Archie, of course, overhears us. “Girl, you don’t need to be into rodeo. That video went viral, making everyone into James Bennett,” he says, making hungry sounds. “Which I could be . . . balls deep, if he played for my team. Too bad he got himself married. Lucky bitch to ride that cock every night. I wonder if the bull-riding made him a bit . . .” He holds his bent finger up, looking at it contemplatively.
I shrug, not digesting anything they just said and too exhausted to give Archie a rebuttal for his dirty comments. “Please tell me that the world hasn’t burned down while I’ve been out.”
“Out?” Abi asks, giving me that damn Vulcan eyebrow of hers again. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I don’t respond to the hook and she continues. “Last time I saw you, you were literally hanging on my brother as Ross was leading you out of Club Red, and you didn’t answer your phone this morning. Soooo . . . can you give me the PG edited version? He’s my brother, so I don’t need all the gory details.”
Archie slaps Abi’s arm, psshawing. “Then gee-tee-eff-oh if you don’t wanna hear. I live for this shit, and Virgin Violet ain’t usually got any good stories to tell. Something tells me that’s not the case today. So spill all of those filthy, dirty details to Daddy Archie, girl. You owe me good sex stories, remember?”
“Nothing to edit,” I reply, pinching the bridge of my nose as I start tapping that spot behind my ear I read helps with headaches. “I was drunk, and he took me back to his place and put me to bed. And before you say it, there’s no double meaning in that.”
Even though I’m telling the truth, it’s hard not to blush as I think of what I saw and some of the thoughts that have been running through my head all day. Because, damn it all, Ross is sexy as hell. And not just in that cute, older guy way I used to think. No, he’s all grown up now . . . all over.
Yeah, he demanded my ‘obedience,’ saying that we might need to practice that part of our arrangement since I’m such a ball-buster, but he did it with such a roguish charm, a sort of gentlemanly imperiousness, that I still felt like he was doting over me. Deep inside, I liked that he thought I was tough too, not some vapid little girl chasing after him but rather a challenge, an equal, with thoughts and opinions of my own.
Like shopping for my engagement ring. At first, I was going to pick out the simplest ring that I could see not embarrassing him, but when I tried, he took my hand and looked me in the eyes. “This is going to be the only engagement ring I’m ever going to give you,” he said to me while the salesgirl practically drooled over him and silently begged him to seed her ovaries. “I want our ring to reflect that . . . so pick out your dream ring.”
I’m still not sure what to make of that, but how could I refuse?
“So?” Abi asks, pulling my attention back to the office. “Did you tell him about your problem?”
“Yes,” I reply, cutting my eyes to Archie. “Can you get me a coffee? As black and thick as possible.”
He snaps, “One Lizzo special, coming right up.”
“Thanks,” I tell him as he disappears through the doorway, but I know he’s still listening. “And he told me about his problem too. For the record, we’re both going to kick your ass for scheming like that.”
“It’d be worth it,” Abi says with the sort of brutal honesty that makes her my best friend. “So, what’s the plan?”
My answer’s simple as I pull out my engagement ring and show it to her, her squeal jacking my headache up by a few notches. “Goddamn, girl, it’s beautiful!”
Her excitement has Archie hustling back with a half-full coffee cup that he basically drops in front of me so his hands are free to grab at the ring. He holds it up to the light. “Nice ice, ice, baby.”
“You know my head feels like I’ve been skull fucked all night, right?” I reply, cringing at their volume before regretting my words. “And again, no fucking went on between us.” I point back and forth from Abi to Archie to make sure they have that clear.
“Well, guess I’ll need to get those invitations reworked and ready, then,” Abi says. “So put the ring on!”
“We agreed to wait, make it a public proposal,” I answer, putting the ring away. “Don’t know when, but it’ll have to be fast. Two weeks and all.”
“Whirlwind romances can be the best, though,” Abi says hopefully.
Archie’s lips curl. “So, Boss Lady, speaking of public . . . in your whirlwind of an unexpected day off, did you see the paper, by any chance?”
