Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Twenty

Eliza

I clearmy throat and wiggle my sticky mouse around on the mouse pad.

“Sorry, how many hours did you say you were booking for?” I offer the lust-drunk trio standing in front of me a sweet smile, hoping to deflect from the fact that I’m asking them to repeat themselves. For the third time.

I’m so distracted today.

The small, gangly man peeks into his wallet and thumbs through a bundle of wrinkly dollar bills. He frowns at the money like it’s just not adding up. “Uh, can we do about fifteen, twenty minutes?” He gives me an impish grin and adjusts the gold-rimmed sunglasses perched on his nose.

I blink at him. “Sir, I’m sorry. I can’t book you for less than an hour.”

There are two silicone-inflated woman hanging off him like a jungle gym. The tall redhead slides her hand into the neckline of the man’s half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt and purrs. “We don’t need more than half an hour. Big Daddy doesn’t last all that long.” She tenderly caresses his chest.

I momentarily purse my lips to keep from snorting a laugh. “I’m sorry,” I tell them as the fluorescent lightbulb overhead flickers. “Our policy is that bookings start at one hour.” Something small and furry and four-legged runs across the far end of the lobby. I suppress my scream.

“But we really, really don’t need more than thirty minutes, though,” the frizzy-haired blonde tells me with a flirty grin before smacking her wad of green chewing gum. She’s got red lipstick on her teeth.

I hold my ground. “Sorry. One hour minimum.”

The back and forth continues as the three of them empty all their money onto the counter, trying to pool together the motel fee.

In my pocket, my cellphone starts vibrating and my stomach knots. I pull out my device and glare at my screen.

Today is not the day for this shit. After the week I’ve had, I’m not in the headspace to deal with Liam Kline.

The stubborn rich guy keeps blowing up my phone. From his numerous voice messages all week, I know that he wants to strike a deal with me to go along with the lie he told Varner.

The guy is crazy. Crazy, I tell you.

But why does a tiny piece of me want to go along with it? Working at Kline-Simmons was head and shoulders above working here at the Quickie Inn. The projects the office handled were exciting and mentally-stimulating. Plus, they had really good coffee.

And more than that, I just keep thinking about the look on Liam’s face the night at the pub, when he was telling me why the Varner project means so much to him and his family. Call it compassion or call it sheer stupidity but the man is so close to reaching his goal and I’m sort of invested in seeing this deal through to the end.

Crazy, right? Crazy, crazy, crazy.

Classic Eliza. My empathy always gets me in trouble. I’m always ready to throw myself on the sword to save someone I care about.

Someone I care about? Would you listen to yourself, Eliza?

The man is a stranger. I don’t even know him. I don’t even know if I like him. Sure. I’d probably like his penis and a variety of his other body parts, but do I like him, like him? Oh god.

At least being here at my shitty new job offers a nice distraction from thinking about my lunatic ex-boss and the mess he’s trying to suck me into.

But when the front door swings open and Nadia Chester power-struts into the lobby of the Quickie Inn with an equally powerful-looking old dude by her side, I knock over my coffee cup. Because it’s pretty safe to assume that they’re not here to rent a bedroom for a discreet afternoon tryst.

Liam Kline is out for blood. And he’s sent his bounty hunters to find me.

Lukewarm liquid splashes onto my keyboard and the tiled floor beneath my desk. I hurriedly toss down a stack of printouts and flyers to soak it up. I’m so freaking jittery and agitated; if I accidentally burn down this whole motel, it’s on him.

The cash-strapped threesome throws me a disgusted glare as they head for the exit.

“Jeez. So unprofessional,” the redhead says, her nose upturned at me and the mess I’ve made as she clings to her man friend’s arm.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” The blonde gives me the stink-eye. “This motel looks like the type of place where you’d get crabs anyway. Very unsanitary.”

‘Big Daddy’ looks at the man standing next to Nadia and jabs a thumb in my direction over his shoulder. “Hot mess express over there.”

With her gaze zeroed in on me, Nadia marches over to the reception desk, her heels drilling the lobby’s scratched tiles with each step. “Hey there, Eliza.”

“Uh, hey. Hi. How goes it?”My hands are shaking as I scoop up the soggy, instant coffee-soaked papers and toss them in the trash.

The intimidating man approaches my desk with a business card in his outstretched hand. Frank Lawman, Attorney-At-Law. I recognize the name from when I worked at Kline-Simmons. This is Liam’s personal lawyer.

Shit.

“Miss Jenkins, you’re a difficult woman to track down,” he says. “We’ve been combing this town for two days looking for you.”

