Tell Me True

by Ally Blake

  She sat forward, palms open, conciliatory. “You seem like a plan kind of guy to me, Finn. So what’s your plan for me? Keep ‘accidentally’ on purpose running into me? Or hope your little thing for me simply goes away?”

  He flinched at her “little thing” comment. Then gave her a hot, hard, sideways glance. “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear my plan.”

  April’s voice was all husk, no substance. “Try me.”

  Finn’s dark gaze slid to her mouth. She licked her lips. A muscle worked in his jaw.

  “It’s a selfish plan.”

  “Does that mean I’m not invited?”

  His eyes lifted to hers. Dark, intense. Not a hint of a smile. “It means that my interests are self-motivated. They have to be. My life is complicated right now. A side effect of simplifying means I might not be around much longer.”

  “Oh.” Well, that she hadn’t seen coming. Was that why it felt so strangely personal? “You’re going somewhere? Where? How long?”

  He shook his head. Infinitesimally. That was all she was going to get. Nevertheless Finn had told her more about his life in ten seconds than he had in their entire short history.

  “All you need to know is that I don’t need my hand held. I don’t want to talk about my problems. I’m not a relationship waiting to happen.”

  Thing was, April was feeling pretty self-serving in that moment herself. “You’ve told me a lot about what you don’t want from me, Finn. What do you want?”

  Finn moved in then, lifted a hand to her cheek, made sure her eyes were on his when he said, “One night. All night. You and me.”

  April found herself nodding, even though she could no longer feel any part of herself below her neck.

  “Knowing how things are going to end before they begin is the smart move.” His hot gaze traced the contours of her face. “One night. I can’t promise anything more.”

  She placed a hand over his, waited until his dark eyes slid back to hers, and said, “Okay then.”

  She waited for some kind of spark of excitement that they’d just agreed to spend the night together! But Mr. Serious had settled in. In fact he looked the way he had the night she’d found him hovering over an empty glass of scotch alone.

  A frisson of concern shot through April and with it came the sense that her foundations were tipping out from under her.

  A little voice in the back of her head told her to say, “Actually, thanks, but no thanks”. To walk away, right now, before she did something really stupid, like develop actual feelings for this serious, impossible, unshakeable man whose limits were hard set and irrelevant of hers.

  But he’d offered her the chance to leap into something big and wonderful and exciting. Short-lived. The impulse had her in its grip, there was no turning back now.

  “How’s tonight?”

  A flicker of humour seeped back into his eyes. “Wide open.”

  Gulp. “Eight suit you?”

  A nod.

  Feeling like she’d pushed her luck far enough, April wriggled down from the table. Tried not to moan as her breasts brushed against Finn’s chest.

  She gathered up the heavy garment bag, hooked it over her arm, and backed away; the sight of shirtless, sun-drenched Finn sure to get her through the rest of her day.

  “Finn?”

  “Yes, April.”

  “Can I ask one more favour?”

  “They’re adding up.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to call in your chips.”

  A glint shone deep within Mr. Serious’s heavenly blue eyes. “What is it?”

  “Put a shirt on before someone ravages you on the spot. Not me, of course. You’re not my type.”

  With Finn’s laughter peppering her back, April floated out of the pool grounds and towards her Fiat as fast as her legs—and the bloody heavy garment bag—would let her.

  “About time,” Erica said from her position leaning against the hood.

  “Busy making plans,” April said, and meant it.

  “Of mice and men,” Erica muttered before taking her place in the passenger seat. “So, when are you seeing lover boy again?”

  “Tonight, actually.”

  “Where?”

  “His place.”

  Coughing into a fist Erica muttered, “Booty call,” then stuck her headphones in her ears.

  But April could not be brought down by her sister that day. Ho no!

  She was about to have a real, live date with her pretend boyfriend! A real man, darling. A man with experience, hubris, ambition, backbone, and raging sex appeal, no less. A man who’d made it very clear that whatever was happening between them was over before it had even begun.

