by Piper Lawson
“Fake dating."
“Semantics.” I toss the key on the table and stand, going to the minibar for a bottle of scotch and a crystal glass. “It’s complicated enough convincing everyone we're together."
“I haven’t heard any questioning since Wednesday.”
“Because we made out like porn stars in the middle of a crowded club,” I say.
It was one kiss. One that burned hot enough, and went on long enough, to convince the entire world we wanted each other.
But that's the plan.
“It was a successful first appearance,” I say. “But there are more. If your friends at work saw you with someone else, it'd make things harder to explain."
"So I'm not supposed to see anyone for a month?"
Irritation claws at my throat as I pour my drink. "I can count on one hand the number of guys you’ve dated since I’ve known you.”
“Well, maybe that’s about to change.”
I exhale, exasperated and unsure of where the stubbornness is coming from. “It's not a hardship. Whatever you need, you can get from me."
“You’re in for companionship, genuine affection, and sex?”
I lift the glass to my lips. The liquid burns a hot trail down my throat. “I suppose—”
“It was a joke, Ben.” But her voice is sharp and the tightness in my chest doesn’t ease.
"It's not like Marc is the guy you're destined to spend your life with." She doesn't answer, which makes me laugh. "You're not serious? There's no way he'll give you what you need."
"You don't know him. Maybe he will."
My abs clench. “Xavier’s hosting a dinner at his townhouse on Wednesday. Small. Partners and their wives and girlfriends. He emailed about it today.” It’s the perfect chance to show how centered I am, how strong Daisy and I are.
“We can talk about it when you’re back. In the meantime, you sound as if you need to sleep. Don’t wait up for me. We’ll play next week.”
I want to argue with her. “Don’t stay in the office too late.”
She’s already gone.
I slide the key off the coffee table, drop it into the trash. And I’m left feeling more alone than before and it has nothing to do with being an ocean from home.
Sunday morning, I'm back in New York. Daisy and I need to get some things straightened out, which is why I'm at her door with donuts. Our arguments over the years have been few and far between, but I can’t find one that hasn’t been resolved by the crullers from this little shop.
Our phone call Friday night left me seriously questioning her commitment, and the rest of my time in London and on the flight home, I was distracted by it.
“Just a sec!” comes a voice, but then there’s nothing.
I use my key to open the door. I go through the apartment to find Lily standing on her bed, trying to change an overhead light in the center of the room.
“Daisy’s not here. She went for breakfast.”
"With?”
Lily teeters precariously on the edge of the mattress, one foot pointed out into space as she gets a hand on the light fixture. “She didn’t say.”
The hairs on my neck lift. “A man.”
“Wow. Down, boy.” Lily’s foot slips and she falls off the bed, looking up at me with a mixture of irritation and amusement.
I glance at the fixture. “I’ll replace the light."
"No. My sister thinks I’m a fuckup.”
“You’re the most important thing to her.”
Lily gets up unassisted, brushing off her shorts. “Only since Vi left. They used to be best friends. But after they went to school, something changed.” She cocks her head. "She still writes, you know."
“Vi?"
Lil looks back up at the light. "Vi sends postcards a couple of times a year. Daisy writes back, but she never sends them."
My chest contracts. "Because she doesn't know where Vi is."
"No. I think Daisy's not over the fact that she left. She walked away from college, our family, to live out random adventures abroad. Sometimes I think that’s worse. When someone chooses to leave. At least when they die, you can tell yourself they didn’t want to go.” Lily nods toward the doorway. “I think she has a stool in her bedroom.”
I try not to think about Vi as I go retrieve the stool and set it under the light for Lily.
She stands on it, unscrews the fixture, and passes me the glass bowl. "Did she tell you about the Vane wedding? She’s trying to pay for my school. That’s why she took this gig on top of everything else.”
“You’re in honors economics at Columbia. That’s hard work.”
Lily grunts as she untwists the lightbulb, holding out a hand for the other one. She finishes replacing the bulb before stepping off the stool and back to the carpeted floor, setting the burnt-out bulb on her desk. “But my sister got through school without help. She started a company. She’s tough. Relentless.”
I turn that over. “When I was going through school, I wanted to pay my own way too. If there aren’t any scholarships, you need to go another route. The profs need to know you.”
“I don’t want to network. Networking is for assholes.” The alarm on her face has me smiling.
“Most of them have funding for research assistant positions, or they can get it without much trouble.”
“Enough to cover tuition?”
“Not entirely. But it’ll also help you with grad school recommendations. Give you more control of where you go, and save money down the road.”
“How do you know so much about getting by?”
“We didn’t always have money. We were poor until I was four. My early memories are of stretching dollars. Until I was nine or ten, we did, because we had no clue how long my mom’s gig would last. It could be the last job for her.”
“You didn’t handle that alone, though. You have a brother right?”
I nod. “Tris’s younger. He had it easy."
Lil’s face scrunches up. "Being younger isn't easier. By the time you come into the world, you have all your older siblings' shit to deal with too." She shakes her head. “Speaking of. I'm not the only one in the doghouse. What did my sister's fake boyfriend do to piss her off?"
