I squeezed her hand to reassure her. I didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed or awkward.
I shouldn’t have worried. Leah was taking it all in, but she looked more excited than nervous. Upstairs in a private client room she happily took the champagne they offered her and sat on a plush sofa. “What happens now? Do angels glide in and sew haute couture on me? Or maybe forest animals like Cinderella?”
“Something like that. Though this is just ready-to-wear, not couture.” I turned to Vivian. “Can you bring day options for a weekend in the Hamptons? Leah is meeting my parents for the first time. Nothing red. I want her to wear red for a party Saturday night.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Caldwell.”
Vivian left the room and I eyed Leah. She was smiling and looking mischievous as she sipped her champagne.
“What?” I asked her.
“You’re very cute when you’re being powerful.”
“Don’t say shit like that. It’s wrong. Cute and powerful don’t belong in the same sentence.” I sat down next to her and unbuttoned my suit jacket. I put my arm on the sofa behind her, planning to settle in.
“Do I have to model for you?”
“Yes. I get final approval on what to buy, obviously.” I tugged the back of her hair teasingly because all those lush dark waves were way too tempting not to touch. “I won’t buy anything you hate.” It was hard to believe that I barely knew Leah. Being around her felt completely natural.
“This champagne is delicious,” she said, taking another sip. “Cut me off after two glasses or I’ll be drunk at Valentino.”
The champagne was expensive so it should be delicious. “Are you the kind to be fine with actually being cut off or are you going to get belligerent with me? How serious are you about this? Because I can be the heavy if you want.”
She eyed me. “Oh, I know you can.”
I gave her a smile.
“And yes, I’m serious. I’d be mortified if I was drunk at any of these stores. Though I don’t think two glasses will cause me to be sloppy, you just never know.”
“Then maybe start with setting the glass down instead of clutching it like a baby with a bottle.” She was holding it like it was the ring from The Hobbit. The flute was even pressed against her chest.
Leah laughed. “Fair enough. But it’s very smooth.” She set the glass down on the coffee table.
Vivian returned and ushered Leah into a dressing room. They came back out five minutes later and I sat up straight. Leah looked classy, but very cool in a basic, but perfectly tailored houndstooth pants and sweater. “You look perfect,” I told her.
She made a face. “I feel like Diane Keaton is Something’s Gotta Give. Which she is amazing, don’t get me wrong, and I mean she was banging Keanu Reeves. But it’s not really me.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. “Okay. Something more you. That’s fine. And thanks, now I have the horrible image of you in bed with Keanu Reeves and I want to punch him.”
Leah laughed. “Relax. I don’t even know Keanu Reeves. Plus, he’s too old for me. Isn’t he fifty now?”
“How reassuring,” I said dryly.
Vivian gestured to the dressing room. “Shall we try something else? I suggest monochromatic with an emphasis on texture, not pattern.”
“Absolutely,” Leah said smoothly. Then, when Vivian went into the dressing room, Leah turned and gave me an exaggerated thumbs-up.
Oh God. I rubbed my beard and hoped she would like the next outfit or we were going to be there for hours.
Leah returned to the main sitting area wearing winter white from head to toe. It contrasted perfectly with her dark hair. I waited to hear her thoughts on it, but I thought she looked stunning. I did nod approvingly because I couldn’t stop myself.
“I feel very angelic,” she said looking in the mirror.
Was that good or bad? “Not a word I generally associate with you, but I totally agree.”
Leah stood facing herself and locked her fingers together, arms out. Then she stunned me by opening her mouth and letting loose with the first notes of “Ava Maria.”
I’d heard her sing before at the diner, but that was noisy and chaotic and she tended to move around while she was doing it. This was her entirely still, in the quiet hush of Chanel, the clothes on her body feminine and matching the beauty of the song. She both looked and sounded ethereal as she continued to sing acapella. I sat there and listened, the sensation she was evoking in me one of tranquility. I was a man who liked action and multitasking from morning to the last second before I closed my eyes.
