by K. I. Lynn
I picked up the phone and called Holly in.
“In regards to your phone, you will be switched to my plan,” I said as Holly walked through the door, a stack of items in her arms. She set them down on the table and turned to leave. “Thank you, Holly.”
On top of the stack sat her new phone and I handed it to her, enjoying the way her eyes widened.
“This isn’t even on the market yet,” she said in awe. Her fingers grazed mine as she slipped the phone into her hand, and warmth spread through me from the contact.
That was why I’d chosen her. Because no one had ever made me feel that kind of comfort in my life.
“Not for a month.”
“How?”
I smirked at her. “The perks of being a de Loughrey.”
She blew out a breath. “Trying not to freak out here.”
Trying and failing. It irritated me a bit, but I calmed myself at the reminder that she’d been a de Loughrey for a whole ten minutes. A socialite would be able to handle the load with grace and without skipping a beat. A broke girl from Brooklyn was in a near completely other world. What I was thrusting upon her was alien.
If it wasn’t for Holly, I wouldn’t have any understanding how different it all was for Ophelia. Without that knowledge I could possibly become annoyed by the time needed for her to understand and acclimate to her new life.
Even then, I wasn’t sure how she would take it all. Not in her wildest dreams would she anticipate what was coming, of that I was certain.
“What is it the game shows always say? But wait, there’s more,” I said, trying to calm her.
She blinked at me, her brow furrowing before lifting, a smirk forming on her kissable lips. “Did you just make a joke? I mean, it was a lame one, and that’s from infomercials, but still.”
“Do I look like the type to joke?” I asked. I wasn’t about to reveal my failed attempt at humor.
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Next.” I held out a black credit card with her name on it.
She blinked down at it. “Seriously?”
“This is for your personal use. Whatever you need, use this.” She reached out slowly, cautiously pulling the card from my fingers. “Overwhelmed?”
“A bit.”
“There’s more.”
“Fuck,” she hissed.
There was more we needed to go over, but by the paleness of her skin, I decided to wait until she was in my home before unloading the information. It would give her more time to digest what exactly she signed up for.
“We’ll wait on it until tomorrow. For now, take the next few hours to say goodbye to your former life.”
She nodded, the fright evident in her eyes, but there was also an edge of wonder.
“After they leave, come back here,” I said, then pulled another card from the stack. “This is your card to get up here. You will no longer need to check in with the desk, just head straight to the elevator.”
She nodded, her hand shaking as she took the card and slipped it into her bag along with her phone and credit card.
Most women, when handed access to unlimited funds, lit up with excitement, the dollar signs nearly visible in their eyes, but not Ophelia. I reached up and brushed a loose lock of her short hair behind her ear before my palm settled on her cheek. Blush spread across her pale skin, and I had to force myself to keep from leaning forward and kissing her—an act I’d longed for since she left my arms nearly a year ago.
I snapped back at that realization and cleared my throat, ignoring the confusion on her face.
“I’ll have a car pulled up for you.”
She shook her head. “No need.”
“Ophelia…”
She blew out a breath and held up her hands. “Just…give me tonight to be me.”
I gave a curt nod. “Have a good evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She gave me a strained smile as she backed up, then turned. Once she reached the door, she looked back at me, then slipped away.
I thought I would settle after she signed, but something else stirred inside me: an overwhelming need to touch her that I battled to gain control over.
After Ophelia exited, Holly stepped in, closing the door behind her. There was a smirk on her face and I glared at her.
“You don’t scare me, big bad wolf.”
“What do you want?”
“She’s beautiful. Not your normal type.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “I get it.”
“Get what?” I growled.
“I get why you’re attracted to her.”
As close as I was to Holly, I’d never told her about that night. Only Rhys knew that I’d taken Ophelia home.
“She’s the only woman I’ve never been able to stop thinking about.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed before she swung her fist out and punched me in the arm. Thankfully, she was a tiny little thing barely over five foot, so there was no real force behind it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“How’s Becca?”
“Don’t go changing the subject on me. I already figured out she was your waitress, and now it totally makes sense why you started going there more often, but there’s something else.”
I blew out a breath. If I didn’t come clean, Holly would just keep digging. “Remember how Rhys convinced me to go out with him to Angelino last summer?”
A chuckle left her. “Yeah. It shocked the hell out of me.”
“I spent the evening with Ophelia. Until long after the sun rose.”
Her lips parted. “Oh, Att.” There was an edge of pity in her voice.
“Don’t fucking act like I’m some wounded animal for a fucking woman,” I growled.
Her eyes narrowed on me. “Fine. Be an ass to me, but watch it with her. You’re still not going to scare me, but that attitude will drive her away. And by the way, I’m mentally slapping the shit out of you right now.”
She turned and stomped away, slamming my office door.
I grabbed hold of the leftover stack of information for Ophelia and slammed it down on my desk before dropping into my chair.
