by Karen Booth
“I’m glad you’re going tonight, Marcus. Really, I am. I hope you are, too.”
“Happy for our business. This is nothing but a business arrangement. You know that. Ideally it’ll be a productive one. You wanted something out of the ordinary. This is certainly that.”
“Actually, I believe I said I wanted something sexy and exciting. It could be that, too.”
He’d been bracing for sexy and exciting. He was ill-equipped to deal with either, especially the former.
Joanna stood and took Lila from him. “Now go, before I shoo you out the door. Stay out as late as you want. I certainly don’t want you coming home before midnight.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you do, it means you haven’t had any fun, and Lord knows you could use some fun, Marcus. Loosen that tie at some point. Live a little.”
He got up out of the chair, stopping to give Lila one more kiss on her cheek. “Good night, darling. Tell barmy Auntie Jo that I’ll be home by midnight.”
He strolled out of the apartment and across the hall. He knocked at Ashley’s door, not surprised she didn’t answer immediately. Muffled strains of popular dance music came from her apartment—another way in which they were polar opposites. He preferred ’60s soul.
He tugged at his shirtsleeves and straightened his collar, which felt a bit as if it was choking him. He had to wonder what a woman with a career in reality television would wear to a party thrown in her honor. An ostentatious monstrosity—pink, he guessed—most likely with sequins. Lord help him. He was going to need several drinks tonight. Luckily there’d be plenty of Chambers No. 9 on hand.
He knocked again. The music stopped.
The door flung open. “Don’t even say it,” Ashley blurted. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes flashed in their usual near-manic state. “I’m late. I know it.”
Marcus didn’t speak. Or blink. Ashley’s hair and makeup were done up. The rest of her was...wrapped in a fluffy white bath towel.
“I need two minutes to get dressed. The hair and makeup people just left, and my phone has been ringing like crazy.” With a wave, she invited him inside.
Marcus closed the door behind him, his eyes as dry as parchment. He still hadn’t blinked. Not once, and it wasn’t from shock that Ashley might be late for her own party. It was the damn towel. He hadn’t been so close to a beautiful woman in that state of undress in a while, and this wasn’t just any woman. This was the woman he’d been trying like hell to stay away from. Every inch of his body felt a prodigious tug as Ashley rushed down the hall, showing slender legs, bare feet and naked shoulders. She left a damning smell of summer rain and vanilla in her wake. The sweet fragrance begged him to follow her. He cleared his throat, feeling as though he needed an oxygen mask. “No worries,” he muttered, but she was already gone.
Eager to set his mind straight, he turned away and surveyed the apartment. The layout mirrored Marcus’s, but it was otherwise in disarray—tarps draped over furniture, building supplies in every corner of the open space. A patchwork of construction paper blanketed the floor, and an enormous chandelier, cocooned in plastic, hung over the dining room table. How could she live in such bedlam? He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. It would have had him at sixes and sevens—completely crazy—in no time. The room smelled of fresh paint, with the faintest trace of Ashley’s perfume not just shadowing him but needling him. Taunting him. Reminding him that the woman he wanted and the woman he needed were two entirely separate people.
“I told you it would only take me a minute,” Ashley said from behind him.
He turned, ill-prepared for her wardrobe change. No pink monstrosity. Oh no. That would’ve made things too easy on him. Instead, she wore a silvery gray gown of impeccable taste. Delicate, silky straps skimmed her shoulders. The neckline was sublime, dipping just low enough to please him greatly...and make him wish his pants were a bit roomier. Her golden-blond hair was in an elegant twist to the side. She closed in on him as if she floated on air, quite possibly the breath that had been knocked from his lungs by surprise.
She was grace in motion, not at all what he’d expected. Just like a few nights ago in the hall, when she’d grabbed his arm, he struggled to understand why his libido had formed one opinion of Ashley and his logical mind had formed another.
“What?” she asked, looking down at her dress and turning, again afflicting him with her intoxicating smell. “Is it too much? Too fancy?”
It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Except that she was otherwise the opposite. He needed to forget the way she made him feel at this moment, and remember the way she’d made him feel every time she did or said something that screamed, “I’m not the right woman.” He shook his head as fog encroached on his thoughts. “No. You look fine.”
She arched both eyebrows, making her vibrant brown eyes appear even larger. “At least I don’t have to worry about you killing me with kindness.”
He had to change the course his mind kept veering onto, one where their business arrangement abruptly ended with a deep kiss and his hands dragging those skinny dress straps off her shoulders. “Remember, tonight is all about business.” He gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”
They met the limousine down in the parking garage after Ashley explained that some of her fans had been spotted outside their building. He added that to the list of reasons Ashley was all wrong for him—the intrusion of her public. He didn’t like the idea of tallying negatives and essentially building a case against Ashley, but most of the time, the list made it easier to ignore his attraction.
Ashley fidgeted in her seat, repeatedly opening a compact mirror, checking her makeup and sighing.
“Everything alright?” he asked.
“Oh, sure. Just a few butterflies.”
