by Lisa Suzanne
I blow out a breath. “Fuck,” I mutter. I check the reservation on my phone. “Cocktail hour is at seven-thirty. Dinner’s at eight-thirty.”
“What time do you want to arrive?”
“A little after eight is fine. It’s just down the street.”
She nods. “Shall we meet here?”
I slip my phone back into my pocket. It’ll look weird if we don’t arrive together if we’re supposed to be dating. It’s a front only my two best friends need to believe for the next ninety days. I’m not thrilled about the press pairing me with her, either. What if someone there catches my eye and I want to take her home? Am I stuck with Viv? Goddammit, I really need to think shit through before I allow a lie to roll so easily off my tongue. But I’m known for getting myself out of sticky situations, so this won’t be any different.
“I’ll either pick you up or send a car around seven-thirty,” I finally say. “Text me your address.”
She nods and I bolt toward the elevators as I try to push away the feeling this night is going to be awful.
The gala is black tie, and I run home to change into the tuxedo I bought specifically for events such as tonight’s. This event benefits local elementary schools, and FDB has been a generous donor in the past. I just don’t know exactly how that’s going to look tonight since I don’t really have enough money in the bank to be as generous as I’ve traditionally been—especially not with Viv by my side letting me know everything I’m doing is wrong.
I glance at my phone when it notifies me of a text, and when I don’t recognize the number, I assume it’s Viv letting me know where to pick her up. I’m ready early, so rather than send a car to get her, I jump in my brand-new Mercedes Benz E 400 Sport, click the address she sent me, and allow GPS to guide me there.
Except I don’t really need GPS. The address she gave me is for the Westin hotel, less than a ten-minute walk from the office. As I pull into the valet lane to pick her up, I can’t help but wonder if she lives here or if she fake-addressed me.
I shoot her a text letting her know I’m in the black Mercedes, and she opens the door and slides into my passenger seat a minute later.
I glance over at her once I hear the buckle of her seatbelt, and I immediately wish I hadn’t.
She’s all soft, delicate curves and violet fabric that makes her skin glow. I catch a whiff of her perfume, something flowery like roses but lighter, and her dark hair cascades in waves around her shoulders in a way that tells me she cares, but she couldn’t have spent hours on it because I just left her at the office ninety minutes ago.
I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the road. “Why’d you have me pick you up here?” I ask as I put the car in drive.
“This is where I’m staying for the duration of my contract.”
“You don’t live here in Vegas?” I ask. Not that I care. I’m just making conversation.
“No. I live in Los Angeles.”
“Three months away from home,” I muse as I focus on the road. I’m a little curious about what she left behind back home, but a glance at the empty third finger on her left hand tells me it’s not a husband. Traffic’s heavy, but it’s a Friday night in Vegas and we’re just off the Strip.
I see her lift a shoulder out of the corner of my eye. “No big deal.”
“Don’t you miss home?” I ask.
“I guess, but I travel for work quite a bit, so I’m used to it.”
“You just go from business to business fixing them?”
“Pretty much,” she says, mild humor in her tone. “My official title is business consultant, but insiders call me The Fixer.”
“The Fixer?” I repeat.
“Yeah. I’m hired to fix companies,” she says. “Sometimes when you’re too close to the action, you can’t back up enough to see the bigger picture or how to get out of the mess you’ve made. I’m not here to give you a pep talk, I’m not here to stroke your ego, and I’m not here to hold your hand. I’m here to fix the problem and give you the tools to implement your own solutions going forward. It’s never easy, and it’s usually not pretty, but I have a one hundred percent success rate taking companies from the red back to black.”
“A hundred percent, huh?” I ask. “Pretty good odds.”
“That’s likely why Mark hired me.” The words are arrogant, yet she doesn’t come across that way. Her tone borders more on pride than cockiness.
“So you just study a few spreadsheets and tell me what to do?” I ask. We’re at a red light, so I sneak another peek at her.
Bad choice. Her blue eyes meet mine. Hers are heavily made up. She went all out for tonight’s gala, and she looks totally different than the pinned up, high-necked goody-goody I’ve been working with for the past week. This woman looks like she might even want to have fun tonight—something I’d never associate with the boring woman who has taken over my office.
“Not exactly. My work is based around three pillars. Dynamics, implementation, results. We’re still in the dynamics stage. I’m researching everything I need to know to make informed decisions.”
Rather than admit I’m somewhat impressed by her pillars, I go for the route of condescension. “I already know what you’re going to tell me, and it’s not going to work.”
I shoot her a glare and she arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
“Oh?” she asks. “Do tell me, what will my advice be to fix FDB?”
“Stop spending money. Look, babe, I can’t. I need to entertain clients.”
“I’m not your babe,” she grits at me.
“Tonight you are. You agreed to this fake date.”
She blows out a breath. “I’m starting to wonder why,” she says under her breath, and I let those words sit between us as we make our way to the gala in silence, but I have to admit...I’m starting to wonder why, too.
chapter ten
I beeline for the first client I recognize when we walk through the doors. I don’t even offer my date a drink first, and we don’t check out the auction items or do the rounds yet. I just need to get away from her for a second, to push the smell of flowers out of my nose and look upon someone who doesn’t look so goddamn fuckable in her purple dress when she’s the last person in the world who I’d ever fuck.
