by Jolie Day
Studying him for a moment, I wondered if I really needed to act like a fucking concrete pillar before I could get my inheritance and prove that my place in the company was worth saving. Damon was a strategic guy. Calculated, intentional. Some would say uptight.
The word “uptight” brought the memory of Rose to my mind. Always in a rush, busy with something. She lived alone, she and her cat. I’d bet my dad would love somebody like her.
Wait.
Hold the goddamn phone.
A thought came to mind—she was the perfect example of somebody he’d want me to “settle down” with, right?
Sadie returned with our orders and slid a napkin under Damon’s coffee mug. “Here you go.” She whistled and stormed off. Damon took a quick glance, then shook his head.
“What is it?” I asked, snatching the napkin.
It read: 555-4369. Call me. S.
“Hey, what the fuck?” He grabbed the napkin out of my hand and shoved it into his jeans pocket.
“You put it in your pocket. So, you are gonna go balls-deep?” I smirked.
“No. But I won’t embarrass her by leaving the napkin just lying around or crumpling it up and tossing it into the trashcan. I don’t want to crush her.”
“But she’ll be waiting for your call.”
“I doubt that. Now drop it.” He eyeballed me with his patented “serious” expression. “Let’s get back to why we’re here.”
“So, I just had this idea,” I said, digging into my pie. “How about this? Dad wants me to take my life seriously and grow up, right?”
“Right.” Damon nodded.
“What would be better than getting engaged?” I sat forward as I spooned sugar into my coffee, waiting for his response.
“Sure.” He shrugged, taking a sip from his own mug. “But I doubt you’d be ready for that within the next six months.”
“Nobody said anything about being ready.” I gave him a sly smile and leaned back again. “I’m talking about faking it. I’ll ask somebody to pretend to be my fiancée, clean up my public image, and make it look like I’m settling down.” I chuckled to myself, loving this plan already. “And I have the perfect candidate.”
Damon lifted an eyebrow in question. “Who?”
“My neighbor,” I said. “She’s just like you.”
“Like me?”
“Uptight all the time.” I grinned. “It’s perfect.”
Damon shook his head. “Man, are you shitting me? That sounds like a bad idea.”
I glared at him. “Why? What’s bad about it?”
“Your father’s not an idiot,” Damon said. “He’ll smell that bullshit from ten miles away.”
“That’s why she’s perfect! She’s not the typical kind of girl I go out with.” Except her tits and ass, but that was beside the point. “She’s a prude. A total killjoy. Not a party chick, boring as shit. The perfect daughter-in-law type. Mom will be ecstatic. Dad will eat it up.”
“Miles,” Damon said, his tone serious, “your parents aren’t idiots.”
“Don’t you get it? With this chick, they’ll want to believe it. Best of all, the whole idea is unique—they won’t expect a thing.”
He stared at me like I was the idiot. “It’s done all the time.”
“On what planet?”
Damon shook his head and gave me a “duh” look. “Do you think she’ll even agree to it?” He took another sip of his coffee.
“I have no idea.” I shrugged, grinning at the thought. “She hates my guts.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said in a smartass tone, setting down his coffee mug. “You might catch feelings.”
“Ha-ha. Right. I’m not worried about catching feelings.” I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I feel the same way about her. She irritates the shit out of me.”
“So, you don’t want to fuck her?” Damon raised his brow, clearly unbelieving.
“Man, that’s why it’s going to work. I don’t. This whole thing, I’m telling you, it’s foolproof.”
“So why would she agree?”
“Good thinking, bro,” I said and uncrossed my arms. “Haven’t thought about that. Maybe—if I set up a contract and give her some kind of incentive—she’d be open to it. It’s worth a try.”
Damon sighed. “It’s a shitty plan.”
“It’s all I’ve got right now. The whole fucking thing isn’t exactly practical,” I said with my hands up, gesturing to myself. “This is me. I’m not changing any time soon, buddy.”
He shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. “Well, good luck then.”
“Thanks, man.” I smiled, shoving the rest of the pie into my mouth.
3
ROSE
“Shit, shit, shit!” I cursed under my breath as I ran along the sidewalk, getting wetter by the second.
It was raining cats and dogs, and I hadn’t brought my umbrella or coat with me today. This morning, the weather had been warm and sunny. I’d even chosen to wear a dress and strappy heels, which were now beyond slippery.
Yeah, thanks, weather app. What the hell?
I held my handbag over my head, but my body was under a full rain attack, and I was sopping wet now. Did the universe have it in for me today? I’d had a horrible day at work. I just wanted to get home, pour a glass of wine, and relax.
Mondays—I hated them. Working as Head of Marketing for a makeup company was great, and I was passionate about my job. However, it wasn’t so great when everybody looked to you for inspiration when a new line came out, and you had nothing. Zilch. Nada.
Bursting through the street-side door to the lobby of my apartment building, and rushing toward the elevator, I left small puddles of water along the way.
I lived on the 17th floor, right next to an asshole of a man, Miles Humphries. I hated him. He irked the living shit out of me with his “Don Juan” lifestyle. I had to admit, though grudgingly, he wasn’t the ugliest male specimen on the planet.
Some might consider him as sexy as a damn fireman on a calendar. Not me.
I’d never thought of him that way while lying in bed late at night—no way.
He’s a dick. A complete jerk.
Every time we saw each other, he got on my nerves with his snarky comments.
He loved it—I couldn’t stand it.
And yes, he’d asked me out before. The nerve! He’d gone above and beyond to make it clear that he was not interested in anything more than one night of fun. What a douche-canoe! Of course, I’d turned him down, and I guessed he enjoyed the chase. Not that I wouldn’t have turned him down even if he had been interested in more.
Nah-uh. Over my dead body.
I pressed the button for the elevator, impatiently, and stood back, knowing it would take ages to arrive.
Clearly, this elevator was not maintained or serviced or whatever, because it had been having issues for several days now. Sigh. I glanced down at myself. My form-fitting creamy white dress was soaked right through—to my freaking panties. I loved this dress. It was formal attire for work, yet it made my body look good and my boobs pop. Right now, though, they were glistening with wetness, and I could feel water droplets trickling on down between them.
Lightning struck something nearby outside, and I almost jumped from the sound. Heavy thunderstorms were crashing down on New York this time of year. It grew visibly darker. Rumbling thunder shook the building, and goose bumps prickled down my spine, causing my nipples to perk up through the wet material. I almost didn’t hear the lobby door open behind me.
Shifting to the side, I only saw a tall silhouette, but I knew it was him.
Miles. Damn. I tried to compose myself, realizing that the universe definitely did want to piss me off today.
Ding.
Oh, good! The elevator doors opened, and I took a step inside, already reaching for the button to our floor. Come on, close! Close! I pleaded to the elevator gods before he could reach me.
Miles strode toward me, and one side of
his full mouth lifted slightly. He shook the water from his hair, and now he had a serious “after shower” look going on.
He got into the elevator and moved to stand next to me—silently. Great, here we go. Thanks, elevator. Piece of shit.
I pressed the button to our floor—again. Why weren’t the doors closing?
Miles gave me a sidelong glance, and as usual, his eyes dropped down to scan my body. I noticed they lingered on my cleavage—no surprise there. Creep. I wouldn’t assess him. Okay, maybe a quick glance. He was drenched as well, his suit dark from the rainwater. His white shirt stuck to his chest, revealing the outline of a tattoo hidden beneath. His dark hair was tousled, and water was dripping down his thick neck.
He pressed the button to our floor.
Then, the doors finally decided to close. Internally, I rolled my eyes at this stupid, slow-as-hell elevator. Miles had a smirk on his annoying face.
“You’re wet,” he said simply.
