His Fake Fiancee

I’m so lost in my thoughts the room is almost entirely empty before I realize the meeting is over. My hands are down, ready to push away from the table when I see Rebecca and Tim leave the room.

Ivan is still at the table. His attention on a proposal, the forefinger of his right hand is tapping the table in a slow steady beat. He has large, strong hands, and my mouth goes dry then uncomfortably wet at the idea of those hands running over my skin.

There is no warning; I would have sworn he wasn’t aware of me. I’m wrong. His eyes meet mine, heat flares inside me, all over, consuming me. What the hell is wrong with me? I want to flee. I even try to stand but he stops me.

“Stay. I have questions for you. Here is as good as my office.”

Seriously, what happened to him for his voice to be such a mix of gravel and smoke? I can’t stop my tongue from slipping out to wet my lips. The taste of watermelon reminds me of the lip oil and how shiny they are.

His jaw tightens, and my lips tingle again. Not just my lips but there. Not only is it tingling, there is a rush of wet heat I have never known in my life.

Oh god. This is not happening. I dip my head, blindly looking down. Praying he doesn’t see me blush, praying for this to be over, for this to be some weird dream I never thought I would have.

“Yes, of course.” I open my proposal. “What would you like to know?”

“Are you fucking Simon?”

My head snaps up. There is no expression on his face even though derision soaked every word. Shock doesn’t cover it. Out of anything in the world he could ask me, those were words I never thought I would hear. I had to have heard him wrong. “What did you just ask me?”

 “Are you fucking Simon?” Slowly, stretching every syllable, the words rumble out of him. Something about his accent, so cultured and refined, makes the question even more obscene.

A very different fire flares hot and bright at those words, at his offensive question.

“How dare you ask me that. Do I look like a moron with no self-respect or a slut with a punch card on antibiotics?” I cannot fucking believe this. Believe him.

“Answer the question.” He raps out the demand, the words sting.

“No. I am NOT fucking Simon. Why the hell would you ask me such a disgusting question?”

The slightest rise and fall of one eyebrow is his response. I was right before: he is loathsome. So why the hell do I still want to find out what his mouth tastes like?

“I want to know. Are there rumors or something about me and Simon? Why did you ask me that?” I make my own demand.

“All of the proposals for the last three years have been yours. It is a reasonable question. There is little other explanation for a person as intelligent as you are to do someone else’s work without the recognition and financial reward you deserve. Yes, I noticed your salary is higher than your peers. It is a fraction of your worth. Reading through this it is your voice, exactly as I hear you speaking. So, if you are not fucking him, why are doing his work?”

It’s a compliment and insult at the same time. “Because I need a job and this was my job, as explained to me by Simon. I was under the impression you were intelligent enough to have figured out this was not his work. Why were you not able to do so when he was on the verge of being fired before I became his assistant?”

Zing—both eyebrows go up a fraction before falling again. “Touché. Martin was Simon’s entry to this company. Martin promised me when I gave Simon his warning he would work with him. Simon’s style is much like your own. Reviewing your file, I see you both attended the same university, and had the same professor. A professor who has sent me a number of his best students. Interesting that he did not send me Simon. It was Martin who did.”

He was reviewing my file?

 “What do you want?”

He’s giving me whiplash. “I don’t understand.”

Amusement flashes in his eyes. Nowhere else though, just those black, bottomless eyes. “What do you want? In life? In working for me.” He speaks slowly again.

I wonder if he’s ever been slapped.

A flippant answer is on my lips, but I don’t dare. The air is pulsing, palpably alive with something I wish to hell I could define, understand. I’m trying to pull away from his gaze. I can’t.

“In life, I want to pay off the mortgage on my Abuelo’s home. The rate is insane, the debt crushing. It was taken out in a desperate bid to save my Abuela’s life when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.” I feel the need to defend Abuelo’s actions in taking out a loan he could not afford.

“I want to paint again.” I would never have admitted this to anyone else. I hate I’m telling him. Only his demand won’t allow me to be anything less than completely honest. I have the oddest feeling no matter how well I could lie, and I’m a shitty liar, he’d know I was doing it.

“I dropped out of art school to take care of my Abuela. I’m aware I’m long past making a living from it. I’m not interested in even trying; I simply haven’t had the time or money to spend on it.”

It’s the truth. I never had dreams of stardom; enough to support myself making a living doing what I loved would have made me happy. Now I just want the freedom I find in creating my own world on a canvas. 

“In working for you, I want Simon’s job and the salary that goes with it. But I don’t want it for forever. All day, every day in an office is not my dream, it’s a means to an end.”

He leans back, the full weight of his gaze resting on me. His eyes roam over me. I hate the way every inch of me responds to him, my breasts grow heavy, goose bumps raise on my arms, my mouth waters—for what, I have no fucking idea. A savage longing builds until it scares me with the strength of it. I need to get away from him, now.

“Do you have a passport?”

My stomach drops at what the question means. I nod. Speech isn’t possible right now.

“Will you be able to have a nurse cover taking care of your grandfather for the next few weeks?”

I start to nod. Wait. “Few weeks?” How did he know Abuelo needed a nurse?

“Tomorrow, a car will pick you up at eight sharp. We will fly down to Hungry Harvest. There is no need to come to my office at one, this was the discussion I wanted us to have. Spend the day creating a plan to make sure they will be on their knees welcoming us as a partner.

“We go in and stay in. Investment of one hundred and fifty thousand, implementation of full structure as well as a marketing and technical support team. It should take two days max. As for the rest of the time, Connor is experiencing a personal issue. I may have need of you for some time.”

Some time… The way he said it has me squirming in my seat. Another nod. My skin is growing tighter. Away, I need to get away from him. It’s embarrassing the way I sway slightly as I push up from my chair. He doesn’t move.

“Anything else?” I mutter as I clutch my copy of the proposal across my chest like a shield I desperately need.

He’s laughing at me. I can feel it even if not a single flicker of it shows on his face. A small nod. “Connor’s issues are not up for discussion, to anyone. I look forward to your report in a few hours. Do not disappoint me.”

I don’t bother to respond, just turn and fight the urge to run from him.