Yet Leah’s voice was so serene it felt like the entire world had stopped to listen to her sing.
It was a hymn that I had first heard sung at Rose’s son’s wedding when I was ten years old. My parents didn’t attend the wedding but they sent me with a driver and I sat there in the back of the church with him, dressed in my designer suit, and listening with awe to what seemed like the most beautiful song in the world to me.
With Leah singing it, it was the most beautiful song in the world.
All my thoughts just seemed to flick off, my body relaxed, and I was right there, with her, in the moment.
The last note trailed off and hung there for a second while no one spoke.
I realized Vivian was recording Leah on her phone.
Leah’s shoulders dropped and she lowered her hands. She turned to us. “Sorry. I got inspired.”
“That was amazing,” Vivian said. “Do you mind if I put it on Instagram?”
Leah looked a little taken aback. But then she said, “Sure. Can you tag me?”
“We’ll take this outfit, Vivian,” I said. I wanted to think about this moment of calm when she wore it at my parents’. “Leah, that was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
She waved me off. “False flattery will get you everywhere.”
It wasn’t false at all but I wasn’t going to argue. I wanted to tuck this moment away for later.
They went back into the dressing room and this time Leah came out wearing fuchsia. It was youthful and sexy even though she was completely covered up. The pants were shiny but wide-legged, perfect for her age.
“We’ve layered a tweed pullover with a lambskin jacket and pants,” Vivian said, before disappearing back into the dressing room.
“I love this,” I told Leah. “What do you think?”
“I feel like I mysteriously grew eight inches.” She tucked her hands into the front pocket of the pullover and did a model walk across the room.
“I feel like I’m mysteriously growing eight inches watching you.”
She laughed, an unabashed peal of laughter that swelled and filled the room as dramatically as her singing had. No matter what she did, Leah brought volume to a room, both in sound and energy. Whether it was balancing a tray at the diner or trying on clothing, she had a spark that seemed to reach out and grab on to my dick and hold me hostage.
“Grant, you’re a filthy bastard and I love it.”
Vivian returned in time to hear that and she raised her eyebrows but made no comment.
“We’ll take this as well. Can you coordinate some accessories and have it all sent over to my apartment?” Two outfits would work since it was just a short trip.
I picked up Leah’s glass and handed it to her. “Finish your champagne, sweetheart, and then we’ll go to lunch.”
Grant had bought me eight-thousand-dollar pants to wear for an afternoon. I wasn’t even sure how to process that. The pants were the bomb, don’t get me wrong, but I had never expected in this lifetime to own such luxury.
And those were just one piece. It was three pieces per outfit, plus he’d just tossed off casually to “coordinate accessories.”
We weren’t even done. It was staggering and very cool and also a little bit of what the fuck.
Lunch wasn’t the lap of luxury. We went for poke bowls and it made me feel more back-to-earth.
Which then was instantly shattered by cocktai
l dress shopping at Valentino. Grant had very specific instructions for this consultant. He wanted red, fitted, dramatic, but nothing that would overpower his mother, the guest of honor. Which it seemed to me if he wanted me to fade into the background, red was a poor choice, but it wasn’t my parents or my money so I kept my mouth zipped.
I tried on four dresses and he rejected all of them. I was amused to see he didn’t even hesitate. I would walk out, he would eye it, and then would give a resounding, “No.”
Personally, I thought he sounded like a dick, but the consultant didn’t seem to think anything of it, and I didn’t particularly care. He wasn’t rejecting me, just the garment. I thought they were all beautiful and I would have been happy with any of them because they were gorgeous, but again, I just posed for him and kept my thoughts to myself.
The fifth one he nodded. “Yes. We’ll take this one. That is, if Leah approves this one.”
“Yes, I approve. The only thing that would make this better would be if I ran across the room and jumped into your arms and you lifted me up Dirty Dancing style.”