Catching the sexual innuendo there, I frowned at him. “Not today, please, Miles.” I had no energy or willpower to deal with his silly advances.
I just wanted to get home.
He turned his body to face me. “Another bad day, I see. Well, I bet I can make it better.” His smirk widened, and he tilted his head. I glared at him. Obviously, I knew what he was hinting at, and this was exactly the type of shit-talk I wanted to avoid with him.
“No, thanks, buddy. You’ll need to get your kicks elsewhere,” I replied, and returned my gaze in front of me.
“Damn, woman, keep it in your pants,” he said. “I only wanted to talk.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“For real. I do need to talk to you about something. Can I come over? Right now?”
Weird. I shifted to face him, scowling.
“I need to ask you something.” He acted innocent and shrugged.
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms in a skeptical stance. All that achieved was to push my cleavage farther up and on display. Miles’ eyes dropped automatically, and he didn’t bother to hide his appreciation of the view. I dropped my arms in annoyance.
“So ask me then.” I huffed.
“No, not here. Can I come over a bit later? Let’s get dry first.”
Dammit. I knew I couldn’t get out of it. He would just keep pestering me, over and over, day after day. Who had time for that? Also, I was actually curious about what he could possibly “need” to ask me.
I sighed heavily, revealing my irritation. “Fine, but you only get two minutes! Max.”
The doors dinged open as I said that, so I pivoted on my heel and headed for my apartment.
“That’s all I need.” I heard him say. And as if on cue, more thunder rumbled outside.
Wonderful.
A while later, I was dry and in my favorite white yoga pants with a soft, pink, baggy sweater on. It had a wide neckline, so it almost hung off one shoulder. It was my most comfortable piece of clothing, aside from the yoga pants.
I walked from my bedroom to the kitchen with the intention of pouring myself a glass of wine. I’d inherited this apartment after the recent death of my dad. My mom passed when I’d been two, so it was really just me now.
Well, and Daisy, of course. My sweet little Daisy. She was my cute but rather anxious rescue cat. I’d only managed to get her to trust me after a good few months. She would often run off and hide when something frightened her. Once I couldn’t find her for a whole day, only to realize she’d tucked herself deep under my dresser in the corner of the room. She had white fur, with a few gray hairs sprinkled here and there, and a cute brown spot (that, by the way, looked nothing like a muffin) in the middle of her wide, light-blue eyes. So darling.
“Kitty, kitty.”
As I walked around the apartment, she glided in between my legs, asking for food.
“Aww, my Daisy bloom, there you are. Hungry?” She jumped onto the kitchen counter as I poured pellets into her bowl. Soon enough, she was feasting away.
I had just gotten comfortable on the couch, with my huge glass of wine, when I heard a knock on my door.
“Hey, Rose,” Miles said cunningly as I opened the door.
The emphasis he put on my name was just the beginning of what I knew would be an annoying conversation—it always was with him. He leaned against the doorframe, in dry clothing now and larger than life, with his left arm above his head. I couldn’t help when my eyes immediately shot to the bicep bulging right next to his face. I mean, I was only human.
Turning around, I went back to the couch—as uninterested as possible—saying over my shoulder, “Okay, fine, what is it, Miles?” I heard the door close behind me and his footsteps slowly followed.
I sat down and grabbed my wine. I considered offering him a glass, then remembered who it was. Any other guests, definitely, but him? No. I wasn’t going to give him any more reason to stay here longer than his two minutes.
“Your two minutes are starting now,” I said.
When I looked up, he was standing with his hands in his pockets, surveying my apartment. He’d never been in here. He had on a white T-shirt and sweatpants. Gray ones. Yep. Dammit. Everybody knew that was the sexiest thing a guy could wear. Did he change into them on purpose to show off his “assets”?
“Hmm,” he mused. “Just as I expected.”
“What?” I asked.
He continued walking around and scanning the kitchen.