I shake my head, confused. “No, why?”
He intones, “Dun-dun-dun-duuuuuuun . . .” He disappears back out to his desk for a split second and then slaps it open in front of me.
The gossip column headline blares out at me. Playboy Ross Andrews Has Another One on the Hook.
There’s a picture, and I wonder just how shitfaced I got last night based on my relaxed facial expression and unfocused eyes. Reluctantly, I read the copy, anger pulsing behind my eyeballs as I do. “A low-level interior designer wannabe?” I ask, seething. “I’m going to kick this bitch’s ass!”
“Relax,” Abi says soothingly. “Seriously, that writer always rips on whoever Ross gets photographed with. We think she has a crush on him, but we can handle that. Lord knows, Dad has had to call the paper before to threaten lawsuits if they don’t cease and desist.”
“But my reputation—” I start, groaning when my phone rings and I see the name. Mom. “Nope, not answering that.”
As soon as it stops, the office phone starts to ring, and Abi reaches for it and I try to stop her. “Uh-uh! Leave that damn thing down!”
“Why? It’s not like anything’s official yet,” Abi says, and before I know it, we’re struggling over the cordless phone.
Archie, unperturbed, sips at the coffee he got for me. That thief. “Two girls, one phone . . . so not my thing.”
“Dammit, Abi, please!” I beg, finally snatching the phone from her. “Let me think!”
“What do you need to think about?” Abi asks, grinning in confusion. “You are linked to Ross now. He’s agreed to be your husband and you’re going to be his wife. Now, I know he’s an asshole sometimes, but he’s got a good side to him. He just . . . needs to be cajoled to show it a little more.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know how to do that!” I seethe, putting the phone back down and silently vowing to call my mother later. “We’re going to kill each other before we even get down the aisle!”
The big picture of walking down the aisle with Papa and Ross standing there to greet me hits me all at once and I blanch. “Oh, my God, I’m marrying Ross Andrews!”
Abi is still smiling, though, even as I have a minor mental breakdown. “You two always fight like cats and dogs, but that’ll just make the makeup sex better.”
I’m starting to wonder about my best friend’s sanity because she seems to think this is no biggie. And shouldn’t she be weirded out to talk about her big brother’s sex life? Like, a few minutes ago, she was saying she wanted an edited version of the night and now she’s telling me to have crazy, wild makeup sex with Ross. Her brother.
Or is that just what I’m picturing?
“I’ll help you with Ross. I know he drives you nuts sometimes,” she says patiently.
“And half of the state’s going to think I’m some social-climbing gold digger,” I grumble, regretting signing that damn NDA more and more each minute. “I’m going to be ruined.”
“Nonsense. This will all blow over before you know it. Especially when the papers start reporting that you and Ross are dating, meeting the family, and engaged. A few starry-eyed pictures where you two look like lovebirds, and maybe some well-designed PDAs, and you’ll be the romance story of the millennials. The childhood friends who finally ignite in fiery passion that can’t be stopped long enough to plan a proper wedding. Oh, no, the way this story goes . . . you two are ready for your forever, right now.”
She makes it sound plausible and easy. Maybe she’s right and I’m
overreacting?
Seeing that I’m calming somewhat, she starts handing out instructions. “For now, you’re going to get a few hours of work in, send a few emails, and then . . . Paradise Burgers,” Abi says, grinning. “The big ones, with tomato, those four types of cheese you like, and . . .”
“You’re evil. You know I’ve been dieting to get into the dress. The dress I haven’t even found yet,” I remind us all sharply.
“ And the garlic aioli you adore, with milkshakes,” Abi continues, ignoring my interruption. “Come on, their milkshake brings all us girls to the—”
“Stop!” I finally laugh, shaking my head. “You know if you keep it up, Archie’s going to start twerking!”
