people in the whole wide world?”

  That question’s been running around in my head ever since we walked out of Jeffrey Sanders's office. Is it that I picked the first person I could think of who could ‘measure up’ to Missy in terms of social clout? Is it that I picked someone who’s just close to me?

  Or is it that without my daily dose of her, I’ve gotten more than a little obsessed with each and every moment I might see her? Is it that I intentionally do walkthroughs when I know she’s here, spying on her class like a creeper and hoping to ‘accidentally’ run into her in the hallways? Is it that of everyone I’ve ever known, she lights me up in a way I’ve never experienced, making the darkness in my soul less of a void?

  Hell, maybe it’s that I jacked off to the image of her ass perched on that stool in the smoothie bar last night and came harder than I have since the last time I used her as my own personal fantasy?

  I don’t say any of that to Ross, wanting to keep both of my heads from the guillotine.

  “I just panicked. She was the first name that came to mind because I saw her last night.”

  I realize my mistake a moment too late. “You saw my sister last night?” Ross growls, facing me fully. I wonder if he knows that his hands are fisted. I sure as fuck do, and though I don’t move on the couch, my muscles coil just in case.

  “Simmer down. Not like that. We had smoothies in the café after her class. Purely coincidental, and then she went home and I went back to my office.” It wasn’t coincidental in the slightest, but that confession will go to the grave with me.

  And hell, I should tell him to mind his own damn business. He fell in love with his sister’s best friend, after all, and Courtney’s a grown ass woman who can date whoever she wants. There’s just no indication that it’s me.

  Ross relaxes and my gut sinks. He was seriously more worked up that I might have been flirting with Courtney than over this mess Missy’s dumped on us?

  “You know,” he finally says, falling into his chair, “you could have just taken one for the team.”

  “With Missy?” I gawk, shaking my head. “Fuck no. Let’s ignore the fact that she’s obviously playing dirty. We shouldn’t mix personal and professional, and you know that. Other than us, it never works out.”

  He cracks one eye, glaring at me because he knows I’m right.

  “My trying to date Missy and keep Daddy happy would have been impossible. And I give you shit about Vi whipping you, but Missy would be holding her dad’s money over me at every turn, and it would kill our partnership. Hell, maybe that’s her goal?” I’m begging Ross to listen to reason and also to move past the craziness of the lie I told and the mess I’ve gotten us into. “We’re better to go for a short-term, minor disappointment and then deliver solidly on the gym front. We can do that. You know we can.”

  He sighs heavily. “Fuck, you’re right. Guys like Jeffrey only speak one language, dollars and cents. But one thing, Kaede . . . you gotta fix this. If Courtney finds out, she will skin you alive and feast on your entrails. If Abi finds out, she’ll have the wedding chapel booked faster than you can say ‘wait’.” Ross’s other sister is a bit of a schemer-slash-matchmaker and holds herself solely responsible for getting Ross and Violet together. “And if Missy or Jeffrey find out it’s all a lie, we can kiss the whole deal goodbye. Fix it.”

  As he offers that decree, Ross’s phone goes off and he looks down at it. “Fuck . . . I don’t have time for this.”

  He gets up, confusing the hell out of me. “Don’t have time for this? What else is there, man? This is everything.”

  At least it’s everything . . . to me. But not to Ross. He’s got something more important than any business, any corporation. Violet. I know that.

  Hell, I respect that. After the scandals of his and Violet’s early relationship, the heartache, and the insane series of events that can only be described as fate when they ended up at the altar together, I can totally understand.

  So I know who it is that just texted Ross and that it’s important. I don’t begrudge him his happiness, but fuck if it doesn’t sting a bit that he’s going home to his everything.

  But my everything?

  It’s in these walls. It’s in the bars and plates and machines.

  “I’ll fix it.”

  Ross leaves, and I sit back in the chair, wondering how in the hell I’m going to do it, though.

  Chapter 6

  Courtney

  All right, girl, I tell myself, this is it. Your moment to shine!

  I look out the window, not seeing the beautiful city skyline, the clear blue sky, or even the people walking around like ants many stories below me. I see my own reflection.

  And judging by the deep furrow between my brows, that girl needs a pep talk.

  You have planned for this, prepared for this, and practiced until you can do it in your sleep.

  After today, from the ground floor to the top floor, everyone will know that I earned this spot with hard work, keen intelligence, business creativity, and attention to detail.

  Because before lunch is even broken out of desk drawers, I’ll have gotten Jane Crabtree of AgroStar to sign a contract with Andrews Consolidated. I can see it now.

  “Courtney?” Jillian interrupts my self-hype and I turn around. “Enjoying the view of your kingdom, Your Majesty?” She bows gracefully but then stumbles on purpose, taking a side-step to save herself. When I crack the smallest smile, she looks up with a huge grin of her own. “Gotcha. Need to perk you up for the run-through. Let’s go.”

  She holds out a cup of coffee, steam rising from the milky surface. When I reach for it, she pulls it back. “Uh-uh, follow me. Or in this case, follow the dancing coffee.” She wiggles it slightly, taking care not to spill on the four-thousand-dollar rug Violet hand-picked for my office.

  When I take a few steps, I’m rewarded with the cup. The warmth rushes through my hands, and as I take a long, deep drink, the liquid through my belly. Already, I can feel the caffeine kicking in.

  As we walk down the hall, Jillian listens to me quietly rattling off my speech. I need to get one more practice round in just in case three hundred and forty-two weren’t enough. I wish I were exaggerating, but I’m not. If anything, I might have forgotten to count a repetition or two.

  “Courtney?” a voice calls out from an office a
s we pass, and I stop automatically, even though I don’t have time for this right now.

  “Yes, Kevin?” Kevin Hill is another VP. He’s not a bad guy and is even quite adept at what he does, overseeing a particular manufacturing flow that’s ridiculously specific and requires close analysis every quarter, but he’s just . . . the sort that delights in up-close analysis, ad nauseum. In short, he’s a bore. And that’s saying something major, coming from me.

  “Good luck today on the AgroStar presentation,” he says, leaning against his door frame. If a different guy were doing this pose, it might be sexy and casual. On Kevin, it looks awkward and uncomfortable. I can actually see that he practiced it in the mirror at home.

  I freeze at that. I practiced my speech in front of the mirror. Oh, God, am I going to look like an awkward dork giving the most important presentation of my life? Maybe Kevin and I are two peas in an awkward, hyper-focused pod?

  “Thanks,” I say, lost in my own thoughts.

  “Of course. I wondered if, after you nail it, you’d like to get a drink sometime, or coffee? In celebration.”

  “Oh, uh . . .” The first answer that jumps to my mind is ‘not if you were the last guy on Earth and the human race depended on our repopulating the species’, but that’s not something I can say to another VP, or really, anyone at work because it would be unprofessional and solidify my reputation as the Ice Queen around here. Though, it’s also unprofessional to ask someone out fifteen minutes before their big presentation. That’s gotta be like corporate faux pas 101, right? Or sabotage.

  Jillian jumps in to save my ass, as usual. “Court, we have got to go. Time’s a ticking.” She shoves me down the hall, calling over her shoulder, “Mr. Hill, if you’d like to schedule an appointment with Ms. Andrews, have your assistant call me. I’d be happy to schedule a coffee chat to go over any concerns you may have.”