I grinned. “You do ‘the pretty’ very well. Even if you’re being sarcastic.” I flicked my finger over the necklace she was wearing, wishing I could dip lower into the cleavage of the dress. I wanted to pull the fabric forward and drink in the sight of her tits, but I restrained myself. For now. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“Only six times. I’m aiming for an even ten.”
She was beautiful. The red Valentino hugged her in all the right places and complemented her dark hair. I’d heard her explain to a few people why she was wearing sneakers with it, but most didn’t ask. They assumed it was intentional, a middle finger to conventional heels, given that Leah was young. She did look cool, and in command of herself. No one seemed to intimidate her.
Part of me knew she was playing a part. For me.
Part of me hoped she wasn’t.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured. “That’s seven.” I was about to coax her to disappear down the hall with me into the library to do dirty things when Max, my developer, appeared at our side.
“Hey, listen,” he said, without preamble and not bothering to glance at Leah. “I just got off the phone with Boerger, the head of that arts renewal foundation, and they’re letting the theater go. Papers coming over tonight, we’ll sign and own it, and then meet with the city to schedule demolition. We already know the Prentiss doesn’t qualify for historic preservation so full steam ahead.” He clapped my shoulder and turned when he spotted a waiter. “Hey, can I get a vodka tonic?”
Well, fuck. Max had just told Leah what I had intended to tell her on Monday. That I was trying to buy the theater she loved. I straightened my tie and turned. Her face was a mask of confusion and irritation.
“You’re tearing down the theater? Why?”
“I own all the land around it. The project has been in the works for a year.”
Leah blinked. She was wearing full makeup with false eyelashes and they seemed alien to me, emphasizing how rapidly she was blinking, as if she were holding back tears. “What are you planning to build there?”
I cleared my throat. “Condos. I was going to tell you on Monday. I didn’t think this would go through so soon. We’ve been pressing the foundation for months and gotten nowhere.”
“Condos?” she scoffed. “Because that’s what the East Village needs more of. Not. Why didn’t you tell me when you met me at the theater?”
“Because I wanted you to say yes to this weekend.” It was the hard truth. I wasn’t going to lie about it. “And like I said, wheels were turning slow on the project anyway.”
“I see. So you wanted your way.”
Her voice sounded calm, but colder than I would like. I’d known she wouldn’t appreciate the theater being torn down, but I hadn’t thought she’d see it as anything other than a business deal.
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it? You purposely withholding information from me so that I would say yes to you?”
Huh. Good question. “I was controlling the situation. Preventing needless upset if it wasn’t necessary. It might have never been relevant.” Then I hastened to add again, “Though I was planning to tell you when we got back now that we’re… involved.” Now that I had told her that I loved her.
Leah nodded, but she was digging her teeth into her bottom lip. “I happen to love that theater.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s a bad location. Maybe we can buy you another theater. Or you can help me find a way to incorporate some of its elements into the design for the new high-rises. Maybe we have a theater room in one of them.” I was just throwing shit out there, spitballing.
She did not look happy.
“I’m not a child, Grant. You can’t throw me a consolation prize. ‘Here’s a bike in exchange for having to move to Poughkeepsie.’ I don’t want a theater. I don’t want property. That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” I knew what the point was but I was going to plead ignorance and hope it blew over. I had absolutely zero experience with a situation like this. Most women in my life would have taken the consolation prize, used it to their advantage.
“The point is you manipulated me.”
That made me frown. “That is an overreaction.”
Her eye widened. “Oh, don’t tell me how I feel.”
“What?” Now I was really confused. “What are you talking about? I’m not telling you how you feel.” What the fuck was even happening? I spotted Victoria beelining for us, and was grateful as hell for the interruption. “Can we talk about this later? My cousin is coming over.”
Leah gave me a dirty look, spun on her heel, and left me standing there alone.
“Hey, asshole,” Victoria said, coming in for a hug. “I heard you’re engaged. I call bullshit.”
I gave her the obligatory hug, but I was looking over her shoulder to see where Leah was retreating. She disappeared out the glass doors to the patio.
“I am engaged.” That was a lie, but it wasn’t a total lie in that we were dating.
“Since when?” She pulled back and studied my face. “You haven’t said a word about dating anyone special.”
“I don’t share my personal life, you know that.”
A perfectly shaped eyebrow rose. “You are a weirdo that way, that is true. If this is true, which I’m still not convinced of, where is this creature who scored the most eligible bachelor in New York?”
“She went for a drink,” I lied easily. I was a little fucking concerned Leah was pissed at me for real.
“Point her out to me.”
“She’s a brunette in a red Valentino dress wearing white sneakers.”
“Intriguing.” Victoria glanced around. “I’m off to run her down.”
Great. That would thrill Leah.
I turned and almost ran into Trevor. “Hey,” I said. “Can you chase Victoria down and make sure she doesn’t harass Leah?”
“I’m not your errand boy. Fuck off,” Trevor said mildly. “Just me being here stretches the limits of our friendship.”
