Dani
He’s true to his word. The car is waiting outside my building at eight-forty-five the next morning.
I wish I had chosen a better time for him to arrive. Pre-dawn, maybe. I could’ve made the sacrifice if it meant avoiding the nosy gazes of my neighbors as they left for work, or came back from dropping their kids off at school. Not that Red Bank is a dump. Well, I guess, it is compared to Brock’s penthouse, obviously, but not in general. Even so, nobody expects to see a limousine parked at the curb of a converted three-story house with a chain-link fence separating the side yard from the sidewalk.
There are a few whistles in the air as I hurry out to the porch, struggling to get my wheeled luggage down the uneven, wood planked steps.
Tom gets out, wearing a dark blue suit and hurries over to me. “Let me help you with that, Miss Saber.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Actually, I nearly told him I can manage, but I remember just in time that I’d better get used to treatment like this if I expect to be believable as the fiancée of a man like Brock. He wouldn’t pick just anybody off the street. His girl would have to be sophisticated, sharp, worldly.
Well, I’m none of those things. I’m barely removed from the days of wearing ill-fitting, grease-stinking clothes from the Goodwill. There are certain formative experiences which never wash away. That’s one of them. I carry it around with me like a badge, but not of honor. Of shame, more like. I still get the feeling sometimes that people are watching me, judging me. The way they’re watching as I climb into the back seat of the limo. But I can pretend. And I can pretend good.
Now that I’m on the other side of the tinted glass, I turn to look at my neighbors.
Mrs. Morgan is smoking one of her day’s many cigarettes. The old mason jar which she converted to an ashtray sits on the wooden railing, waiting to be crammed with hundreds of butts. She ashes over the side, onto the plastic flowers. The only things she can manage to keep alive.
Her porch adjoins Mrs. Weaver’s, and the two of them are muttering to each other over the bannister which separates them as Mrs. Morgan gestures to Brock’s car with her cigarette.
They just happen to be the only two outside at the moment. There are others watching from inside their homes, pulling back faded curtains to get a look at what that strange, reclusive, dark-haired girl is up to. I can just imagine what they’re thinking and saying in their thick North Jersey accents.
Is she some sorta big shot or somethin’?
Who does she think she is?
Who’s she friends with?
Must be nice...
“Are you ready, Miss Saber?”
I realize the driver is speaking to me and smile gratefully. “Absolutely. Thank you.”
He grins at me and at that moment I decide to forget my gossiping neighbors. They’re nothing. They can only make me feel as small as I allow them to make me feel. One of the many self-help mantras I’ve mastered over the years of trying to get past my troubled youth.
It comes back to me in moments like this. Even sitting in this sleek, ultra-comfortable car with its buttery leather and a minibar inside. I can’t help but go right back to being that poor little girl everyone laughed at again. I remind myself that she’s in the past. Just a page in my history, and I’m stronger as a result of what she had to go through. Even so, I hate it when people stare at me.
Penelope’s advice rings in my head. Have fun.
She’s so right. When will I ever have the chance to do something like this again? I’m going to live the life of a glamorous, wealthy woman, and pretend to be the fiancée of a gorgeous billionaire. I don’t know who his ex is, but holy cow, she must be something else not to keep him. I’m going to make the most of it, and that means no more negativity. Brock won’t want to hear about it, and he’s the one paying me to pretend with him. I’m going to turn this experience into the best vacation ever.
First though, there’s something I just have to know. “Excuse me?” I call out to the driver.
“Yes, Miss?”
“Oh, you can call me Dani.” I scoot forward until I’m seated just behind him, since I can’t imagine shouting throughout the ride even if it’s a short one. “I have a crazy question for you.”
“What can I help you with?” He’s middle-aged, maybe late forties, with kind eyes.
I feel like I can trust him. “How long have you been driving for Brock?”
“Mr. Garret?”
Oh, right. His last name. I didn’t think to ask for it. I have to be smarter.
“I suppose it’s been nearly three years now.”
“Have you picked up a lot of different girls in this car?”
I see him blanche in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boss. We’re not romantically involved or anything like that. I don’t even care outside of wondering where I fit in here. Does he do this sort of thing often?”
“Send me out to Red Bank to pick up a charming young woman?”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help giggling.
“No. He does not.”
“You mean that? Like I said, I won’t rat you out or anything like that. I just want to know what I’m dealing with.”
“Scout’s honor.” He grimaces a little, like he doesn’t know whether or not he should share the next bit of info.
“Go on,” I encourage.
“It’s not as though he’s a saint. He has his girlfriends, of course, but they’re nothing like you. They’re usually a bit…uppity, if you know what I mean.” He lifts his nose to demonstrate.
I laugh.
“And he’s certainly never invited a young lady to move in with him for any length of time.” He meets my eyes in the rear view. “You have a suitcase. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”
My cheeks go red. “It’s not like—”
“It doesn’t make a bit of difference to me,” he says with a shrug. “You’re pleasant company.”
