The Pretending Plot Read online

  Hook, line and fake fiancé sinker.

  I took a deep breath. “It seems life is imitating art. I’m supposed to be in love with Sutton, and I’ve been seeing more why someone—why I—would do that.” With a shrug to deflect, I commented on my own situation. “Pretty ridiculous, right?”

  She stretched her hand across the table, squeezing mine. “No.” She paused, smiled softly. “You care for her. For real. Don’t you?”

  I swallowed roughly, flashing back to the last few days—had it only been that long? It felt like much longer . . .

  ”She’s great, Jill. Hard to read sometimes—a lot of the time—but the glimpses of the sweet, sassy woman tell me she’d be worth the work. She’s caring and kind. Smart as a whip and funny too. I didn’t expect her to be funny. But she is. She has this dry, clever sense of humor.” I glanced at Jill, realizing I was gushing but not sure I cared. “She has this adorable little dog she’s nuts about, and I think she’s the truest version of herself when she’s around him. I kind of love watching who she is with that pooch. She tries to be tough, but she’s such a marshmallow.”

  Sighing happily, Jill set her chin in her hands, batting her eyes. “Aww. She’s your marshmallow.”

  I tried to laugh it off. But maybe that’s what she was.

  My marshmallow.

  Our pancakes arrived, and I took the chance while our mouths were full to think of how I might tip the scales toward sweet Sutton tonight. She’d be warm in public, so there was that to enjoy. But what could I do for her to show I paid attention to her needs —the big one was making our charade convincing but also special for her tonight.

  Then I remembered what Jill’s roommate Kat did for a living. She was a jewelry designer. “Hey, Jill. Think your roommate can do me a favor?”

  20

  Sutton

  I sent a car to pick up Reeve. I knew if I saw his apartment, I’d start to feel more for him, and I couldn’t allow that. The week was nearly up and we could soon return to passing acquaintances. Fine, he was an acquaintance who hit notes on my body that had never been played before. He’d gone down on me the night before and delivered two out-of-this-world orgasms that made me feel as if the sun and moon and solar system were rotating around me, that the sheer wattage of pleasure he’d given me with his mouth and tongue and lips could power the universe.

  Still, I’d simply have to tuck him into the faraway corner of my brain after tonight. But his prowess with my body wasn’t the most unjust part of this whole week. The real rub was this—he was sweet, and he was good, and he could keep up with me. He was his own man, with his own opinions, and he wasn’t afraid of a thing.

  There were times when he seemed to genuinely care for me, and there were times when he touched me in a way that went beyond the intense charge between us. The way he’d kissed me on the library steps with a kind of reverence, as if he’d missed me. And the way he’d laid me down on my couch and spread my legs as if he were hungry for me, not just my body, but me.

  I waved my hand in front of my face, as if I could rid myself of these ludicrous notions, then I appraised myself one last time in the mirror. I had on a pretty dove gray dress with long sleeves and a hemline that hit just above the knees. Then my black leather boots, and a single silver bracelet on my right wrist. I’d pinned my hair up as usual, and I wore my glasses, my twin efforts to look twenty-eight, rather than the twenty-one I was often mistaken for. I looked sophisticated and sharp, and when the town car arrived with Reeve already in the back seat, so handsome in his charcoal slacks, green button-down, and a tie, I felt a surge of happiness at seeing my boyfriend.

  Then I remembered he was only my pretend boyfriend, so I tamped it down. “You look very nice,” I said to him.

  “As do you. And look,” he said, tipping his forehead to a plate on the seat next to him, full of chocolate chip cookies covered in saran wrap. “Remember I told her in your office I made great chocolate chip cookies?”

  I beamed. “You are the perfect boyfriend.”

  He winked. “They might not be as good as Sunshine Bakery cookies, but I think they can hold their own.”

  I clasped my hand to my chest. “You go to Sunshine Bakery?”

  He patted his belly. It was flat as a board. “From time to time. Gotta keep in shape for the camera, but I love that place.”

  A shiver of possibility raced over my skin. “It’s my favorite too. Did you know they have grapefruit macarons?”

  His lips twitched up in a grin. “Be still my beating heart. I’ll have to take you there sometime.” His voice lowered to a naughty whisper. “Then we’ll work it off.”

  That shiver turned to heat, warming me all over. But I had to remind myself this was only pretend. “Count me in,” I said, in my best sexy and nonchalant tone.

  “And I have something for you,” he added.

