Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Thirty-Five

Eliza

The first bigpurchase I promise myself I’ll make when I become a homeowner years from now is an oven. A glorious, shiny and clean oven. One that doesn’t have twenty-plus years of charred food welded to the bottom.

It’s my deep-cleaning Saturday morning, and I’m humming away under my breath in my neon yellow cleaning gloves and my threadbare shouldn’t-be-gray-but-they-are shorts. My ass is hanging out of the oven while I bend over and try to scrub my life—well, someone else’s life—out of the rusted metal.

I’m moments away from giving up and dragging the old kitchen appliance out to the curb when I hear a hard knock at my apartment door.

I sit back on my heels, heart suddenly racing over the idea of Liam making another unannounced visit. The knock sounds again, and I don’t have time to consider changing clothes or brushing my hair.

I try to tell myself that what I’m wearing doesn’t matter. Liam and I aren’t in a real relationship and we never will be. Besides, he didn’t seem too repulsed by my lazy attire the first time he showed up here the other night.

The moment I fling open the door, elegantly-dressed strangers run me over. They crowd my just-cleaned living room, rolling in racks and racks of...clothing.

Fancy clothing. Designer clothing with designer-pricing on the tags.

I stand there, blinking like a goon, taking it all in.

A manicured hand is thrust into my face. “Hi! I’m Kylie, your personal stylist,” the manicured woman attached to the manicured hand chirps.

I hold up my gloved hand, wiggling my greasy, latex-covered digits.

Kylie The Personal Stylist cringes and takes a step back, no longer interested in shaking my icky hand.

I try to laugh, but the weird noise that comes from my throat sounds like a croak of shock. “I’m sorry. What is going on here?”

A formidable smile unfolds across her contoured face. “Mr. Kline sent our team over, so you can select a dress for a dinner event with…” the stylist glances at her phone. “A Mr. Lance Varner.”

I groan, taking in the scene that’s invaded my home. At least I was done cleaning this room. This apartment is not exactly a place I’m comfortable with inviting a calvary, especially if my landlords have a morning romp today.

“What…?”

Kylie nods. “According to the email he sent me, you’re hosting a dinner party in a few days and Mr. Kline wants you strutting in there looking like a billion bucks.” She winks at me. When I hesitate, she adds. “Mr. Kline said that if you protest, I should just keep rolling more and more racks of clothing into your tiny apartment until you concede out of fear of suffocation.” She lifts a brow. “You’d better start trying on outfits, honey, or else the clothes are just gonna keep on comin’.”

I roll my eyes skyward. Liam Kline is an infuriating man. “Okay. Fine. Let me just go get cleaned up.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in my living room, drowning in brand-new clothes. As she selects outfits for me to try, Kylie struts around the room like it’s her own runway. Shoot. If I walked around my place like that, maybe I wouldn’t notice the dingy carpet or the ceiling water spots.

I’ve only tried on a few outfits, because honestly, I’m a little overwhelmed by all the choices. I’m not sure where the other people have run off to but now that they’re gone, there’s finally a little air to breathe.

I’m getting prodded and poked with pins and measuring tapes as I try on evening gowns, business suits and casual outfits, too. I’m slowly starting to realize that Liam is using the hotelier dinner as an excuse to buy me an entire wardrobe.

Damn that guy.

The stylist is strapping me into some high-fashion contraption as I lean over and grab my cell off the end table.

“Did you buy me all these clothes?” I demand the second Liam answers my call.

“Maybe.” I detect a smile in his smooth, sexy voice.

“Liam—you have to know how ridiculous this is.” I glance around my space. There’s so much stuff I can hardly see a path to the front door.

“I think what you meant to say is thank you.”

“Thank you.” I huff. “Thank you for officially turning my apartment into a fire hazard.”

“You’re welcome.” He’s definitely grinning. I can hear it in his voice. He’s a man who likes to get his way.

“You do realize that my apartment is probably smaller than your kitchen pantry? I can’t even buy two weeks’ worth of groceries, because I wouldn’t have anywhere to put them. What am I supposed to do with all these clothes?!”

Liam’s voice comes from behind me instead of through my phone. “Is this your way of asking me to upgrade you to a bigger apartment, Wifey?”

My stomach twirls and topples like a drunken ballerina. I spin around to face him as he’s stepping through the doorway to my shitty apartment.

A tiny squeak to my left distracts me. I glance that way to find the stylist shyly fluttering her false eyelashes in Liam’s direction. Apparently I’m not the only one who finds this infuriating man lethally attractive. Go figure.

“Good morning, Mr. Kline.” She squeaks again.

“Good morning, Kylie,” he rumbles, but his eyes stay on me, blatantly scanning my half-exposed body.

