Fake It: A Fake Fiancé Romance Page 3

  Coincidentally, I have some time to spare between client meetings. Whatever the Stanleys want from me on such short notice, I’ll at least hear them out. They’re the most powerful family on the West Coast and having ties with them isn’t such a bad idea.

  Mornings in downtown LA are quiet. Everyone is getting into their day and there aren’t many people on the street. Apart from the regular traffic heading into the financial district, it’s a smooth ride all the way to the Stanley headquarters.

  My driver parks in front of the high-rise building. I walk through the smoky chrome doors into a wide-open area. Indoor water fountains surrounded by green moss frame the first level. The color of choice is crème, giving it a clean, open contrast against the chrome finishings.

  The Stanleys do not disappoint.

  Suspended from the top of the windows in the middle of the seventy-story glass building hangs the giant red star—the iconic Stanley logo. I just need a moment to take it all in. A young woman catches my eye and signals me to come toward the front desk where she is.

  I walk over to her.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she says. “Mr. Stanley is expecting you.”

  I follow her past the titan staircase to the line of elevators. She leads me to the last one down the corridor, framed in gold vinyl. She has to use her key card for access and enters the number 61 on the pin pad.

  Before I overanalyze, I regroup the facts.

  One, moving back to California was strictly a business decision. Precalculated and carefully thought through by my board of directors and my father, the company’s president.

  Two, the Stanleys are a powerful family who own 30 percent of the real estate on the West Coast, making them our direct competitors.

  And three, whatever it is that I’m here to discuss, it has to do with Molly.

  “Sir?” The secretary snaps me out of my musing. “Mr. Stanley will see you at the top now.”

  I step into the glass elevator and watch the outside world zoom past me on the ride up. At the top floor, the doors cast open with a ding.

  The hallway is the same crème and chrome scheme as downstairs. This entire floor seems to be dedicated to him. There’s only one room at the very end of the hall. There’s nothing else on the other side of the elevator.

  Arms crossed and standing in a power stance in the open doorway of his office, is Xander. He straightens out his collar and smirks.

  “Carlyle. Good to see you. I’m glad you made it out this far.”

  “It’s good to see you, Xander.”

  He guides me into his office. It’s even more impressive than downstairs. He clearly loves the color red—there are accents of it everywhere. The furniture, the carpet, the cushions. The walls are crème but completely bare. Everything centers around the big red star mounted behind him and the shimmer from the glass making it brighter. Behemoth windows overlook all of LA, and I can see highways leading through the hills to the city’s other districts.

  He points to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I’ve been saving some aged malt for this occasion.”

  He pulls a crate from the cabinet behind him and pulls out a bottle.

  “Macallan?” I inquire after seating myself.

  “You have a gentleman’s palate, Carlyle.” He pours us each a glass and places one in front of me. “It’s been a long time. Ten years? Circling back after all this time. Seems a lot of things have changed.”

  I loosen my tie. “Like the new big kids on the block?”

  He laughs. “You liked that New Year’s party, huh? We try to throw shindigs like that every now and then. Now that we’re neighbors, we thought we’d get to know you again.”

  The alcohol sits in my throat—it’s the good kind because it doesn’t burn. There are hints of vanilla, this whiskey one of those rare occasion ones. I go through the scenarios in my head again, almost chuckling at the absurdity of this encounter. Whatever Xander wants, he’s buttering me up to unload it. I wasn’t about to wait any longer.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Xander? I’m flattered by the invitation, and your hospitality is bar none. But I’m sure I’m not just here for a drink in your swanky penthouse.”

  He pauses for a moment, then breaks out into a guffaw.

  “You’re one of the good ones, Carlyle. You and I. We’ve always had this friendly competition. Let’s not deny it. We are, after all, part of the two biggest real estate families in the world. My dad and your dad—both brilliant businessmen in their own regard. Together, they’d be an unstoppable duo, don’t you agree?”