  Which was perfect, really. No room for feelings. No chance she’d mistake it for anything other than what it was – a chance to indulge a big, crazy impulse without anyone getting hurt.

  The twisty-turniness of her logic hardly made her stomach clench.

  Hardly at all.

  Chapter Eight

  That afternoon April had her second official meeting with the Cinderella Project. This time it was at their head office – a converted mansion in bay side Vaucluse.

  From its doll-house facade and heart-shaped hedges, to its fanciful doorbell—ringing “Some Day My Prince Will Come”, no less—and halls filled with framed black and white pictures of iconic movie kisses, the effect was akin to a smack in the head with a love stick.

  Which didn’t help April’s twanging nerves.

  She had to tell Hazel that she’d asked Finn to help with her apartment contract. And how he’d later tracked her down at the pool. Didn’t she? Though since it had nothing to do with her promotion prospects, perhaps it need never come up at all.

  Before she could decide, a brunette in glasses and head to toe black pulled up short after hurtling into the hallway, nearly taking April out in the process. They grabbed one another and spun to a standstill.

  “So sorry!” she said breathlessly.

  Marcy, unfazed, waved a hand between them. “April, this is Serafina – Hazel’s business partner, IT guru, and all round cool chick. Serafina, this is April Swanson – our latest victim.”

  Serafina pushed her glasses higher on her nose and grinned. “Of course! So nice to meet you, April. We’re so excited you’re with us. It’s a real thrill.”

  “Thrill’s the word.” April squinted through one eye. “Have we met before? You’re seriously familiar.”

  Pink splotches crept into the other woman’s cheeks. “Um, if you’ve seen Hazel’s internet ads—”

  April clicked her fingers. “Oh, my god. You’re her! The one snuggled up to the hunk! I assumed it was a stock photo. But you’re real.”

  “Sure am.”

  “And the hunk.” April remembered the besotted hunk with the five o’clock shadow.

  “That’d be Murdoch,” Marcy said. “Sera’s significant other. Hazel introduced them too, you know.” With a stage whisper she added, “He’s even hotter in the flesh, if you can believe it.”

  Serafina grinned and shrugged. Then tipped onto her toes and rushed off down the hall with a quick, backwards, “Good luck, April. We have high hopes for you!”

  Then, hooking a finger towards April, Marcy said, “Come on then.”

  Marcy led her into a room that seemed the pink went gone to die. Marcy sat April in a—pink—chintz armchair, gave her a glass filled with pink bubbly, then lounged on a hot pink chaise as she read over “The Paperwork” April had been asked to fill out. They’d been pretty intimate questions, even for a girl who learned about Freud about the same age Marcy would have learned about Elmo.

  “Wow,” Marcy muttered. “Hazel wanted me to nudge you through any questions you’d avoided, but you didn’t hold back.”

  “Not my style.”

  Marcy nodded and closed the booklet. Then poured herself a glass as well.

  “Um, Is Hazel about?”

  “Somewhere,” Marcy said, the flamingo atop her pa
lm tree pen wobbling precariously.

  “I thought I was meant to see her today. That she’d want an update. If not, I can go...”

  When she heard the clackety-clack of heels, April leapt to her feet, knowing her chance to get out of there without talking about Finn had gone up in smoke.

  Then Hazel appeared, resplendent in an elegant cream suit and enough diamonds to choke a horse.

  “April, kitten, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” Smiling beatifically, she offered up air kisses before taking a seat behind a shabby chic desk. “Marcy, care to catch me up?”

  Marcy crossed her legs on the chaise lounge with all the bendy grace of a girl yet to hit her twenties. “So far in Project Promotion—all of her workmates know who she is now, even those who might not have before, the other contender for the promotion is less cocksure than he was a few days back, and April’s boss even went out of his way to make contact, going so far as to book in a lunch for next week.”

