by Stella Rhys
His eyebrows still hitched, he grinned. “You got it, babe.”
And just like that, Mason was up. A hush had fallen over the room, but he was nonchalant, straightening his suit and looking like some kind of royal as he escorted me off with a hand on my back. He smirked when I stiffened at his touch. Despite an outward calm, my heart had never beat faster in my life. This is actually happening, I had to remind myself as Mason guided me to the front, pulling me protectively against his body as we parted the sea of gaping eyes. Nice touch, I smirked to myself, feeling bolder now as we approached the bar.
Like everyone else, the other waitresses were flat-out gaping, so as I passed their clique, I hit them with a version of the snarky line they always sneered at me.
“Tell them I quit?” I wiggled my fingers in a wave. “Thanks.”
Ho-ly shit.
It wasn’t closure just yet, but it was a start.
Chapter Four
Apparently, the first order of business between Mason and myself was a meeting at his office to go over “basics.” From what I gathered during our conversation, we were about to map out a syllabus called “Pissing Off Aaron 101,” and I was very much on board with that, along with the fact that Mason called a luxury sedan to pick me up at my apartment and bring me to The Leo Group.
The offices were located on Park Avenue, at the top of the iconic Tate Building. The commercial tower was home to Manhattan’s most famous companies, and everything from four-star restaurants to esteemed news studios, so the entrance was ever the revolving door of very busy and important people. I couldn’t help but feel completely out of place as I strolled through in my jeans and reliably warm but admittedly hideous down jacket, armed with the sole purpose of trash talking my ex.
Surprisingly alone in the elevator, I tapped my heels anxiously up to his office on the forty-third floor, my eyebrows arching when the doors opened to a spacious waiting area flanked by two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows. To my relief, it appeared to be a busy day, so I went mostly unnoticed as I made my way to the sleek, black surface at reception. The ultra-focused woman behind it angled her face to me, greeting me first with a smile before her eyes slid away from her screen. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
I spoke over the sounds of her typing a mile a minute. “Yes, please, I’m here to see Mason Leo.”
“Name?”
“Taylor Simms.”
She frowned at her screen. “I’m sorry, it looks like you missed your appointment.”
“My appointment?”
“I have your appointment here as two-thirty and it’s nearing three now, so I’m afraid I can’t fit you in. Mr. Leo’s schedule is especially tight as he’ll be out of town next week.”
“Oh.” I paused then laughed at myself, embarrassed by the line I was about to use. “He… asked me to come. I’m actually his, um…”
“Girlfriend?” The pity in her tone had me quickly realizing how many women came to reception and claimed to be Mason’s girlfriend. At the end of the desk, a young man and older woman exchanged knowing looks and suddenly, I realized I looked like an idiot. Damn it, Mason, you asshole. Grabbing my phone, I shot him a text.
Hi. Your receptionist thinks I’m a lying groupie. Come get me.
I sent the text, but it took till after being asked to “please step aside” for Mason to finally came to my halfhearted rescue. I had hoped he’d come outside and grandly claim me as his beloved girlfriend but instead, he called and I simply watched as the receptionist picked up, blinked with brief surprise then hung up. On the bright side, it was like a magic trick watching her look of apathy transform into a warm smile for me.
“Miss Simms, I’d be happy to show you to Mr. Leo’s office.”
Great, I grumbled inwardly, though as icy as she was, I couldn’t hold my grudge against her as I trailed her down a sundrenched hall toward the office at the very end. She was only doing her job. Mason, however, was an asshole for leading on however many women he did, forcing the poor souls at the front desk to be dubious of anybody coming in and presenting herself as his girlfriend.
“This is clearly going to be a new experience for you,” I said to Mason once I made it into his office, the door shutting behind me. He sat at his glass desk in a dark suit, the jacket unbuttoned over a crisp white shirt and grey tie. Setting his pen down, he leaned back in his leather chair and cocked an eyebrow.
“What is?”
“Acting like you’re in a committed relationship. First off, would’ve been nice for you to come rescue your girlfriend in person. Second, we’ve barely started this little arrangement and I’ve already been reminded of what an unlikely, womanizing choice of a boyfriend you’d be for me.”
Mason set his work aside, looking utterly unfazed by my words. “Well, that’s precisely why we’re having this meeting.” He gestured for me to take the seat across from him. Sinking into the leather chair, I shrugged off my coat, brushing away the feathers it left on my pants and feeling severely underdressed despite being in just an office.
“What are we covering then? I’m guessing if you want to look like a good boyfriend, you should know things like my favorite food and restaurants. Probably my favorite movies, shows on TV.”
“I’m already well versed on the reality trash you fall asleep to, but that’s not the information I’m looking for anyway.”
My arms crossed over my chest. “Fine. What is it then?”
“Slightly more personal details – namely things Aaron always wanted from you but never got.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re talking about sexual positions.”
Mason laughed. “You’re not too far off.” He seemed to take pleasure in the horror that struck on my face. “Realistically, once Aaron sees us together, he’s going to challenge the idea of us as a couple. He’s going to watch us closely and ask a million questions so for the sake of firing him up, I want to find out what would kill him to know that you provide me. Preferably things he didn’t get. Home cooked dinners, massages. Stripteases. Specific positions in bed.”