  I look up at him guardedly. “I’m listening.”

  Xander unloops a string from a brown envelope that sits on his desk.

  “It’s short. Read it. It was my sister’s idea.”

  My first reaction is intrigue. This is definitely not what I initially thought they wanted me here for. I scan it over, skimming through it quickly. I realize what this agreement is about and give Xander a look of amusement.

  “You want me to marry your sister?” I point to the bottom of the page.

  Xander clears his throat.

  “Actually, it’s more of an engagement, a ‘fake’ engagement, if you will. I’d think of it as more of a business deal.”

  Did Xander really think I’d get involved in something like this?

  “I know it sounds a bit unconventional. To put it frankly, a boyfriend has been chosen for my sister. She doesn’t want him. Don’t ask me why she felt the need to send her older brother to do her dirty work.

  “Regardless, I’m here to advocate for her. While you’ll be together, there will be business opportunities we want you to be a part of. Even at the end of your engagement, I’m hoping that any business we have together until then will continue. Even outside the terms of the agreement.”

  “Why do we have to go through with all of this? I don’t understand.”

  “It was Molly’s idea. She needs my dad to know she’s with you now. That way, he’ll stop pushing her to marry someone. My guess is, she doesn’t know what she wants yet. So I’m here to sweeten the deal for you.

  “We’ll partner up in business together. At least, we can try each other out. I’ve been watching you and your father, Carlyle. You two know how to work the market. I would love to finally unite the ties of Stanley and Cartier.

  “And who best to look to for the joining of our two families than you and Molly? If things don’t work out, you have this contract—that is by the way, signed by a real lawyer—to bail you out. We play it off as a big mistake, and we brush it under the rug. It’s just a ploy to plan business deals and keep my father at bay for Molly. So, what do you say? Partners?”

  I grab my drink and throw back the rest of it. No use in wasting good liquor. Wordlessly, I collect the documents and put them back in their original envelope.

  “So, is that a yes?”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  5

  Molly

  My best friend, Jane, takes a scoop of Oreo ice cream and dunks it into her mouth. She crosses one leg over the other while remaining modest in her silk nightgown. Only Jane could still pass for a princess while inhaling junk food. Her elegance is in the way she sits and talks, and also in her authentic deep red hair and emerald green eyes.

  This week’s sleepover is at my house, and we are having our ritual MASH session.

  “Again?” I point at the paper in front of us, sucking on a Popsicle.

  “Up to you.” Janes fixes her hair.

  I flip the paper over to the other side, and scribble down some of our mutual friends’ names. David—lead guitarist of Dreams of Compass Gods. Alfie, ex-marine social media influencer—super hot. Ricardo, super hot—could be bisexual, doesn’t matter. And James, our family friend.

  I lay on my stomach and look down at the victims’ names. With a pen in hand, I trace swirls out on the paper while keeping my ice cream from falling out of my mouth.

  “Tell me when,” I say, slur
ping.

  “Mmm…now.”

  Six swirls, which means I’ll count around six times and cross off the names that don’t make it.

  Jane gets up and heads toward the closet. “It’s been a while since I’ve rummaged through your stuff. Do you mind?”

  I shrug. “Be my guest.”

  Jane drapes a chiffon shirt down her torso in my peripheral. “This is nice. Can I try it on?”

  “Go for it. So you got, shack. A convertible. Nine children…and…with Alfie! That was fun.”

  Half an hour is a long time to be playing a pen-and-paper game, especially one involving nine fictitious children. But my brother leaving me on read during such an uncertain time requires some sort of escapism. I’ll be sure to bring it up to him when he gets home.

  I let out a huge sigh and sprawl myself all over the floor into a starfish. The light is gleaming in my eye, but I don’t have it in me to look away. I wouldn’t mind just blinding myself right here and now. Jane’s face coming into my view blocks my line of vision.