I belt out a high-pitched laugh. “You make it seem like I’ve been hiding. I haven’t been hiding. Just over here. Living life. Working work. Y’know—humaning.”

The man slides a hand into the pocket of his expensive-looking suit and stares at me with grave eyes. “You might want to get someone to cover the rest of your shift, Miss Jenkins. We’d like you to come with us.”

My knees threaten to go wobbly but I hold my shoulders straight. “This is a free country. I don’t have to go anywhere with you!”

“You don’t have to come with us.” He nods agreeably, “but if I were you, I would.”

Cryptic. Very cryptic.

With a sigh, Nadia rests her palms on the counter between us. “Eliza, you know I like you, right?”

“Um, right.”

“I’d bet you’re a great person.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Look—I don’t want to ruin your life.” Nadia removes her hands from the counter and daintily brushes her palms together as if to rid herself of life-threatening microorganisms. “But if I have to, I will. I’ll feel really, really bad about it…but I’ll do it anyway.”

All righty then. Point taken.

I’m a woman with secrets that I’d very much like to keep hidden and these two are standing in front of me with their shovels, ready to dig up dirt.

So, that’s how I end up here, in an air-conditioned conference room at Kline-Simmons Realty Developments with cold sweat dripping down my back. The scary lawyer dude checks his watch for the hundredth time as Nadia diligently scans the documents in an official-looking folder. She’s so cold and straightforward here, it’s almost like she’s not the same woman who was inviting me out for drinks a few weeks ago.

Fuck—I’m sweating like a pig in labor, beyond rattled that my perspiration might leak through my cheap top.

I shift in my chair again. I’m so freaking uncomfortable.

Tension and nervousness war inside me. I can’t tell if it’s because these law-degree-wielding human beings are eyeballing me like they know all my dirty secrets, or if it’s because I’m anxious that any minute now, Liam will enter this room and demand my head on a platter.

I’m half-tempted to just make a run for it. But I didn’t even wear my good shoes today.

Liam stalks in about half an hour later with a tight grimace and a commanding stride, reminding us all that he owns the place.

My core muscles throb because—damn—he looks good.

His dark hair is tousled perfection. His shirt is a touch rumpled after many hours at the office but his body still fills it out in delicious ways. And those strong thighs move with purpose, taking him to an executive chair at the oversized oblong table.

He drops down into a seat, with his lawyers positioned on either side of him. The three of them start shuffling papers back and forth. I’m the sole individual sitting on my lonely side of the table. And unlike them and their stacks of documents and briefcases, I’m noticeably empty handed.

I’ve seen this scene on TV. I’m either getting sued today or framed for murder.

Nadia takes control of the discussion and I chew on my lip while I try to take in everything she’s saying.

“As you may know,” the lady-lawyer begins, eyes pinned on me. “Closing the Varner Resorts contract is a significant goal for this company. Thus, Mr. Kline is offering a generous arrangement for you to resume your duties as his administrative assistant…,” she clears her throat uncomfortably. “And to marry him. At least throughout the duration of the contracting process. At which point it will be amicably dissolved.”

I grip the armrests of my office chair. No one is asking my opinion or presenting me with options. Only harsh demands. And I’m struggling to keep up with the legal jargon.

God, should I have hired someone to come sit in on my behalf?Not that I could even afford it.

Liam’s other guy slides a stack of documents my way, offering me highlights of the inch-thick paperwork.

“The first section details the non-disclosure agreement, which upon your signature, is a legally binding undertaking.” He flips through the pages. “The second packet of documents is a code of conduct. Ground rules, if you will.”

“In addition to complete discretion, or perhaps as incentive to such, Mr. Kline has outlined generous compensation for your time and inconvenience.” Nadia interjects, tapping a manicured finger on the highlighted section. “One hundred thousand is a good chunk of cash for—”

“Two,” I hear myself blurt out.

Around the table, all eyes flick up to my face. Oh my god. What am I doing?

“Excuse me?” Mr. Lawman says.

I swallow hard then straighten my shoulders and speak with an impassive face. “Two hundred—” Oh god. “—and fifty thousand dollars—” Holy shit. “—in cash.”

Fuck it. I’m gonna be a filthy rich woman, lying next to my very own infinity pool and winning over the heart of my newly hired, oiled-up pool boy by this weekend…

It’d be laughable if it weren’t so cringeworthy. That’s not me at all. While I wouldn’t mind upgrading from my smelly basement apartment, I’d prefer to do so with my pride intact.

