by Lauren Layne
Walter harrumphed, sending his white mustache twitching. “That’s bollocks. I was just upset that the tennis tournament got canceled for those blasted cheerleading competitions!”
“I didn’t exactly see you reaching for the remote to turn the station away from those scandalous little skirts.”
Walter flushed slightly. “My arthritis was acting up, Joyce. You know I can’t just go gallivanting around the living room trying to find the remote.”
The little woman rolled her eyes at Sophie. “You see what I mean? They’re sensitive. Now you go right on up there and make amends with your man. Cook him a nice meal and maybe give him a little nookie!”
Sophie smothered a smile at the throwback to a different era. She didn’t have the heart to tell Joyce that “her man” would actually be cooking her dinner, and that nookie was so not an option.
Saying good-bye to the now-bickering couple, Sophie found her way to Gray’s apartment, giving a perky knock. She tugged nervously at the hem of her tight white sweater. She knew this wasn’t a date, of course. But maybe she’d taken a few extra minutes getting ready.
And the results were worth it. She was wearing her cutest (and tightest) jeans, and the sweater she’d just picked up from Nordstrom. The cashmere kept it classy while the tight fit made it sexy. Not that she wanted to be sexy. He finally answered the door, and all thoughts of her own appearance vanished.
Because Gray looked…gorgeous.
She realized this was the first time since dinner at her parents that she’d seen him outside of a suit, and while he admittedly filled out a suit very nicely, casual was a surprisingly good look on him. He wore dark jeans that were either designer or personally made for him, because he looked like a freaking male model. The gray sweater was layered over a crisp white shirt and made his eyes look, well…actually they looked downright stormy and pissed.
But it was a sexy picture nonetheless.
“How’d you get into the building?”
“It’s called charm—I’ll write a report on it on Monday so you can begin to understand the how the concept works. Short version: you smile at people and they like you more.”
His scowl deepened and he braced an arm on the doorway, blocking her entrance.
“Okay.” She sighed. “I can see I’m moving you along too fast on the path toward not being a dick. Lesson number one: invite me in.”
“Jenna’s not coming.”
Sophie blinked at that. “Why not? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, everything is fine. Just some apparent stomach bug,” he replied.
She chewed her lip. This was not ideal. Although Sophie was technically here to provide a buffer among the Wyatt siblings, what she really needed was a buffer between her and Gray. This would be all the more awkward with just herself, the two brothers, and no fellow female influence.
“I hope she’s okay,” Sophie said. “You and Jack must be bummed to not see her on her last night in town.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure Jack won’t be seeing her,” Gray muttered, still not inviting her in.
Sophie had gotten pretty good at interpreting this man’s moods and mumbles, but she was now officially confused.
“What’s going on?” she asked pointedly, folding her arms self-consciously across her chest.
“We’ve been set up,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Jack thought dinner tonight was canceled, and I don’t think Jenna ever had any intention of showing up.”
Suddenly everything became clear in Sophie’s mind, and she couldn’t help but laugh at how well Jenna had played her cards. The setup was even more blatant than Sophie had expected.
“Why are you giggling?” He glanced at her sharply, as though surprised to see her still there.
“Just admiring your sister’s tactics. Well, the least you can do is let me in. I’m guessing you cooked for four, right? You may as well feed me.”
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” he said.
“Oh, it’s a horrible idea. This will be a complete disaster,” she agreed, slipping under his arm and scooting into his apartment. “But it’ll build your character.”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to entertain you. You eat, then you leave. I have things to do.”
She laid a hand on his arm. As expected, he stiffened, but she kept her hand there anyway. She couldn’t help it. She was by nature a warm, affectionate person, and she was tired of always trying to hide that around him. Besides, if anyone needed a little dose of harmless human contact, it was this man of stone.
“I’ll leave if you want,” she said, meaning it. “But I’ll be stuck going home to a dinner of cereal, and whatever you have cooking in here smells amazing.”
He stared at the spot above her head before nodding shortly. “Sorry about this. I never meant for you to get caught up in the disaster that is my family dynamics.”
“Relax, Gray. I’m glad to be here. Besides, it might be good for you. I know too well that one-on-one interactions are not your forte. Practice can’t hurt.”
Sophie froze, realizing how that had sounded. She had practically proposed a date. With her boss. Who didn’t like her.
She ordered her impulsive brain to back the heck out of this impending disaster. But then Gray frowned. And for some reason, his reluctance solidified her resolve. She had promised to help him with his innate lack of social skills. Who said that had to be exclusive to the office?
And besides, she was starving.
“You’re my assistant,” he said. “This just seems…wrong.”
“Don’t be such a stiff. It’s just one night, and nobody has to know. On Monday you can go back to grumbling orders to Ms. Dalton. And if you’re on good behavior tonight, I may even start calling you Mr. Wyatt in the office as a little reward.”
“Indefinitely?”
“Let’s say for one day. For Monday, I promise to be perfectly respectful and boring. If you can go the entire night maintaining the facade that you’re interested in me for more than my filing skills, then I’ll even call you sir. Deal?”
