by Jamie Knight
I snorted a laugh. “Oh, so they hadn't really lied as much as been chronologically challenged,” I said.
Jim laughed too. “Pretty much, yeah,” he concurred.
A fake fiancée, huh? Maybe the idea wasn’t crazy. Having a hot girl by my side with a ring on her finger would certainly tell Gina to back off. Then after a few weeks, I could tell my family that things went south, and hopefully, Mom would be off the Gina kick by then. It was a simple plan.
“It's not a bad idea,” I admitted, still mulling it over.
“Thank you.”
“I'm just pretty sure it would break my mother's heart if she thought I got engaged without telling her,” I admitted, sighing. “She wants to know all my business.”
“True.”
I picked up my cup and found myself tapping on it again. “Though if it banishes Gina from this realm for all time, it might be worth it.”
“You make her sound demonic,” Jim pointed out, raising one eyebrow in a questioning look.
“Mom or Gina?”
“I was thinking Gina,” Jim clarified.
I laughed. “Can you blame me?”
“Not really,” Jim admitted. He knew the whole story.
“Now, I just need to find someone willing to commit an emotional fraud,” I said, getting into the idea.
“How hard can it be?” Jim shrugged.
Chapter Three
Emma
I had only been a waitress at Java, the cafe near the Howell and Howell Law Firm’s building, for a few weeks. I had worked at coffee shops before back home in Hanford, but it was nothing like the fast-paced hurly-burly of big city L.A. I soon got used to it, though, especially when I figured out how the machines worked and got it down to near muscle memory. I wasn't a particularly fast learner, but when I got something I had it forever — that was basically what I told them when they had hired me here, and the manager had been really patient with me during my training. I did my best to live up to that trust.
I didn't usually remember people very well, at least not the ones I saw briefly as customers, but I could have spotted Mr. Jim Howell from across the street in a heavy fog. Ditto for the tall, handsome friend he occasionally had with him when he came in.
The other baristas told me that Jim Howell owned the multi-million-dollar law firm next door. He was easy to spot with his dark hair and general air of confidence. He also came into Java almost every day.
I assumed the blue-eyed man with model-like looks was also employed at the law firm, and the hot lawyer was the star of my latest fantasies. I was thrilled when they showed up during my afternoon shift, and through eavesdropping skills worthy of a ninja spy, I gleaned that the friend's name was Noah Wells.
I had seen some pretty good-looking men in my twenty-seven years of life, but no one had made my naughty bits tingle as much as the blonde hottie did. My imaginative was quite vivid and distinctly raunchy — especially when it came to Noah.
I was still a virgin, but not because I wasn't interested in sex. I was just too painfully shy to respond even if a guy showed interest in me, which happened on occasion.
After moving to L.A., I finally decided that it was a pattern that had gone on for too long. I wanted a guy, I wanted to lose my virginity, and Noah was the best candidate yet.
It wasn't just arrogance that made me think the lawyer was interested. We hadn't exchanged many words, and none outside the context of ordering coffee, but I could see where his eyes would wander. Usually, they would end up staring at my tits, which, to be fair, were quite big. He also really seemed to like my legs, something he saw a lot of, it being Los Angeles. Short skirts were pretty much standard apparel. I had tried shorts a couple of times but couldn't really pull them off — in either sense of the word. The zippers tended to stick. Just my luck.
Today when Jim and Noah started talking about how blondie needed someone to pretend to be his fiancée, I could hardly believe it. I knew in my gut that this was my chance. Or, at least the best chance I would get to get close to the man of my dreams. As hopeful as I could sometimes get, I was a stone-cold realist at heart. So much so, that I managed to overcome my natural shyness and walk over to the table, turning the waist of my skirt a couple of times, shortening it by several inches before I went.
“Excuse me,” I said, as politely as I possibly could.
“Oh, hi,” Mr. Howell said. “Emma, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied with a smile.
“What can I do for you?”
“Well, I, um, couldn't help but overhear that you need someone to pretend to be your fiancée, Mr. Wells, and well, I, um, would like to offer myself for the job,” I announced, trying to keep my voice steady.
Their jaws dropped like I had just done a magic trick, and they looked at each other as though to ask, “what the fuck?”
Both men’s expressions made me wonder if I had been stupidly bold. Nervously, I clasped my hands behind my back and fought the urge to tap my foot.
“Seriously?” Noah asked, looking up at me with his sky-blue eyes wide.
“Uh-huh!” I said, perhaps a bit too upbeat.
“Wow,” Noah said, a big grin settling onto his sexy lips, “not only do I get a fake fiancée but a smokin' hot one to boot. I didn't even buy a ticket.”
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I blushed furiously. Though, I also couldn't keep myself from grinning at the same time. Maybe being bold was a good idea, after all.
“How about we meet here when we both get off work?” Noah asked. “We can get to know each other a little bit better.”
“Great idea,” I said, still a bit dizzy.
I was buzzing for the rest of my shift — and not just from the free coffee we all guzzled when no one was looking. Noah thought he had won the lottery. I thought I had walked into a fairytale. I didn't, but I felt a great urge to pinch myself to make sure I was awake, and it had all actually happened.
