Neutral Grounds

by Jiffy Kate

  CeCe

  What did I do?

  What did I fucking do last night?

  I stick my face under the showerhead, hoping the water pelts me hard enough to knock some clarity into my brain. When I woke up this morning, I thought me offering myself to be Shep’s wife was a dream. A very bad dream. But the more I let the events of last night sink in, the more I’m afraid it really happened.

  I don’t remember a lot, except for tequila.

  The first thing I did when I walked into Come Again was demand a shot. If I was going to have to be there for Shepard Rhys-Jones’s birthday, then I was going to need alcohol. I should’ve known better. That delicious agave nectar has been the cause of many bad decisions. At least I’m predictable.

  Good ol’ predictable, dependable CeCe.

  What the fuck did I do?

  I take that thought with me as I finish up in the shower and then get out to dry off—me, tequila, Shep, his sad ass story, my ridiculous offer. As I dry my hair, I let my imagination run wild for a brief second, thinking about what it would be like to be married to someone like Shepard Rhys-Jones. I wouldn’t have to worry about this long-lost cousin of mine trying to take my business away, for one. I mean, Shep is rich, which means I’d be rich, too, and so I’d be able to pay this Theo guy off. Isn’t that what people with money do? Use it as a power source? I wouldn’t know because I’ve never had any.

  One area I don’t have to use my imagination for is the sex. I already know how amazing sex with Shep is, even though I try very hard not to think about it. When you’re ghosted immediately after the best sex of your life, it kinda puts a damper on those particular memories. It also affects any follow-up relationships or possible sexy times with other men, which is just super for me. He probably had no problem falling into bed with other women and he made it perfectly clear I wasn’t anything special to him.

  So, why in the hell did I offer to marry him?

  The simple answer is, I wanted to help him. After all the anger I have felt toward him—which, let’s be honest, was mostly my pride being butt-hurt—deep down inside, it bothered me to see him upset.

  Ultimately, though, my offer was shut down the second the words flew out of my mouth. Not by Shep. He looked too stunned to reply, so Maverick and Carys quickly jumped in, blamed everything on tequila, and took us home. Separately.

  And, now, here I am, opening Neutral Grounds for the day and praying no one remembers the conversation that brought our evening to an abrupt end.

  Of course, he’s here.

  Of fucking course.

  The morning had been going well. The usual crowd of customers all came and went without any peep from Shep but as soon as the rush left, he swept in like a tailored-suit-wearing superhero. But more like an anti-hero, because he doesn’t save the day, he ruins them. The casual saunter and relaxed expression make me think he planned the whole thing, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

  And, as luck would have it, my morning helper, Paige, just stepped out for a break, leaving me with nowhere to hide and no excuses to make.

  “Morning” is his simple greeting, straight to the point, just like he is.

  I admit, his voice does sound sexy, a little rough around the edges still from sleep, like this was the first time he’s spoken today. It kinda reminds me of our weekend together…

  No. Stop that, Cecilia Louise.

  Do not go there.

  “For you, maybe,” I quip, trying to gain some ground with a smart remark. “For people with regular jobs, it’s almost noon.” Giving him a tight smile, I ask, “Would you like a coffee?”

  “Yeah, that’d be great. Iced, please.”

  He’s ignoring my saltiness and using his manners. That means he wants something and I’m really hoping it’s just the coffee. Maybe a scone?

  My stomach feels a little woozy as I turn around and fill a cup with ice and then pour the dark, delicious liquid gold over it, leaving a small amount of room for cream. The entire half a minute, I wish I had a mirror to see what Shep is doing.

  Is he checking me out?

  Looking at my ass?

  Or is he feeling just as out of sorts as I am? Maybe the coolness is a facade?

  Turning back around, I plaster a smile on my face as I hand him his drink, without a scone, and he slides his money across the counter, then puts his change in the tip jar. His eyes don’t leave me as he takes a sip and I get the distinct but weird feeling he’s examining me. Trying to figure me out too? Maybe. Trying to find the right words to apologize for his behavior the last two years? Doubtful.