He wasn’t sure what sort of wildlife had chosen to inhabit his own chest and stomach. He only knew that something was going on in there. He took a deep breath. Tonight was about saving his family’s business. Nothing else. Tomorrow he and Ashley would go right back to their semiregular spats over drywall dust and construction noise. That he could manage much better.
“We should probably get our stories straight,” Ashley said. “People will want to know how we met. How serious we are.”
The notion of constructing a romance struck him as all wrong. That wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen, but Ashley was used to it. Her job was orchestrating love, or at least the appearance of it. “Can’t we keep it simple and truthful? We met because we’re neighbors and we’re taking it one day at a time. That’s satisfactory, isn’t it?”
“What if people ask about our first date? If we’re truthful about that, everyone will know we’re not a real couple.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Is it any of their business?”
“The press will say it’s their business. We’ll get skewered if we don’t say something.” She sat back in her seat, compulsively closing and opening the jeweled clasp of her small silver handbag. “We’ll tell people we went to dinner and sparks flew. We’ll skip the part about how you shook my hand at the end of the night and essentially started the Wars of the Roses the next day.”
The woman had no fear of uncomfortable subjects. “I was being a gentleman that night. I didn’t want to lead you on.”
“Nor did you allow me to explain myself. I had one too many glasses of wine that night, you know. I was nervous. I say stupid things when I’m nervous.”
Flashes of light came through the darkened limousine windows as they pulled up to the curb, thankfully putting an end to that particular strain of conversation. The car stopped and idled. The photographers outside continued taking pictures.
“Just follow my lead with the photographers. I’ve trained myself to do exactly what they want. It’s fairly painless. I promise.” She reached over and patted his knee. “And pl
ease relax tonight. I know you can be charming. I’ve seen you do it. That’s the Marcus I need at this party, not your normal grumpy self.”
His spine stiffened. Why did she continue to use those words? Grump. Curmudgeon. She had no idea what he’d been through, the trials that necessitated his serious nature. He wasn’t about to launch into an explanation now. “I know how to act at a party. Don’t you worry about me.”
“Fine. Let’s see how you do.”
The driver opened the door. The instant Ashley rose from the car, the crowd roared with excitement, fans and photographers shouting her name. She stepped on to the red carpet and turned to him, taking his hand, offering an enchanting smile with plump pink lips that begged for a gentle nip. He was transfixed by that look on her face, so genuine and warm. It made a surreal moment even more so—the object of his mysterious weakness, reaching for him. He had no choice in front of this audience but to go with it. He clutched her impossibly soft fingers and trailed behind her, stepping square into the lion’s den.
Cameras were everywhere, all pointed at the two of them. The more persistent the flashes, the tighter Ashley gripped his hand, the closer she pulled him. She seemed to crave the security of someone by her side, and his instinct told him to protect her, even when he knew it was the wrong inclination, one to fight with everything he had.
She smiled wide as the photographers snapped their pictures, beguiling the masses before them as if she’d been born to do this. Butterflies, my ass. Seeing the Manhattan Matchmaker in action, he knew he was being sucked in just as the rest of the world was, but there was only so much he could do about it. He was there to be the handsome man on her arm, and he had to play that role. That meant drinking in the vision of her so the cameras could snap their pictures, even when every second had him further under her spell and it would take a lengthy internal dialogue to wrench himself from it later.
One photographer asked to see the back of Ashley’s dress. She let go of Marcus’s hand for a moment and turned, flashing a sexy look over her shoulder that nearly left him flat on the red carpet. He was already losing all sense of direction. This was not good. He had four long hours ahead of him of pretending to be her charming, smitten date. He needed a mantra, something he could repeat until it became innate. Don’t fall for her, Marcus. Don’t fall for her.
Five
Ashley had promised herself she’d sweep into this opulent ballroom relaxed, with an easy, confident smile on her face. She’d walk in like she owned the place—crystal chandeliers, expensive champagne and all. Heck, this was her party. Tonight was all about her.
Precisely the problem. Confronted with the throng of people in the jam-packed ballroom, she knew how empty the promise had been. She always managed to say the wrong thing or get flustered when someone asked her too many personal questions. She wasn’t built for fancy parties and dealing with hundreds of people at one time. Dinner for two, no press or media, was much more her speed.
The masses closed in when they spotted Marcus and her—a sea of eagerly advancing faces wanting a picture, voices offering greetings and questions, hands reaching out and touching her. Some touching Marcus. The inquisition about him started at a fever pitch.
“Tell us about your date.”
“Where’d you find the handsome Brit?”
“How did you keep him a secret?”
“You two look so perfect together. Has the matchmaker made her own match?”
Her pulse picked up. If she was already feeling panicked, wanting to escape, this would be a long night. She scanned the crowd for Grace but saw her nowhere. Ashley had no choice but to smile politely and nod in agreement when someone congratulated her. She laughed nervously at bad jokes. Music thumped loudly. The din of voices became almost paralyzing as people talked over each other.