I guess I would find out how true this all was when Noah came back at five.
Feeling really happy about my boldness, I smiled briefly at myself. I was being the person I wished I could be: strong, sexy, open, afraid of nothing. I felt another smile creeping back to the edges of my lips.
Finishing my shift, I took off my name-tag, the only bit of identification involved in working at the Java Cafe, and sat at one of the tables, trying to act like I was just another customer even though everyone I worked with would recognize me instantly. I liked to suspend disbelief on occasion. You know, like you do. Life was a lot more fun that way.
Noah was late. At least according to what I remembered — it could have been a beautiful waking dream, I supposed. That was a hypothesis that only seemed more likely by his absence. Just as I was about to give up on the entire concept — and with it, a tiny sliver of my sanity —Noah came in through the door, adorably flushed.
“Sorry, work,” he grunted, hastily pulling a chair back from the table I had chosen.
“It’s okay,” I said, resisting the urge to literally bat my eyelashes at the sexy lawyer.
Despite having clearly just been running, Noah had yet to even break a sweat. His cheeks were flushed, as already noted, and his breaths were short, almost in a sexy, panting way, but he remained perfectly dry and smelling like his choice of cologne. Eddie Bauer's Adventurer by the smell of him.
It was a scent that took me back to high-school and the quiet but clearly intelligent boy I sat next to in math class. I used to glance at his grades when the teacher handed back the assignments, always somewhat jealous and intrigued. The kid was a lanky, pale example of gothy geekdom who wore a black trench coat, read Proust seriously, and listened to heavy metal ironically.
“Have you been waiting long?” Mr. Wells asked, taking off his dress coat and snapping me back into the present.
“No, not really,” I said, averting my eyes, my natural shyness reasserting itself.
“Good, good.” He sat and folded his legs by placing one ankle
on the other’s knee.
We looked at each other. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure what to say, so I picked up my mug and took a sip. Noah had nothing in front of him to drink.
“Did you order already?” I asked.
“Yeah, why?”
I shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Oh, no reason, really, I just have a staff discount is all.”
“Ah,” he said and nodded his head slightly.
It was that moment I remembered that I had heard that Mr. Wells was richer than Gates, being both a high-priced lawyer and born into a wealthy family. I felt the warmth return to my cheeks. I couldn't help it. The sudden urge to get up and leave made my chest quiver, but I decided to stick it out, lest the bravest thing I had yet done in my life be all for naught.
“So, um, how do you want to do this?” I asked, trying to say something before my courage completely left. “I mean, the whole fake fiancée thing.”
He scratched the sexy, blonde stubble on his chin. “I've been thinking about that. I figure it is most important to get our story straight on how we first met. It is likely to be one of the first questions we're asked. Particularly with my mother.”
“Okay,” I said and looked at him expectantly.
“Any ideas?”
It became obvious that Noah wasn’t creative in the story making process. He blinked his eyes at me, looking lost.
My mind was also blank, so I traced the handle of my coffee cup. “Um, at church?”
“That might not go off super well,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I attend the same church as my parents,” he pointed out. “They know everyone there and would wonder why they hadn’t seen you.”
“Ah.”
One of the other baristas walked over and set a steaming latte in front of Mr. Wells. She blinked at me, suspiciously raising her eyebrows. Hiding my lips behind my hand, I mouthed for her to “go away.” She giggled and walked off.
Noah looked at me but didn’t ask any questions. His cheekbones were perfect, and I imagined carefully running my finger down the sharp line of his jaw.
He sighed, gave a little shrug of his broad shoulders, and turned to face the front door of the café. “I suppose we could tell the truth and say that we met at work. Your work in any case.” He stopped, lifting his latte to his lips, but he didn’t take a sip. Instead, his sturdy fingers tapped a rhythm on the porcelain. “However, we might not want to say what you do.”
I wasn’t sure what he was implying. What was wrong with being a waitress? “What if someone asks what I do?”
“Good point.” He sighed again, pursed his full lips, and kept on tapping. “Not work, then. Best to not even bring it up.”
That seemed odd, but I let it go and tried to come up with more ideas. “How about a dating app?” I asked.
“That could work.”
“But which one?” I asked.
“I’m not sure it matters.” The hot lawyer set his still-full cup back down on the table, turning towards me slightly.
“No, probably not,” I agreed, feeling the heat of his gaze again. “How long have we been engaged?”
He shifted in his seat, and although I tried not to notice, his eyes snuck a look at my cleavage. Trying hard not to move, a thrill ran through me, making me want to jump up and down.
Someone that attractive wanting me? It was the best feeling in the world.
I even sat up a bit straighter, so my chest stuck out more.
“Good question,” Noah continued, then finally took a sip of his latte. “It would have to be fairly recent, which is why we haven't told anyone yet.”
“Good point,” I conceded.
“Does a month sound about right?”
“Yeah, that's good for me. I don't really know anyone here in L.A., so it is unlikely that I'll be asked.”
“Good then.” Noah nodded. He took another big sip of his drink and let his eyes wander up and down my body. There was a mix of feelings in his face. I could sense heat, but also something else. Something I wasn’t sure about.