  “Wonderful! Are you happy with how things are progressing?” Hazel asked April.

  April had been so worked up about Finn she’d forgotten for a moment that wasn’t why she was actually there. Yikes.

  She shook her head, grounded herself, and thought about Hazel’s question. “Well, things are certainly moving in the direction you said they would.”

  “And?”

  April nibbled at the inside of her lip. “I don’t feel as vindicated as I thought I’d be. Wow, does that sound ungrateful, or what?”

  “Not at all, darling. That’s brilliant news! You began this process with narrow expectations but they only limit your field of vision. Now that you are opening yourself to all the possibilities available to you, the sky’s the limit! Then again, if you were looking for the mundane, you could have spent your money on a resume doctor.”

  Huh. Why didn’t I think of that?

  “You and I are not workaday types, April, dear. We are seekers of fireworks and waterfalls. Of sensation and sparks. Of the spectacular. It’s how I started this business with nothing but a million dollars and a dream.”

  April blinked. How on earth did Hazel sense all that about her? She worked so hard at keeping those urges at bay. Seeking... and all that stuff, was Erica’s purview. And their father’s.

  Hazel patted her on the knee. “Now tell me about the man.”

  It took a moment for April to follow the change of direction. “You mean Finn?”

  “Is there another?” Hazel cast her a look. “Last time we spoke, you had bumped into one another again. Accidentally, of course.”

  April remembered the cupid statues on the front steps and considered – for one final second – brushing Hazel off. But the more things one concealed the more they had to conceal.

  She decided to play it light and breezy. “Well, we kind of have a hot date tonight.”

  As soon as the words left April’s mouth she regretted them. There was truth and then there was over-sharing, the balance between she’d never quite mastered. Giving up that one, small piece of news she felt like she was betraying a trust.

  Hazel’s blasé act went up in smoke. She was up from behind the desk, sitting on the coffee table at April’s feet where she grabbed her by the hands and stared at her. “Darling girl, you have no idea how happy this makes me.”

  Then Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “Who asked who out? Who chose the location? What time? Where?”

  Yikes. It was like talking to her mother. “Hazel, I don’t think that information comes under the Cinderella Project purview.”

  “Of course it does!” Hazel said, brooking no argument.

  “Okay.” Sheesh. April knew she’d be all over it like a rash, but she had no idea Hazel would be this invested. “It was decided mutually, I guess. He chose the location.” Remembering the heat in his eyes as he’d said my place gave her goose bumps. “I’m meeting him at his place tonight.”

  Marcy looked up from her notebook. Flamingo wobbling to a halt. Muttered, “So much for leaving them wanting more.”

  “Look, can we please put this topic out of bounds from hereon in. I thought, for the sake of the project, that you should know he’s still in the picture but I really don’t feel comfortable talking details.”

  Hazel shot her a hot look. “We are a mile past that point, darling. This is serious.”

  April felt Hazel’s pulse in her thumb, the thrill of the hunt pumping through her matchmaker’s veins. She barked out orders to Marcy – words such as Lanvin and Dolce, GHD, and tweezers, spurting from her like volcanic ash.

  “But that’s the thing, Hazel. It’s not serious.”

  Hazel’s gaze snapped back to April. “Of course it is, kitten. His place. Tonight. That’s as serious as it gets.”

  Okay. Time to lay it on the line or Hazel would be like a dog with a bone. “You’re right. And I’m not taking tonight lightly. But while the man is gorgeous and intriguing, and deep and charming when he wants to be, above all he’s temporary.”

  Hazel’s eyes flickered. “Charming is wonderful. Gorgeous is a must. Temporary we can work on.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “You’re blocking him. Putting up walls where there are none.”

  “I’m not blocking. He is!”

  Hazel took in a sharp breath. Held it.

  “Hazel, he’s not going to be around forever. In fact, I get the distinct feeling he’s biding his time before leaving town.”