“Thank you, Tom. For the record, Mr. Garret is paying me to stay with him and oh, God—that didn’t come out the way I meant it to.” I bury my red-hot face in my hands.
He chuckles. “Please, don’t worry. You won’t find any judgment from this area of the car. And I can tell you’re not that sort of girl. For one—and I don’t mean this in a negative way, not whatsoever—the sorts of girls who charge for their time don’t normally live in such a modest area.”
I smile. “That’s a very gentle way of pointing out how poor I am.”
“I don’t mean any insult by it.”
“And I didn’t take it as an insult. I understand what you’re trying to say.”
He grins at me.
Chapter 14
Dani
I decide to let him get back to driving. I know I should be having fun with this situation, but it seems unlikely considering the fluttery feeling in my stomach whenever I remember the way Brock looked at me. Also, there’s still a lot of pressure on my shoulders.
I don’t want to trip up in Vegas, and make a fool of both of us. I want to be convincing. I have to make his ex believe that we are madly in love, even if I’m not the usual type of girl he goes out with.
A thought occurs to me. What happens if he decides at the end of the weekend that I didn’t do a job worthy of the huge amount he’s offered me? He seems to be genuine, but I really should get something in writing. I wish I knew a lawyer. He seems smart enough to know how to create loopholes…and he did say he is a tough negotiator, but he didn’t negotiate hard with me at all.
This part baffles me most of all.
Is my company really worth that amount of money? He doesn’t even know me, but he’s willing to offer more money than I could hope to make in seven or eight years. How could he possibly thinks he’s getting the better end of the deal?
This girl must have really hurt him if he’s this desperate to prove to her he is over her. If she turned him down, she must be one of those uppity girls. I can’t
understand how he thinks a girl like me will make a woman like her jealous.
Me? I look down at my good outfit—skinny jeans, knee-high riding boots, a thigh-length blue cardigan. What’s so special about me? My hair is thick and pretty enough, I guess, but brown. Plain brown, just like my eyes. And I’m too curvy. I’d give just about anything to be able to wear a button-down blouse without worrying about a button popping off and taking out somebody’s eye. Average height, average looks. Average just about everything.
Not like him. He’s special. Which tells me she must be very special, whoever she is. Maybe he’ll tell me, or better still, I’ll snoop around online and find out for myself. I need to know who I’m up against. Just the thought of being up against anybody—especially a girl who made a deep enough impression on him to warrant the sort of scheme I’m getting myself wrapped up in—makes my heart race a little.
As long as he puts things in writing, that is.
“What took you so long?”
The sound of his voice, not to mention the irritation in it, makes my head jerk up.
He’s waiting on the second floor, looking over the living room with his hands palm-down on the banister. He’s just as sexy in a black sweater and jeans as he is in a suit. The way the cashmere—and I’m betting its cashmere—wraps itself around his thick arms is darn near miraculous.
But he’s so brusque, the part of me that’s not drooling get pissed off. Still, what did I expect? Roses and a seat by the fire? This is a business arrangement. I close the door slowly. “It took as long as it took to get here,” I explain with a shrug. “Have you ever been to Red Bank?”
A muscle jumps in his clenched jaw. He looks mad at something. “No. It’s not exactly a place I’ve had on my bucket list.”
“I don’t think it’s on anybody’s bucket list.”
His expression softens. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was concerned.”
“Why?” I ask curiously. Either he’s the most possessive man in the world, or there’s a reason for him to be so anxiously over-the-top all the time. I realize I’m trying to analyze him like a case study out of one of my textbooks and chide myself. I’m doing this for the money. After the weekend, I’ll never see him again.
His hands tighten on the banister. “Maybe I was just worried you wouldn’t keep to your end of the bargain.”
“If this is going to work you need to cut down on the caffeine and chill. I always keep my word.” I stare into his watching blue eyes. “Always.”
He smiles slowly. “Thank you.”
When I start wheeling my suitcase toward the stairs, he jogs down to meet me. “Here. I’ll take care of that for you.” He lifts it with ease.
I follow him up to one of the guest rooms, striving not to trip over my feet as I stare at his firm butt. Holy moly, what a view.
“Why did you pack so much?” he asks, putting the suitcase on the bed. “I told you I’d buy everything you need for the weekend.”
“That’s very generous of you, but maybe too generous, because it made me feel bad. I brought a few things I thought might be worthwhile—”
He waves his hands almost like he’s shooing away a fly or a bee. “No, no. I want to start you fresh. In fact, you have an appointment with Veronica at Bergdorf in twenty minutes.”
My head starts spinning. “You set up an appointment for me at Bergdorf?” I gasp.
“Yes, I have an account there. Veronica is my personal shopper. She has an excellent eye. I’ve already sent her the rundown of what you’ll require. She only needs to see you, take a few measurements, and fit you up with the necessary clothes.”
“You—uh—don’t want to see these things before you pay for them?” I must look completely confused. I certainly feel that way.
He shakes his head. “No. I trust her.” Then he moves forward and ushers me from the room and down the stairs with a firm but gentle hand on the small of my back.
The pressure is light, but I’m keenly aware of his touch.
