by Mira Gibson
He felt too antsy to sit still, but he couldn’t be pacing and prowling like a psycho when she got here, so he collapsed into the chair meant for him, between Darlene and his attorney, ran all ten fingers through his dark hair, and focused on steadying his pounding pulse, drawing in a slow, deep breath meant to cool him off and calm him down.
There was a faint knock on the conference room door and then one of the rotating receptionists assigned to their floor peeked her head in and sheepishly whispered, “Abby Gallagher is at Reception. Can I bring her in?”
Walter touched eyes with Darlene, who nodded her agreement, then allowed, “Please do.”
Zach felt his eyes nearly bulge out of his head and the second the receptionist had slipped out, closing the door with a gentle click, he pitched forward in his chair, blurting out, “You’re all going to be here? Why can’t it just be—“
“Because it can’t,” barked Darlene. “Now sit back, keep your mouth shut, and let me do my job.”
“If she’s intimidated—“
But she wouldn’t let him voice his complaining two cents. “It’s been exactly twenty-four hours and I’ve finessed the girl of your choosing into showing up. In forty-eight, you’ll be on a red carpet with the brand-new girlfriend I’ve groomed. In one week, you’ll have eloped, thanks to me. You’ll have a wife on your arm, which will dispel all gay rumors. The press junket will follow and because I’ve masterfully orchestrated restoring your image, you will be presented with a renewed contract for the next season of Hashtag Blessed. Do you doubt me?”
She stared dead at him and Zach felt his balls shrink up into his abdomen.
“Do you doubt my methods? Hmm?”
Zach was afraid to speak.
“I didn’t think so,” she said in reply to his silence.
Damn.
“Intimidation is intentional,” she finally explained.
There was a beat of tension in the air, but the second the conference room door swung open, the receptionist gliding in to provide plenty of room and Abby taking three apprehensive steps, the thick tension that had built in both the air and Zach’s chest vanished like smoke in sunlight.
As Abby took in the room, clearly feeling uncomfortable with all eyes on her—there’s no way she could’ve expected an entire firing squad of suits to be staring her down—she smoothed her delicate hands over the front of the purple, wrap dress she wore, let out a rocky breath, and then the biggest most sincere smile spread across her pretty face, her eyes locking with Zach’s.
If Darlene’s brash personality had sent Zach’s testicles into hiding, the warm, inviting, and downright sultry gleam in Abby’s gaze had the exact opposite effect. He felt himself stiffen in his jeans. But unlike last night when he’d been free to explore both kinky fantasies of Abby and the shape of his hardening erection alike, there would be no immediate relief and Zach would have no choice but to ride the swell of his building arousal.
She looked like the sinful side of heaven, that was for damn sure.
“Welcome,” said Darlene coolly. Indicating the row of vacant chairs directly across from the #Blessed team, she invited Abby to have a seat. “You understand that everything discussed within the four walls of this room is strictly, and one hundred percent, confidential?”
“Yes,” said Abby, as she lowered into one of the plush conference room chairs, looking and sounding more sure of herself.
She touched eyes with Zach and he felt an electric zing of arousal shoot right through him, then returned her attention to his publicist, who it seemed wasn’t going to bother introducing any of the other four suits. But now that Abby was settling in, she didn’t seem all that fazed by it. In fact, she seemed comfortable.
“We love your Christian image—“
“Catholic,” Abby corrected her.
Darlene waved the discrepancy off with, “Whatever,” and barreled right ahead. “As I’m sure you’re aware, a rumor has surfaced recently in regard to Zach’s sexual preference and long story short it’s bad for the show.”
“And it’s not true,” Zach piped up, insisting, “I’m not gay.”
Abby flashed him a little grin and if she meant to reassure him that she hadn’t bought the rumor, it worked.
“We’ve invited you here today,” Darlene went on, “because the best way to squash this rumor is for Zach to essentially be married.”
Abby’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, her eyes rounding wide as saucers. She didn’t blink.
