Part-Time Lover

by Lauren Blakely

  Erik laughs loudly, smacking his palm on the table. He points to me, a look of utter delight on his face. “Or you could marry Elise. For three months.”

  17

  Christian

  “Going to the chapel . . .” Erik’s voice carries through my flat as he stumbles into the bathroom off the guest room.

  “I do have neighbors,” I remind him, since he’s left the bathroom door ajar.

  “Oops. I better be a quiet little crooner.” But his next line about getting married doesn’t come out at a lower volume.

  “You’re too loud.” I toss an extra pillow from the closet onto the bed in the guest room.

  “Let a drunk man sing while he pisses, will you?”

  I roll my eyes. “Plastered, Erik. You’re plastered.”

  “And sloshed. Don’t forget sloshed. I am most definitely sloshed.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Oops. I pissed on the floor.”

  I grit my teeth. “You did not. You’re thirty-three, not a fucking uni student with shite aim.”

  “My aim was top-notch in uni,” he calls out in a sing-song voice. He flushes, washes his hands, and emerges, looking victorious as he thrusts his arms in the air. “I did it. One minute and thirteen seconds. That’s a bloody record piss. I told you I’m a champion racehorse.”

  I laugh because he’s so ridiculous. “Yes, Erik. Good on you. You pissed like a racehorse, as predicted. Now, can you please get your drunk arse to bed right now?” I point to the mattress.

  After Erik’s ludicrous suggestion that Elise marry me, he proceeded to order a round of shots for the three of us, drink the trio himself, then propose to every woman at the pub. At that point, Elise called an Uber, and we dragged him out of the bar to wait for the Peugeot. Wily thing, Erik slipped into the corner market, grabbed a bouquet of flowers, slapped twenty euros in the paw of the cashier, and presented them to Elise.

  “You’ll say yes to me, won’t you, love? American women are so much more trustworthy than the IKEA ladies,” he’d said, slumping onto her shoulder once we piled into the car.

  “Half-American,” she’d added with a smile.

  “I like half and half in my coffee. Do you?”

  She’d laughed. “Of course.”

  “Which half of you isn’t American?”

  She tapped her stomach. “I have a very French appetite,” she’d said, then winked at me.

  Now here we are at my flat, where she’s waiting in the living room. I told her she didn’t have to come along, but at that point, we were all sort of in this together, so I didn’t put up a protest when she stayed to the bitter end.

  These are not the circumstances I had in mind when I pictured getting her back to my flat.

  With Erik giving off fumes of Patron, he flops onto the bed, flapping his arms and legs in half circles. “I’m a snow angel, Chris.”

  “All you need is snow.”

  He sighs happily as he kicks off his shoes. “This is a perfect bed. I was meant to sleep in this bed tonight. I’m so glad my wife turned out to be a conniving bitch because it means I get to sleep in this stellar bed.”

  He flips to his belly and buries his face in the soft feather pillow, letting out a contented moan as if he’s making love to the pillow. “Well, hello there, gorgeous.” He raises half his face, glancing at me with one eye. “This pillow is my new wife,” he whispers out of the side of his mouth. “Oh shit. I better propose to her properly.” He props himself up on his elbows, gazing longingly at it. “Hello, pretty pillow. Will you please be my wife? Only you can save my company from that stroppy cow.” He drops his head dramatically and cries out. “That sweet little cow. I’m still in love with her, and she left me instead.”

  “I know, Erik. I know, and it sucks royally,” I say, tugging the corner of the duvet and covering him with it. “But get some sleep, okay? We’ll sort it out in the morning.”

  “I’ll sleep it off,” he mumbles. “When I wake up, you’ll make it all better for me, right?”

  I wince, wishing I could make this pain disappear by morning. Erik flaps his arm around on the cover like a fish out of water, fumbling around for my hand, I think. I smack his palm, and he yanks me close, hugging me. “It’s a bro hug,” he whispers, then laughs at his own bizarre joke. “It really is, Chris. This is the stinking definition of a bro hug.”

