by T. K. Leigh
“Never mind,” I say quickly.
“Certainly.” She continues toward the door. When she’s about to close it behind her, she catches my eyes and speaks again.
“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Mr. Gage wouldn’t have asked you to do this if he didn’t think you could handle it. It may seem overwhelming right now, but once you get settled in, you’ll forget what life was like before you came to the Hamptons.” She gives me an encouraging smile, then closes the door, leaving me alone to absorb this strange life I’ve been thrust into.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I sigh.
This would be most women’s dream come true. A gorgeous bedroom overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, complete with palatial walk-in closet, which is stocked with designer clothes and shoes. So why am I having such a hard time with this?
Restless and unnerved by the unusual silence, particularly compared to Manhattan, I head back into the elaborate closet, flipping the binder open. I scan the first page to find the pre-selected outfit for today’s event — a pool party beginning at three o’clock. Turning my attention to the clothes, I locate the items Dana indicated and place them on a railing by a 180-degree mirror, scowling at the navy-and-white polka-dot two-piece bathing suit. At least she chose more of a vintage, pinup style with a high waist and full coverage for my girls.
“Well, I guess I should shave my legs,” I say to myself, spinning around and going in search of the bathroom. Thankfully, it’s right next to the closet.
Like the rest of the house, it’s impressive and extravagant. Marble tile. Spacious shower with several showerheads. Tempered glass behind an enormous claw-foot tub overlooking the ocean. I can’t remember the last time I’ve lived somewhere with a tub, so I opt for a bath.
I turn on the faucet, spying a canister of bath salts sitting on a shelf above the tub. After sprinkling some into the steaming water, the fragrant aroma of lavender fills the air. I twist my hair into a knot on top of my head, then rid myself of my clothes.
Once I step into the bath and lean against the porcelain, tension rolls off me as all my worries about what this afternoon may bring evaporate. So what if these people don’t think I fit in? That’s never bothered me before. It’s just a few months. After that, I’ll never have to see any of them again.
Basking in the serenity of my luxurious bath and surroundings, I all but lose track of time until I notice the water’s gone tepid and my skin’s begun to prune. I shave quickly and grudgingly step out of the tub. After toweling myself off, I set about readying myself for my first event of the summer. I’m surprised how well the bathing suit Dana selected fits. Then again, she was rather meticulous in measuring me. I expected nothing less.
After applying copious amounts of sunscreen to my fair skin, I accentuate my natural peachy hue with a hint of blush. Then, as per Dana’s instructions, I smooth my signature red lipstick on my lips. It brings together the vintage look. I tie a band around my head, knotting it at my nape, allowing the excess material to fall in front of my chest. I complete the look by draping a sheer white, floor-length coverup dress over my body.
When I step in front of the mirror in the closet, I gawk at my reflection. I still look like myself, but I don’t feel like myself. Normally, I loathe wearing bathing suits. That’s the benefit of living in the city — there’s no real reason to wear one. But Dana chose one that accents what I consider my best assets — my hips and chest — without revealing too much skin. If she was able to work her magic on selecting the perfect two-piece, I can only imagine the gown she chose for tomorrow night’s gala.
Curious, I spin from the mirror and head to the binder, about to turn the page to see exactly what I’ll be wearing, when there’s a knock on the door. Assuming it’s Camille to check on me, I simply call out, “Come on in.”
As I round the corner into the bedroom to meet her, I stop in my tracks when Julian stands in front of me. All six-foot-four of pure Julian Gage. Sinewy muscles. Consuming stare. Perfect lips turned into a subtle hint of a smile. He wears a white, short-sleeved, button-down shirt paired with blue checkered swim trunks. Yet again, it’s another new look for him. Is there anything this man can’t wear and make absolutely delicious? I doubt it. His skin appears darker than a few days ago, the ends of his hair lighter, kissed by the sun.
“Remind me to give Dana a raise,” he murmurs as he circles me.