  I raised an eyebrow curiously, as he removed from his pocket a small velvet pouch, then reached inside. Something sparkled in his hand, and it looked almost like a diamond. My eyes widened, and I let that joyful feeling return. I did love shiny objects.

  “It’s just a little something. It’s not a real diamond, and I’m not trying to claim it’s real, but I thought we could pretend it’s a placeholder ring while you get yours resized.” He held the ring in his palm and with his other hand, he reached for me.

  My heart skipped a beat as he slid the ring onto my finger. “Oh, Reeve. I love it. How did you get it? It fits perfectly.”

  He shrugged sheepishly. “I’m actually pretty good with sizes. It’s this strange hidden talent of mine. And my friend Jill’s roommate is a jewelry designer, so she knocked this out for us.”

  “This is ridiculously perfect,” I said, and placed my bejeweled hand on the back of his head and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

  A fake kiss, of course. It was only a fake kiss to get in the right mindset. But the way he lingered softly, the way he sighed happily, made it feel real.

  Then I settled back in the leather seat and we said little more on the short drive to the penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. We didn’t say much in the elevator either. I knocked on the door, and Janelle answered.

  “Good to see you,” Janelle said, letting the tiniest sliver of a smile slip across her slick red lips. She wore a maroon dress with a high neck and for a moment I wondered if Janelle was hiding hickeys. Then, I remembered that Janelle had supposedly cut Johnathan off till he proved he could keep it in his pants. But rather than ruminate on the sleeping arrangements of this woman, I handed her the bottle of Cakebread Chardonnay I’d selected from the local wine shop on my block.

  “It’s a 2011. It’s supposed to be wonderful, so I very much hope you enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will,” Janelle said, waving us inside the penthouse.

  “And here are the cookies as promised,” Reeve said, handing her the plate of baked goods.

  “I cannot wait to eat them.” She plucked one from under the Saran wrap and popped it into her mouth. She rolled her eyes in pleasure, then whispered. “Best. Ever.”

  Reeve smiled.

  “Let me just put this wine in the wine cellar,” Janelle added. “Though, it’s not really a cellar. It’s more of a closet. But I still call it a cellar. Come with me. I’ll show it to you.”

  Janelle escorted us to the spacious kitchen, which itself was the size of my whole apartment. There was an island, a massive Viking stove, and a huge Sub-Zero built-in refrigerator. As Janelle placed the cookies on the island, the Siamese cat sashayed by.

  “Hello, Archibald,” I said to the feline. As felines do, he ignored me and wandered into another room.

  “He’s a cat,” Janelle said, as if that explained everything. And it did.

  It also occurred to me that Janelle was a cat kind of person. There were people who were dog people—accepting, unable to hide their emotions, announcing their preferences sometimes VERY LOUDLY. Then there were cat people—aloof, inscrutable, and most interested
in you when you don’t want them to be.

  That summed Janelle up pretty well. It also explained why she looked like she was sneering even when she wasn’t.

  Janelle led us to an oak door that opened into a long narrow hallway full of bottles of wine. The lights were low in the wine cellar-slash-closet and the temperature was cooler. I shivered, and Reeve placed an arm around me. His touch was warm, and I leaned briefly into it.

  Janelle placed the wine in a rack, and then gestured as if she were presenting winning letters on a game show. “Voila. And here it is. In case you should need to find it later.” Then she whispered, as if we were in on something, “It’s fun for all sorts of things.”

  “Um . . . right, then.” I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I kept my reply on the level. “Lovely. Great. We’ll know right where to find it if we need wine. Or, um, a cellar.”

  We headed back to the main living area. As we went, Janelle asked idly. “Oh, by the way, I keep meaning to ask. How was Renaissance Astrology?”

  By the way? As if that was an afterthought.

  I looked quickly at Reeve, who smirked knowingly. There might be blow jobs that were afterthoughts, but that wasn’t one of them.

  “I think it’s going to work out just fine for that scene. Just fine indeed,” I said with a private grin.

  “Really? Are you sure?” Janelle pressed.

  I cut my gaze her way, trying to figure out her angle. “Yes. I’m quite sure.”

  Janelle smirked, and I realized—with my cat person insight—that was just the way she smiled. “And what did you think, Reeve?”

  “Me?” The question surprised him, and he glanced at me then back at Janelle.

  “You’re the right type for the part,” she said. “For a number of roles in the movie, actually. Give us your perspective as the character. Is it just fine?