“Mr. Chambers, so nice to see you again,” I say, grateful my memory allows me to easily recall clients in settings apart from my office.
The white-haired CEO of Chamber Enterprises nods in greeting to me. “I had a quick glance at your analytics report before I left the office this afternoon, Mr. Fox, and the information is invaluable. I’ll be recommending you to all our subsidiaries for future work.”
“That’s what I like to hear, sir,” I say. I give Viv a meaningful look, as if to say, See? I’ve got this shit under control.
“This is my wife, Janine,” he says, motioning to the woman standing beside him. She wears a silver dress and holds onto his elbow, and they’re the picture of an elderly couple who are out for a night to enjoy themselves.
“Wonderful to meet you, Janine,” I say, repeating her name as business 101 has taught me to do and grasping her hand firmly with my best toothy, businessman smile.
Viv clears her throat beside me.
“Oh, excuse me. This is my, um...” I trail off. “This is Vivian.”
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly then sneaks around me to shake their hands. “Brian’s girlfriend.”
“Good catch,” Chambers says to me, and I force a smile onto my lips. He winks at Viv then turns to me. “Now go get that beauty a drink.”
Right. Because alcohol is definitely the answer here.
Maybe I’m onto something.
I smile at Chambers and turn a smirk to Viv, and then we head over toward the bar. I glance at her and raise a brow to indicate she should order first.
“Pinot noir,” she says.
Of fucking course she gets red wine. It figures. I’ve never once found myself compatible with a red wine drinker, and clearly that
still holds true when it comes to this woman.
“Whiskey,” I order.
I pay our tab and make the rounds, greeting people I know and introducing Viv only when I absolutely have to. I’m sure it’s getting old for her, but I don’t really care. She’s tagging along essentially uninvited because Jason walked into my office and asked me if I could attend this thing when she happened to be in there.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be at home, sharing drinks with someone who will end up in my bed. I’ve never been a fan of these types of events, mostly because it feels like everyone is looking for whoever has the most money. Considering who my brother is, most people in the room eye me hungrily. It’s never been an issue for me in the past, but ever since Mark decided to tighten his wallet, suddenly it is.
We sit down to dinner, and we’re lucky to be at a table full of potential new clients. I immediately start networking because it’s in my blood to do it. I’m always looking at every person I meet as a potential client. I’m in a room full of people who might need solutions and it’s my job to sell them on my services without sounding like a greasy salesman.
“Brian Fox, FDB Tech Corp,” I say by way of introduction to the woman next to me.
“Irene Banes, Jersey Group.”
“Tell me more about Jersey Group,” I say, and she launches into her prepared speech. I listen carefully for places where analytics like the ones we offer might come in handy for a company like hers, and by the time the salad course arrives, I’ve already acquired her contact information so I can send her a cost proposal on Monday.
And that’s how it’s done.
Viv sits quietly beside me, the perfect dinner companion, really—she’s seen on my arm as a beautiful woman, but she keeps quiet as I handle the business portion. It’s possibly the one thing she’s done since I met her that I actually appreciate. In an effort to make it look real, I toss a casual arm around the back of her chair. My thumb accidentally brushes the cool, smooth skin of her bare shoulder. It’s silky and I have the sudden urge to leave it there, to brush it again, to feel more of it.
The onslaught of blood rushing toward my dick certainly has nothing to do with her. It must be the rush of excitement I get as I acquire more and more potential new clients.
When dinner’s over and it comes time for the live auction, I grab my paddle and get ready to have some fun. I’ve notoriously gotten into bidding wars in the past and always over the same thing: sports memorabilia. Every year I’ve attended this event, I’ve walked away with something incredible. Specifically, I’m a football fan from Chicago, and since one of the hugest donors to this auction is high up in the Bears organization, I’ve walked away with things like signed footballs, helmets, and VIP tickets to Soldier Field.
I ignore most of the auction items. There’s only one thing I want this year, and I can’t wait to see what it is since I didn’t have time to scout the room before dinner started.
I watch as two people carry a huge frame to the stage. The emcee announces, “The item donated by the Bears organization this year is a game worn and signed Payton jersey.”
Holy shit.
It’s mine. I know it’s mine before the bidding even starts.
A signed Payton jersey is the holy grail of signed jerseys. They’re hard to find, but a game-worn jersey is next to impossible. I’ve never seen one in person before, and a wave of excitement washes over me that it’s even in the same room as me right now.
It will be mine.
“We’ll start the bidding at one thousand.” I raise my paddle marked with the number twenty-twelve to open the bid. A thousand bucks for that jersey? I’d pay a hundred times that.
I’m immediately outbid, and I grin across the room at Connor West, the only man who ever gives me a run for my money at these things. I assume he’ll drive up the price and bow out like he does every year, but it’s for charity. He raises his paddle with a sly smile back at me, and all of a sudden it’s a bidding war.