Introspection was not my strong suit, so asking myself what the fuck was wrong with me only resulted in silence. I should have been celebrating one less thing to stress about, but the worry had morphed into something else. Something that thrummed beneath the surface.
An unidentifiable emotion that I pushed down, buried deep until all that remained was the wicked king about to ruin yet another person.
Despite Atticus telling me he talked to Mitchell, I went to the restaurant anyway. Mitchell had taken a chance on me a year ago, and I hated letting him down. When our eyes met, he motioned for me to follow. Once we were both inside his office, he shut the door.
“Atticus called already,” he said as soon as he sat in his chair.
“I’m so sorry, Mitchell.”
A sigh left him, his body sagging. “I’m not mad. I’m not allowed to be, and if I was, it’s not at you. I’m losing my best server. You’re more than a waitress here, Ophelia. We’re going to miss you.”
“Me too.” 130 Degrees had become my friends and family over the last eleven months. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t anticipated the move. I guess I figured I could still work, at least until closer to the wedding and maybe even after.
“What did he say?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not much. Only that you weren’t working here anymore.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“You don’t question Atticus de Loughrey when he tells you something like that.”
Every suspicion was confirmed. “So you knew who he was?”
He nodded. “Couldn’t tell anyone. Still can’t.”
I swallowed hard. “I wish I could tell you why.”
He pursed his lips. “I know, kid.”
“Just know it’s not a move I wanted. But you know Atticus.”
He nodded. “That I do.” He stood a
nd wrapped his arms around me. “Take care, Ophelia. If something happens, come see me, okay?”
I gave him a squeeze and willed the tears in my eyes not to fall. “Will do.” Knowing it was Atticus’s favorite lunch spot, I had a feeling I would be returning, only sitting on the other side of the table from Atticus inside his private booth instead of serving him.
After a last goodbye to the chef, I headed out. Darkness settled inside me, and I began to wonder what I’d just done. It was as if as soon as I signed, I’d forfeited my life. Granted, that was the basis of the entire thing, I just didn’t expect so much to suddenly happen.
I’d hidden the ring, slipped it into my bra so he wouldn’t see. Plus, I didn’t like the idea of wearing a huge-ass diamond ring on public transportation.
When I returned home, I still felt like I was in a trance. The whole ordeal felt surreal. It was like a strange dream I was going to wake from. Was I hit by a car and in a strange coma dream that latched onto Atticus and designed a weird fairytale around him?
A pinch to my arm confirmed that I was not in a coma. That weight on my finger was not a pulse oximeter, and it was in fact, a huge-ass diamond ring.
Why did I agree to this?
You know why. Because you never got past that night.
It was true. I hadn’t been on a date or had sex since my birthday. Nearly a year of seeing him at work multiple times a week kept him constantly on my mind.
What I’d agreed to was torture for both of us, plain and simple. To be around him knowing I’d never have him between my thighs again and that I was the one that made that rule.
But I wanted there to be no illusion that he’d have anytime access to my body. Otherwise, it felt too much like I was prostituting myself. Instead, I needed to look at it for what it was—a job. My career for the next five years was to stand by his side, wear his name, and carry his child.
Wait, why did he need all that? Had I even asked before I jumped headlong into this arrangement?
Ophelia Marie Evans…You’re an idiot.
I stared down at the ring on my finger, looking past the diamonds to the shackle it really was. What had I gotten myself into? I was sporting a single piece of jewelry worth more money than my student loan debt, probably quadruple the amount I owed.
An amount that I wouldn’t owe in a few days.
That was the strangest part about all of this. The amount of money he was throwing around just to secure me as his fake fiancée was astronomical. It would take a long time for me to process that I now had access to some of that.
My bank account was sitting at just over two hundred dollars. I looked up the credit card he gave me online. It was one of those no-questions-asked types. You flashed it and wherever you were, they’d give you a kidney if you needed it.
That sounded too black market, when in fact it was the pinnacle of prestige.
I spent the evening devouring a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza while pulling things out of my closet and stuffing boxes left over from my last move. Thankfully I’d kept them, but I still picked up a few more, plus packing tape. Deep into the night I worked between panic attacks and waves of nausea.
I then topped it off with an entire pan of brownies for good measure.
It helped for a few seconds.
What I was embarking on was insanity, and each area of my tiny space that was packed up only made it more of a reality that I would not be spending the next night in the space that was all mine.
Around four in the morning, I crashed surrounded by a pile of boxes, but was startled awake only a few short hours later by the traffic outside.
It didn’t take long to pack up my apartment, especially not with the movers Atticus hired. In fact, the movers looked at my sad little collection of items and had them loaded into the truck in no time. Some stuff was being stored. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe nothing could go wrong and I wouldn’t be out the door in a week and have not even a bed to lay my head on.
Nope, wasn’t having that. Still, my furniture amounted to a daybed, a chair (which I did move), a cafe set, storage cube unit, and a nightstand with a lamp.