If anyone else regarded me in such a way, I’d probably feel like a prize pig on display during the annual county fair. That’s not the case with Julian. He makes me feel coveted, admired…beautiful, something I never thought I would by wearing a two-piece bathing suit.
“A very large raise.” Instantly, his hand clutches my hip and he drags my body against his. I gasp, taken aback by the gesture, particularly after our phone call Saturday.
“We’re back to playing nice, are we?”
“Playing nice? What do you mean?”
I lower my head, feeling more exposed than I already am. “Nothing.”
His thumb and forefinger grip my chin, forcing my eyes back to his, his deep pools of blue piercing me. “I don’t keep secrets and don’t expect you to, either. It’s important we’re both honest with each other about this arrangement. It’s the only way it will work.”
“It’s nothing,” I say once more, pushing away from him. I fold my arms over my chest.
“Guinevere…” His voice is a warning.
“You were…different when you called on Saturday. I guess I wasn’t sure which version of Julian Gage I’d see today.” I shrug half-heartedly, not wanting him to think his demeanor was a big deal, and turn from him.
“Which Julian Gage? You don’t mean…” He trails off. I glance over my shoulder as he closes his eyes, dragging his fingers through his hair. When he looks up, he catches my gaze, his expression apologetic. “You thought I was short with you because I’d gotten you to agree to my proposition and no longer had to pretend to like you?”
“The thought crossed my mind.” I face him, placing my hands on my hips.
He approaches me and tilts my head back. There’s a power and earnestness as he stares deeply into my eyes. Unwavering. Determined. Honest.
“Listen to me, Guinevere. Everything I told you Friday is true. I am profoundly attracted to you. I was the instant I laid eyes on you. And I’ve only become more so with each second I spend in your presence. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you’re anything but the beautiful, charming, witty woman I’m thrilled to spend the next few months with.” He holds my gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, releasing his hold on me. “I was working Saturday. We all have our faults, and one of mine is being unable to switch from business mode to…pleasure mode.”
I laugh slightly as the stress about the situation rolls off me. “And what exactly is ‘pleasure mode’?” I smirk, chewing on my bottom lip.
He leans toward me, his voice a low growl. “Keep sucking on that lip and you’ll find out.”
Bringing my hand to his chest, I gently push him away. “I thought you said kissing’s for amateurs.”
“Who said anything about kissing you?”
I open my mouth to argue, but snap it shut. He’s certainly got me there.
“That’s what I thought.” He flashes a devious smile before straightening his posture, extending his hand. “So, are you ready to convince the world you’re my girlfriend?”
I pass him a flirtatious look as I link my fingers with his, his skin rough against mine. “Let the games begin.”
Chapter Eighteen
“So what’s our story?” I turn to Julian as he drives along the streets of Southampton. It’s the first time I’ve seen him behind the wheel. There’s something incredibly sexy about it. The natural confidence he exudes as he shifts from third to fourth, his free hand resting leisurely on the wheel. For most people, driving is a necessity, a way to get from point A to point B in the shortest amount of time. Julian makes it appear like an art form.
And let’s face it, his car is ridiculously hot, too. I practically had an orgasm when we entered his garage and I feasted my eyes on a fleet of luxury cars — Land Rover, Porsche, Mercedes, Tesla, Bentley, Jaguar. But when Julian clicked a key fob and the lights to a red Ferrari Portofino convertible blinked, I all but had to wipe the drool off my lower lip. When he asked if I wanted to take it for a spin sometime, I offered to give him a blow job in return. Jokingly, of course. But that’s how amazing this car is in the hierarchy of hot cars. It truly is blow-job worthy. The hum of the engine as he revved it to life only solidified my original assessment.
“What do you mean?” His smile is bright against his tan skin.
“People are bound to ask how we met. I can’t come out and tell them the truth.”
“Why not?” He’s so cavalier about it, composed and in control, acting as if we’re not about to walk into a party where we’ll try to convince the Hamptons’ elite we’re an item.