“Married?” she questioned.
“Technically there’s no time to go through with all that a full-on wedding would require,” Darlene clarified. “So, you would need to first appear by Zach’s side, constantly, and then elope in about a week, week and a half tops. The marriage, should you sign, will last…” she trailed off, flipping to the fifth clause of the massive agreement to refresh her memory. “Six months. At which point in time the contract will have expired and you’re welcome to get a divorce.” She smirked at Marla, his agent, then beamed her devious grin at Walter so he’d be in on it. “The messier the divorce the better, right? Then we’ll let Zach’s wounded heart bump the ratings!”
Zach scowled and Darlene quickly sobered up, clearing her throat and smoothing her hand over the front of the contract. “The point is, this is a serious commitment and once signed, the contract is legally binding. You’ll be compensated, but you’ll also be expected to continue your regular routine of going to work. What we like about you is that you’re normal, so try to stay that way until you elope. Do you have any questions? No?” she plowed right through.
If Abby did have a question, she wouldn’t have had a second to voice it.
“This is the contract,” she went on, sliding the thick agreement across the shiny conference table. “You have exactly twenty-four hours to decide. If you’re ready to take this leap with Zach, then you’ll return the contract to me signed, sealed, and delivered. Understood?”
To Zach’s surprise. Hell, to everyone’s surprise. Abby reached across the table, plucked the felt-tipped pen out of Darlene’s grasp, and after flipping to the last page of the agreement, confidently signed her name.
She slid the contract back across the conference table with a whoosh, quirked her sexy mouth into an adventurous smile, and asked, “What now?”
Chapter Six
Pop!
“Hey, Zach! Who’s the girl?”
Flash, pop!
“Are the rumors true?”
Pop! Flash, pop!
“I didn’t buy it for a second!”
Pop!
“Over here, Zach! Let us see the girl!”
The lights were blindingly bright, the red carpet plush beneath her black heels. Zach’s stylist had provided Abby with a stunning green dress cut high on the thigh with a cinched waist, though it hung loosely otherwise, lending a hip, casual feel that helped her feel comfortable when basically nothing about this situation was comfortable.
A velvet rope kept the press at bay, or it was supposed to. The wall of photographers had angled in against it, crowding into what little space there was in front of the small, arthouse movie theater in TriBeCa, a posh, downtown neighborhood. And those lights… It was like staring into the sun. There was no way not to squint and considering she was here to smile adoringly at Zach so that a new rumor would start to circulate—Zach’s found himself a special girl—Abby was starting to worry tomorrow’s tabloid headlines would read something to the effect of ‘deer in headlights date is Canning’s new embarrassment’.
She never realized how taxing this was for celebrities and all she was doing was standing beside Zach, smiling at the sea of flashing cameras and seemingly disembodied voices vying for their attention, and pivoting to accommodate each paparazzi cluster.
But she was standing next to Zach.
She was pressed right beside American heartthrob, Zach Canning!
She felt his large, warm hand holding the small of her back as he gently and subtly maneu
vered her which way to turn, this way and that, so that all the major entertainment news outlets and popular teen magazines could get the shots they needed.
Any awkwardness she might otherwise be feeling from having so many pictures taken, feeling self-conscious and on the spot, was easily overcome just by melting into the feel of his strong, protective body subtly cradling her like she was some precious thing he refused to let go of.
This felt amazing!
And she couldn’t wait to get out of the literal limelight and into the dark privacy of the hip movie theater where she could continue to enjoy the feel of Zach beside her without a bunch of blindingly bright lights in her eyes or the ache of stiff cheeks from holding a perma-plastered smile for the cameras. Would he still find ways to touch her in the darkness of the theater? Maybe slip his fingers between hers to hold her hand or wrap his muscular arm around her? Perhaps he’d graze her thigh and give her a little squeeze…
Just thinking about it brought a genuine grin to Abby’s face, which was in perfect timing with Zach pulling her against his chest in a half-hug for Teen Vogue’s benefit, their designated photographer snapping off a dozen shots in rapid succession then giving them the thumbs up, “You’re the best, Zach!”