“Won’t ever happen,” he says dryly, but we all know he was popping his shoulders left and right a bit and I can see the song lyrics running through his head. Hell, if Abi kept singing, he’d probably hop up and do a little whacking for us, the arm-twirling dancing kind, not the ‘call HR type’, and finish with a death drop.
But before he can, Abi’s and my phones both buzz, and I look at mine to see a text from Ross.
Dinner tonight with family. 8 PM. Dress nice . . . honey.
There’s a wink emoji after ‘honey’ and I know it’s in reference to our discussion to not call me Shnookums. I guess he’s trying out terms of endearment. “Ooh, that son of a . . .” I hiss, showing Abi my phone. She holds hers up too, showing me a much nicer, much more polite text from Ross inviting her to the family home for ‘an important family dinner’. “I’m so gonna get him.”
“Good,” Abi says, taking her phone back and slipping it into her pocket. “In the meantime, I’ll help you learn how to get under Ross’s skin, how to cajole him to be nice. When we’re done with him, he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand. I’ve got a few years’ experience in driving guys crazy, especially my brother. And coupled with your track record, we should be golden. Let the games begin.”
I hold my breath and count to ten, gathering myself. “Okay . . . so how do I twist Ross around my little finger and make this whole thing not so ridiculous?”
Chapter 8
Ross
I’m able to hold off until I get to the office, but finally, my primal brain takes over. I barely drop my briefcase in my office, thankful that Kaede’s not at his desk to see my desperation, before I’m bolting for my private bathroom, locking the door behind me as images flash through my mind.
Last night, the feeling of that lush, delicious body pressed against me.
Her lips against mine, her moans when I cupped her ass in the elevator and squeezed.
Waking up to see her nude in all her glory, heavy teardrop breasts succulently swaying with every word.
Her face lighting up with joy when I took her ring shopping. I wonder if she knew she was hugging my arm, pressing her body against mine when I was being a gentleman to her, and if she was purposefully showing me the challenging fire in the dark depths of her eyes when I wasn’t.
But most of all, the sight of her gleaming wet pussy, wanting me to press her into the mattress and fuck her as hard as I could. I’d never even considered what Violet’s pussy might look like, but now it’s all I can imagine.
I’ve been with her all night and all day, a patient saint who didn’t want the delicious torture to end. But I can’t hold back anymore. I drop my pants and wrap my hand around my aching hard cock.
This is wrong, so wrong, but I can’t help it as another image of her soft pink pussy lips and caramel colored nipples floods my overtaxed mind.
In my head, a fantasy Violet drops to her knees, running her hands up my legs and over my thighs, her pink tongue licking her lush lips before taking my balls into her mouth.
I stroke hard, rough, as I give myself over to my lust and my need for her.
Violet Russo. The pest I childishly tortured who grew into the vixen I never noticed and is now the beauty I’m going to marry.
In less than a dozen strokes, my climax hits me like a shotgun blast to the balls, and thick, ropy streams shoot out of the purplish head of my cock to splatter against the toilet and into the water below.
“Fuck,” I rasp, grabbing a handful of toilet paper and wiping up the mess. I can’t believe how fast I came, so fast I didn’t even get to her sucking me or climbing into my lap . . .
I need to stop, or I’m going to walk out of the washroom just as hard as when I walked in. Flushing the toilet, I take a good two minutes to wash my hands and splash water on my face, getting myself under some semblance of control before heading back into my office.
The door’s open and Kaede’s waiting for me, sitting in one of my chairs and tapping away at his tablet so fast and hard that I suspect I’m going to be buying him a new one within a few months. I’m just hoping he was distracted enough by whatever he’s working on to not have heard what I was doing in the bathroom.
He looks up when I sit down and judging by the concern and not smirking judgement, I think I’m in the clear.
“How’s the headache?” And what warrants calling me in on a weekend?”
Straight to the point, I like that about him.
“Barely there,” I reply, opening my laptop. “Listen, I need you to—”
“Wait,” Kaede says, holding up a hand. He does that sometimes, and while most executive assistants would probably lose their jobs for interrupting their executive VP bosses, I’ve come to trust his judgement. He clicks around on his tablet, muttering, “Password protected and off the servers, just to be careful while I’m taking notes. Okay, so about Violet . . .”