  Hazel breathed out with a shaky laugh. “Oh, don’t ever believe that line darling. It’s as old as the hills. Men use it all the time as they believe it will give them an easy out. But the truth is, they have no idea what they want.”

  April shook her head. “No. It’s not like that. I can’t remember his exact words, but he said that his life is really complicated right now. And that the only way to simplify it was by going away.”

  Hazel stilled in a way April would not have thought possible. Then her mouth started to work, her eyes creasing with worry. She looked sideswiped. And very much her age.

  “Oh. It’s okay,” April promised, wrapping Hazel’s hands in hers. “I’m fine with that! More than fine. I don’t work in happily ever afters, remember. And this guy is so high maintenance temporary is plenty.”

  Hazel nodded, though she looked a million miles away. Her brain ticking over, no doubt with some Machiavellian plan April would be forced to play out.

  “You are seeing him tonight.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “At his place. For a romantic encounter.”

  “Yes. And maybe.” Here’s hoping!

  “Then we have no time to waste.” Suddenly Hazel dragged April to her feet, out the door and down the hall. Marcy followed, practically skipping. “Change of plan. Marcy, push back my interview. The team can work on April instead.”

  “Work on—”

  But Hazel was not to be stopped. “This is earlier than I’d planned for this portion of Project Promotion but time is against us.”

  And then they were standing in the doorway of a room that could only be described as beauty parlour meets burlesque bar. Black and white chequered floor, red velvet curtains, mani-pedi chairs, hair dressing station, a wall of products she assumed were for face and hair and what not. A wall of glass-fronted cupboards filled with clothes, hats, shoes. And a dressing table that looked like something off Broadway.

  Hazel clapped her hands. “Carlos, Mysteri, Joan. This is ground zero. Say again ground zero. It is your job – no your privilege – to whip this delightful creature into shape within the next two hours. Treat this mission as the most critical of your careers.”

  “What’s happening?” April asked as a blue-haired, cleft-chinned man in neck to toe spandex, with a tool belt of sharp, shiny objects ushered her into a chair, sweeping a cape around her neck and pulling it tight.

  “We’re about to unearth your va-va-voom, Ms. Swanson,” Marcy said, nabbing a bottle of silky black polish and falling into a chair so that she might paint her t
oenails in stripes.

  April glanced at the door, figured the only way out would require the skills of Houdini and the arsenal of Rambo, so she sat back and settled in for the ride.

  Finn sat at his laptop, the white light burning into his eyes as he read over the final draft of an email he would instruct his lawyers to send to his father’s lawyers—from their out of state address.

  It explained in no uncertain terms that he was not going to write, call or make an appearance in support of his father and anticipated – no, expected – no further correspondence on the issue. Done.

  Being direct with April had loosened something inside of him, opening the way for other truths to topple from their well-hidden hollows – including the fact that he would rather do anything else than help his father, no matter what had happened in the intervening years.

  Knowing he couldn’t be any more clear, he hit send, his finger bouncing off the key with a lightness he didn’t feel.

  Finn closed his laptop, moved it to the corner of the coffee table, and rolled out his shoulder – aching from the deepening echoes of the night it had been damaged. He slumped into the couch and rubbed his hands over his face, the skin feeling like it was separate from his skull.

  And in the darkness that had fallen he breathed and contemplated his next move.

  If he had his fixer’s hat on, he’d be telling anyone paying him for advice that now was the optimal time to leave. Why? Because law firms weren’t people. They didn’t respond to no. It was their duty to keep pressing, to up the ante in order to serve their clients’ needs.

  His father would have his chance with the parole board either way. He’d turn on the charm and make whatever promises were necessary to ensure his freedom. The man was the best liar Finn had ever known. No twitches, no sliding glances, no tells at all. He’d been put away because he’d been caught red-handed, on film, confessing to the heavens as he cried over his dead son.

  Finn flinched as he came out of the memory of that vision in court and back into his own body.