His eyes lit at the idea of a challenge. “You’re meaning to tell me that you’ll actually be docile and unobtrusive for an entire day if I pretend you’re my girlfriend?”
Sophie’s heart seemed to skip for a split second at the word “girlfriend.” That hadn’t been what she’d meant by this little experiment.
And yet she still wasn’t turning and running. She pasted a smile on her face as though she played these kinds of charades every day.
“Eh, let’s say almost-girlfriend,” Sophie said with a nervous smile. “Let’s pretend it’s the third date, and that we’re moving in the direction of a committed relationship.”
There. That seemed harmless enough.
He ran a hand over his short dark hair. “This is insane. I don’t know why the hell I agreed to this dinner in the first place, and now I’m stuck with you.”
“That’s lovely. I have to say, you’re a pretty awful boyfriend so far.”
“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “That was rude. I’m never at my best around you.”
His eyes seemed to warm a moment, and be still her little stupid heart, but she almost wished that he was interested in her for real. Then again, he hadn’t even once glanced down at her strategic sweater. Clearly he wasn’t interested in her as a woman.
So much for my investment in a push-up bra that weighs more than a Thanksgiving turkey, she thought.
“Lesson number two,” Sophie said, setting her purse down and shrugging off her coat. “Always offer the lady a drink.”
She started to set her coat on top of her purse, but he snatched it from her and hung it in the hall closet. “Very good,” she said. “That was a test.”
“It’s not like I’ve never had a guest over before. I’m not completely without manners.”
The way he stalked toward the kitchen sort of undermined his claim on manners, but she let it go. Baby steps.
Peering around cur
iously, she took her first look at Gray’s condo. She almost grinned when she saw it was exactly what she’d expected. The floor seemed to be made of honest-to-God concrete. There were a couple of cool-toned area rugs to break it up, but still. Concrete was concrete.
The walls were a shocking white, softened only by a handful of depressing-looking metal structures. Either he’d completely overpaid his decorator or he’d gone shopping himself at Home Depot. The living room off to her right was clearly unused, and she wandered into his personal office, running her hand over the built-in bookshelves.
This room at least had a bit of warmth. She wondered if it was the only one he spent any time in. The walls were still white, but a large colorful painting of an old-fashioned bar took up one wall, and the other held a few photographs, most of them pictures of Jenna and Jack.
She could easily picture him here, relaxed in the large leather easy chair with some brainy book in his lap and a glass of whiskey on the side table. What the man really needed was a dog. Maybe a Labrador or a spaniel. Something friendly to sit by his feet and banish that chronic look of loneliness the man wore around him like a cape.
Sensing eyes on her back, she turned around and saw Gray standing in the doorway, two wineglasses in hand.
“Don’t you ever read fiction?” Sophie asked, accepting the wineglass he handed her. “There are dozens of biographies, and not a single one seems to be fewer than a thousand pages.”
Gray gestured to the bookcase on the far end of the room. “Take a look at the top shelf.”
Sophie wandered that way, taking a sip of excellent Chardonnay. She immediately saw what he wanted her to see and a laugh bubbled out. “Harry Potter? Really?”
He shrugged. “Biographies are my preferred reading material, but I enjoy well-written fiction once in a while. Plus I wanted to see what all of the hype was about.”
“You reading about a boy wizard.” She shook her head, completely unable to picture it.
“Quit snooping through my stuff. Come into the kitchen.”
She followed him out of the office, pleased to see that he seemed more relaxed than when he’d first opened the door. Maybe it was just the lack of pinstripes, but he didn’t have his usual wary expression. Jeans suited the man, Sophie thought. She found herself studying a surprisingly yummy-looking backside.
“Quit checking out my ass.”
She choked on her wine. Caught.
“I’m just mentally cataloging potential areas of improvement on behalf of your future wife. Do men do squats, or is that more of a Hollywood actress exercise? And—wow. Look at this kitchen!”
Her exclamation earned her what might have been a half smile. “I like to cook.”
“So do I, but I don’t have like five ovens,” she said, looking around in awe. The kitchen was a restaurant-sized industrial masterpiece. This was no standard-issue luxury kitchen. It was clearly custom-built for someone who knew their way around food.
“I’m a little embarrassed to have assumed the extent of your cooking skills was toast,” she said with chagrin. “Did I really force delivery pizza on you with the mistaken assumption that it was the best meal you’d have all week?”
“I didn’t mind,” Gray said, not unkindly.
Sophie snorted. “Says the man who has about a dozen French cookbooks whose names I can’t pronounce.”
She plucked one of the fancy cookbooks from the shelf and was surprised to see that it wasn’t just for show. It was splattered and creased and littered with his neat handwriting.
“What I’m making tonight is actually from that book,” he said, nodding toward the cookbook in her hand. “There’ll be more than enough food since I was assuming a party of four, but I think we can make a pretty good dent.”
“I’ll pretend you didn’t just imply your fake girlfriend was fat.”
He gave her a look. “You know you’re not fat, Sophie.”
She raised an eyebrow. He was flirting now? Nah. Then his gaze finally drifted down briefly to her chest.
Okay, maybe flirting.