Grant shook his head, the corner of his mouth turning up. “That’s not happening. Not with a marble floor.”
“That’s very disappointing. Don’t you trust your own strength?”
“I don’t trust you. You’re accident prone.”
“Rude.”
“I’ll tell you what. We can try it in the pool, how does that sound?”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“Wait a minute.” I stopped in the midst of admiring how this dress made my ass look better than it was in actuality. “What pool? It’s October. Are you placating me?”
“Well. Yes. But my parents’ house has both an outdoor and an indoor pool. So bring your swimsuit.”
I didn’t own a swimsuit. There weren’t many options for recreational swimming in Manhattan. Every couple of years my friends and I managed to get to the beach but the last time we’d gone I’d snagged my bikini bottom on a rock and I hadn’t replaced them. I made a noncommittal sound. No dirty dancing reenactment for me.
There was no doubt in my mind that if I said I didn’t have one Grant would snap his fingers and an outrageously expensive swimsuit would magically appear but that made me feel weird. The clothes were his idea. Swimming felt like my idea and he wasn’t my partner. He was my employer. It was an odd dynamic.
After he handed over his platinum credit card for the dress, we headed to Prada. Grant suggested I give parameters to the consultant myself. I really wanted to tell her I wanted to look like I was a dominatrix in Willie Wonka’s chocolate factory. Fierce, but perhaps in purple. Somehow, I didn’t think that was the Hamptons house party vibe though.
“Can you make me look five inches taller?” I asked her. “I sprained my ankle and without heels I feel like a giraffe without its neck.”
She asked me a few questions then disappeared like smoke. I sat down on a sofa next to Grant and propped my bum ankle onto his legs. It was starting to ache.
He pried my ballet flat off. “Your ankle is starting to swell up.”
“You shouldn’t take my shoe off. We might never get it back on.”
“Then I’ll buy you slippers.”
I had to assume that Grant was used to money solving a large number of problems and that this was nothing more than that, but I couldn’t help but feel… well cared for. It was a dangerous feeling. This was nothing. It was casual. We’d had fun and now I was doing an acting job for him.
But as he gently caressed my bare skin, it didn’t feel casual. “I’m a size purple fleece.”
Grant laughed. “Duly noted.” He pulled out his phone and called someone. “I need you to send women’s purple fleece slippers, around a size eight or nine to Prada in the next twenty minutes.”
He ended the call. “Done.”
“Were you actually talking to someone or was that like when I was a kid and my father used to pretend to call Santa to tell him I was naughty and I’d scream and cry and grab for the phone?”
“That was Darren, my PA. The one who sent you a diamond bracelet.”
“Oh, fabulous. He’ll probably send me diamond-encrusted slippers.”
“Or vibrating slippers.”
That made me laugh. “If those slippers show up, I’m not sure I have the guts to stroll out of Prada in them.”
“Of course you do. You don’t seem like someone who cares about anyone’s opinion of her. You just live your life.”
That was true. “Thanks for noticing.”
Grant Caldwell the third noticed a lot of things.
I leaned closer to him and did something that was both impulsive and stupid.
I kissed him.
A real kiss.
Not for show.
And not a kiss intended to lead to sex.
A genuine, “I like you,” kiss.
Because I did.
Like him.
Damn it.
“Here we go!” the consultant said, before coming to a dead stop. “Oh! My apologies, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “My apologies, Mr. Caldwell.”
Grant stared at me with those luminescent green eyes that I couldn’t read and said in a normal voice, “No apologies needed.”
I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to me or the consultant.
His ran his thumb over my bottom lip before turning to the consultant. “What Leah wants, Leah gets.”
My God, if that were only true.
If it were, I’d start with getting naked with Grant in the next five minutes and end with me accepting a Tony award.