After they left, I slipped my ring on a chain and clipped it around my neck. There was no way I was getting on the train with that on my finger. However, when I got down to the street level, there was a black car sitting out front with a man standing beside it, his hands in his pockets. He straightened when he saw me.
“Miss Evans,” he called.
“Yes?” I responded cautiously.
“Your fiancé has asked me to bring you to him.”
Seemed Atticus didn’t like the idea of the ring on the train either. My little bit of freedom as Ophelia Evans the waitress was over. I was officially Ophelia Evans, fiancée to Atticus de Loughrey.
The driver held open the back door and I slipped in, settling into the plush leather interior. The legroom in back was deceiving from the outside, and I found myself playing with the controls on the armrest. A squeak left me when a footrest pushed against the back of my calves.
A chuckle came from the front seat, and heat flooded my face.
“So, umm, are you a personal driver for a company?” I asked, catching his reflection as he pulled away from the curb. He didn’t seem much older than me, maybe mid-thirties with brown hair, green eyes, and a friendly face.
“No. I am a de Loughrey family personal driver.”
“There’s more than one, isn’t there?” I asked, another wave of “What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?” slamming into me.
Another chuckle. “Many.”
“What’s your name?” I asked, catching his eye in the rearview mirror.
“Michael, Miss Evans.”
“Please, call me Ophelia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well.”
There was a soft string instrument coming from the speakers, and as we wove through traffic, the lack of sleep caught up to me. I was jostled awake by Michael’s hand on my shoulder.
“We’re here,” he said as I started.
I gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”
After yesterday, I no longer had to check in with the desk—I had my own keycard to the private elevator for the top floors. Three trips up had made me more confident as I walked to his office without Holly. She was still there to greet me with a smile and let me in.
“Hi,” I said as I stepped into his office.
He glanced up at me, then back to his computer where he finished up his thought. Once he was done, the screen turned black and he pushed his chair back.
“Ready to go home?” he asked, his face scrunching at the oddity of the words passing his lips.
At least I wasn’t the only one feeling like a fish out of water.
He pulled his suit jacket on and buttoned it before stuffing his phone into his pocket and stepping toward me. The man wore three-piece suits like lingerie, and I had a hard time not catcalling him. I didn’t think that would go over well, especially with the fight I put up for the no-sex clause.
Our eyes met and the sea of awkwardness at what was happening expanded. Neither of us seemed to know what to do, even though the whole plan was his idea.
I supposed idea and execution were two different things. The plan on paper was one thing, but having to actually interact with me and pretend to be my loving fiancé was entirely different. We were both novices, and the feeling in the air was like preteens at a school dance.
He cleared his throat, and our eyes met.
Okay, maybe I was the only one feeling that way. The man before me could never be anything other than dominant and authoritative. What was I smoking? There was a slight hesitation, though, when he lifted his hand to take mine. Small, but I noticed.
I swallowed as I slipped my hand in his and tried not to melt from the electrified heat of his touch. I died just a little inside as I stuffed down the memories of the last time he took my hand.
Letting out a breath, I gave him a small smile and a
nod.
Due to the early hour, we received more than a few looks on our way to the elevator. I ducked my head, not wanting to stand out when Atticus leaned in.
“Head up, shoulders back.”
A simple command, but it said so much. It reminded me that I wasn’t some dirty secret or paid for…well, I was being paid. The point was, I wore the ring. His ring. And I was going to be a de Loughrey, so I needed to learn to act the part.
I’m going to be a de Loughrey.
Another wave of nausea rippled through me.
A set of brilliant grey eyes went wide as we passed an open door. He looked familiar, and I was pretty sure he was a de Loughrey as well.
“Atticus?” he called out.
Atticus’s hand flexed, squeezing mine as he stopped. “Hamilton?”
Hamilton glanced between us as he closed the gap. My stomach began flipping under his scrutiny.
“What’s going on?”
“Hamilton, meet Ophelia. Ophelia, this is my younger brother, Hamilton.”
I gave him a small smile. “Pleased to meet you.” It was my turn to squeeze Atticus’s hand.
“Ophelia?” Hamilton again looked between us. “Will you be joining us for the family dinner?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Atticus’s jaw clench. “She will be, as a matter of fact.”
Hamilton studied me for a moment and made a scoffing sound. “You weren’t going to tell me?”
At least his brother wasn’t stupid—he’d caught on.
“I was, but not today. For now, we need to get home. We will talk tomorrow.”
“Have a good afternoon, then.”
“He didn’t seem happy,” I whispered as we walked away.
“Hamilton is only happy when his cock is buried in some woman’s holes.”
“The stereotypical rich playboy?”
“I don’t know about stereotypical, but he is a rich playboy.”
The elevator cab was empty, and I broke the deafening silence. “Does anybody know about me?”
“I was going to introduce you at the family dinner, but I’m now seeing that may not be the best idea.”