She didn’t want to step out of the woodsy cocoon of his embrace, but he released her, loosening his hold and whispering in her ear, his smooth, deep voice stirring the warmest sensations inside of her, “You okay?”
She was more than okay. She was thrilled. The last few days had been an absolute blur of excitement. Getting dolled up all evening with the help of his stylist and a hair and makeup team provided by the Christian Network had felt like a fairytale. But when the sleek, black limousine had cruised up in front of her Brooklyn stoop, Abby had been surprised not to find Zach seated inside. In all this time, throughout the whirlwind of boldly signing the secret contract and trying to keep her life going for three days while she juggled working at Tate & Cane and privately meeting with Darlene Pinkerton, Zach’s publicist, who had insisted on ‘grooming’ her, Abby hadn’t once had a minute alone with the man she was contracted to elope with in a week and a half. With the exception of meeting him on a desolate street corner at the side of the movie theater—her limousine having rolled to a stop, the driver having climbed out and opened Abby’s door in front of one very dashing-looking Zach Canning—and immediately walking onto the red carpet, Abby hadn’t even seen him, met his gaze, or heard his deep, sexy voice since the conference room.
She wanted time alone with him. She needed it. They obviously wouldn’t be able to talk and get to know one another at all while they were watching Zach’s co-star and friend, Jamison Holt on the silver screen—this wasn’t Zach’s premiere, he wasn’t even in the movie, but Darlene said it would be the perfect ‘photo opp’. But Abby hoped that after the credits rolled she and Zach might be able to slip away and truly get to know one another.
What did he even make of all of this?
When Abby had mustered up her courage and faced a boardroom full of suits, which she had not at all been expecting on the other side of that conference room door, she was shocked to hear the expectation of eloping. Shocked. But it had been the way Zach was looking at her, not just the feel of his smoldering eyes on her but the actual way he seemed to see through her physical attributes and look directly at the real Abby beneath it all. It had felt like a real connection. That feeling had magnetized her to him in the coffee shop and the strength of their electric connection had only increased when they’d locked eyes across the conference table.
So much about this felt real.
And yet it wasn’t.
Their relationship, as real as it might appear in the public eye and as real as it might feel to Abby personally, was literally and contractually fake.
Was it fake for him? Or had Zach also felt something real—something meant to be, perhaps—when they’d stared at one another that morning?
Fake or not, their marriage would be real, legally speaking, which meant that for Abby, she was going to have to get her Ma and Pop’s blessing, introduce Zach to her older and extremely protective brother, Ian as well, do this right. The contract might expire in six months, freeing them up to divorce, but the prospect was inconceivable for a Catholic girl like Abby.
The more she thought about it, as strange a situation as it was and as conflicted as it made her feel at times, the more real she wanted this whole thing to be.
Of course, she would feel like that. She was on the arm of one of the sexiest men alive. His lean, muscular body and mischievous grin could melt hearts and panties alike. If this was real, if they fell in love, if she suddenly found herself swept up in his arms, passion blossoming between them, and knew he was the one…
…then it wouldn’t matter how quickly they said ‘I do’ and losing her virginity to him would be the best thing that’s ever happened to her…
But what if all Zach cared about was making a career-damaging rumor go away? What if his apparent interest in Abby started and stopped right there? All for show? And nothing truly intimate would ever happen—emotionally, physically, or spiritually—behind closed doors?
She glanced up at him as he beamed one last bad boy grin for the cameras. He was gorgeous, she’d give him that. But there would be no way to get a read on him. Not until they talked.
Perhaps feeling her big, green eyes on him, he pulled her in again, this time hooking his arm around her neck playfully so he could plant a kiss on her forehead, a flutter of camera flashes quickly following to capture the affectionate moment.
God, he smelled good.