“Anything else?” I prompted, suddenly feeling uncertain.
“Nothing comes to mind. Anything you make up should work. I can wing it if necessary.” He leaned forward on the table. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” My heart started beating a mile a minute as his bright-blue eyes held mine.
“Why were you so desperate to do this? I mean, I had considered hiring an escort, but then, there you were.”
What the fuck?
My stomach dropped. Here I was, trying to do something nice for this man, and he was equating me with a whore. Noah’s gaze suddenly felt dirty on my skin.
“Are you calling me a hooker?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“No, no, but this seems like the sort of thing a hooker would do. You always seemed so wholesome.” He looked me up and down again. “We can negotiate a price for the evening, but I just don’t want to get too carried away. So, if you let me know what you need the money for, I can figure out how best to help you.”
Feeling flabbergasted, I stared at him. He thought I was after money. Here I was genuinely trying to be helpful, and Mr. Wells thought I was playing him. Not this girl!
“Well!” I snapped, leaping up from the table, accidentally dumping my coffee in his general direction. “You're the one who needs help, not me.”
With a dramatic flip of my hair, I stormed out without ever looking back, even when I could hear him shouting behind me.
Maybe being bold was a bad idea, after all.
Chapter Four
Emma
The alarm clock rebounded off the wall before crashing onto the floor. I really didn't know my own strength sometimes. I'd also been playing aggressive music all night on my headphones to avoid noise complaints and was still in a bit of a bad mood.
What happened with Noah was not helping things much. Making matters worse, I still couldn't think about him without getting wet. Even when I remembered what he had said to me.
The fact that he resembled Thor's cleanly shorn cousin was a major factor in the equation. I'd yet to see him standing up without a coat on and hadn't quite been able to check out his cock. Going by the rest of him, I guessed it was big. The thought of it, or at least what it might be, was both scary and exciting at the same time. I could barely get my fingers inside while I was playing with myself, I was so tight, but I was still intrigued by the idea of being gently fucked by a nice big cock.
I showered quickly to avoid having time to do anything that could make me late for my shift at Java. I put on the first clothes that I found that were clean, a denim skirt that was probably a bit too short and a plaid, flannel shirt giving me the overall look of a sexy lumberjack and headed for the car, my long, dark hair still wet.
I made a note to get a new alarm clock on the way home.
I left early enough that there wasn't much traffic, a true oddity in downtown Los Angeles. On the other hand, it was 5 am on a Saturday, and the majority of the city was still sleeping off their hangovers. Something that made parking a lot easier than usual as well. I usually had to park a few blocks away from the cafe.
Nosing into a spot mere steps from the entrance of the building, I cut the engine and took the front steps two by two. There was a disabled access ramp laid over on the side of them, in accordance with the ADA regulations, which they could technically be exempt from due to the status as a heritage building.
“Just under the wire,” Julie said, as I pinned the name tag to my lumberjack shirt and ducked behind the counter.
“Story of my life,” I said.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Was that humor?”
“Gadzooks! I do believe it was!”
Julie went over to the espresso machine to try and hide the fact that she was laughing. Rob, the site manager, wasn't really a killjoy, but he was someone who appreciated professional conduct while on the clock. I couldn't blame him, r
eally.
Sadly, that was the most excitement I'd had in a while. Not only had I discovered I could be funny, but I had also inadvertently used it on an unsuspecting victim. If I was honest, there hadn't been much in the way of pleasure in my life.
All my friends had already settled down into the wife and mother thing, as society doth dictate. Not just my older friends either. Sarah, my best friend back home, was only twenty-five and had already been married for two years and had a six-month-old.
I loved the idea of a domestic existence, but since that hadn’t happened. I was more focused on having some excitement in my life, moving from place to place, and believing that I would find the one. I didn't have any particular plan on how to do this. Just that if I waited long enough and moved enough times that it would happen. It was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. The fates could be fickle and random.
They could also be real bitches. Especially in my case, it seemed that the more I tried to get some excitement and make a connection with the one, the more he eluded me, and the more boring and lonely my life got. It was like the more I pushed, the harder love resisted.
I had honestly thought that Noah might be the one. The one I would love and the one to break the record of monotony. It was mostly desperation for something exciting that drove me to surpass my natural qualms and screaming nerves and offer myself up for the job of Noah's fiancée — at least for a while. It was so naughty and dangerous I couldn't resist.
However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized he had been a bit right about the hooker thing. It was the sort of job usually left to escorts — though that wasn't how I saw it. My own fantasy was that I was helping him out and might get him to give me some physical affection, you know, just to really sell our story, and then he would fall madly in love with me.
But our coffee together had ended my somewhat insane and immature fantasy. He had pretty much done that with what he had said, though not in the way I might have thought.
It was about that time that my inner ass-kicker, the one I'd only recently discovered I had, rose again and said that I didn't need him to do that. The fantasy was fine, I just needed a bit more of a plan, and if it didn't work out, it was up for me to realize and rethink my mindset, not some arrogant prick to pull the rug out from under me.