  “So, about last night…” he starts.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Do I play dumb and say I don’t know what he’s talking about? Blame it all on the tequila? Assume he’s asking about the awful, yet, hot Rob Lowe movie from the 80’s?

  “Yeah! Last night was fun. Did you have a good birthday?” So, I’m going with the playing dumb version, obviously.

  “It was fine, thanks, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

  Alright, here we go. Let’s just see what he has to say. I’m sure he only wants to thank me for my thoughtfulness and assure me he doesn’t want or need to marry me. Now that I think about it, it is pretty presumptuous for me to think he wants to take me up on my stupid offer. I’m sure he has countless women to choose from, should he choose to marry anyone. There’s no way in hell I’m at the top of that list. That’s preposterous. Me? Of all people.

  “Oh? What did you want to talk about?” I ask, holding on to the dumb card for dear life.

  Am I really twirling my hair right now?

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I continue twirling my hair until it’s ready to be wrapped up in a hair-tie, securing the bun I absolutely meant to create to get the hair out of my face. Not to be confused with a similar action intended to be used as a flirtation device.

  Nope, not here.

  Not me.

  “Is there somewhere we can sit and speak more privately?” he asks, motioning over to the empty tables near the windows.

  Just as I’m getting ready to make an excuse that I need to stay behind the bar, Paige comes in and washes her hands, ready to get back to work. Perfect timing, as always.

  “Sure,” I concede, realizing I have no cards left and nowhere to run. “Let’s go over there.” I lead him to two plush chairs in the back corner of the shop, plopping into one while he gracefully sits in the other. An instant yet perfect example of how different we are.

  “Do you remember me telling the group last night about my grandfather’s will?”

  “Uh, vaguely. I was drinking pretty heavily… so I might’ve missed some details.” Lies. I pick at the imaginary thread on my apron, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me but he continues to let me play my game, which is noble of him, I guess. Or humiliating. Let’s stick with noble, for now.

  “Well, I’d had a little too much to drink as well and made some details of the will public that probably should’ve stayed private.”

  Oh, so that’s what this is about. Shep just wants to make sure I don’t spill the beans on his unfortunate situation. Well, no problem there, buddy, the people I’d spill to were already at the table.

  It dawns on me that he suddenly looks…nervous. Anxious, perhaps. Although he’s maintaining some intense eye contact, his fingers won’t stop moving. They go from tapping the side of his cup to the arm of the chair and back and, if I’m not mistaken, his toe is tapping. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look anything less than one hundred percent calm, cool, and collected. He almost seems human.

  “No worries,” I assure him, still hating his discomfort. “Your secret is safe with me, Shep.”

  “Secret?” he asks, confused until realization dawns. “Oh, I’m not worried about you repeating what you heard last night, CeCe.” He pauses for a moment before continuing.
“I’m wondering if your offer still stands.”

  What?

  “Um, uh, um,” is all I manage to get out while I not-so-discreetly look for a hole in the ground to swallow me up.

  There’s no way I heard him right.

  No way.

  “You seemed pretty sure of yourself last night,” he states, sitting up a little straighter, his expression turning serious but still so poised and controlled and entirely too beautiful for one man. “But I’m guessing, in the light of day and with less alcohol, you’ve changed your mind?” His words come out so polished, almost regal. Why does he have to be so proper all the time? I wish he’d loosen up and stay that way for a while.

  I stop mentally freaking out for a second and look at him. Really look at him. Besides how absolutely gorgeous the man is, he looks troubled and, dare I say, insecure. My heart instantly goes out to him like it did last night and I let out a deep breath.

  I’m such a sucker for a lost boy.

  “Would it help you? You know, if I haven’t changed my mind…if the offer still stands?”

  “Immensely,” he replies, a little too eager for Shepard Rhys-Jones, at least the version he allows everyone else to see, which intrigues me. “Just hear me out.” And, now, I have a very alert and perky Shep in front of me.