“Alright,” he said smoothly. “Torture’s over.”
“It wasn’t so bad.”
“No?” he asked with an easy smile as he guided her along the red carpet that led into the plush lobby of the movie theater.
“My cheeks hurt a little,” she admitted, feeling a fresh flood of tingles zing through her as Zach laced his fingers through hers—just like she’d hoped!—as they filtered into the theater.
“It won’t always be like this,” he told her in what sounded like a promising voice as they came to their seats, reserved signs with Zach’s full name taped to each one. “Aisle or inside?”
“Oh,” she breathed, considering. “You don’t mind if I take the aisle?”
He let out a smooth soundless laugh, his sexy mouth curling with the hint of a grin, as he asked, “Why would I mind?”
As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Zach stepped in, taking hold of her hips to help her aside so he could slip into the row. She didn’t realize she’d been standing in his way, but was glad she had, because his large hands on her body like that, as brief as it had been—he was settling into his seat now—had felt seriously good.
She could get used to this.
She lowered into her seat just as the house lights were dimming. One of the producers walked out in front of the movie screen, microphone in hand, and began welcoming everyone to the premiere and setting the stage a bit for what kind of indie project this had been.
Abby could feel the heat rolling off Zach. Listening to the producer crack jokes, she became hyper aware of where her body was, where his was, how her crossed leg almost grazed Zach’s slacks-clad shin, how his thigh was angled into her seat, how if she unfolded her hands from her lap and straightened her spine, their arms would brush… should she?
She bit her lip debating, every cell in her body poised to Zach, poised to feel even the slightest movement, to use his every minor adjustment and negligible repositioning as a sign he wanted to sit closer to her as well. Damn this stupid arm rest jutting out between them.
If Abby was hesitant to make a bold move, Zach certainly wasn’t. As soon as the producer shuffled off and the opening credits started playing, he leaned in, his warm lips brushing the hair around her ear, his minty-cool breath causing tingling shivers to dance down her neck and shoulder, shooting all the way down to her core.
“I hope this
doesn’t suck,” he teased, whispering the words almost soundlessly in her ear.
She pulled back and looked him in the eye with a chastising glint of humor on her otherwise smiling face. “Quiet,” she warned, only mouthing the word.
“What?” he mouthed. “I can’t hear you.”
She screwed her face up and gave his firm chest a little shove, all too aware that looking up at him their faces were mere inches apart… Close enough to kiss…
But he didn’t kiss her.
Instead, as Jamison Holt filled the silver screen and some tires-screeching car chase ensued to kick off what all advertisements had promised would be an ‘action packed thrill ride… literally!’ Zach pulled back only to tuck a lock of Abby’s auburn hair behind her ear to give himself closer access. When he leaned in again, his lips actually brushed her ear.
“I said,” he breathed, toying with the hair on her shoulder in a way that inspired a fresh bloom of swirling arousal between her crossed legs, “that I couldn’t really hear you.”
She was about to pull away to look him in the eye again, but his large hand wrapped her toned thigh—skin on skin—and gave her a little wakeup squeeze.
Oh, that woke her up alright!
And he didn’t remove his hand.
“You look fucking hot.”
Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline and she felt her mouth tug into an aroused grin. She hoped no one noticed their little, soundless flirtation. She didn’t want to be faced with a reason to stop the fun.
She was going to utter ‘thanks’ as quietly as possible, but Zach was already saying more.
“You’re turning me on.”
Her eyes grew wide as saucers, but not in response to his shocking admission. He was slowly grazing his large hand up her thigh, the length of his fingers curled deeply around the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Abby felt her breath hitch in her throat, lips parting, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. She made a concerted effort to close her mouth so she wouldn’t look like a fish gasping for air out of water. But Zach was showing no signs of stilling his hand and when he grazed beneath the hem of her dress-skirt, bunching the material ever so slightly, and his pinky finger came into contact with the thin cotton of her conservative panties, her heart skipped a beat and her mouth gaped open all over again.