Surprise slams into me. “Daisy told you about our agreement?”
“‘Agreement.’” Lily uses air quotes. She brushes past me, heading for the kitchen.
"Then you get why she shouldn’t be out with Marc."
Lily goes to the freezer until she spots the donuts. She abandons her plans and instead lifts the lid, nodding in approval. "What I get is that you fucked up."
She takes a donut and bites into it savagely.
Lily knows her sister as much as anyone. And I need to figure out a way through this so Daisy will agree to be at Xavier’s dinner.
“I kissed her. Our friends needed to see it,” I go on at Lil’s knowing look. “But she’s barely spoken to me since.”
She hops up on the counter, eyeing me over her prize. “Was it a good kiss?"
I remember the feel of Daisy's mouth under mine, how fucking perfect she felt—right up until the second she pulled back. "Yeah, it was a good kiss."
Lily nods. “Then that's why she's pissed."
“For an economist, you’re acting irrationally.”
She tosses back her head and laughs. “For a self-made man, you’re acting like a dumbass.”
I frown, but she continues.
“She’s been walking around in a bad mood for days. I mentioned your name and she nearly decapitated me.”
Interesting. Daisy’s not usually grouchy.
"You're saying… she liked it but she wishes she didn’t?"
Lily stares me down as if I'm dimmer than the burnt-out bulb she replaced.
But if Daisy liked it, that means… Shit. I don’t know what the fuck that means, or what I want it to mean.
“Do you like my sister?” Lily asks.
This week, I’ve been thinking of Daisy more than usual.
The guilt over what happened with Vi is still there, but so is something new. Not only an awareness, but a need.
Even if it is real… I can’t be looking for that. Xavier’s wrong about one thing—a relationship is a surefire way to undermine everything I’ve built, not reinforce it.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
Her gaze narrows. “Economics major. I eat complicated for breakfast.”
“Apparently you eat donuts.”
She ignores me. “Decide if you like her. Then fucking act accordingly."
I can't have romantic feelings for Daisy. I respect her, I care about her as much as my own family, and the other night, I got caught up in what we were selling.
Adults don’t run around feeling everything, and they sure as hell don’t make life-altering decisions on the basis of feelings—unless they want to be like my mom or that Hollywood producer, slaves to their emotions and whatever asshole pulls on them for the rest of their lives.
Before I can tell Lily that, the sound of the door has us both turning.
Daisy walks in, stilling in the foyer when she sees us. “What’s going on?”
She’s wearing jeans that hug every curve, high-heeled sandals, and a white cap sleeved T-shirt.
Since when do tits look that good in a damned T-shirt?
“Ben and I were talking about school,” her sister says. “He—”
“Lily,” I cut in, “had some ideas and wanted to bounce them off someone.”
Lily’s grateful expression is everything.
"How was breakfast?" I ask.
"Ben's jealous," Lily singsongs.
I glare. "I was concerned.”
Daisy sets her bag on the hook by the door and steps out of the heels. “Because of our arrangement?”
“Yes.”
She starts down the hall toward her room.
Lily clears her throat, shooting me a pointed look.
"No," I clarify, following Daisy down the hall.
Lily's a kid, and she doesn't know for a fact that Daisy has feelings for me. But given that my friend has been cool to me since Wednesday, another approach could be in order.
“The outcome of this matters to both of our futures,” I say. “The fact that you went out with Marc told me you aren't committed to this."
Inside her room, she heads for a pile of clean laundry on the bed and starts putting it away. “I didn’t go out with Marc. But I won’t promise not to, because I’m not going to get caught.”
The relief I expected doesn't come.
“It’s not only about getting caught.” I step closer, trapping her between me and the dresser. Her eyes widen a fraction of an inch. “The idea of my girl dating another man—of you dating another guy—while we’re together is upsetting.”
"That's on you, not me."
Frustration rises and I shove it down. “I know it’s unfair of me to ask that you put your social life on hold while we’re doing this, but I’m asking anyway."
"Why?"
An unfamiliar feeling claws at my chest from the inside. It’s a simple question, but the answer feels anything but easy.
“Because I hate the thought that you would go to someone else for what I should be providing you,” I grind out. “He might like you, but there’s no way he cares about you more than I do. So tell me what you need. I’ll be that or go down trying.”
The words are out before my brain can catch up, but the way her gaze softens in surprise and hope, I don’t want to take them back.
I want her to ask me for things.
I want her to know I’ll give them to her.
“Okay,” she replies at last. “Not for the rest of the month.”
“Thank you,” I say, the relief coming at last. I clear my throat. “I brought donuts.”
“We wouldn’t be talking if you hadn’t.” Her easy deadpan has me grinning, and she smiles in return.
My attention lingers on her lips, remembering how they felt beneath mine for a beat too long.
“What’s with the bags?" I ask, noticing the suitcase by her bed.
“Next weekend is the Vineyard for Camila and Aiden. I’m deciding what to take for the trip.” She goes to the dresser and opens the top drawer, pulling out a stack of lace. “I told Vane you’re buried in work and can’t come."