  “Moll, I know when you’ve got something on your mind. So, you have to spit it out now. Tell me or I’ll drool on you.”

  “Eww…Jane.” I curl myself into a blanket burrito. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.”

  She rips the blanket off me. “Molly! What’s the matter?”

  Before I can respond, my phone buzzes underneath the mountain of pillows. I dive into the fortress and push all the cushions to the side. It might be Xander letting me know what happened.

  And, oh god, it’s not Xander—it’s Carlyle.

  I compose myself. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Molly. It’s Carlyle, hope your evening is going well. Your brother and I had a nice chat this afternoon.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “I’ll accept your offer. On one condition.”

  “What is it?”

  “I was thinking we could maybe chat at my place tonight. Are you available?”

  For a moment, I almost forget Jane is in the room with me. I absentmindedly watch her pull my shirt over her head. We’re supposed to be having a sleepover, but she’ll have to understand.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Great. What time would you like to come?”

  “Nine thirty.”

  “In that case, be here by nine.”

  Astonished, I put the phone down. Shoot. I’ve only got an hour to get ready. Blankets need to go back on the bed, and pillows need to be put away in the closet. All this food needs to go into the kitchen. I start picking things up and putting them away. “Hey, girl. So, I have to call it a night, I’m sorry.”

  “What? What’s going on?” Jane stops me from packing up the chips.

  “It’s kind of a crazy story…I don’t want you to judge me.”

  She puts her hand on my arm. “When have I ever judged you? After all the crap I’ve put you through? Every time you watched me get back with my shitty ex, or picked me up from a random guy’s place, or helped me lie to my parents—I would never judge you. You know I’m here for you. So, spit, it, out. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She’s got me there. Never once has she had a filter on what she’s told me. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister.

  I clear my throat. “I’m getting fake engaged to Carlyle Cartier, the guy who used to live next door to me.”

  “Come again? Fake engaged to Carlyle Cartier? Isn’t he like, the most ‘sought-after bachelor’ in LA or something?”

  “I don’t know. He’s just Carlyle to me. He’s not some ‘sought-after bachelor,’ he’s just a friend, and he’s doing me a favor. I’m getting him to agree to be in a fake relationship with me until August. It’s just so my dad will stop pushing me into finding someone to be with so much. He’s been so annoying lately, he actually tried to hook me up with Sam.”

  “Oh no, not Sam. I hope you know there’s going to be a lot of backlash if any of this gets out. But if that’s the case and you’re engaged to Carlyle—can you hook me up with one of his cute friends?”

  Jane is the perfect blend of caring and rebellious. She understands I have to leave. While I powder my face, she picks my outfit. I slap on the long-sleeved shirt and corduroy skirt she leaves out on the bed.

  I grab my car keys and run out the door, and Jane says she’ll take care of herself.

  Carlyle’s place is close by. He texted me the address after we got off the phone earlier. Judging from my GPS, walking to his house is probably faster than driving there. His place is one of the only houses on the block without a gated entryway.

  Thinking back to our phone conversation, he’d asked me what time I wanted to “come.” Almost certain I know what he meant by that, my body starts to warm up. There’s only one reason a guy would call me over to his house so late at night. My heart is beating so fast. When I see his shadowy figure in the house’s window, I jump.

  I turn off my car and take in a few deep breaths.

  Okay, Molly. You can do this. You’re the one who wanted all of this to happen. You’re the one who suggested this insane agreement. Sooner or later, it had to involve some coercing.

  Carlyle has made his way to the doorway, where he waits for me.

  Something about him is sort of pensive. His body looks so chiseled underneath his white T-shirt. I get out of the car and walk slowly up to his house, the gravel underneath my feet crunching below me. His arms are crossed over his chest, making them bulge out. I realize how tall he really is when I get closer.

  He stares down at me with his dark jade eyes.

  “Hey again. Come in.”