This slinky dress isn’t even zipped yet, and it’s practically hanging off my shoulders. I self-consciously hold the fabric in place as Liam gets closer to me. “You can’t see me like this…” I whisper.

A sly grin takes over Liam’s face. “I’ve seen you in less.” He bites his lip.

When he looks at me like that, a wave of lust bathes me from head to toe like hot maple syrup.

I can feel the stylist’s eyes bouncing between Liam and me. Hell, I can practically hear her eyeballs jumping around in their sockets. “Oh my god. Hot and spicy…” she mutters, seemingly without meaning to.

Meanwhile, Liam’s eyes stay on me. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. Harder and harder not to squirm.

When the irresistible man speaks, he does so without taking his eyes off me. “Kylie, remember that non-disclosure agreement my lawyer made you sign when you started working with me?”

“Yes, sir,” she drawls eagerly, stepping a little closer.

“Just a friendly reminder—it most certainly applies to this situation.”

She nods quickly. “Yes, sir.”

Liam shoves a hand into his slacks pocket, reaches into his wallet and grabs a bill without even glancing at it. “You look particularly thirsty today, Kylie. Go take a coffee break.” He hands a crisp hundred dollar bill to the stylist, his eyes still glued to my body.

She takes the money from his hand. “Yes, sir,” she quips again like a broken record before skittering off.

Liam and I are alone now. The air is heavy. Electric.

Hot and spicy.

I wave a hand in the direction of the racks of clothes. “This was really over the top, Liam.”

He shrugs. “I love the department store clearance aisle as much as the next guy, but I can’t have my wife showing up at dinner with Varner and his wife in some washed out dress with tiny lint balls all over it from getting beat around in the washing machine three thousand times.” He smirks.

He just had to ruin the moment, didn’t he?

“You’re the kind of guy I would have throat-punched in gym class.” I chuff.

Breath whooshes from my lungs when Liam’s hands gently fall to my shoulders. He slowly spins me around until my back—all unzipped and exposed—is facing him.

“You’re the kind of girl I would have kissed under the bleachers,” he says low in my ear. His voice drops another dangerous octave. “With lots of tongue. Lots.” He speaks in a tone that makes me want him to do horrible, dirty, filthy, unspeakable things to me.

“You’re gross.” I find myself laughing despite the heat crawling up my limbs. “I would have definitely throat-punched you.”

Now we’re standing in front of the floor-length mirror that’s leaning up against my wall. Liam’s smirk deepens as I watch his penetrating gaze skimming my body.

Holy shit.

I sense Liam’s warm, deft fingers near the top of my ass. He slowly closes the zipper that runs from the small of my back all the way up to between my shoulder blades. I swallow hard, trying to stop my body from short-circuiting.

Liquid heat runs up my thighs, straight to my core. I drop my head, feeling completely out of control, not even sure what I’m capable of in this moment. I refuse to look at this mirror. I refuse to acknowledge the way my stomach knots when I see us together like this.

Liam’s hand gently cups my chin. I hold my breath as he tenderly lifts my face, forcing me to stare at our reflection. With me in this expensive dress, and him looking delicious like he always does. I can almost see…us. As a real couple. With a future. Without a deadline looming over our heads.

“Something tells me you’re not used to having nice things, Eliza.” His voice growls softly.

A pang of sadness hits me. As the oldest kid in my family, with a sick little sister who deserved the whole wide world, well, I’ve never really wished for anything for myself. I never really had someone who fawned over me.

Something tells me that Liam has somehow picked up on that.

He leans close, so close his breath flutters over my neck. “You’re the temporary wife of the richest man in the state. A word of advice, Eliza. You might as well milk it.” He grins. “Let me spoil you.”

Despite my swooning, melting, erratic heartbeat, my eyeballs spin in their sockets. He’s so cocky. Yet again, I have to remind myself that I can’t fall under his charms. I have to keep my walls up where Liam is concerned, I have to protect my secrets.

“It really is alarming how often those pretty chocolate eyes of yours roll around in your head.” He chuckles.

“You bring it out in me, Hubby,” I sass right back.

The stylist stumbles back into my small basement apartment right then, her eager eyes on Liam again. “I’m back!” she announces.

My husband steps away from me, and the air around me immediately grows cooler without his presence.

He scans the outfit I’m wearing. “This is the dress you’ll wear to dinner.”

Well, boss me around, why don’t you?

He pivots smoothly, turning his attention to the stylist. “Whatever else she likes, have it charged to my account.”

“Of course, sir.” Kylie nods agreeably.

Liam throws one last smoldering glance in my direction, liquefying my knees once more.

Then he breezes out the door.