“Fair enough.” I eyed my best friend. “Do you think you could stuff your face anymore?” He was holding an appetizer plate loaded eight inches high.
“Food is my cover. If I’m eating, I don’t have to talk. Just nod and listen. Nod and listen.”
“That is a solid strategy.” I glanced over at the patio again. I couldn’t see Leah.
“How’s the con going?” Trevor asked.
“Okay.” Currently, not great. “I’m in love with her.”
Trevor choked on a canape. “What the fuck? Are you kidding me? How did that happen?”
“I wish I knew. Man, I’m so fucked.” I could admit it to him. “And I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t look at me.” Trevor picked up a scallop. “I don’t know anything about women.”
I wasn’t sure I did either. “I think she’s mad at me.” I explained about the theater.
“Buy her flowers? Fuck if I know.”
I didn’t know either and I hated that. I did not like not being in control of a situation and this was no ordinary business deal. This was my future. This was my damn heart, for fuck’s sake.
“Don’t they say you should do a big gesture?” I asked.
“Who the hell is they? But yeah. That sounds legit.”
I had an idea. I straightened my tie. If you want something, go out and get it. That was the Caldwell way. “I gotta go. See you later.”
“You’re going to do something stupid. I can sense it.”
Determined, I stole a scallop off Trevor’s overloaded plate and popped it into my mouth. “Never.”
Then I went off to find the woman I intended to marry.
Uneasy and not wanting to talk to any of Grant’s family, I slipped outside to the patio. No one was out there. It was cold and I shivered in my cocktail dress, rubbing my arms. The view was amazing. The grasses waved back and forth in the chill autumn breeze and the water was rest
less, tossing up white caps and hurling them toward the beach.
My feelings were as intense as the ocean. Churning, frothy, dangerous. All of those things.
I was in love with Grant and it was amazing and wonderful and overwhelming.
We’d done this all wrong. We’d complicated everything with contracts and money exchanging hands and expensive gifts.
Did he have a right to withhold information from me?
I didn’t know. Maybe he did. At that point he had just wanted to hire me for an acting position.
Except we’d already had sex.
And now? It felt like he should have told me about the theater at some point in all those phone calls and days spent together.
What it told me was that if he wanted something, he was going to get it, even if he had to withhold information.
That was an unnerving thought.
I pulled my phone out of my dress pocket (pockets in a dress are the best thing ever) and saw that I had a text from Savannah.
Your video is BLOWING UP. I’m so happy for you!
Savannah was prone to exaggeration but out of curiosity I went and looked at the Ava Maria video. Suddenly it had over two hundred thousand views. What the hell? I was both thrilled and weirded out.
The second text from Savannah read: Also. JEALOUS. Look at how hot and cool you look.
She’d attached a picture of me. I was standing next to Grant in what had turned into a makeshift receiving line. Grant looked every inch the billionaire in his suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a crystal cocktail glass filled to the brim with expensive whiskey. I was smiling at a guest, acting the gracious hostess, like I belonged here. The backdrop was the wall of windows with a view of the water beyond. You could see the marble floor and other guests wandering past in designer clothing.
I saw that Savannah had found it on Grant’s cousin’s social media. The cousin I hadn’t even met yet. The caption was: Cuz and his bitch. Aunt Tiff’s anniversary party. #happyanniversary #35yearsoffuckingthesameguy. #dontdoit.
Charming. I was “his bitch.” I knew she meant it as an attempt at humor but it ticked me off.
My phone buzzed with another text message.
It was from Lou, my manager.
Partying with the rich guy in the Hamptons, huh? You said you were sick. After you taking all those days off with your ankle, sorry, kid, I have to let you go. Did you even really sprain your ankle? That’s the same guy who took you home that day.
My heart sank to my gut. Let me go? Was I fired?
I had lied about the weekend. I knew I couldn’t get more days off, so I had claimed I was sick. How the hell would Lou know I was in the Hamptons?
Fucking social media.
Savannah sent another picture of me and Gigi, arms wrapped around each other. I did pose for that one. Grant had taken it.
I was all over the damn internet looking like a socialite. A weekend wife. The kind a rich billionaire ignored all week, then trotted out at parties on Saturdays.
I texted my boss back, heart racing. I couldn’t lose my job. I’d been there three years and the tips were what kept me afloat.
I’ll make it up to you. Please don’t fire me. You know I’m a good server.
You used to be reliable. You’re not now. Sorry, but this is like a no-call/no-show. My hands are tied.
Frustrated and scared, I shoved my phone back in my pocket. I shivered and turned to stare into the living room of the Caldwells’ house.
Maybe I didn’t belong here.
The door opened and Grant stood in the doorway, the light behind him keeping his face in shadows. “Are you okay?” he asked. “It’s freezing out here.”
He started to peel his suit jacket off, clearly to offer it to me. My heart broke a little. He was a kind man. Or tried to be, despite being raised the way he had been.
Maybe we could talk. Maybe we could sort all of this out.