  I laugh too. “We’ll take a picture and file it with the Oxford Dictionary.”

  “I love the dictionary. Do you have a dictionary I can curl up with? Wait! I have an idea. Maybe you can marry a dictionary, and then you’ll be even smarter, and you won’t do something right fucking stupid, like sign your shares over to your dictionary wife.”

  I clap his back and peel myself away from his zealous embrace. “I promise not to sign any shares to the dictionary.”

  “It’ll all be better in the morning?” His eyelids float closed. “You’ll fix this for me, won’t you? I was so stupid. I was so bloody stupid.” His voice starts to fade. “Make it all go away.”

  I don’t know if he means the pain or the problem, but either way, my heart aches terribly for him. I’ve no clue what I can actually do, but I know I will try. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Love you,” he murmurs.

  “Love you too.”

  As I click the door closed, I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he’s in bed, and that’s where he needs to be right now.

  As for me, I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be. My plan for the night capsized a few hours ago—though of course, I don’t fault my brother, he’s the one going through hell—then the plan sunk to the bottom of the ocean when he word-vomited the ludicrous notion that Elise ought to marry me. I wouldn’t be surprised if Elise has only stuck around for the night so she could tell me she has no time in her life for these kinds of shenanigans.

  She’s not the remarrying kind.

  Nor am I.

  One failed marriage is enough for me, thank you very much.

  When I turn into the living room, I find Elise has curled up on the couch, her shoes on the hardwood floor, her legs tucked under her, and she’s flipping through a travel magazine. The bouquet of flowers Erik bought her is in a vase on the table, and I like that she tracked down a vase on her own and didn’t let the flowers wilt.

  She drops the magazine on the table and gives a sympathetic smile.

  I smile back, and for the first time with her, I’m honestly not sure where we stand. From the start, we’ve been carefully circumscribed, with lines neatly drawn. But my brother’s outlandish suggestion has knocked me outside those lines, and I’ve no clue how Elise feels about Erik’s wild idea or if she even feels anything about it at all.

  “I can’t thank you enough for being there tonight. You were incredibly helpful.”

  She frowns. “I feel terrible for what happened to him. It’s awful.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, me too, and it is awful. But I didn’t want to ruin your night, even though Erik really did appreciate you being there.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything,” she says softly, and this is the new side to Elise I saw tonight. She has a caretaker in her, and I couldn’t have predicted that.

  “And I appreciate that you were with us. I needed it too.”

  She gestures to the black-and-white photographs framed on my wall, then to the couch, a table, and the few books and magazines that rest on it. “I see your home is quite fitting for you. It looks as if everything has been imported directly from Scandinavian Design.”

  I laugh and sit next to her on the couch, glad her sense of humor is still intact. “I’m not sure if you know this, but being a dual citizen of Denmark and the UK, I’m legally required to buy all of my furniture from that store or from IKEA.”

  “A treaty, is it?” she asks, and perhaps I do know where we stand. Where we’ve always been—firing off words and wit, trying to impress the other.

  I nod solemnly. “Jointly agreed upon by all of the Scandinavian countries. We can only furnis
h our pads with our most famous exports.”

  She points to the glass door that opens onto a view overlooking the arrondissement. “I kind of like that your place isn’t terribly Parisian, yet you have that stunning window and what looks like a balcony.”

  “I can’t complain about the view.”

  She doesn’t respond. Instead, she looks at her watch, and slides her feet into her shoes.

  Now that—that I understand. That means she’s not taking my brother’s request seriously at all. I breathe a little easier, since that means we won’t have to have a difficult conversation, but I breathe a little harder too, since it means I’ll have to find another way to sort out the mess he’s made of the business.

  But it would have been such a perfect solution. Erik keeps the company. Elise and I have three months of fun and sex, and I get to spend more than just Friday nights in her glorious company.

  No.

  I need to stop thoughts like those. All they’ll bring is complication to what is a nice and easy, linear situation. And that’s the way we like it.

