What? Does she know he married me? If he was involved with her, why didn’t he just marry her instead of dragging me into it? This is so awkward. I clear my throat. “Um, no, I’m sorry. He hasn’t.”
She shakes her head as she paces across the room. “I don’t know what game he’s playing at, but it’s riling me—no doubt his intention. I swear the man is infuriating.” She practically growls out the last word.
I say nothing, not knowing what to say. I suspected there was someone in Fletcher’s life—how could there not be?—but he never said one single syllable about it or her. The situation has already gone beyond awkward and uncomfortable and into the realm of horribleness. Did he tell her about the nature of our marriage?
“All right,” she says when she finishes pacing. “I’d like an explanation. Right the fuck now. Did you not know he was taken when you dug your claws into him?”
I’m really at a loss as to how to handle this situation. I’ll just have to bluff my way through. “No, he never mentioned being involved with anyone.”
“When and how did you meet him?”
“I think you should be having this conversation with Fletcher.”
She gestures between us with her lacquered long nails. “I want to have it with you first, so he can’t lie to me. Tell me.”
I clear my throat again, holding my fist to my mouth. “This is awkward, and I’m sorry you find yourself in this position… but I am going to again ask you to speak with Fletcher about it. I don’t feel comfortable discussing his motives with you.” I try to say it as politely as possible, but I can’t help feeling animosity toward this woman. Her venom is seeping out of her pores into the room, and I feel its tentacles surround me.
She stomps closer to me, right up to my face, and I have to say, I feel threatened by this woman. “I want to discuss it with you, I said,” she pushes out between gritted teeth. “I’m not asking you for his motives. I’m asking you when and how did you meet him?”
Fortunately for me, there’s a call button in each room, generally used for service but now being used by me for security. This woman is spitting mad and possibly dangerous. I reach over and press the button. Within seconds, Cru shows up.
“You called, Mrs. Creed?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman’s head whip toward me. “How dare you?” she snarls.
“Yes,” I say, trying desperately to keep my voice from shaking, “will you show this woman to the door?”
He looks first at me and then at her before nodding. “Of course. If you’ll follow me, Ms. Raynor.”
“Oh, don’t give me that shit, Cru. I can show myself out.” Swooping down to grab her purse from the sofa where she tossed it, she snaps, “This is not the end of this conversation.”
She blows out of the room before I can even respond, and Cru follows her out, thank God. I try to think of what I would’ve done in her position. I would have taken out my anger on him, no doubt, but not on some poor random woman. No, she is definitely in the wrong to come here and tell me off like that.
Hell, if I were in her place, I’d dump him so fast that I’d be gone before he hit the ground. What kind of woman would take that shit from her… whatever he is to her?
I go upstairs to change and wait for my support system to arrive. When I’m done, I pop into the kitchen to make some coffee but find Gerard, the chef, kneading bread and heating something on the stove, doing a kind of cooking ballet between the fridge, range, and counter.
“What do you need, madam?”
“I have two friends coming over soon. I thought I’d make coffee.”
“For how many?”
“Three of us but you don’t have to do it.”
“Just coffee? I’ll be more than happy to take care of that for the lovely lady of the house.”
I’m choked up a little at his kindness to me after bitchface made me feel so low. “Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”
“Nonsense, it’s my job. Go enjoy your friends, and I’ll bring out the service.”
A little over an hour later my friends arrive. Cilla sails in like a cool breeze.
“Look at you!” she says, cradling my face. “You actually have some color in those pale cheeks of yours. Fletcher Creed looks good on you.”
I snort a laugh. “More like three days on a yacht look good on me. You always look gorgeous,” I add and give her a hug.
“Well, you’ve certainly stepped in it,” Tara remarks tartly as she walks farther into the room. “I can see how you’ve been suffering, you poor thing.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not the only one. I seem to recall that you’re living rent free in my sexy little loft. That must really hurt.”
Laughing, she holds up her hands. “You got me there. And I love your place. But” —her strawberry-blond head swivels as she again takes in the library room where the three of us are gathered— “this is particularly opulent, you have to admit.”
I shrug. “A gilded cage. The man’s stupidly wealthy.”
Gerard comes in to serve us the coffee and tea along with a plate of fruit tarts. After we finish, I look at my two best friends, more thankful for them today than usual.
“So… where do you two want to go?”
Priscilla is currently draped across a velvet sofa as if a stylist came in and artfully arranged her on it. Still in the throes of her hangover, she manages to nonetheless look glorious. “You want to go shopping or just cavorting around?”
I peer out the window. “Right now, the weather is nice, but it’s supposed to rain in a few hours. How about we check out that new shoe store near Petunia’s Bakery. Maybe pick up some cupcakes. Then we’ll head back here and have lunch? After, we can watch a film or something.”
Priscilla grabs her head and groans. “Ughhhhh. I wish I hadn’t drunk so much last night. There’s a new Victorian fashion exhibit at the Institute that I’d love to see. Anyone up for that?”
“I want cupcakes,” Tara whines. “Pink ones with silver glitter.”
Pink cupcakes and Victorian fashion? Just what the doctor ordered to chase Fletcher Creed and his stupid girlfriend out of my head.