I craned my neck, trying to keep an eye on him.
“Your place is clean… and neat. So, where do you hide all your cats?” He stared at me expectantly as if that were a real question.
I merely gave him a look that screamed, “Seriously?”
He chuckled at my reaction, lifting a hand and running it through his thick hair, which was still damp. It now had the “quickly brushed through with his fingers” look. Was that a scar above his ear? It looked big.
“Did you give Miss Muffin Patch the stroking I requested?” That comment shook me right out of my daze. The jerk. He started smiling and put his hands up in surrender.
I dropped my head back onto the couch to remove my gaze from his. I knew guys like him, and I was not looking to lead him on in any way.
“You’re using up your two minutes,” I reminded him.
“Okay, okay. So, I have a proposal for you.”
Arching a brow, I took another sip of my wine, feigning indifference.
Miles moved to the window, staring out at the view. “My dad’s threatening to cut me off and fire me from the family company if I don’t get my shit together.”
“Well, that’s not surprising,” I replied and couldn’t help but snicker. It was hilarious. I immediately sympathized with his father. But what was the point in telling me?
He glared at me for a second before continuing. “Apparently, I’ve been dragging the company’s name through the shit, and everybody’s sick of it. Even my brother.” Miles glanced to the side, and I realized it bugged him. “Anyway, when I turn twenty-seven in six months, I’ll gain access to my inheritance.”
“So…?”
“So, if I can look responsible for that long, I’m in the clear.” He shrugged, as if that explained everything.
“I’m sorry, you said ‘look’ responsible?” I narrowed my eyes. “You have no intention of actually changing?”
“No. But I’m glad you brought that up. That’s where you come in.” He grinned.
“Me?”
He walked away from the window and took a seat on the couch opposite me. The way he was looking at me now only accentuated those blue eyes of his and—for whatever reason—made me feel uneasy. “I’ve been thinking about a plan,” he began. “You pretend to be my fiancée, and join me at family and public gatherings, and I’d look like I’m settling down. Starting a serious relationship, you know, being responsible.”
Staring at him for a few seconds, I let this information sink in. I pursed my lips and lifted one side of my mouth in a show of considera
tion before grabbing my wineglass from the coffee table and standing.
“I’m good,” I said plainly, then went to the kitchen for a refill.
“You’re good? What the fuck does that mean?” He got up and followed me.
I sighed before explaining, “It means I’m good. No, thanks. I’d rather not. Need I continue?” I turned and leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at him. “Are we done here?”
I was a relatively intelligent woman, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that this was a horrible and ridiculous idea—for both of us.
Miles was silent.
He grabbed my little egg-shaped baking timer, and then looked away from me, playing with it. He leaned his head against the doorframe. “It’s not like you’ve got a lot going for you right now,” he said finally, directing his attention back to me. “It’ll be fun. We’ll attend a few events and family gatherings, you know, to prove our”—He made quote fingers—“love.” Suddenly, a wide smile spread across his face, and he set the timer down. “But the icing on your cake is that you’d also be photographed with me.”
“Urgh, as if,” I said, trying to push past him.
He still stood there in the frame, large and glorious. I was careful not to touch his body, neither with my breasts nor with my ass, or any other body part. Before I could object, he moved out of the way to let me get back to the living room while laughing at his crazy idea of flattering me.
“You probably have the worst reputation in the city,” I said. “Being photographed with you would actually be bad for my rep.” I put my hand on my chest and pouted. “Sorry, sweetie, ain’t gonna happen!” I then turned and flopped back onto the couch.
He followed me back into the living room and sat down. “Sweetie?” he rumbled, relaxing onto the seat. “That’s a start.”
“That’s not a start.” All this was more than laughable—the entire situation was. He was the last guy I needed to get involved with, in any way. He had so many options, so many girlfriends—why was he pestering me, of all people? “Ask somebody else. Why are you asking me?”
“Why you?” He arched a brow in question.