  “I should probably go now that you’ve got him back home. Unless you want to talk . . .” Her tone is gentle, inviting, and I meet her gaze. Her brown eyes are earnest, stripped of teasing.

  “I didn’t intend to drag you into any of this, Elise,” I say, reaching for her hand. And then, because I don’t actually want her to go, I tug her close so she falls next to me on the couch.

  “You didn’t drag me into anything. I volunteered to be a part of all of tonight. And I don’t regret it.”

  I tuck a strand of her dark hair over her ear, my heart thumping a bit harder. “You don’t regret the madness you’ve been sucked into?”

  She shakes her head. “Madness is my middle name.”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m glad the Ellison brothers haven’t scared you away.”

  “I assure you, I’m not easily spooked.”

  “So . . . can we put this all behind us?” I offer, since surely that’s the only way I can manage to keep up the status quo with Elise.

  “We can put it behind us.” She takes a beat, fixing me with an intense stare. “But what if I told you I didn’t think his suggestion was absurd?”

  18

  Elise

  I should be shocked at the certainty in my bones. But I’m strangely not surprised at all that his brother’s suggestion felt like the most right and true idea I’ve heard in ages.

  Because I’m mad. I’m brimming with righteous anger for his brother. For the most underhanded cards ever dealt to a man. I can’t let that woman—and I wouldn’t know her from Eve—win by preying on Erik’s love for her.

  I set my hand on Christian’s thigh. “I want to help you. I want to help you and Erik.”

  He drags a hand through his hair, his eyes registering surprise. He swallows and quietly asks, “You do?”

  “Yes. Do you want to help your brother?”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “Of course I do. But there has to be another way around it.”

  Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I read his nerves incorrectly. The last thing I want is to push this on him, simply because my moral compass is hugely offended by Jandy’s double cross, which poor Erik never saw coming. I know what that’s like—being blindsided by someone you thought would love you and only you forever. And this is my opportunity to save Erik from some of the pain I went through.

  “Then, by all means, I’m sure you’ll find it, and you won’t have to resort to this way around.”

  He grabs my hand. “I’m not saying it would be a terrible solution. That’s not what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask evenly.

  Don’t get emotional, Elise. This isn’t your battle.

  Besides, this isn’t an emotional decision for me. It’s a practical one. At the tea salon, I didn’t think it was wise to accept his offer of help with the account, but now I can see we both would benefit from a revision to our arrangement. The truth is I’d love his insight on the travel industry, and I suspect he’d love to help his brother stave off this Machiavellian machination.

  He sighs heavily and sinks back into the couch cushion. “I can’t do that to you. After everything you went through with your ex-husband, how can I possibly put you through the ringer like that?”

  I roll my eyes, the newfound strength flowing through my veins like a surging river. “You wouldn’t be putting me through anything. This isn’t the same. This isn’t Eduardo trying to hoodwink me. This is you and me being honest and doing something that’s right. Doing something that matters for your brother, and for you.” As I voice the words, it hits me that this isn’t only practical. This is emotional. But it’s the good kind, the kind that brings a whole new round of closure. They’re right and honest emotions, born from a chance to settle the score on behalf of someone who needs it. “You said you wanted to repay your brother for how he helped you onto the right path when you were younger. This is your opportunity.”

  “But what about you? What do you get out of it?”

  I shimmy my shoulders. “I do believe there was a certain business expert who offered his help in nabbing a big travel account.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to mix business and pleasure?”

  “Maybe now I do. I need a sharp mind. I need a fantastic analyst. And if you need something too, it won’t feel like we’re mixing business and pleasure so much as helping each other when we both need it.”

  “Elise, as much as I want to fix this shitstorm for Erik, I don’t know if I can let you do this after what you’ve dealt with.”

  I scoff. “Let me do this? You can certainly say no, but this isn’t about letting me. I’m not a delicate princess. I can handle this because I’m not interested in marriage. I’m not interested in forever. I am, however, ludicrously mad that someone’s been taken advantage of. And it seems like you and I have the power to stop it.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I suspect he’s taking a moment to process that I’m not messing around. “You’d really do this?”

