Fake Fiancée for Dad’s Best Friend by Gena Snow

Chapter 15

Alex

 

 

 

 

“Let me take you to dinner,” I say to Vivian in my car. She’s been awfully quiet after we left the fabric show.

“No thanks,” she says. “I want to go home.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “It’s still early.” I don’t look forward to going back to my empty condo. I want to suggest some other entertainment for the night, but her cellphone rings.

She answers it right away. “Hi, Cody, what’s up?”

I clench my jaw. Who the hell is Cody?

Vivian listens to the caller for a moment and laughs. “Thanks for asking me, but Cody, it’s your apartment. If you like it, just go for it… Sure, send me the link, and I’ll take a look.”

After she hangs up, I can’t help my curiosity.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, Cody. He’s a friend. He’s going to Paris too, and we’re planning to share an apartment again. He asks for my opinion on the rentals.”

They’re going to live together? A powerful wave of jealousy sweeps over me. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” she shakes her head. “I told you I didn’t have any boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

Friends? This is an ambiguous term. It could mean so many things. “Can you trust him?” I ask, trying not to sound like a jealous fool.

She smiles. “Absolutely. He’s Amanda Lee’s son.”

Amanda Lee? Owner of Fusion Fashions. A top brand for unisex clothing. Right, John works for her. That punk is her son? I vaguely recall the lad in some fashion magazines, and something clicks. “Was he the guy you had lunch with today?” Words slip out of my mouth. Great. Now I sound like a stalker.

Her eyes widen for a moment. “So it was you! Why didn’t you say hi? Never mind. Yeah. He came to see me.”

He isn’t just a friend. I grit my teeth. “Rumor says he’s quite a playboy.”

She chuckles. “Yeah, he is. But he’s also very sweet. Don’t worry. I rented a room in his Manhattan condo for two years.”

Already lived together for so long? That doesn’t help to ease my jealousy at all. This Cody guy definitely doesn’t sound like just a friend to me.

“Are you going to come in?” Vivian asks before getting out of my car.

“Nope,” I say. “I haven’t told your dad about it yet, and this isn’t a good time or place to do it.”

“About that,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “I think maybe you should speak to him when I’m still here. I don’t want you to take the blame alone.”

I’m touched by her consideration. I have the thought of telling John sooner too, but it has nothing to do with Vivian. I simply can’t keep concealing the fact from him any longer. “Let me think about it. I’m going to meet him this Friday after work.”

“I see.” She smiles at me, melting me effortlessly. And then, without warning, she leans in and dabs a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks, Alex, for helping me. I’m sorry you have to deal with Dad later!”

Fuck. I have the impulse to hold her and kiss her until I’m out of breath. But I control myself and say coolly, “Anytime, sweetheart. Have a good evening.”

My husky voice must betray my desire because Vivian’s eyes darken a bit as she gazes at me. For a second, she looks as if she wants to linger as well, but she opens the door and steps out of the car. “You too.”

I watch her say goodbye to Mark and walk up to the patio. At the door, she turns to wave at me again before entering the house. I wave back, and then I tell Mark to drive.

 

What the hell has gotten into me? I hadn’t planned to go to the trade show at all, not to mention taking Vivian with me. All the talk about helping her to build experience was just an excuse. Truth is. I lost my mind after seeing her with Cody at the sandwich shop.

I’ve tried to forget her like a business partner after closing a deal for weeks, but it was impossible. I recall her lovely smile all the time, and at night, my cock hardens as soon as I remember her lips wrapping around it. This afternoon when she sat next to me in my car, I had a hard time stopping my hand from flying to her. My mind was out of control as I recalled how gorgeous she looked the night of our engagement party and how good she felt in my arms.

Fuck. I’m in deep shit. I shouldn’t. I did not foresee this when I let her convince me of her plan. Damn. I don’t even know how to tell John about it. All I know at the moment is I cannot let Vivian go live with that dandy Cody of hers. I don’t trust that guy, even though he might be sweet, generous, and cool. Hell, I wouldn’t trust him even if he were gay. No man with balls could resist my Vivian. She is my fiancée. Fake, but still mine. Damn. This is insane.

