Lucky Charm: A St. Patrick's Day Irish Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

by Eva Luxe

  She gave the joist another crank, and that was when the car creaked.

  “Look, I get that you don’t need help, but I’m going to help you anyway. If that jack isn’t positioned correctly, you’re gonna have bigger problems than a flat tire.”

  She glared up at me before she relented. I watched her get up and dust her knees off as I took her in one last time. Her curves were sensual, primal in a way I hadn’t found in this town yet. My cock throbbed for her underneath my jeans as I got down onto my knees, releasing the car and letting it sit back down onto the ground. I got up underneath the car and repositioned things before I cranked it up into the air. Then I got to work on switching out the bad tire with the spare.

  “You keep a full spare in your trunk,” I said.

  “Doughnut tires are shit,” she said.

  “I take it you’ve worked with them before?”

  “Yep. Blew a tire when I was seventeen, put the doughnut one on, and blew it two miles later.”

  “Bad luck,” I said.

  “Shitty tire.”

  “That, too.”

  I slid the bad tire off and rolled the good one over to me. Within ten minutes, I had the new tire on the car and was piling everything back into her trunk. She was being clipped with me, but I could tell she was quirky from the way she held herself and the way she spoke with confidence. She bucked up to me like she was six-foot-two and three hundred pounds. Except she couldn’t have been more than five-foot-four and one hundred and sixty pounds.

  Maybe.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Again.”

  “No problem. A lone woman in a strange city can get herself into trouble if she’s not careful.”

  “Who says I’m alone?” she asked.

  “You mean you’re with some shitty dude who hasn’t accompanied you anywhere in Brookings yet?” I asked.

  “Why’s it gotta be a man?”

  “You mean you’re with some shitty woman who hasn’t accompanied you anywhere in Brookings yet?”

  She shook her head before a small giggle fell from her lips. The sound was radiant. Like sunshine piercing through the dark clouds of a thunderstorm. Her deep, dark eyes flickered with a bit of light as her smile crossed her cheeks, and I found myself captivated by it.

  “Maybe I’m just by myself,” she said. “An independent woman who knows how to kick your ass twelve different ways without touching the knife in my pocket.”

  “Those exist?” I asked.

  “They do! They stuff their face with cinnamon rolls, walk with their heads held high, and say ‘fuck you’ to heels.”

  “Not a fan of heels?”

  “I don’t own a damn pair.”

  “I don’t blame you. They’re uncomfortable.”

  That smile lit her face and she giggled again, but this time, she seemed a little more relaxed. She had a quirky sense of humor, but I enjoyed that. She could hold her own in a conversation, and not many women could do that. My eyes scanned her body and took in her skinny jeans and her ballet flats. She was the opposite of all the women I’d ever come across in the bars I hit with Caden, and it was refreshing.

  “Are you sure I can’t take you to dinner?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Dinner. On me. Anywhere you’d like. Or I could take you somewhere where all the locals go to get the best food.”

  “Ah, the places that are never advertised?” she asked. “Did I mention the knife I have in my pocket?”

  “The knife in your left back pocket? Yes.”

  Her stare morphed from playful to serious, and I knew I’d stuck my foot in my mouth.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean to make you—”

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  There it was. Those four words that always stopped a man in their tracks, or should, anyway. I knew they weren’t true.

  Even an independent woman always had some sign that a man was at her side. She would’ve had her phone in her ear talking to him while I was changing her tire. Or maybe he would’ve been at the hotel waiting for her to get back with the groceries. Or maybe he would’ve fucking been with her grocery shopping in the first damn place.

  Any half-decent man worth his salt would’ve been at her side at some point in time.

  If I called her on it, I would look pushy and insensitive. Like a dick who was calling her a liar. I had to roll with it, even though everything about her screamed that she was single and in an unknown city all by herself. I couldn’t find a way past those four words without looking like a great big cock.

  And not the kind she would enjoy.

  “Then you should give him a call,” I said. “Let him know you’re okay.”

  Our eyes connected one last time, and I could see that apprehension rising up in them again. Maybe she was second-guessing herself, possibly regretting the decision she’d just made. But the ball was no longer in my court, and there was nothing I could do about that unless she spoke up about it.

  When she didn’t, I turned my back and headed to my bike.

  “Thanks again,” she said.

  “Not a problem.”

  I slipped my helmet onto my head and cranked my bike up. Never had a woman worked this hard to deny my advances. She was a beautiful woman, with curves for days and the uncanny ability to stop me in my tracks. She was mouth-watering, and every time I saw her, my fingertips tingled.

  My cock rose in her direction, and my heart started slamming against my chest. With her, it was more than just the thrill of the chase. It was more than just wanting to get her into bed and forget about parts of my life. There was a desire to get to know her and to know what sparked the apprehension behind her eyes whenever she looked at me. There was a desperation that turned my mouth dry as I lost myself in her stormy green eyes.

  She was everything I’d never encountered in a woman before, and I wanted to peel more than just the layers of her clothing back.

