Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Eleven

Eliza

I’mhungry and exhausted when I squeeze myself into a booth in a dark corner of The Cathedral Pub.

My feet are killing me. My heart weighs a thousand pounds. And the space beneath my boobs aches from wearing my bra on the tightest hook all day.

Still, my bruised ego hurts more than all of those pain points combined.

I’ve secured gainful employment—and I use the word ‘gainful’ lightly—as a front desk agent at the Quickie Inn. All day long, I rent by-the-hour rooming accommodations to the sloppy, disheveled human beings who wobble through our front doors. Then, I have to sit by with a congenial smile on my face and listen to said sloppy, disheveled human beings shake the walls with their farm animal sounds as I rent out other by-the-hour rooms to other sloppy, disheveled human beings.

My new job sucks hairy balls.

I’m just grateful I’m not the one doing the sucking.

As the name would suggest, the Quickie Inn isn’t the most savory establishment in Sin Valley. But it’s one of the only hotels near the Strip that isn’t somehow affiliated with Liam Kline. In fact, it’s ridiculously difficult finding employment in this town that isn’t linked to the billionaire rat bastard in some way, shape, form or fashion.

Look—work is work, and if I have any hope of paying my rent come month’s end, I can’t be choosy. I have nobody to depend on. Nobody to fall back on. I’ve only got me.

I bring my attention back into the pub. Waitresses whizz by with trays of delicious looking appetizers, making my stomach growl.

Even though I’m starving, there’s no room in my tight budget for a meal. Still, after a full day of deflecting lewd comments from slimy old jerks and batting away the occasional grabby hands, I feel like I’ve more than earned myself a cocktail. At least one.

Despite my low funds, if I don’t allow myself the occasional guilty pleasure, I’ll lose my mind completely. I sip slowly on my vodka cranberry. I’ve got to make it last a while.

I tell myself that Dana would be proud of me for coming here after work instead of running back to the moldy underground burrow that I call home. I’m doing this for my ill sister.

Holding up my camera, I snap a quick selfie. Evidence for Dana that I’m out and about, not just wilting away on my couch. I feel extra proud of myself when I hit ‘send’ on the text message.

Around me, jubilant football fans crowd every inch of the room. The flatscreens around the bar broadcast highlights from tonight’s Paragons game. I’m lucky I managed to snag this table for myself although it probably won’t be long until someone shows up and asks to split this booth with me. The place is way busier tonight than it was the time I was here with Liam.

Liam. I hate myself a little bit every time my ex-boss crosses my mind. It’s been weeks since he ruthlessly fired me. Why do I keep thinking about him?

I’m constantly asking myself how long it’ll take me to forget all about the bastard. Probably as long as I’m living in this damn town. I mean—he practically owns all of it.

Lost in my thoughts, I ignore the people around me, stirring my cocktail with my straw. Maybe I should move away. Start over somewhere else. It’s not like there’s anything tying me to Sin Valley. But just the idea of laying down roots all over again is mentally exhausting.

Plus, I like it here. I like the glamour and excitement of the Strip. But I also enjoy my quiet strolls by the lake, the hiking trails that cut through the town’s lush greenery, the fact that the stars seem to twinkle brighter here than they do anywhere else I’ve ever lived. I can’t leave Sin Valley. I want to stay. I want to make it my home. Liam Kline notwithstanding.

I’m sipping slowly from my straw and aimlessly scanning the pub’s menu when a shadow stretches over me. As predicted, I’m going to have to share my table.

I hurriedly grab my purse from the bench next to me and prepare to scoot over, making space for this patron in search of a seat. I paste a pleasant smile across my lips. My eyes begin to sweep upward but they catch.

Well, damn.

The man looming over me is wearing some expensive-looking dress pants, sculpted to his muscular thighs. I think he has a semi-chub. The luxurious fabric of his pants hugs his crotch tight enough to make it clear that he’s packing some premium equipment but not so tight that it’s skeevy, y’know?

Okay, Eliza. Kindly remove your eyes from the stranger’s groin. You’re making this uncomfortable.

I force my eyes upward and I immediately recognize that chiseled bone structure. Those full, scowling lips. Those granite irises.

Liam Kline.

“Are you done making me feel cheap and dirty with all that shameless ogling?” he snarks, his voice rising above the chatter and low music floating through the room.

Asshole.

My nostrils flare but I force an unconvincing saccharine smile. “Oh, sorry. These seats are taken.” I slam my purse down onto the bench beside me.

With a sour expression, the bastard pushes my purse aside and drops into the seat right next to me. “The table’s big. Whenever your invisible guests show up, we’ll make room for them.”

A menacing growl rumbles in my chest. “There really is no limit to how entitled you are, is there?”

He ignores me completely. Instead, he snatches the menu out of my hands and starts boredly flipping through it. “You want another drink?”

Eye roll. “I’m adequately hydrated, thank you.”

This man is incredible.

The nerve of him to barge into my evening like it’s no big deal. After the way he tossed me to the curb like a soggy bag of trash on garbage day.

I’m not in the mood to make amends with him.

“I don’t accept,” I announce, decidedly folding my arms across my chest.

His brow arches but he doesn’t lift his gaze away from the menu. “You don’t accept what?”

“Your apology,” I say. “I don’t accept it.”

“I didn’t apologize.”

“Well, you should…But just so you know, I’m not going to accept it.”