She and Marcus were pressed tightly against each other under the crush of the crowd. Marcus had handled it all beautifully, being specific enough and deflecting when appropriate, but once the verbal onslaught became truly overwhelming, he cast his magical green eyes down at her. In that moment, she saw comfort in them, not the man who disliked her so greatly.
She popped up onto her tiptoes and spoke into his ear, gripping his strong shoulders, loving the scratch of his five o’clock shadow against her cheek. “I’m a little thirsty. Can we get a drink?”
“Brilliant. I think we both could use one.”
She squeezed his hand in response, landing back on her heels. He didn’t flinch, as if he could take the pressure however long she chose to strangle his fingers. And she liked that feeling. A lot. It felt as if she could test him and he would never, ever fail. He was precisely what she needed at that moment. A handsome British rock.
Marcus began winding them through the crowd. She walked by every person she didn’t really want to talk to and waved, shrugged her shoulders, pointed to Marcus and mouthed, “He wants a drink.” So far, he’d been a dream date. Of course, he was her fake date. Not a man who wished to take her anywhere by choice other than an unpleasant apartment board meeting. Not a man who wished to end an evening together with anything more than a cold, detached handshake.
For now, she’d pretend that he really did want to be with her and that she hadn’t been so stupid as to say the things she’d said the night they went on their date—the endless ramblings about how her last boyfriend had dumped her because her job was too insane and she wasn’t cut out for having kids. She’d never even had the chance to explain to Marcus that James was eleven years older than her and, at the age of forty, on a completely different timetable. Plus, he’d been a jerk of inordinate magnitude when she’d dared to express the tiniest doubt about their future.
So, in the interest of pretending that she and Marcus were a real match, it was time to play the role of Manhattan Matchmaker, the woman Marcus and everyone else in this room wanted a piece of.
“Gin and tonic?” Marcus asked when they finally reached the bar.
She nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
A man tapped Marcus on the shoulder and introduced himself as Alan, one of the network accountants. “I’m on my second drink made with this Chambers No. 9, and I have to say, I’m very impressed.”
The bartender slid their drinks across the bar, and Ashley took a gulp.
“Isn’t it the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted?” she replied, even though this was her first taste. If she and Marcus were going to convince anyone that they were a real pair, she’d be well acquainted with Chambers No. 9 by now. She took a second drink, a sip this time. It truly was lovely—in taste and in the way it took the edge off. By the bottom of the glass, she’d be much better equipped to carry on countless conversations.
“Thank you both,” Marcus said, partaking of his drink, continuing his conversation with Alan.
A nonstop parade of people approached Ashley, most asking for tidbits on the upcoming slate of new episodes. “What’s the most unlikely pairing you put together this season?” one entertainment reporter asked.
“Probably a pair of lawyers from rival law firms. I’ve never seen two people argue as much as they did. The production team was sure I’d missed the mark, but I could see the attraction between them. Once they set aside their egos and their issues, they fell hard. It’s one of my favorite episodes this year.”
Marcus listened and nodded. “She knows when two people should be together.”
“And what about you, Mr. Chambers? Tell me about your gin.”
Ashley listened as he spoke about his father and grandfather, his impressive lineage, the history behind Chambers Gin. Ashley had nothing like that to brag about, not that it bothered her. She just didn’t like the looks of pity she got if anyone asked about her family and she told them the truth—she’d grown up with two brothers, and their parents loved all of them very much. Other than that, there hadn’t been two dimes t
o rub together, and she wasn’t even sure how they’d ever survived.
Marcus was quite the opposite, born with an aristocratic silver spoon in his mouth. He worked hard, though. She’d give him that. He didn’t seem content to rest on laurels—those that belonged to him or his family. “Gin is my family’s passion, and it really is an art. I started my professional life as a securities trader, but I’m so glad to be running the family business and leading the charge with our new brand in the US.”
Grace showed up right on the heels of that conversation. Marcus got them another round of drinks from the bar after Ashley made the introductions.
“He’s insanely hot,” Grace whispered in Ashley’s ear.
“Yeah, I got the memo.”
“Has it been okay so far tonight?”
Ashley leaned closer so no one could overhear. “It has. It’ll be interesting to see what the ride back to our building is like. He won’t have to be nice to me anymore at that point.” Several network people and more reporters had inched closer to them. “But I’ll catch you up about that tomorrow.”
Grace fished her phone from her purse and consulted it. “I have to go. Problem with the guest list. I’ll catch up with you later.” She patted Ashley on the shoulder. “You’re doing great. Just keep smiling.”
Grace disappeared into the crowd as Marcus brought their drinks.
“Ashley George, I want to know when exactly you got a boyfriend,” a woman said from behind them.
Ashley turned, only to come face-to-face with Maryann, editor for the online gossip site that had published the embarrassing pictures of Ashley buying ice cream on a Saturday night. Maryann was a near-perfect human specimen, long legs and a button nose, but her personality was of the rodent variety.
Ashley cupped her hand around Marcus’s ear. “Careful with this one. She’s mean.”