  The sound of my bike drowned out the voices running through my head, but before I could ride off, I felt a hand come down onto my shoulder. I turned my head, and I was looking into those dark peridot eyes.

  Gone was the apprehension, and in its place was guilt.

  Chapter 12- Paige

  As I watched him walk back to his bike, I thought about what Kami said about getting close to him. Had I not blown my fucking tire, I would’ve been able to time the drive from my prior hotel to his cabin.

  On the maps program on my laptop, four different routes gave me timeframes that ranged from twenty-three minutes all the way to forty minutes. I was timing the last route with traffic and all the stoplights when my tire blew.

  Even though I didn’t get to finish timing the last route, I knew there was no way that withdrawal from Mr. Kent’s bank account could have been him. Zach couldn’t have gotten back to his place with enough time to do what he needed to do to make that withdrawal happen.

  It was all the proof I needed to call Mr. Kent and tell him I would be surveilling Zach.

  Of course, Mr. Kent was pleased with my work. He assumed I was doing it because I’d found a connection between Zach and the money, and he was technically correct. I told him I was going to be following Zach around for a while, possibly seeing if I could get close to him and communicate with him to figure out anything. Mr. Kent gave me the go ahead to do whatever I had to do, and he told me to report back to him after every single batch of surveillance I did.

  Mr. Kent didn’t ask any other questions, so I didn’t offer any other details.

  Kami was right. If I could get closer to Zach and actually talk with him, I could get more information out of him. I sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep with him like she was insinuating, but it would make my job a hell of a lot easier to do now that I knew Mr. Kent wasn’t being forthcoming with what was happening.

  The next step was to figure out the connection between this man and my client.

  I ran over to him as he sat on his motorcycle, and I put my
hand on his shoulder. He turned his face toward me, and I could tell he was contemplating leaving. I didn’t blame him. I’d turned him down twice, and now, I was about to admit to him I had been lying about having a boyfriend. I figured if I offered to pay for dinner, that would entice a man like him to give me one more chance.

  He turned off his bike and took his helmet off, and I removed my hand from his shoulder.

  “Look, I lied about having a boyfriend,” I said.

  “I figured.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means you scream ‘independent.’ Not a bad thing. Just a fact.”

  “I owe you a dinner anyway. For the groceries and the tire.”

  “You paid me back for the groceries,” he said.

  “Then let me pay you back for the tire.”

  “You say you don’t have a boyfriend. That mean you don’t have a girlfriend, either?”

  The grin on his face fluttered my stomach, and I playfully pushed him before I shook my head.

  “Dinner tonight?” I asked. “On me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to ask my girlfriend.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “Or boyfriend. You really shouldn’t stereotype.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “Now you’re getting it. Dinner tonight would be nice. Do you like anything in particular?”

  “I’m on the coast,” I said. “If I’m not eating seafood, it doesn’t make sense for me to be here.”

  “A woman after my own heart. There’s a place called Dick’s Crabs—”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “Very serious. They have the best seafood in town. It’s a hole in the wall place, but it’s always packed. A good place to start.”

  “Start?” I asked.

  “They don’t have desserts or alcohol on the menu. If you want desserts or a drink, we’ll have to go elsewhere.”

  “Ah, I see what your plan is,” I said. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Most digital map programs know where Dick’s is. Meet you there around seven?”

  “You’re not going to pick me up on this fancy bike of yours?” I asked.

  “And here I thought you were Miss Independent.”

  Our eyes locked onto each other as I drew in a deep breath.

  “Seven, it is,” I said.

  “See you then, beautiful.”

  He drove off, and his words hung heavily in my ear. Beautiful. He’d called me beautiful. Damn it. Why the fuck did he have to be a target? And why the hell did he have to be a thief?

  Sure, I had proof that the last transaction wasn’t done by him, but that didn’t account for the other transactions. For all I knew, he was running something on his phone or had some shit on auto-steal or whatever. I was still waiting for one of my connections to get back to me with answers to a load of questions I had on fudging I.P. addresses, how those worked in relation to bank accounts, and all sorts of other shit.

  For all I knew, I was about to go on a date with some thieving mastermind.

  The rest of the day, I was a bundle of nerves. Part of me was trying to do as much research as I could on this case, and part of me was wondering what the fuck I was going to wear tonight. I didn’t pack anything that remotely resembled any sort of date wear. Lucky for me, when I looked up the place we were going to, I realized it was nothing fancy.

  In fact, it was somewhere that probably would’ve accepted me braless and in my pajamas.

  I was nervous about the date and made sure I still had my knife on my person. Instead of keeping it in my pocket, however, I slid it into the confines of my bra. I kept my mace in my purse and my lipstick taser in my front right pocket. I needed to be prepared for however this evening went. If it went well, I could continue earning his trust and slowly figure out what made him tick.

  If it didn’t go well, I had multiple ways to get out from underneath him before getting his ass arrested.

  I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, and I hopped in line. There was a forty-minute wait to be seated, and I figured Zach would change his mind once he got here. I heard his motorcycle coming from a distance, and the smile that curved my lips confused me. Why in the world was I so happy to be on a fucking date with a supposed criminal?