I feel Viv’s elbow in my side. I assume it’s a slip she didn’t mean since she has zero hold over me, but when Connor outbids me and I raise my paddle again, this time the elbow is more forceful.
I turn toward her with a glare. “What?”
She leans in toward my ear so only I can hear her. “You don’t have the money for this.”
I ignore the tickle of her warm breath against my ear.
“Fuck off,” I whisper back as I raise my paddle to bid again.
“Brian, that’s six thousand,” she whispers. “You have to pay before you leave tonight. You do realize this needs to come out of your own pocket, don’t you? I’ve seen the records showing your spend at these events. FDB doesn’t have that much liquid in the bank.”
“Actually, Viv, we do, not that I need to explain myself to you.”
She blows out a frustrated breath. “No, you don’t. I just looked at the account.”
“Yeah, and I have that money from Mark.” I raise my paddle again, forcing a smile when I want to punch the woman whispering furiously into my ear.
“The money is meant to cover payroll. It’s already spent.”
“Fuck off,” I say again, a fake smile plastered to my lips since we’re sitting next to business associates. “I’ve got it covered.” I hold up my paddle to indicate I’m bidding twelve thousand.
“Brian, look at me.” Her voice is louder and more forceful.
I finally take my eyes off the emcee for a brief second to allow a short glance in her direction, but my eyes get stuck on her face. She’s serious, and she’s seriously gorgeous. I hate Mark substantially more in this second for sending someone he knew fit my exact weaknesses: smart, business-minded like me, and brunette. If she wasn’t such a royal bitch, she might be perfect for me.
Fuck Mark for picking her out of all the “fixers” he could’ve sent.
“What?” I finally whisper.
“Don’t do this. You don’t have the money for it.”
“Yes, I do. What the fuck do you know about me, anyway?” We’re whisper-yelling at each other now. Or I’m whisper-yelling at her and she’s trying to talk me out of something that’s mine. Something I want, something I work hard for—something I deserve.
This shit with her trying to take things that are mine is starting to seem like a real trend with her.
“You might’ve forgotten, but your personal financial records were in the files you gave me to review.”
“Fuck off,” I say for the third time. It’s my go-to phrase when I’m out of words. It’s childish and ineffective, but it makes me feel a little better.
The emcee’s voice cuts into our conversation. “Sold for seventeen thousand to paddle number fourteen-twenty-two.”
I almost yell, “No!” I manage to just barely stop myself as I seethe with anger. The fucking jersey went to Connor because Viv was distracting me from our bidding war.
“You have got to be shitting me,” I mutter.
I expect a shred of guilt to cross her goddamn pretty face, but it doesn’t. Instead, she has the gall to look victorious. Fucking victorious for distracting me long enough that I actually lost the auction to a competitor.
Fuck her.
Fuck her.
Brian Fox doesn’t lose.
That was always my mantra. But ever since Vivian Davenport stepped into my life, it seems like Brian Fox can’t win.
chapter eleven
The next morning, I wake up to a woman whose name I don’t remember and a fairly rough hangover. This is out of character even for me. The hangover not so much, but forgetting a woman’s name after I take her to bed is not my norm.
After Viv distracted me from winning that Payton jersey I deserved, I ditched her at the table, networked, hit the bar pretty hard, and networked some more. I was giving this woman the hard sell last night, and I’m fairly certain it worked given the fact that I ended up in her hotel room. She’s still sleeping. I remember she worked for Lion Group, so I quietly grab m
y phone and scroll their website for names that might sound familiar. I hit the jackpot when I find the directory of employees with names and photos. I eventually find that the brunette beside me is named Allison Park.
My weakness is brunettes, but I don’t discriminate when it comes to willing women. She’s pretty, but she looks older than my usual type. I usually go for early twenties for two reasons: one, because I can, and two, because any older than that and I start running into red wine drinkers. They want more than one fun night. They want dates and they want to be wined and dined and they want commitment. I’m not here for any of that shit.
The younger ones still know how to have some unattached, good old fun, and that’s all I’m really looking for.
I think for a second about Viv. I can’t help it. I’m still pissed at her for causing me to lose that jersey, but I suppose I sort of got back at her by ditching her last night. It wasn’t really my job to entertain her.
Was it?
I shouldn’t care I left without telling her, but I feel a little bad about it this morning. I wonder how long she wandered around looking for me. I wonder how she got home...or back to her hotel. I even feel a little bad she’s staying in a hotel. Mark could’ve offered her his place, at the very least, for the duration of her stay here. She deserves to be in a comfortable place while she does things that might be a little out of her comfort zone—namely, dealing with an asshole like me.
I push those thoughts gruffly out of my mind. Fuck that. She’s getting paid—apparently handsomely—to deal with my shit.
Allison shifts in the bed, and I click off her company’s website and pull open my email. She flips over and opens her eyes. “Mm,” she murmurs. “So it wasn’t just a dream.”
Ah fuck. That’s not good. That means she’s going to want more—another date, another night, another whatever. They all do, but I’m in my early thirties and having fun playing the field. It’s just easier this way.
Kendra flashes through my mind again.