“I sat down two minutes ago. I can’t believe you’re already asking me to tell you details about my bedroom with Aaron. And before you make a joke about how I live in a shitty studio, you know what I mean.”
Mason leaned forward with a slight crinkle in his long, straight nose. “Trust me, I don’t want to hear the details of your sex life with my brother. But the point of us being a couple for this wedding is to make Aaron jealous – to piss him off to high hell and drive him fucking insane over the fact that you’re not only with me but showing me things he never got to see. Right now, he thinks he’s seen everything from you. Our job is to convince him that he hasn’t and still wants you.”
I groaned, hating the fact that Mason had a point. Glaring out the window at the view of the Chrysler building, I avoided his eye, loathing the fact that I had to relive my failed relationship for him. “I don’t know, Mason. As far as I know, I was a decent girlfriend. I gave Aaron massages every night. We had sex at least four times a week and I’ve done everything from put on a corset and garters for him to let him tie me to the bed,” I said, my cheeks hot. They grew even hotter when I looked up to find Mason’s eyebrows lifted in unfiltered surprise at me. Blushing fiercely, I managed to roll my eyes. “Yeah, I know you have me in your head as this prudish little good girl, but I can confidently say I didn’t leave Aaron wanting for much in bed. If anything, he just wished I’d let him show me off more and act more flirty and sexual with him in public.”
“But you’re more on the conservative side,” Mason deduced.
“Actually, no,” I said defensively. “I’m not Miss Prim and Proper, I just liked being privately sexy with my boyfriend, as in I like sending nude photos and teasing him at home and trying different things in bed. What I didn’t like, however, was encouraging Aaron’s need to show off and swing his dick around like an idiot. I’m not sure if you noticed, but growing up with you gave him an unhealthy ne
ed to show the world that he had nice things too and as his girlfriend, it was kind of exhausting. It turned me off getting too dolled up and wearing tight, sexy dresses and getting him all the attention he so desperately craved because I didn’t want him to put so much worth in the superficial.”
Breathless, I finished my speech to find Mason wetting his smirking lips in a way that made me press my knees together. “In short, you didn’t want him to try to be like me,” he said.
“Precisely. I wanted him to be nothing like you. And you’re laughing because?”
“Because this works perfectly for our purposes and you’re too busy being pissed at me to realize it,” Mason replied with amusement. “We’re trying to get Aaron jealous and you’re telling me he used to wish for you to wear little dresses and show PDA so he could compete with my dating life. So basically, to get at Aaron’s biggest insecurities, we just need to buy you a new wardrobe and you just need to muster up the courage to let me touch you at some point.”
I chewed my lip, realizing that again, Mason had a point. Aaron had already grown up furiously jealous of Mason. Seeing Mason show me off and nuzzle me in public would probably drive him mentally insane. And as much as instinct told me to hurt for Aaron and protect him, I found myself wanting to do this. I wanted to get closure and answers from him, yes, but I also wanted badly to make him feel at least a shred of what I felt. I just needed to reconcile the fact that I couldn’t do it without cozying up to his asshole brother.
“Sound like a plan?” Mason asked. “We’ll set up an appointment for your fitting tomorrow.”
I tried not to look too excited by the prospect of brand new clothes. “I’ll be free.”
“Good. In the meantime, we may need to practice some public displays of affection.”
I stared. “What is this, middle school and we’re going to practice making out?”
There was laughter in Mason’s eyes as he studied my reluctance. “Not quite but the reality is that at some point, my lips are going to have to touch yours.”
“Is that an absolute necessity?” I asked weakly, involuntarily gazing at Mason’s curving mouth.
“Considering you used to kiss Aaron in public, I’d say yes. But since you look physically nauseous at the idea right now, I’ll let you take it a step a time.” Mason walked me to the door. “I’m sure the monotony of dating my brother for three years has wiped out any memory of how to flirt or look remotely sensual, so I’ll give you some time to recover from that.”
“If this is your attempt at reverse psychology, it’s not working.”
Mason laughed. “No? What if I challenged the idea that you even remembered how to look content? How to mimic the mannerisms and speech patterns of someone in a passionate and loving relationships?”
“I’d say you have nothing to worry about, boyfriend.”
“‘Boyfriend.’ Great pet name. I’d prefer ‘babe’ or even ‘honey’ over it, but work at your own pace. We’ll get you there,” Mason smirked as he opened the door. But his thick brows furrowed as I pulled my coat back on. “Christ. Leave it off for now.”
“Excuse me?”
“At least let me watch you walk away without that hideous thing on,” Mason said, picking a feather out of the sleeve and then letting his gaze dip briefly down the front of my V-neck. I stood frozen for a moment but then he cracked a half smile. “Basic flirting. Try it on me next time.”
I snorted. “Screw you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Taylor.”
“Dying with excitement here.”
And with that romantic exchange, we parted ways.