  Fuck, this thing was going sideways.

  “How long’s the wait?” he asked.

  “Now, it’s thirty minutes. But it was forty.”

  “Not too bad,” he said.

  “That’s not bad?”

  “One time, a buddy of mine and I waited almost two hours to get into this place.”

  “Two hours for seafood?” I asked.

  “Two hours for amazing seafood,” he corrected. “Trust me. It’s the best you’ll ever taste.”

  “Then I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

  “How’s your tire holding up?” he asked.

  “It’s fine. Thank you again for your help.”

  “Does being in a new city always throw you these kinds of curveballs?”

  “Do I really look that out of place?” I asked.

  “I’ve lived here for years. I know tourists when I see them.”

  “I’m hardly a tourist. And what would attract tourists to Brookings?”

  He shrugged. “Besides the food and the oceanfront views? Parades. This place is full of the weirdest damn parades all throughout the summer and the fall.”

  “So, spring and winter get the shit end of the stick on that one, huh?”

  He smiled. “Nope. Those parades are idiotic.”

  “Not a parade person. Got it.”

  “Paige, party of two!”

  My name got my attention, but it was Zach’s hand wrapping around mine and guiding me through the crowd that caused me to pause. His touch was warm and strong, but not controlling. He wasn’t tugging me along or trying to get me to walk with him. He was simply trying to part a path for me to take. He wasn’t holding my hand too softly or too hard. It was like he was making sure I wasn’t lost in the sea of faces.

  He held my hand all the way back to a table that looked out over the ocean. It was the only wall in the place that was lined with windows, and I gazed out over the water as we sat down. I lost myself in the beauty of the mesmerizing waves as they crashed against the shore. I sighed and relaxed back into the chair.

  The voice of our waiter pulled me from my thoughts. “What would you two like to drink?”

  “Water’s just fine,” I said.

  “I’ll take a water as well,” Zach said. The waiter nodded and left. Zach looked at me. “Enjoying the view?”

  “It’s beautiful. You mentioned you lived here for many years. Have you not lived here all your life?”

  “I moved here when I was fourteen,” he said.

  Confirmation number one.

  “So, technically, you’re a tourist, too,” I said, grinning.

  “You watch your language.”

  “Just kidding,” I said, giggling. “What drew you here?”

  “My mother always liked the ocean.”

  “Well, who doesn’t?” I asked. “It’s beautiful and calming. Powerful and soothing.”

  “My father didn’t. He’s a desert of guy. Dry. Rough.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said mindlessly.

  His expression darkened. “What?”

  “Sorry. You referenced your father in past tense. With the mountains comment.”

  Zach nodded. “I didn’t mean to imply he’s dead. He alive.”

  “And your mother?” I asked.

  I watched him grow still before his shoulders rolled back.

  Father’s alive. Mother’s dead.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not very good at small talk, I guess.”

  A hint of a smile formed on his face. “Me neither, to be honest.”

  “Then why the hell are we sitting here?” I asked.

 
“Because this is what men are supposed to do when they meet beautiful women they want to get to know better.”

  I blushed at his comment just before our waters were set in front of us.

  “You know what you want to eat?” the waiter asked.

  “I’m going to have your surf and turf crab pot,” Zach said.

  “What’s a crab pot?” I asked.

  “It’s a pot that we steam with certain types of foods in it,” the waiter said. “They’re our most popular menu item. There’s the surf and turf that he’s getting. It’s got crab legs, shrimp, potatoes, and comes with a steak. There’s the double-down surf that has crab, lobster, and shrimp. The cajun pot has double the order of crab legs. Then the last one has shrimp, mussels, clams, and sizzling calamari.”

  “Holy hell, that sounds fantastic,” I said. “Can I get them all?”

  “Can you eat all those pots?” Zach asked.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that a challenge?”

  Zach looked at me, and I could see a devious glint in his eye. His sly little grin twisted the corners of his cheeks, and a wonderful rosy texture rounded out his features. His bright blue eyes twinkled underneath his shaggy black hair, and I bit my lip.

  He nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll take one of each pot. And make sure the check makes it to me.”

  “Done and done,” the waiter said. “It’ll take a little while for the order to be ready, but I’ll bring them all out at the same time.”

  “We’ll be ready,” I said.

  The waiter left, and Zach looked at me with a bemused expression. “You know you just ordered sixteen pounds of fresh seafood, right?”

  “And potatoes. We can always take the potatoes home with us.”

  “Oh, yeah. There you go. We’ll take the potatoes home and eat eight pounds of freshly-steamed seafood.”

  “I never back down from a food challenge. Learn this now.”

  “Trust me, I am,” he said. “Now, what are we competing for?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re acting as if this is a competition. What are we competing for?”

  “How about another date?” I asked.

  “I’m listening.”

  “If we agree to take home the potatoes, that leaves four pounds of seafood for us both to eat. Whoever can finish off the most of their food has to pay for the next date.”