But at the moment all I could feel was a sense of panic that everything was changing and I had no control over any of it. I had lost my job and that terrified me. “I’m coming in. You can keep your jacket on.”
When I tried to pass him, Grant wrapped his arms around me in a hug. “Your arms are freezing.” He gave me a smile. “And your little cute nose is red.”
I couldn’t quite meet his gaze, not wanting to explain I’d lost my job. He would tell me it was no big deal. I’d find another one. Or worse, he’d offer to help me out financially, which would make me feel like a failure.
So I wasn’t going to tell him.
Which made me no better than him not telling me about the theater.
We both wanted to control the relationship.
There was a pit in my stomach.
“Let’s go,” he said, releasing me. “They’re doing a toast to the illustrious Tiffany and Grant Caldwell. I need you to be there.”
“Of course.” I stepped inside.
Grant touched my elbow. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
Everything. “Nothing.” I gave him a smile. “I just got overheated.”
How was that for acting skills?
This was not the time or the place to dissect our relationship.
He nodded. We reentered the party and weaved through guests to the massive stone fireplace. Grant’s parents were in front of it. His mother looked happy, for once. She was actually smiling. His father did not have a drink in his hand. They were staring at each other, and they did actually look like they were in love. Huh. Fascinating. I guess that was a lesson for me in “mind your own business and don’t judge other people.”
“I want to raise my glass to my life partner, the incomparable Tiffany Caldwell.” Grant’s father raised his empty hand, and then made a face. “Why the hell don’t I have a drink?”
The room laughed. Tiffany tittered.
Someone scrambled to provide Grant the second with a glass of champagne. “To Tiffany,” he said and lifted it.
“To Tiffany,” voices repeated and glasses rose.
It was fascinating. As far as I had witnessed and heard, Tiffany was a miserable human being, but here were a hundred people toasting to her. The irony of it was not lost on me.
We all clapped.
Grant dropped my hand and moved to the front of the room. “I’d like to wish my parents a happy anniversary. Thank you for paving the way for me to see how a marriage can and should last.”
I almost snorted. I wasn’t the only one with acting skills.
His parents looked like they saw nothing other than truth in that statement.
“In the spirit of the day I’d like to announce my own intentions to my amazing and talented girlfriend, Leah.” His eyes found mine. “Leah, can you come up here, please?”
The pit in my gut grew. Why the hell was he doing this? It would only piss his mother off and make everyone in his circle believe we actually were engaged. Which we weren’t.
But there was a murmur of surprised voices, shifting feet, and curious stares being directed at me and I didn’t have a choice. I walked across the room, reminding myself this was a stage. It was an act. A performance. Nothing more.
Play the part. Smile, laugh, repeat.
He held his hand out to me and I took it, using all of my training to prevent a glare from stealing over my features. I didn’t want to be put on the spot like this, not after everything we’d shared. Not after we’d blurred every line you could possibly blur.
I could see Tiffany’s smile slipping. She was pissed she was no longer the center of attention. Grant was going to regret doing this, that was clear.
But that thought evaporated when Grant went down on one knee.
What the hell?
My heart started to race, and my palms instantly went cold and clammy. My mask slipped a little and I scrambled to comprehend what he was doing.
“Leah,” he said. “Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
My blood froze. He was pulling a ring box out of his pocket
. He opened it up to a shockingly large clear-cut diamond ring in a square setting.
He had a ring. Why did he have a ring?
There were excited gasps and a hush of anticipation.
I was supposed to say yes. I was being paid to say yes.
But my throat was constricted and all I could do was nod.
He gave me a wicked, pleased smile, then slid the ring onto my finger.
I burst into tears.
I didn’t mean to. But there they were, bursting forth as I felt confused and irritated and in love and wishing it was all real.
But glad it wasn’t at the same time.
The reaction genuinely startled Grant, but not the room. Everyone seemed thrilled that a woman would be so happy at a proposal she’d cry. I could hear all their pleased exclamations and someone yelled out, “Never thought I’d see the day!” to which everyone laughed.
Grant the second was nodding in approval but Tiffany looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.
My Grant (damn it, why did that still sound so good?) stood up and pulled me into his arms. He kissed me and I kissed him back because everyone was watching and because I had all kinds of crazy feelings. The ring felt like a boulder resting heavily on my finger.
He pulled back and stared at me and I couldn’t read his expression at all. “I love you,” he said.
He’d said it right in front of everyone and I wanted to say it back.
But I also wanted to run away like a serial killer was chasing me. Just bolt without looking back. I felt trapped and uncertain what was real and what was fake.
The hours loomed ahead of me. Congratulations. Questions. Stares. Photos.
I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances.
I faked a faint and went down in a heap at Grant’s polished Italian shoes.
Chapter 15
“What the fuck was that?” I asked Leah, running my hands through my hair. She was propped up on our bed but I was still trying to slow my heart rate back down to normal after watching her crumple to the ground.
Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone Page 19