Chapter Five
The first official act of our staged romance started the next day at the Margot Vivier showroom on Madison Avenue. Mason had texted me to meet him but was MIA by the time I arrived, giving me plenty of time to stand there awkwardly and confirm that this was in fact the kind of place I’d never explore on my own. It was almost uncomfortably immaculate with its runway lighting and perfectly spaced racks of insanely expensive-looking dresses. Though I liked to think of myself as mostly confident, I found myself feeling quickly out of my league.
But just as I contemplated backing slowly out of the store, a willowy salesgirl fluttered forward to greet me by name, whisking me into the back and chatting warmly about all the “stunning” pieces “Mr. Leo” already picked for me before flitting around me like a hummingbird, wrapping my bust, waist and hips with her thin, white measuring tape. Jotting the numbers into a leather booklet, she then poured a glass of champagne and handed it to me with a dazzling smile, leaving me half-stunned, half-delighted as I sipped on Veuve and browsed their selection of summer dresses – all of them plucked out specifically for me.
I was about a half hour into my tipsy shopping when Mason’s text buzzed in my phone.
Not sure I’ll make it. Work. But feel free to go crazy. Everything will be charged to my account.
I wrinkled my nose, trying but failing to contain my snarky reply.
ME: You have an account here. Classy.
MASON: What’s the problem
ME: None.
ME: Just realizing the sheer volume of women you’ve brought into this store.
MASON: If you’re not feeling special enough right now let me comfort you with the fact that you’re the only one who will be receiving actual clothing rather than just lingerie
ME: Mm. Even classier.
MASON: That said you could probably use some lingerie despite your full supply of incredibly sexy day of the week panties
I narrowed my eyes at Mason’s last text. Sipping my champagne, I stared at my phone for another minute before deciding I wouldn’t reply – because I was classy, not because I had no comebacks left in my arsenal.
“Miss Simms,” the salesgirl smiled warmly as she glided over. “Your fitting room is ready.”
With that, she escorted me to a white, circular room lit by the glow of a chandelier hanging over a white, circular couch. With a gesture toward the button to press if I needed help, she shut the door behind me, leaving me alone with about a dozen dresses that could probably pay my rent four times over. There was silk, jersey and charmeuse in shades of coral, jade and champagne – and all it took was two seconds of running my hands all over the buttery fabrics before I was eagerly stripping naked and pulling on the first piece. I couldn’t even be mad at Mason for picking the tightest, shortest little things to offer because the mission was to find The One – that one painfully sexy dress to incite Aaron’s emotion, envy and regret all at once.
While the first three or four choices were gorgeous, flattering and certainly summer appropriate, I’d yet to feel that spark. But then sifting through the pieces left, my fingers brushed along a silk so soft and luxurious my lips actually puckered into an involuntary “ooh.” But just as I slipped the potential winner off its sleek, black hanger, my phone buzzed on the chair.
MASON: What are you wearing right now?
ME: Ha.
MASON: I’m not sexting you. It’s a serious question since I can’t see you in person
ME: Well I was about to try on something promising but then you interrupted
MASON: Are you telling me you’re naked right now?
ME: I’m wearing underwear. Are you sure you’re not trying to sext me?
MASON: Having doubts now. What color are your panties?
ME: This is 100% sexting.
MASON: Let me guess – they say Friday despite the fact that it’s Sunday
ME: I’m not wearing day of the week panties, asshole. They’re black lace boy shorts
MASON: Fuck.
I snorted, ready to toss the phone aside after a good minute of silence. But just as I set it down, another text buzzed in.
MASON: Send me a picture
ME: You’re not seriously requesting nudes from me right now.
MASON: I was asking for a picture of the dress you were about to try on but I’d be more than receptive to nudes if you want
ed to send some. You certainly have me thinking about them at this point.
ME: Ha. Weren’t you supposed to be swamped with work?
MASON: Distracted now
ME: Ugh why
MASON: Vivid imagination
ME: Ok I’m turning off my phone now.
I laughed as I tossed my phone into my purse before returning to my artful shimmy into the tightest but most beautiful dress ever made.
“And… we have a winner,” I murmured when I could finally gaze at myself in the mirror. The dress was as simple as it could get – draped and strapless with a sweetheart neckline. But there was something ruthlessly sexy about it too. It had to be the color – nude and barely a shade darker than the natural hue of my skin. Combined with the snug fit that forced me to go without so much as my thong underneath, I easily declared it the winning make-him-kick-himself-in-the-ass St. Lucia showstopper.
All I needed was to zip the back.
After pushing the button several times to no avail, I hugged the front of my dress to my chest and peeked out of the changing room, taking a few barefoot steps onto the plush carpet before a familiar voice gasped behind me.
“No way. Taylor Simms?”
Fuck.
Please don’t let it be her, I begged silently, my stomach dropping before I even turned around to confirm the sight of Whitney Decker.
“Oh my God, it is you!” she squealed, her dark curls bouncing as she pranced over to me in just a black bra and leather skirt. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she kissed my cheek and cooed, “Poor thing, Taylor. I’m surprised you’re even out and about after what Aaron did to you!”