Then having sex with Grant after the award ceremony. Then again the next morning on a private plane while we flew to the Caribbean to escape the last gasp of a brutal New York winter and celebrate my crowning achievement.
Not to be too specific or anything.
“I may have to get that in writing,” I said.
“You don’t read contracts, remember? I could change it to anything and you’d never know.”
I gave him an eyeroll and put my feet on the floor and stood up.
He gave me a boost with two hands on my ass, and while the experience of shopping at Prada was surreal, us dating felt very real.
It startled me to the point where I said to the consultant, “Do you have any champagne? I’m thirsty.”
“So am I,” Grant said.
I knew by the look on his face he was not referring to bubbly.
I was so in over my head and loving every second of it.
Chapter 7
“OMG, that was like your own personal makeover montage,” Savannah said, her glass of wine halfway to her mouth. “You’re living a rom-com. Maid in Manhattan!”
We were grabbing drinks after my show on Saturday night. I should have been exhausted after all the shopping and the excitement of performing but instead I was wide awake and super happy my friends had all come to see my show and hang out.
It was rare that all five of us were in one place anymore and I had a buzz from both the wine and my happiness. Savannah’s reaction was appropriate for her. She loved a good rom-com and believed vehemently in happily ever after, which was ironic given that she’d dated a steady stream of useless men, including the last guy, who had disappeared after she had told him she was pregnant. Savannah now had the most adorable six-month-old baby in the history of babies and a successful career as a lifestyle stylist.
She’d always been the “mom” of our group. She held hair back when there was vomiting after cocktails, opened her arms for hugs after breakups and bad auditions, and reminded everyone to drink water between each glass of wine. She generously doled out compliments and thought every single man in the room was checking out whichever one of us was feeling lousy that day.
“More like Pretty Woman,” Isla said, pushing her glasses up her nose. “And I don’t mean in the sense that they got together in the end. I mean in the way that he’s a prick who
thinks he can buy a woman.”
“Shh, shh,” Savannah said, waving her hand. “You cannot shit on Pretty Woman. I won’t listen. I love that movie!”
“She has no value until she meets him. That’s the message of the movie.”
That was Isla. She didn’t believe in romance. She was jaded from dating apps, where she only seemed to attract the most patronizing men on the planet. Ironic, given Isla was never going to do anything other than speak her mind.
She was the friend who had told a director to go fuck himself when he’d suggested she wasn’t feminine enough and who had gone after a guy in a bar who would not stop harassing us while dancing. Baseball-hat-sideways-guy had put his hand on Savannah’s butt and that had been the end of his fun. Isla had his arm behind his back in two seconds while he protested in pain and she asked him if he liked being touched without his permission.
Isla had left the cutthroat entertainment industry for the equally cutthroat restaurant business and was thriving there.
Savannah covered her ears. “I told you, I’m not listening!”
“They’ll do this all night,” Dakota said. “So ignore them and tell us how it felt to play a rich man’s girlfriend for the day.”
Amazing. Though there was no way in hell I was admitting that out loud. I decided to focus on the oddities of it. “Grant had very specific ideas about what he wanted me to wear, so that was weird. But otherwise, the opportunity to put on designer clothes was fantastic.”
“Do you get to keep them?” Felicia asked. “Is that in the contract?”
I stared blankly at her for a second. “I never thought to ask. I don’t know. I mean, maybe? It’s not like he can return them.” My brain hadn’t gone that far forward. “But I have to treat this the same way as a costume. That’s what it is—a costume to get in character.”
Hey, we all tell ourselves lies.
I was just including my friends in my attempt to lie to myself.
“Method acting. Sure.” Felicia nodded. “But if he can’t return them, make sure you ask for the clothes. You can sell them for gobs of money.”
The thought of selling such beautiful garments was like having a bouquet of fresh blooms ripped out of my hands and tossed onto the ground, but she was right. It was the practical thing to do. Maybe I could sell certain pieces and keep others.
Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone Page 9