  Dear Lord, what have I done?

  “As I said last night, I am to inherit one hundred million dollars after I’ve been married for a year. If you agree to marry me, once I’ve received the money, on our one-year anniversary, I’ll give you five percent…free and clear.”

  Five percent?

  Of ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS?

  I’m not a math whiz, but that’s…five million dollars.

  Must. Not. Faint.

  Stay focused, CeCe.

  I clear my throat and try to keep my voice steady. “Five percent,” I repeat. “That’s very… generous of you.”

  He waves his hand in front of him like I just thanked him for holding a door open for me. How can he think that much money isn’t a big deal? It’s a huge fucking deal. “I’ll gladly pay it, if you agree to help me out.”

  “What do you get out of this agreement?” Because there has to be some kind of catch, right? “Besides a hundred million…minus five percent? Don’t you have enough money already? Why would you marry someone…” I almost say someone like me but stop myself. “Why…” I stumble over what I’m trying to say and decide to be direct and to-the-point, like Shep. “Why would you marry someone for money?”

  “Freedom.”

  His answer is swift and easy and when he speaks it, it’s as if the air he exhaled took all his troubles away with it. It’s also bullshit.

  “How can getting married give you freedom? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

  Shep smirks, giving me a once over before taking a drink of his coffee and relaxing back into the plush chair. “What an interesting idea of marriage you have, Cecelia.”

  Do not pay attention to how he says your name.

  This man is a snake charmer, that’s all.

  Stay strong.

  “Just explain, please.” I roll my eyes at him because if I’m even going to consider marrying him—for FIVE. MILLION. DOLLARS—I’m going to know every last detail.

  “Well, if I’m married, my mother will be forced to stop her incessant search for the perfect Stepford wife for me to choose from, that’s one reason,” he begins, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, his half-drunk cup of coffee between his palms—back to calm, cool, and collected. “The other and more important reason is, with this inheritance, I’ll be able to fully commit myself to the business Maverick and I have created, leaving Dallas and my family behind for good.” He pauses, a mischievous gleam taking over his blue eyes. “But, dear Cecelia.’’ Scooting his body closer to mine, our knees brush as he leans in and places his full lips against my ear. “The cherry on top will be seeing you naked again.”

  Say what now?

  Along with the expletive, I jump from my chair, like it’s burning my ass, putting distance between me and Shep and his audacious words. The few customers in the shop stop what they’re doing to turn and stare at me, causing my cheeks to flame red. Not wanting to cause more of a scene, I let out a fake laugh. “Sorry.” Smiling, I try to brush off my behavior. “My friend here just told me a joke that was very… funny and completely unbelievable.” I narrow my eyes at him while returning to my seat.

  “You expect this fake marriage to be consummated?” I ask incredulously, my eyes feeling as if they’re going to fall out of their sockets. “You really do like having your cake and eating it, too!”

  Shep struggles to keep from smiling that devilishly sexy smile that makes me weak in the knees, and it only pisses me off more.

  “You know what I mean,” I hiss. “Stop making my words dirty.” I try to make my words sound affronted, like I’m taking offense to his suggestion of marital sex, but I’m anything but. No, in reality, his seductive tone and insinuation makes my skin burn with the memory of his touch.

  “We’ll be married for an entire year, CeCe. Why wouldn’t we sleep together? You plan on staying celibate for that long?”

  What he doesn’t know is I’ve been celibate for much longer than that. When were we together? About two years ago? Yeah, that’s how long it’s been for me, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to admit that to him.

  “You don’t think you can go without sex for a year?” I challenge him.

  “Fuck, no,” is his immediate reply.

  “Oh, so then you’d cheat on me? Nice.”