I can’t look away from the lingerie she sets on the bed—a stack of bras and panties—and now I’m wondering how many donuts it’d cost me for a fashion show right here.
“So what’s this dinner of Xavier’s Wednesday?” Her words drag me back.
I groan. “Perfectly cooked prime rib accompanied by hours of social posturing and backstabbing. As much as he wants everyone to get along at the end of the day, he likes the competition to get there.”
“That sounds terrible.”
I shrug. “Actually, I’ve had dinner at his place. His chef is solid.”
“That’s not what I meant. If he wants to get to know your wives and girlfriends, and contrast you and Holt in a new atmosphere, there are much more engaging ways to do it.”
Curiosity has me leaning in. “If you have an alternative suggestion, I’m sure Xavier would be open to it.”
10
Holt grunts as he straps himself into his harness. “Whose idea was rock climbing?”
“Mine.” Daisy smiles innocently from a few feet away, tugging her shiny hair into a ponytail.
Xavier was only too happy to change the venue from yet another dinner party when I suggested it, especially when I reminded him we’ve all been spending too much time in suits and could use the workout. So he rented out an entire climbing gym for the six of us at the end of the afternoon.
Wicked delight surges through me at Holt’s discomfort, but as I watch Daisy get ready, I appreciate that Holt may not be the not the only one at a disadvantage in this challenge. My gaze lingers on her legs, curvy under the tight, cropped black pants, and the strip of skin exposed as her tank rides up.
She looks good in workout gear.
She looks good in everything.
“Who’s going first?” I ask, forcing my attention to the wall.
“Perhaps the ladies should start,” Xavier suggests, looking pleased by the prospect of trying something new.
His wife, a fit woman a few years younger, looks equally enthused.
“Good idea. Save the competition for after.” I cut a look at Holt.
“Oh, no,” Daisy intervenes. “The competition starts now. Because we”—she exchanges a look with the other women—“are going to crush you.”
Daisy sets her phone in my hand, the timer app open.
“I hope I can trust you not to cheat,” she murmurs.
I stare in fascination, trying to figure out her game.
My best friend is a lot of things, but uber-competitive isn’t one of them. That’s my domain. Most of the time, she’d rather make people feel comfortable than on edge.
“First one to that point—male or female—wins for their team.” She nods toward a marker forty feet up. “Deal?”
I exchange a look with the other two men. “Fine.”
She starts to turn and I catch her wrist, tugging her back. I can’t resist rubbing my thumb across her skin until her eyes darken. “What are the stakes?”
“Loser buys dinner. After we’ve had time to clean up.” She names one of the hottest new restaurants, and my eyebrows lift.
“We won’t get in there on short notice.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already made the reservation.”
The staff at the facility take care of belaying duties since most of us haven’t climbed before.
Which means I get to watch her ascend.
She’s always liked climbing as a stress-relief activity, but now I’m appreciating it as a workout. The cropped black stretchy pants hug the curve of her ass. The fitted white top with straps crossing at the back makes me want to trace the pattern with a finger, slip it underneath to see if she’s sweating
or if this is just one more thing she handles as if it’s nothing.
The women start off, Daisy moving easily at first, still finding time to cheer on the others. She holds back a moment when Xavier’s wife tries to find a handhold.
“She’s quite the woman,” our senior partner comments.
“She is.” I glance at the timer, then back up at her.
Daisy is taking the lead now, finding tougher, riskier spots to ascend.
Xavier goes to cheer on his wife, and Holt comes over to me. “I underestimated you.”
“How so?”
“This.” He nods toward Daisy. “There’s no way you’ve been working like you have and kept her up your sleeve the entire time. She’s too… perfect.”
“Eyes on your own wife, Holt,” I say softly. “Or this thing between us is going to get personal.”
Cheers go up and we look at the wall, where Daisy’s at the top. I shake my head and hit Stop.
“What was my time?”
I tell her, and she beams. “Don’t get cocky. We still have to go.”
From the distance, I see her roll her eyes in dismissal before going to help the other women get to the top.
After they come back down and we switch spots, Daisy comes over, flushed and triumphant. “Get your platinum card ready.” She reaches back to tug the elastic from her hair.
My hand closes around hers and I do it for her, twisting the silky strands around my hand. “No way.”
She retrieves her phone from me, setting the timer with a raised brow. I tug on her hair once before stepping back, tossing her a cocky grin before heading to the wall.
“Ready? Set? Go!”
I start my climb, Holt on one side and Xavier on the other. This is a competition, albeit not the main one.
Partway up, I glance over my shoulder and see Daisy on her phone, typing something. A bit of my focus slips, and my hand does too.
I drop, the cord holding me snapping tight. Fuck.
“You good over there?” Holt calls.
“Great. Thanks,” I bite out, refocusing on my work.
It’s Holt who gets to the top first, and Daisy calls time.
“How’d we do?” my partner wants to know as we head back to the floor.
“It was an exceptional effort,” Xavier’s wife says solemnly.