I know I’m asking for a lot of money but I’m not doing this to fund my next hot girl summer. The fact of the matter is, I have problems. So many problems. And if I’m giving up my hand in marriage against my will, I might as well demand enough money to solve some of those problems.

My eyes dare to flick to Liam’s. His expression remains unreadable. He gives nothing away. As intimidated as I am, I hold his stare. I’m not backing down.

Finally, he grudgingly rasps out. “Fine. Two-fifty. Cash. Paid in two instalments; one on the wedding day and the other when we break ground on the resort.”

I open my mouth to protest the whole instalments thing but he gives me a stare that warns me not to test his limits.

Nadia’s eyes bounce between Liam and me before she scribbles the new figure onto the document.

She continues with the contract review. “As you’ll read on page seven, there is also a detailed clause about infidelity. Due to the high stakes of the Varner Resorts file, positive perception of your union is imperative. Hence, sexual relations with third parties is off the table.” At least she has the decency to cringe when she says that.

Wow—I bet it was a joy putting this shitshow together. I can’t say I envy her at the moment.

“That’s fine,” I say.

Personally, I have no intention of objecting to the clause. I don’t exactly have time to be promiscuous with all the other fires I’m trying to put out in my life.

Frank turns his eyes to my boss. “I should also point out that, at our discretion, we added a brief clause disallowing sexual intimacy between the two parties since there—”

“That addition won’t be necessary,” Liam’s voice snaps out.

Around us, the lawyers freeze.

His penetrating, granite eyes hooked on mine, he tosses a pen toward the old man. “Strike that line out.” The air between us sizzles.

When Liam looks at me like that, heat floods me. I’m immediately imagining what it would be like to spend a night together.

Those corded arms holding his body over me. Those strong, powerful thighs driving their magic. Those full lips twisting into a wicked grin every time he’d make me come.

Stop it. Just stop it.

And why is Liam making a scene about this ridiculous clause anyway? Is it because he wants to spend the night with me? Or is it because the idea of fucking me is so far-fetched that it’s not even worth putting it in writing? And why do I care either way?

Liam loosens his neck tie. “Eliza and I are quite capable of controlling ourselves, without putting that distasteful clause in writing.”

I cock a brow at him. Clearly, he’s full of shit. We’re obviously not capable of controlling ourselves. Case in point: that hot and steamy makeout session we had in the alley.

It’s clear the lawyers are thinking the same. An embarrassed look crosses his billion-dollar face when he meets Nadia’s eyes. “I just don’t want to humiliate Ms. Jenkins by putting something like that down on paper.”

“Always the thoughtful gentleman,” I snark under my breath.

“Indeed,” he bites back.

Mr. Lawman picks up his engraved pen and draws a bold line through the paragraph in question.

“Go on,” the grumpy billionaire commands.

The lawyers finish reading the contract and providing explanations where necessary. It’s not such a bad deal…Right? I mean, we don’t have to cohabitate. We don’t have to consummate. We just have to stay married until the Varner deal is finalized. That’s doable…

But when a pen gets handed my way, I get a sudden case of cold feet.

“I don’t know…” I bite the nail of my thumb, gripping the pen in my clammy hand. “I don’t know if I can sign this.”

Liam observes me for a long moment. Then, he addresses his lawyers without even glancing at them. “Give us a minute.”

Nadia nods. “We’ll go tie up loose ends.”

The lawyers practically sprint out the door at the opportunity for a break from the oppressive energy of this room.

Liam and I are left behind.

Silent tension fills the space between us, and I hate it. He’s never been the easiest man to work with, but now, what he’s asking is impossible.

“Marry me, Eliza.” No romance. No seduction. Just entitlement.

“You are crazy.” The words come out slowly, as if for emphasis.

“Or maybe you’re just a scared, little girl with a sassy, big mouth who can’t back up all the shit she talks?”

Challenged, I feel something ignite in me. I sit a little taller. “What in the world does that mean?”

He lifts a brow. “It means you’re the one who goes around acting like I’m stuffy and uptight. Spewing all this nonsense about how I don’t do anything spontaneous—”

“There’s a stark difference between spontaneous and batshit crazy,” I huff.

“You’re scared. Admit it.”

I lean across the table, my eyes narrowed. “I am not scared of anything.”

He leans in too so our faces are just a breath apart. “Prove it, Scaredy Pants. Marry me.”

“We...uh. Well, I’m…um—”

“Scared.” He plops back in his chair and scoffs, vindicated.

But after everything I’ve been through, I will not be taken for a coward. I reach across the table and grab the pen. Then, I’m scribbling my name on the signature line. “Fuck it. I’d do anything at least once. Even marry you.”