Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Twenty-Nine
Eliza
For the millionth time today,I’m actively battling the urge to glance over my shoulder. From my desk outside of Liam’s office, I can hear my prickly husband barking into the phone. The vibrations of his voice send chills down my spine that explode into delicious heat low in my belly.
I force myself to focus on the work in front of me. I’ve managed to finish my normal tasks for the day, and now I’m working on organizing Liam’s calendar for the next month and exporting in-depth meeting prep information for upcoming business negotiations, so all the man has to do is show up in the conference room and win over new prospects with his scowling charm.
Still haven’t figured out how to get all this red crayon wax off of my desk, though. What the hell?!
Anyway, I’m aware that my efforts are overkill but pouring myself into work is the only thing I can do to keep myself from overthinking. Can’t spend the day obsessing over the rich, growly guy who signs the pay checks around here.
The urge to check over my shoulder calls to me again, and my skin crawls with the need to steal a peek at the man in question. The need grows and grows until I’m no longer able to see the computer screen in front of me.
That’s when I decide to just do it. Can’t have the head honcho’s assistant distracted, right? That can’t be good for the company.
My gaze flicks over my back, glancing toward Liam’s desk.
Something weird flutters in my stomach when I catch him staring right back at me.
Neither of us looks away. I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips. Despite his best efforts, maybe he doesn’t hate me so much after all.
Turning back to my desk, I shake off the feeling of my Robo-husband-boss’s stare. The elevator dings and Nadia, Sera and Desiree step out, back from lunch. I smile and wave when we make eye contact.
Nadia strolls in my direction and slides a large Starbucks coffee cup onto the corner of my desk. Through the clear plastic I can see whipped cream, caramel drizzle and chocolate shavings.
“Peace offering?” she offers me a sheepish grin.
I laugh. “I accept!”
A look of relief spreads across Nadia’s face. “Good to have you back, Eliza.”
“Thanks.”
With a wink, she turns and heads to her office.
I’m left smiling to myself as I sip on my frosty coffee. I understand that Nadia was only doing her job, making the whole fake marriage thing happen. Still, it’s nice to know that she felt bad about doing it. At least she has a conscience—unlike some other people around here.
And although it requires a whole lot of pride-swallowing on my part, I can finally admit to myself that I’m better off working at Kline-Simmons than I was at the Quickie Inn.
Everyone around the office has been super nice since I got back to work here. I can tell they’re curious, too, but at least no one has asked me anything directly.
As Nadia is walking off, the phone in front of me rings.
My breath hitches when I realize who is on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Varner!” I fake enthusiasm.
“Miss Jenkins,” he gushes. “Or should I call you Mrs. Kline now?” The man chuckles like we’re the very best of friends.
Eye roll.
If he only knew the havoc he’s caused in my life.
“I’m keeping my name at this time,” I say, maintaining my exuberance. “It’s great to hear from you, sir. What can I do for you today? Should I get Mr. Kline on the line?”
“No need to grab Liam,” he tells me. “In fact, it’s you I called to talk to.”
Closing my eyes, I say a silent prayer that this man isn’t calling to hit on me again.
“Of course,” I say through my teeth. “What’ll it be, Mr. Varner?”
“My wife, Charlotte, and I will be in Sin Valley at the end of next week. I’d like you to arrange a dinner at your home for the four of us. So we can get to know each other. Outside of the office.”
The slimy way he says it sends a chill down my spine. I make a mental note to research this Charlotte chick because if I find out the Varners are swingers or some other crazy shit, I’ll be so mad.
“My home?” I hear myself repeating as I visualize a bunch of billionaires sitting around having dinner in my cramped, dingy basement apartment.
“Yes, darling. Yours and Liam’s.”
Oh, duh. Not my home. Right.
Shaking out of my panic, I respond graciously. “Of course, Mr. Varner. My husband and I would be honored to host you and your wife.”
I glance toward my boss’s desk. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me.
Hurriedly, I wrap up the call. As soon as I get the hotelier off the phone, I rush into Liam’s office. He glares when I barge in without knocking. Too freaking bad, mister.
I shut the door behind me. “We have a big problem,” I announce.
Liam lifts his brow. “What’s new?” he grumbles wearily with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
I ignore his attitude. “Mr. Varner just invited himself and his wife over to dinner next weekend. At your place. With the both of us.”
Liam leans back in his chair and tightly pinches his eyes closed. I feel his stress coming off him in waves. It’s always something new with Varner. Always another blazing hurdle of dog poop to jump over.
On a heavy sigh, Liam opens his eyes again. “Well, I guess we’re having dinner with Varner and his wife then.”