 

I pour myself a scotch after I get to my condo on Park Ave.  The large penthouse feels empty. I turn on my Bose Wave Music System and pick my favorite CD. Soon the music fills the air, and I sigh with satisfaction. I plop down onto the couch, take a big sip of the liquor, and close my eyes. As the burning liquor washes down my gut, I recall Vivian’s shimmering eyes the moment she got out of my car. Damn. They never left my mind on my way home. I want her. I’ve been kidding myself when I thought I had gotten her out of my system. Just a few hours together proved I was hooked. Damn. I have to get a hold of myself.

Feeling restless, I go out to the balcony. Being on the top of a twenty-story building, it has a fantastic view below me that I never tire of—the lush green Central Park bordered with magnificent high-risers. I’ve lived here for over ten years, and being here has always been satisfying. I feel like being on top of the world, accomplished and proud. All the stresses are worth it.

But not today. At the moment, I feel different. Something is missing from my life. I take a big gulp of the liquor, wanting to numb the sense of longing. Even with the clamor of the city around me, I feel lonely. It’s so fucking empty here. What the fuck do I need so many rooms for? So I feel lonely at a time like this?

I pull out my cellphone. I need distractions. There are a few female friends I enjoy being with. Rieko, a Japanese woman who plays the piano well. Gabby, an Italian American singer with an angel’s voice and a stripper’s body, and Nancy, whose witty, intellectual talks never fail to amuse me. I pause to make my choice of the night, but for some reason, none of them seems to interest me.

Instead, I text Vivian. “What are you having for dinner?” I type. But before I send it, I scoff. What am I? A fifteen-year-old, love-sick teenager? Even when I was a teenager, I didn’t feel this way toward girls. I was always rational. Cool-headed. I didn’t hesitate to accept Columbia’s admissions offer, even though it meant I had to break up with my high school sweetheart.

I delete the message.

Just then, my phone chimes, and it’s my mom calling me.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, Alex!” she sounds strange.

“What’s up?”

She pauses for a second. “Alex, we’re coming to New York.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll let you know why when I see you, but we’ve booked the tickets already, and we’ll be here Sunday afternoon. We might stay for a few days. I’m not sure how long.”

This is unusual. My parents don’t care for New York, and they seldom visit. “Okay, mom. Text me the flight number and the arrival time. I’ll have Mark pick you up at the airport.”

“Will do. Is it okay if we stay at your place? I don’t feel like booking a hotel room.”

“Of course it’s okay. Mom. I’ve got five bedrooms.” I say, frowning a bit at the strange question. They’ve always stayed with me during the few times they visited in the past.

“Are you sure Vivian wouldn’t mind?”

Damn. The thought hasn’t crossed my mind. “She wouldn’t,” I lie in a hurry. “She would love to have you here. She misses you guys.”

“Perfect. I miss her, too. Such a nice girl. Is she here? Can I say hi?”

“No. I’m sorry, Mom. She’s visiting her dad.”

“That’s sweet. Her dad must hate you for taking away his little girl,” my mom says. “That reminds me. We should meet with her family during our stay. Would you arrange it?”

“S-sure,” I say. “I’ll talk to Vivian about it.”

She pauses for a moment and says, “Have you decided on the wedding date yet?”

“Not yet, but it’ll be after she comes back from Paris.” I remind her.

My mom falls silent. “If I were you, Alex, I wouldn’t let her go to Paris alone. And if I had to, I’d marry her before letting her go.”

I chuckle, refraining from the impulse of telling her I would agree with her if Vivian were indeed my fiancée.

“Okay, tell her I say hi,” my mom says.

“I will. Bye.”

After I hang up, I stand where I am in front of the balcony door, gazing at the fabulous sunset outside. Damn. I’ll have to ask Vivian to pretend again. And then I smile. It means she’ll be with me for a few days. That’s perfect.

Since I have a good reason, I don’t hesitate to call her this time.