Perhaps the bra and new sweater had been worth it after all. Brynn had been right. There were ways other than obvious cleavage to call attention to the girls.
Thinking about her sister made her feel guilty. Would Brynn mind that Sophie was cozying up to her ex-boyfriend in his home, about to eat a home-cooked French meal? Hell, had Brynn been here before? She hadn’t that night of the awkward double date, but she could have come over at some point after that.
The thought bothered Sophie more than it should, considering this wasn’t even a real date.
Gray snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Where’d you go?”
Pushing Brynn out of her mind, she settled onto one of his bar stools, taking another sip of wine. “Oh, I’m just wondering exactly how experimental you’re thinking of getting tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she felt unexpectedly tingly.
“Food, Gray, I was talking about food.”
The corner of his mouth hitched up in what she was beginning to realize was his version of a smile. “Ah. Well, in that case, let’s get you started on the first course before you do that hungry sulky thing.”
“Okay, you have to know that discussing a woman’s appetite and generally implying she’s a glutton isn’t exactly going to get you laid, right?”
“I thought we were just talking about food,” he said archly.
“We are,” she sputtered, blushing. “I just mean, you know…for future reference with other women. Real women.”
“Are you saying a part of you is fake?” he asked, his eyes dropping again to her chest. She was appalled to find her nipples tightening. Luckily he couldn’t notice through the eight layers of push-up padding. God bless Victoria and her secret.
“Wow, accused of selling sex and of being plastic by the same man. How is it that we haven’t killed each other yet?”
He gave her a real smile this time, and she warmed a little at this slightly more friendly Gray.
“Would you like to help cook?” he asked.
“Not really, I’d much rather watch the master and drink all of your delicious wine.”
He nodded and pulled a tray of grilled asparagus out of the fridge. “Don’t touch that yet,” he snapped as she reached out to grab one. “I’m not done.”
She watched, fascinated as he proceeded to poach a couple of eggs and add them to the platter. Strips of salty prosciutto were added to the sides of the plate, and he finished the whole thing off with a drizzle of some fancy-looking olive oil and balsamic vinegar and croutons.
By the time he took a seat at the bar next to her, her mouth was watering.
“First course is served,” he said, handing her a fork. She was just about to spear a perfectly grilled vegetable when he grabbed her hand.
Startled by the contact, her eyes met his, and her mouth went from watering to dry. The man was more adept at seduction than she’d given him credit for. With nothing but a sultry look and the touch of a hand, she was practically panting.
“Don’t tell me I don’t get to eat this,” she joked, trying to break the unexpected tension.
Gray picked up his wineglass. “I’m a big fan of celebrating the food I cook before eating it.”
She blinked in confusion. “You want to pray?” Not that there was anything wrong it, but she hadn’t pegged him for the type.
“No, I just meant that I thought we should do a toast,” he said quietly.
And then she melted just a little more, because his expression had gone from looking seductive to slightly embarrassed. Feeling a rush of warmth for this complex, emotionally challenged man, she set down her fork, and dramatically cleared her throat as she picked up her wineglass.
“Ahem. I’d like to toast my dreamboat of a fake almost-boyfriend, who is, in addition to being a cuddly laugh-a-minute hottie, also a damned good chef. Not that I’d know because he won’t let me actually eat the food, probably because he
thinks I’m annoying, gluttonous, and slutty, but—”
Gray clinked his glass to hers and let out a half laugh. She couldn’t help smiling back. She felt oddly proud of coaxing humor from someone who so seldom smiled. As she dug into the decadent dish, her sister crept back into her mind. Was Sophie sitting in the same spot Brynn had sat in when they were dating?
Was Sophie once again merely playing a part, whereas Brynn had been the real deal?
They ate in companionable silence, and common sense told her to keep quiet, but the wine flowing through her system had other ideas.
“What does Brynn think of your cooking?” she blurted out.
“We never quite made it to that stage.” He pushed a crouton around on his plate. “I don’t think I’d know what to talk about.”
“You seem to be doing fine with me,” she said, trying to keep the gloat out of her voice.
“Only because you forced your way into my life like a battering ram. My options are to talk to you or go deaf from your incessant chatter.”
“Be still, my heart.”
“How hungry are you? I was thinking I could put together a quick salad.”
“I doubt anything you cook from that book is quick, but sure. A salad sounds great. Where’d you learn to cook like this, anyway? Mom? Grandma?”
Gray stood and pulled greens from the refrigerator. “No, my mom died when I was a kid, and the only grandmother in the picture was my father’s mom. Not exactly the warm, fuzzy, culinary type.”
The fact that Gray had grown up without any maternal influence didn’t surprise Sophie in the least, but it made her sad all the same. It also explained quite a bit about Jenna’s rough edges and Jack’s excess of superficial charm.
She’d also learned from Jenna that their father hadn’t exactly been the warm type either. Lack of a softer influence had resulted in one very jaded big brother. Over martinis, Jenna had let it slip that Gray had absorbed the majority of their father’s attention, but not in the way a son would hope for. The senior Grayson Wyatt had continually berated his eldest son for being quiet and wimpy. Gray had been sent away to boarding school with instructions to become more likable.