  “Not forever. But for a few months, for the time he needs, I would. I despise that she’s been tricking him. I don’t want her to get away with it. It’s wrong.”

  I watch a range of emotions cross his eyes—eagerness, trepidation, and hunger for revenge. “Why do you want to right this wrong?”

  “Because I can. I lost a few accounts when my marriage went south. It was awful, but I didn’t lose my whole business. I’m rebuilding it. And here’s your brother, completely blindsided by the love of his life breaking his heart and trying to steal the company your grandfather started more than fifty years ago. And you and I could tie the knot, and in that simple act, it would stop her.”

  He lets out a long breath. “Damn, you’re fucking hot like this.”

  I laugh. “Oh, shut up. You’re such a horndog.”

  “I know, but can you blame me? You’re so fucking brilliant and beautiful and fierce, and your determination makes me want to fuck you even more.”

  I set a hand to his chest. “No talking of screwing right now. I’m talking about making a deal.”

  He shakes his head, as if chasing away the stray filthy thoughts. “Okay, deal talk.” His eyes stray to his crotch. “Down, boy. We have other business right now.”

  I laugh at him.

  He raises his face. “Okay, so where were we? You’re going to do the absurd honor of saving my brother’s sorry arse from his lovesick stupidity because you were burned by your jackass ex, and in return all I have to do is help you win an account? This hardly seems fair. Please, let’s make it a condition that for every orgasm I get, I give you four.”

  I laugh so loudly, I’d be worried about waking up Erik, but I suspect he’s dead to the sober world now. I lean in close, and nip Christian’s earlobe. “That was always an unbreakable condition.”

  I pull back, and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Obviously. I was just testing you.” He stares at me, as if he’s trying
to find the catch. “You mean this?’

  “We’ve already made it clear that our existing relationship has terms and conditions. That means it also has an expiration date,” I say, because what else could our arrangement mean? We so clinically laid out the details at the salon, and surely he wasn’t expecting it to go on forever. No man wants that.

  That’s why it’s odd when he blinks as I say those last words, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. But quickly, he rights his course. “Of course, yes. We have an end date. Like a bottle of milk. Slap a best-by date on me, then chuck me in the bin.” He finishes with a laugh.

  Since he’s laughing, I keep it light too—that’s the best way to approach a deal like this. “Toss me there too, right?”

  He nods confidently. “Both of us. When it’s done, we’ll be done.”

  “Exactly. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll find another business consultant and we can stick to the terms of our arrangement we discussed at the tea salon. I’m only offering this because we have the power to stop something utterly shitty.”

  “Oh, I’m quite comfortable with everything.” He rakes his heated gaze over me. He cups my cheeks. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

  I laugh. “Your dick is quite distracting to you, isn’t it?”

  He yanks me closer. “You’re distracting. You’re going to ruin me.”

  Those words reverberate in my heart. I’ve already been ruined. Surely I can’t ruin a man like him, and he can’t damage a damaged woman like me. “I don’t think that’s possible,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head and murmurs as he loops his fingers through my hair. “You’re going to ruin me, Elise,” he repeats in a sexy rasp. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known, and nothing in my life will ever be hotter than you wanting to save my family’s business, all riled up, while you’re dressed in that skirt and those heels, after I’ve had you coming on my hand at a tea salon.”

  His words light me up. They must ignite him too, because he tugs me closer, peppering kisses along my neck. “You’re stunningly gorgeous and completely brilliant.” His mouth slides down my throat. “And I want to marry you for three months, and I want to do everything to ensure you win that new account.” His lips reach the tops of my breasts. “And I want to take down that cow who broke my brother’s heart.” He flicks his tongue against my skin, and I shiver as he raises his gaze once more, meeting my eyes. “And most importantly, I want you to come all over my face before I fuck you.”