I feel much better after spending the day with my girls. After we come back here to watch a movie, I confide in them what happened with Kelly. Cilla gets seriously riled.
“Who let her in?” she demands.
“Cru. He’s the head of security at the house.”
“Some security. Where might I find this Cru?”
“Forget it, Cilla. It’s over and done with.”
She gets up and strides out of the room with me and Tara snapping at her heels. “Cilla,” I stage-whisper, “get back in here.”
She turns a corner, and we both hear her say, “Are you Cru?”
Then a deep voice answers her, and Tara and I both stop in our tracks to listen.
“Can you tell me why you let a former girlfriend of Mr. Creed’s in the house to confront his new wife?”
“I don’t get involved with their business, miss. I’m concerned with security.”
“Well, if you’re concerned with security, shouldn’t you have been concerned that the woman physically intimidated and practically threatened Mrs. Creed?”
“I was not aware that happened. Mrs. Creed used the call button to ask me to show the visitor out, and I did.”
“Let me ask you a question,” Cilla goes on. Tara and I look at each other, and I have to clap both hands over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. That old nervous habit of mine. Plus, you know, it’s funny. Cilla is on her haughty-bitch rampage.
“Do you have any kind of relationship with that particular visitor?”
“Me?” Cru’s voice is incredulous. “What the hell kind of question is that? I work for Mr. Creed. I don’t get involved with his relationships.”
“Oh, well, forgive me for my mistake. It’s just that it seems like you purposely set up Mrs. Creed for a confrontation without even giving her a warning.”
“I can assure you I did not do that.”
“Your assurance is comforting, Cru. I won’t tell you how to do your job—that’s Mr. Creed’s responsibility. Mine is Mrs. Creed. Do not ever show that woman into this house again unless she is here to see Mr. Creed and he is at home. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Thank you. Good day.”
Tara and I hurriedly tiptoe back into the media room where Cilla sails in like a regal queen a few moments later. I amble up to her and throw my arms around her. “Thank you for defending me.”
“No worries. I’ll kick that woman’s behind if she comes back here. And get Cru fired to boot. I call bullshit on his denial about having some kind of relationship with her. He must have known she was here to do dirty, and he still let her in. Either they’re friends or she slipped him some money. I know people—especially ones who work for wealthy folks. They covet more and more as time goes on. It’s human nature. You be careful around him.”
“I will. Thanks, Cilla. You’re the best.”
After the two of them leave, I go upstairs to take a nap. When I wake up a half hour later, I decide to go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea. That’s when I hear a loud, angry voice coming from Fletcher’s study, the door closed.
His voice.
Yes, I’m dying to listen, but I can’t make out words even from directly outside the room, and I don’t want to be caught eavesdropping. I’ve not seen him lose his cool once since I met the man. I mean, yes, he gets mad, but it’s a cold anger, not hot. Hot anger is fueled by passion—love, hate, and everything in between. Cold requires no emotion other than impatient fury.
I don’t hear another voice in there, so he must be on the phone. Ten dollars says it’s my pal Kelly. Good, let him deal with her.
I continue on my quest for tea and pad into the kitchen where Gerard is busily preparing dinner. Not wanting to sneak up on him, I clear my throat as I approach the room. “Hello, Gerard,” I say. “I’m back in your hair again. Is it all right if I make myself a cup of tea?”
A tall broad-shouldered man originally from India, Gerard smiles warmly. “Of course,” he says in an easy California accent. “Help yourself.”
As I wait for the kettle to whistle, I watch his expert hands chopping vegetables, squeezing lemon, frothing, emulsifying, sautéing various items and am amazed at the graceful symphony that cooking can be. When it’s done right, that is. Not like my clumsy attempts to make each dish be ready at the same time. I’ve yet to succeed.
The shrill whistle of the kettle snaps me out of my trance, and I get up to prepare the tea. “What are you making tonight?”
Gerard barely glances away from the bowl he’s stirring. “Right now, I’m preparing some bases for sauces and soups for the coming days. I’ll start on the evening dinner in ten minutes since Mr. Creed said he’d like to dine in about an hour’s time. Tonight is penne with roasted vegetables and garlic butter, and a fennel and lime salad.”
“That sounds good.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
I take my tea upstairs and settle on my bed with my laptop. I need to order some decent sleepwear since I’m not living alone anymore. I’m in the middle of placing an order with Victoria’s Secret when I hear a tap on the door.
“Yes?”
“May I come in?”
Fletcher.
“Yes, of course.”
His eyes are wary as he opens the door as if he expects to find my secret lover crouching behind a chair. The mental image is hilarious, and I can’t help a chuckle, which earns me a look of confusion. “What’s up?” I ask him.
“I heard you had a visitor today,” he begins as he comes farther into the room and closes the door.
I know exactly who he’s referring to, of course, but I don’t plan to make this easy for him. “Yeah,” I reply nonchalantly, “my friends came over for a while, but we were out for most of the day.”
He scratches his brow with his thumb. I’ve noticed he does that when he’s feeling uncomfortable. “I’m referring to another visitor.”