“For one, we met in a bar. I’m sure you’d rather we make up something, like we met at a Sotheby’s auction or doing something else people with a ridiculous amount of money do.” I squint at him, pinching my lips together. “What is it you people do for fun?”
He laughs, shaking his head as he shifts into fifth. “We people…” He playfully lifts a brow, “do the same kinds of things you do for fun.”
“Except you probably smoke better weed and do keg stands on twenty-four karat gold kegs with diamond-encrusted taps.”
“Actually, the taps are hard to come by this year, but twenty-four karat kegs are a dime a dozen up here.” He winks, his response taking me by surprise. Whenever I’d make a joke like that to Trevor, he’d scold me for being absurd, that I should be more serious. It’s refreshing to be with someone who can appreciate my sense of humor.
“Thank God, because there is no way I’m drinking Natty Ice out of anything other than a keg that’s plated in gold. A broad’s got her standards.”
“Of course.”
It’s silent before I speak again. “But seriously… Shouldn’t we make sure our stories line up?”
“What’s there to line up? We met in a bar.” He glances at me. “Not at a Sotheby’s auction.”
“Horseback riding?”
“Definitely not.”
“Golfing?”
“Hate the sport.”
“At the racquetball club?”
“It’s for men only.”
“Chauvinistic bastards.”
“They certainly are. Only men would make a competition out of smacking balls against a wall.”
I shift my eyes to his, fighting against my smile. “Did the Julian Gage just make yet another joke? I thought the first one was a fluke, but a second one in so many minutes?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
I face forward, allowing the strong rays of the sun to warm my face. I wonder if Dana knew which car Julian would take to the party and that’s why she instructed that I tie a wrap around my hair. It does go with the vintage style of the rest of my wardrobe, but it has also proved to be rather practical.
“I had this image in my mind of you being so serious, like you were born shitting caviar and pissing Champagne.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know.” I fidget with the line of my coverup, hesitating before blurting out, “I Googled you.”
“I figured you would.” His voice shifts, no longer playful. Now it’s more serious, cautious. He clears his throat. “Find anything interesting?” He steals a glimpse at me before staring straight ahead, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in a hard swallow.
“No,” I respond thoughtfully. “It simply solidified my opinion of you.”
“Do I want to hear what that is?”
“That you’re a good person, despite what some tabloids would lead people to believe.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his grip on the steering wheel tighten. According to my research, Julian came into his fortune nearly ten years ago now. I can’t believe he’s still dealing with the quiet whispers and upturned noses, even after all this time.
“I like to believe that karma rewarded your generous spirit.”
Upon hearing my words, he flicks his gaze toward me as he lifts his hand from the gear shift and grabs onto mine, squeezing.
“Thank you.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a gentle, heartfelt smile. It’s not the sensual, flirtatious one I’m accustomed to. It’s real, genuine, pure, a peek into who Julian Gage truly is.
“Of course.”
He keeps his fingers intertwined with mine for a while as he drives. As we approach an intersection, he withdraws his hand to downshift, causing my shoulders to fall. But once he turns down another street and is back up to speed, he returns it to my thigh.
I snap my eyes toward his as a fluttering erupts in my stomach. My breathing increases, the skin beneath his fingers tingling.
“Is this okay?” he inquires in a low, smooth tone.
“Yes,” I whimper.
“Good.” His pupils dilate as he steals a glimpse at my exposed leg. Then he looks forward, squaring his shoulders. “Because we’ll need to touch each other quite a bit over the next few weeks. If we’re to make people believe what we have is real, we need our interactions to appear natural.”
“Right.” I form my mouth into a tight line, suppressing the flicker of hope his gesture gave me. “So is there anything I should know about the people who will be there today?”
“This is more of a casual get-together at David Gittney’s house.”
“Old money or found money?”