  I try really hard not to check him out. We walk into what appears to be the living room. The fireplace is on, and it’s warm and cozy. My palms start to get really sweaty—either from the heat or from knowing we’re alone for the first time.

  “You can leave your stuff on the couch there,” he points. “Can I get you anything? A hot beverage? I can make some hot chocolate.”

  I take off my coat and leave my bag on the couch. He busies himself with something in the kitchen, just a room away. The living area has a rustic feel, fabrics of all sorts, and warm cool tones of blue and gray. The paintings are particularly interesting. The one above the fireplace is a watercolor of trees and interwoven bodies, an illusion made out to be a man’s face.

  I almost run into Carlyle, who’s snuck up behind me. Luckily, I stop myself from ramming into him. There are two mugs on the table, and steam radiates from both.

  “Have a seat.”

  I do as he says, sitting on the couch. He sits dangerously close to me. The crackling of the fireplace is the only sound in the room. I don’t think I’ve said a single word since I’ve been here.

  The world speeds up as if to make up for the few missed moments it was frozen, and I realize I came here for one reason. To get him to sign the contract.

  “So, have you thought about the proposition?” My hands are over my skirt, mug in hand.

  “I have. And you were right, your brother is much better at explaining things than you are.” He takes a sip of his hot chocolate.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re a crazy girl, Molly. You’ve got balls getting me involved in your crazy contract. I’ll agree to it, but you’ll have to agree to some of my conditions too.”

  “What conditions?”

  I gulp, keeping my gaze straight. He takes the mug from my hands and sets it on the table. He gets even closer to me; I can see him from the corner of my eye. The peach fuzz on my ear tingles as he whispers something close to me.

  “Since you’re my fiancée, we’ll need to act the part. Since you’re so good at performing, I want to hear you sing.”

  My eyes widen. Sing. What does he mean by that? I look over at the grandfather clock in the room. It’s a few minutes to nine thirty. Carlyle puts his hand on my leg.

  “So, you thought you could kiss me and then get away with it. Throw me into a contract to fake a relationshi
p with you. Molly, you’re still the girl I knew from our teenage years. We can pick things up where we left them. Pretend to be in a relationship, pretend like we’re still in high school.”

  I can feel Carlyle’s breath on the back of my neck, his hand slowly creeping up my stomach. I don’t stop him. I can’t help it, I want him to touch me. I close my eyes and lean into his hands. He starts kissing my neck, and I can’t believe this is happening right now.

  I let myself go a little. Oh god. I didn’t know I wanted this. He lays me down on the couch, and I fall into the cushions.

  “I want one thing tonight.” Carlyle’s eyes are devious. “I want to hear that voice of yours again. That’s all.”

  I feel his big arms wrap around my body. My back arches up as I dig my head deeper into the pillows. He pulls up the hem of my skirt, exposing my panties. I look down and all I see is him hungrily staring back at me.

  My cheeks are burning, and my body is so hot, I want to burst. It’s embarrassing that he’s seeing me from this angle. He lifts up my legs and moves my panties to the side of my thigh. I don’t stop him. If this is what he wants, then I’ll give it to him.

  “You’re beautiful from down here, Molly.”

  I’m blushing like crazy. He’s staring down at my naked parts, and all I want to do is cover up, but I don’t.

  Then, like complete euphoria, I feel his tongue brush up against me. He skillfully massages my clit. Any tension I had in my body is now relieved. I relax into the mood and let him rhythmically eat me out.

  I grab his hair, running my hands through his tousled black locks. I moan in pleasure, not caring about my volume. If he wants to hear me sing, here it is.

  Waves of pleasure rock through my body. I don’t hold back. I let out cries of complete ecstasy. My body convulses as I come to a climax a several times. He’s relentless, continuing his conquest to make me come over and over and over again.

  After a whole half-hour session, he stops, and breathes a sigh of satisfaction. I get up and pull down my skirt. After that entire thing, I’m utterly exhausted.

  “Holy shit,” I finally say.