In a kind of daze, I watch his large hand snake past me and hit the button on the elevator panel. I haven’t had the chance to ask him about putting our agreement in writing yet, but I don’t even know how to broach the subject. I stand there staring at the closed elevator doors.
“Have fun,” he says cheerfully when the doors open. “Enjoy having somebody take care of you for once.”
It’s like he already knows me. How can he make a statement like that and sound so sure of himself, and be so right? “It’s just that I thought you would be coming with me,” I admit. Truth is I’m intimidated by the thought of going on my own.
He grins wolfishly. “I have work to do. Otherwise, I would.”
I step onto the elevator and stop just short of asking why I didn’t go straight to the store instead of stopping at the penthouse. I don’t exactly love the sensation of being shuffled back and forth. Only when the doors are starting to slide shut between us do I get up the nerve to ask, “Should I call if the shopping runs a little long?”
His eyes snap blue fire, but a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “No.”
Then the doors shut on him.
Chapter 15
Dani
“You look gorgeous,” Veronica purrs, walking around me in a slow circle as she taps impeccably manicured, deep red nails against her chin. “Absolutely stunning.”
“Are you sure about that?” I wish I was. I don’t feel stunning at all. If anything, I feel downright exposed. I didn’t know until this very minute that it was possible for a person to feel exposed when so much of their body was covered, but here I am. Sleek, black, with a high collar which fastens around my neck. It’s cut down to the middle of my back, sleeveless, and hits just above my knee. Completely respectable. Classy. Wildly expensive. And unnerving.
“Don’t you like it?” The strident, confident, no-nonsense saleswoman peers at me in the mirror from over my shoulder.
I slide my hands over my stomach and around to my hips, gliding over the lush fabric. It’s like looking at a stranger, but I can feel my body, and my body can feel my hands on it. So it must be me. Just a version of me I’ve never seen before. One I didn’t know existed up until now.
And this is just one dress! There are other dresses for both night and day, skirts, shoes and even pajamas and underwear. Veronica seems to know my body better than just about anybody ever has except for maybe my jerk of an ex-boyfriend.
I turn to check out my profile. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s absolutely gorgeous, but I’m not sure it is me.”
“Not you? Honey, this dress was made for you.”
I frown. I’ve just never dressed like this. I really hope I can carry this glamorous act off successfully.
Suddenly, she places her hands on my shoulders and turns me to face her. She’s old enough to be my mother, I guess, and that combined with the few inches she has on me makes me feel like a little girl. “Do you know what I see in front of me?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“I see a beautiful girl who caught the eye of—between you and me—the sexiest man to walk the streets of Manhattan.” There’s a naughty twinkle in her eyes.
A giggle erupts from me, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. She seems so worldly and sophisticated, I didn’t expect her to be so blunt.
She winks like we’re old friends. After the way she’s measured me and dressed me today, we practically are. “I say, enjoy yourself. Trust me, his eyes will fall out of his head when he sees you in any of the dresses I’ve picked out for you, but especially this one.”
“As much as I’d hate for him to lose his eyes…”
We share a laugh and suddenly, I feel much better.
Once I’m finished dressing in my own clothes, which suddenly looks cheap and shabby, I step out of the dressing room to find her going over the list Brock dictated.
“All right. It looks like this is all of it,” she says to her assistant, a meek and mousy girl wh
o flashes a shy smile at me.
There’s an entire rack of new clothes in front of her. “Wow. It didn’t seem like all that much up until now.”
“You’re a lucky girl.” She smiles, turning to me. “And you know something? A secret, between you and me?”
“Sure.”
She leans in a little, eyes sweeping back and forth as though she’s looking out for eavesdroppers before whispering, “I do a lot of these appointments. Young women come in after their man calls to confirm it’s all right, and I help them pick out clothing and put it on the boyfriend’s account. I have to say, you’re the nicest girl I’ve ever worked with.”
I can’t help feeling a glow of pleasure. “I am?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I’d go so far as to say you’re just not the type I’m used to. You’re sweet and unassuming. It’s nice to see a girl like you land a straight shooter like Mr. Garret. I like him and I’m glad he found such a lovely girl.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not his girl and that he’s not entirely a straight shooter, seeing as how this is all part of a deception. Besides, it’s flattering. And I need the extra confidence badly. I need to know I can convince Brock’s ex that I’m the sort of girl he would have picked as his girlfriend. “Thank you,” I whisper.
She moves away, all business again. “I’ll have everything rung up for you. Good luck, sweetheart,” she says as her assistant wheels the rack to the registers.
I feel like I should give her a tip or something, but I don’t have that sort of cash on me and I suppose Brock’s taking care of that, too. The sales clerks carefully package everything until there are six bags and three garment bags total. For one weekend? I don’t even want to know what this is all coming to. More than I’d typically make in a year, maybe. It feels obscene to spend that kind of money, but it’s also exhilarating. I have to bite back a silly grin as Tom helps me load everything into the limo before whisking me off to the highrise where Brock is waiting.
The Promise Page 20