“Noted.” He nods curtly. “And what exactly should I be apologizing for?”

Is that even a question? “Oh, the list of your transgressions is a mile long. Starting with the fact that you terminated my employment for no reason!!”

He throws me a sidelong glimpse. His gaze briefly sweeps from my eyes to my lips to my breasts. His teeth momentarily sink into his bottom lip and a fire ignites in his cold, granite eyes.

From just that one heated look, already I’m starting to sweat. He’s such a grumpy, wretched human being. But when he does that lip-biting thing, though. It’s unnerving.

Liam brings his attention back to the menu and mutters, “Trust me—I had my reasons…”

Beneath the table, I smooth my clammy palms down the front of my royal blue pencil skirt. “Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

But Liam doesn’t bother explaining himself. Instead, he drags his massive hand down his face. God, he looks tired. As tired as I feel.

I’m not letting him off the hook, though. I lost my paycheck, my means of income, my source of security. I think I deserve to know why.

“Tell me why you fired me, Kline,” I demand.

He drops the menu, tosses it onto the table and plows his fingers through his dark strands. His hair is matted down in some places, sticking up in others and I find that inexplicably hot.

Liam Kline keeps tight control of his image, his business, his life. Seeing him loosen his grip for once is refreshing. Despite his best efforts, he can’t seem to keep up his usual charade tonight.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it but he seems…lost. Muddled. Out of balance.

For a split second, I almost feel compassion for him. Almost.

But right then, a waitress passes by, balancing a huge platter of chicken wings in her hand. Delicious chicken wings that I can’t afford. My stomach growls again. Loudly.

And just like that, I remember that Liam Kline is no friend of mine. This is the man who toppled my world upside down.

The broody billionaire raises his head and gives me a fleeting look. “When’s the last time you ate?”

My eyes roll around in my skull. Please. “If you cared whether or not I eat, you wouldn’t have fired me without just cause.”

“Answer the question, Eliza.” He snaps with impatience. “And feel free to drop the bad attitude while you’re at it.”

I’m done playing whatever game this is. “Listen to me, you jerk hole—you and I are no longer in a boss-subordinate relationship. Which means, I no longer have to tolerate your crap. So how about you just tell me why the hell you’re sitting here, caging me into this booth so we can both be rid of each other once and for all?”

Finally, he turns his body and looks me dead in the face. “Come back and work for me.”

Well, that’s not what I was expecting.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“Come back and work for me. The assistant I hired after you is an absolute idiot and I can’t stand having him in my face one more day.”

“Well like attracts like,” I shrug. “So maybe the solution to your problem might be to start with a look in the mirror.” I suck up the last drops of my cocktail through my straw.

Then I give the straw another suck.

No more. Internally, I mourn.

“Are you really going to turn down my job offer?” He narrows his eyes.

“I am.”

I may not have two pennies to rub together but I still have my pride. I hold my head high.

“You sure you can afford to do that?” He glances at the empty glass I’m still slurping desperately from.

I lift a brow. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Again, he waltzes around my question. “I’ll give you a raise. Tell me how much you want.” He grabs an expensive pen and small notepad from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze head-on. “You can’t put an hourly wage on my dignity. Sorry. I may be temporarily low on cash but I’m not for sale.” I pour every ounce of my conviction into my words, willing them to be true.

“Forget it.” Liam pushes up to his feet. “You’ve got your dignity…Good for you,” he mutters dryly before he turns and melts into the crowd.

He has totally ruined the vibe for me. I’m left with a sour taste in my mouth and tears prickling the backs of my eyes. Now, I’m ready to get out of here. But I need to take a minute to compose myself. I don’t want to run out of this bar in tears like a melodramatic prom queen.

Sitting in the dark booth, I take long, slow breaths. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Once. Twice. Three times.

I’m in the middle of my impromptu calm-the-fuck-down meditation when I feel a presence approaching again. I blink my eyes open just in time to see a waitress slide a basket of wings onto the table in front of me.

“What is this?” I ask the woman.

Grinning, she points to Liam where he’s at the bar by himself, sulking into a glass of whiskey. “That hot guy there sent it over.”

Ugh. “Can you please return it to him?” I ask, trying to keep my rage from leaking out. I may be angry but this woman doesn’t deserve my venom.

She frowns at me, clearly confused. “Hun, that’s Liam Kline. He owns the Paragons football team and half the Strip. He runs this town.” She leans close and whispers. “I heard he hasa billion dollars and a big dick! And he’s trying to put the moves on you. Do you know how lucky you are…?”

I let her continue gabbing on. Rising to my feet, I grab the platter of chicken wings and march it right back to where Liam is seated at the bar.

The basket hits the counter in front of him with a thud. “I don’t need your pity meals.” I fold my arms over my chest.

He sighs with exasperation. “Eliza, I’ve had a rough day and your little independent woman act is far from cute at this point. So just cut it out and eat the chicken, would you?” He waves me off with a flick of his wrist.

I’m seething. I’m seething. I’m seething.

The nerve of this man!

“I don’t want anything you have to offer, Liam Kline. Not your drinks. Not your chicken wings. Not your job offers,” I announce. “You can go fuck”—I stare him up and down—“whatever it is you like to fuck. Personally, I don’t care.”

On those kind words, I grab the basket of chicken wings and capsize it into his lap. I push my way through the crowd and stomp out of the bar.