“Oh, you mean your girlfriend. Yes, she was kind enough to visit.”
The skin on his face draws taut, and he puts his hands on his hips. “Kelly is not my girlfriend, first of all. She considers herself to be way more important in my life than she actually is. To me, she lands somewhere between an acquaintance and a friend. That’s the extent of it.”
“Did you not think it might have been helpful to explain your marriage to the woman you were seeing?”
“I should have told her. Just so you know…” He ventures closer. “I don’t plan on telling Kelly the truth of our arrangement. You just need to do your job and act the part of my loving wife around her. I know you can do it.”
“You don’t think she deserves to know the truth?”
“No, I don’t. Look, Marley, this arrangement of ours suits me in a number of ways. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“She thinks you’re hers.”
“I’m not.”
“How do you plan to handle her then?”
He shakes his head, his gaze on the floor. “I’m hoping it will resolve itself.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s doubtful, but good luck with that.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with this kind of situation. It crops up periodically.”
“Well, old Kelly seems pretty determined to me.”
He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, lips pressed together, as impenetrable as ever. What now? Finally, he speaks again. Softly. “Did she upset you, Marley?”
My eyes drift down to my lap. “She wasn’t the most pleasant person… to be honest, I felt threatened by her.”
“Threatened? As in physically threatened?”
Feeling suddenly unsure of myself, I nod hesitantly. Did I overreact?
“Did she verbally threaten you?”
“No, not really. But she kept getting in my face, and she was enraged. You should’ve told her, Fletcher. You need to speak to her because I don’t want to be in the middle” —my finger swirls between us— “of whatever this is.”
He rubs the back of his neck before audibly blowing out his breath. “I’ll speak to her. I’m sorry you had to deal with her. Sincerely.”
“Thanks.”
As far as I’m concerned, the conversation is over, but he doesn’t leave. In fact, he does the opposite. He comes over to the bed and sits on the edge next to me, his elbows on his knees. “Marley,” he says, appearing to scrutinize the floor, “this is your home now. I want you to feel comfortable. I know the situation is… unique… but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly and feel at ease with one another.” He sighs and finally cranes his head to glance at me. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”
I twirl a lock of my hair around my finger, trying to avoid looking at him. “No, not really. To me it seems as if you’re the one who is uneasy with my presence.”
Those super kissable lips part as his eyes widen. “I’m not. I have zero problem with your being here. In fact, if I recall correctly, it was I who insisted upon it.” And he smiles. Oh, that smile. My body tingles all over from it.
Instantly I think of Beck’s song lyrics: I think I’m in love but it makes me kinda nervous to say so.
No. I’m definitely not in love. But I’m definitely heading toward trouble. Who could blame me? He’s rich, chokingly handsome, powerful… and sometimes even nice. I better not fall in love. That would be very bad.
The physical attraction is easy to explain.
The way his eyes light up when he genuinely smiles.
The little flip of hair at the back of his part that eternally refuses to behave.
His plump, delicious lips, especially when he purses them in a frown.
And that body. I can’t even go there in my head because he’s just that hot. Sizzling.
The interest is not mutual—I’m pretty sure. I don’t th
ink he’s attracted to me in the least. I think he sees me as nothing more than a means to an end.
When I look up, I catch him staring at me, but he quickly averts his eyes. Reaching over, he pats my hand. “I’ll see you at dinner in a little while. I told Gerard we’d like to dine at seven. I hope that’s all right with you.”
“Yes, perfect. Thanks.”
As he leaves I watch his ass in his black suit trousers and light gray shirt, the cuffs unbuttoned and flapping open. What a bitable ass it is too. I think I’m going to have to record him walking down the street. If only I could get him to strip first. That would keep me good company for a long time to come.
19
Marley Jacobs
Life as a rich girl without a job is boring, boring, boring. To fill the hours, I enroll in a new dance class and join a gym. On Friday mornings, I volunteer with a literacy program, helping to teach kids and immigrants the basics of English. I force Tara to do it too, and we end up having a sit-com’s worth of giggles from our time with the adult ESL students. It keeps me busy and forces me to get up in the morning because left to my own devices, I drift back into being nocturnal.
Even when I’m up early—and for me early is nine o’clock—I don’t see Fletcher. He usually leaves for work by seven thirty or eight, so I don’t see him until dinnertime and not always then. Ships passing in the night.
Last night I went to bed much earlier than usual, having fallen asleep watching a movie in bed. So this morning, my eyes spring open at quarter to seven and no matter how much I try, I can’t go back asleep. After a half-hour attempt, I give up and swing my legs off the bed, stretch, and head into the bathroom to shower. Since I’m only going to the community center to teach, I don’t bother with any makeup and shimmy into a pair of worn jeans and a cropped T-shirt.
“Grrr.” I cannot find my slip-ons, so I grab a pair of ankle socks and my white Converse sneakers. Carrying them in my hand, I sprint down the stairs barefoot, my goal being the kitchen and coffee.
“Whoa,” I almost yell when I see Fletcher at the kitchen island eating breakfast. I check the clock on the wall. “You’re still here? It’s almost eight.”
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 12