He passes me a sly smile as he shifts into fifth, then returns his hand to my thigh. “Very good. You remember. David is old money.”
I purse my lips, trying to understand the proverbial caste system that appears to be in place here in the Hamptons. “If he’s old money and looks down upon people with found money, as you claim—”
“Which he does.”
“Then why does he invite you to his parties?”
“They like to flaunt the fact that this has been their lives for as long as they can remember, that they’re the equivalent of American royalty. Old money invite new money so there are warm bodies at their parties, at least more than the few dozen people who’d attend if they kept it strictly old money. Found money goes in the hopes to finally be accepted. It’s a game that’s been taking place for ages now. And I have a feeling it will continue even when I’m dead. The current found money will eventually become old money and a fresh batch of newly minted millionaires and billionaires will strive for acceptance.”
“Well…” I settle into the black leather. “I suppose I’m in store for a rather eye-opening summer. Anything I should keep in mind? Should I act a certain way? Not swear? Stuff like that?”
He flashes me his debonair smile as he pulls his car up to an elaborate iron gate. “Just be your normal, charming self. Don’t change who you are for these people. I chose you because of who you are. Don’t blend into the crowd. Stand out.”
“It’s hard not to stand out with bright red hair,” I joke.
“That’s not what I mean. You’d stand out even if you had a black curtain tossed over you. I’d never ask you to change who you are to suit my needs.”
I face forward, reminded of my breakup with Trevor.
“I like you as you, and that will never diminish. Anyone who takes for granted how incredible you are doesn’t deserve you. Remember that.”
“But aren’t you trying to convince these people you’re someone you’re not?”
“I’m not trying to convince them I’m someone I’m not.” He returns his eyes to the driveway, continuing up an even more extravagant and impressive paved path than the one leading up to his estate. I didn’t think such a thing were possible. Again, I’m proven wrong.
“But you said it yourself. You’re not cut out for the relationship thing.”
He pulls to a stop in front of a spra
wling home that rivals many of the mansions I’d seen in Newport during a trip I’d taken with Trevor. When a valet attendant approaches the car, opening my door, Julian leans toward me. “And I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I sleep around, either. Because I don’t. I don’t lead women on. I am upfront and honest with everyone from the beginning, just like I was with you.”
He steps out of the car and I do the same, allowing one of the attendants to help me to my feet. When Julian reaches me, I part my lips, wanting to press further, but the warning in his gaze reminds me we’re on display for everyone. I glance past him to see other cars pulling up behind his, curious eyes observing us. Some indifferent, others tainted with animosity.
“Ready?”
I nod quickly, swallowing down my nerves. He rests his hand on my lower back, steering me up a grand staircase leading into a palatial home that screams money. Crystal chandeliers. Marble tiles. High ceilings. Pristine furniture. Rare art. It is the quintessential display of wealth.
After navigating our way through the house, we step out of a pair of French doors and onto the back patio, the pool party already in full force. There must be over two hundred people in attendance, not to mention a band set up on a stage in the corner, playing hits of the 80s and 90s.
You know those cliché scenes in coming-of-age movies when a girl moves to a new school and walks into the cafeteria that first day, knowing absolutely no one? That’s how I feel now. Except I’m at a five-star cafeteria and naked. At least I feel naked. That could be the only thing to explain the dozens of eyes that instantly zero in on us, the whispers washing over my skin.
Able to sense my nerves, Julian turns toward me and grabs my chin, tilting my head back.
“Be yourself. These first few days will be the hardest. People will wonder who you are. And some women here today will most likely be catty. Don’t let them get to you.”
He brings a thumb to my lower lip, brushing against my flesh. One touch and I’m completely intoxicated by this man and the way my body responds to even the slightest graze of his skin against mine. I crane my head back, the distance between our mouths diminishing with each heartbeat. I’m no longer paying attention to the band rattling off Jenny’s phone number or the people squeezing past us to get through. It’s just Julian. Just this. Just us.