He eyes me expectantly. Of course he knows who Violet is. He went to school with us and knows enough of my social life and family life to recognize the name, even if he hadn’t seen her in years before last night. And I’m sure Abi probably gave him a full earful of her dastardly plan.
He shows it by quickly ticking off the benefits. “Well . . . explaining the relationship is easy. And she’s certainly good-looking and smart, her rep in the design world is top-notch, so she’s believable as your girlfriend—”
Maybe Abi didn’t give him all the details of her plan after all?
“I’m marrying her.”
In the entire time Kaede’s worked for me, I’ve only once seen him drop his tablet to the floor, and that required a clumsy UPS delivery girl, three boxes, and his shoe being untied by accident.
This time, though, it only takes three words and his tablet slips from his fingers to bounce off the carpet of my office, his face so slack that he doesn’t notice it at all. “You’re what?”
“I’m marrying her,” I repeat, pulling up my email and starting to type. “In fact, I’m going to hold a dinner at my parents’ house tonight to announce it to my family. We need to get in front of the gossip hounds that I’m sure are already jumping on this story. We went ring shopping this morning.”
“Dude . . . Ross, are you sure you want to take it this far?” Kaede asks. “I mean, when I said fake girlfriend, that’s one thing. But married? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“No,” I immediately reply. “Listen, Violet has her reasons too. It’s a win-win for both of us.”
“And she’s not going to try and fuck you?”
I blink, my cock surging in my pants at the idea Kaede’s question plants. As weird as it seems, my body certainly wants Violet to fuck me. “Excuse me?”
“When it’s over,” Kaede explains. “You know, big public divorce, get a settlement . . . ?”
I laugh, relieved at what he means. “No. Not that I think I need it, but that’s what the NDA I had you pull together was about. Not for her to be my girlfriend but to be my wife. And I’m sure my dad will want her to sign a pre-nup. No getting around that, so the aftermath should be easy.”
“Easy?” he says, not looking like he believes that for a second. But he recovers enough to pick up his tablet. “You’re the boss. So, you’re really doing this?”
I nod and quickly ty
pe out a pair of messages, the first to my family, the other to Violet. I could have copy-pasted and sent her the same thing I sent my family, but the idea of calling her ‘honey’ sarcastically is just too delicious. It’s so much fun to get under Vi’s skin, wind her up, and see how she comes back at me.
After hitting Send, I lean back.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to cover my ass professionally a little here,” I tell Kaede honestly. “This engagement’s going to be at warp speed. Violet needs to be married in two weeks. And there’s going to be a lot to do. I’m sure my parents are both going to be stunned and hopefully back off a little on the pressure cooker, but there are a lot of irons in the fire that I need you to put out.”
“You know I’m on it,” Kaede says simply, checking his tablet.
“Okay, I’ll send you Violet’s contact info so you can check in with her on what needs to be done. I’m sure Archie and Abi have that under control, but backup couldn’t hurt. We’ve got the Johnston meeting in three days. Everything prepped there?” He nods, and I know I could do that presentation in my sleep, which is a good thing because my schedule just blew up with all the additional tasks.
“Need to book a honeymoon. It’s a sham, but no reason we can’t have some fun. Hawaii, maybe? Clear my schedule for those days too.”
Kaede is tapping away, and I trust that he’s got everything. He’s that good.
Before Kaede can comment, my phone rings and I pick it up to see Abi calling. “Go on . . . you do your stuff and I’ll do my end of things. And get yourself a better tablet. On me!”
Kaede smirks and gets up, heading out of the office while I pick up Abi’s call. “Hey, little sister. See you got my text?”
“What’s all this about a family dinner?” Abi asks sweetly. I can hear the bomb about to drop in her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth tone. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with an announcement, would it?”
My Big Fat Fake Wedding Page 10