  He lets out an exasperated breath. “Of course, I wouldn’t cheat on you. No matter how you truly feel about me, you need to know I’m not a cheater. But,” he pauses for effect and I find I’m dying for him to finish his speech. “If we get married, it must be convincing, especially when it comes to my parents. We have to be able to seem like we know each other…intimately, and that we’re, you know, in love. Plus, I love sex and I’m really good at it, which you’re well aware of, so why the fuck wouldn’t we use our situation to fulfill our needs?”

  There he goes, playing that pipe and charming me right out of my wicker basket. Bastard.

  Wait, how did I become the snake in this scenario?

  I sit and pretend I’m mulling his words over, but in reality, I’m trying to get the idea of sex with Shep out of my head. If I’m being truthful, I’m having a hard time thinking of reasons this would be a bad idea. Unlimited sex with Shep for a year without any real consequences, plus five million bucks when it’s over? Okay, that line of thinking made me feel like a prostitute so let’s not go there. But, really, what would the downside be, because there has to be one.

  My mama always told me that if something seems too good to be true, it is.

  “Let me think about it,” I finally say, uncrossing and then recrossing my legs, trying to appear as unaffected by this proposition as he is.

  “Excellent,” he muses, a wide smile stretching across his perfect face.

  The confidence radiating off of him screams victory.

  “Don’t start celebrating yet,” I tell him, bringing him down a notch. “I said I’d think about it. It’s a big decision and I’m afraid if we rush into it, we’ll both miss something important to discuss beforehand. If we do this, how soon will we need to get married?”

  “The sooner we marry, the sooner the clock starts ticking.”

  So, real soon. Right. That makes sense.

  “Okay, give me a couple of days and then let’s meet for dinner to discuss and make our final decision. Deal?” I ask, sticking my hand out to him to shake on it, but instead, he grabs it, kissing the top.

  Fuck, he’s good.

  “I’ll see you in two days, Ms. Calhoun.”

  As soon as he leaves, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and open the group chat I have with Carys and Avery.

  Me: Regulators, mount up.

  Chapter 7

  Shep

>   Marriage.

  Am I seriously considering getting married? And to CeCe Calhoun, of all people?

  Don’t get me wrong, she’s the perfect candidate for this endeavor, but we have history, in addition to best friends who are a real couple. If this ends badly, it could cause a shit ton of drama and that’s nothing either of us wants.

  Instead of focusing on the excuses not to go through with this, I decide to think of the positive reasons for marrying CeCe.

  For one, she’s not from Dallas and knows nothing of my family. I wish I could say that wouldn’t change, but I know for a fact the second my parents hear about my upcoming nuptials they’ll be making plans so quick both of our heads will spin. Maybe we should elope…

  Second, this plan we’re toying with is mutually beneficial. We both, in time, would receive money that will greatly improve our lives. Being far from naive, I don’t see a downside to this point.

  Lastly, if ever there was a woman I could see myself tied to, it would be her. After she stops hating me, of course. She’s beautiful, smart, hard-working, and sexy as fuck. Simply stated, she checks everything off my list—everything I know about, that is. But I have a feeling, if there were more qualifications, she’d check those, too. There’s just something about her. It’s a shame I’m not relationship material. I honestly hope our time together doesn’t ruin her ideas or desires for a real relationship when this is all over, because I genuinely believe that CeCe deserves happiness.

  Real happiness.

  In short, I hope we’re both able to enjoy our time together, followed by the spoils of our marriage, and then move on with minimal damage.

  I’m such a romantic, I know.

  Although, I’m strongly optimistic about doing this with CeCe, I feel like I need to share this turn of events with Maverick. I know without a doubt, he’ll try to dissuade me but I’m hopeful he’ll understand and lend his support once he hears me out.

  When I walk into the lobby of the Blue Bayou, I can’t help but be hit with memories of my weekend with CeCe two years ago. After hanging out with Carys and Maverick at their apartment out back, we kissed for the first time in the corner by the bookcase. Quickly after, we stumbled up the stairs, barely able to keep our hands off each other, and headed straight for my room. We didn’t leave for two days.