  Reeve eyed her with understanding he’d better explain to me later. “I don’t know if I’d say just fine.” He draped his arm a bit possessively over my shoulders. “Let’s just say, we are one hundred percent positive that it’s the perfect location.” He winked at Janelle, and leaned into me, dusting a kiss on my cheek. “Aren’t we, babe?” he said to me.

  He knew how to handle Janelle. How to play her, so I made a choice to trust him. “Yes, we are.”

  As Janelle walked into the living room, Reeve pulled me aside and spoke in a low voice.

  “I think she might be a bit like the woman who runs the escort agency in Escorted Lives.”

  “No. Really?” I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder after her.

  Reeve didn’t resist at all, but peered over my shoulder to make sure no one was in earshot.

  “I’m betting,” he whispered, “she’s kind of a voyeur herself.”

  “No,” I laughed, then stopped laughing because I didn’t believe it but it wasn’t really funny. “Impossible. No one with a bun that tight could be so . . .” Words failed me.

  “People with buns that tight are exactly who you have to watch out for. What are they holding back so tightly?”

  “Reeve,” I said in my don’t-be-foolish Mary Poppins voice, “consider the sheer weight of gossip about the Pinkertons. And think about what a small world the theater is. Movies too. Is there any way something like that wouldn’t be some kind of mythic rumor?”

  “Like Bigfoot?”

  “Don’t make me laugh, Reeve! It’s going to be hard enough looking at her without washing my brain.”

  He raised his hands in surrender, his eyes dancing like he was the one with the secret—only mischievous, not pervy. Well, not pervy in a bad way.

  God, I was never going to get through dinner.

  Reeve and I joined the Pinkertons in the living room, where Nicholas and Johnathan sat like puffy buffoons on an antique-looking couch. We made small talk for the next hour as a caterer circled by offering hamachi, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, and stuffed mushrooms. Then it was time for dinner, and we moved to the dining room, which boasted a gorgeous view of Central Park, wide and expansive from the tenth floor penthouse. Once again, Janelle stationed herself next to Reeve, much as she had at the theater. Did Janelle have a crush on Reeve? Well, if she did, I couldn’t blame her. But if that woman tried to steal my boyfriend, I’d claw her eyes out.

  Wait. Fake boyfriend. If Janelle tried to steal my fake boyfriend . . . Oh, never mind.

  At the table, we chatted about movies and golf and the pending wedding, and once again Reeve rose to the occasion answering all sorts of questions without a moment’s hesitation. It didn’t take long for things to get more personal than our preferences in venues and cake flavors.

  “And how did you know, Reeve? How did you know that Sutton was the one for you?” The question came from Nicholas’s wife across the table.

  Reeve turned his attention my way. “How did I know?” he asked, gazing at me as if he were contemplating the answer. “I’ll tell you how I knew. Because there was no way I could not know. It couldn’t be otherwise. I’d fallen hard for this woman from the moment I first met her, and the more I got to know her, the more I liked her.”

  “Oh, that is so sweet,” Nicholas’s wife said.

  “Tell us more,” Janelle chimed in.

  I looked at the two wives. They seemed to be hanging on every word Reeve said to me. It was as if he was romancing them through me. Maybe that’s what they wanted—to feel loved vicariously by a gorgeous, thoughtful young man. I understood that sort of wish. I wanted it too. Wished for a different situation. One where Reeve was not acting.

  He went on. “Every day it became clearer how much there was to love. It’s the way she takes care of her dog, and the way she teases me. It’s the books she likes and her wry sense of humor. It’s the way she appreciates all the things I do for her. It’s the way she lets me save her when she needs saving. And the way she takes charge when she needs to take charge. It’s the way she’s so tough on the outside, but I can see through her and I know what’s in her soft, sweet heart. And it’s in the way she says yes.” He nodded like making up his mind about something. “Most of all, it’s the way she says yes.”

  I placed a hand on my belly, as if I could quell all the feelings, all the emotions, all the desire he’d stirred in me, saying those things, even here in front of everyone. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and smother him in kisses. Forget all the make-believe. I was ready to go all in.

  But yet, I knew better. I had to guard my heart. I had to be strong. I must refuse to let myself be seduced by the act.

  I opened and closed my hands in my lap as he kept doing his job so very well.

  “And I guess, most of all, it’s that she chose me. She’s the kind of woman who could have anyone, but she chose me,” Reeve said as he looked deeply into my eyes.

  I forced myself to feel nothing as he held my gaze, even though I felt everything for him. Every. Single. Thing. And it was killing me.

  “So really,” he said, “when you find someone you’re crazy about, you don’t let her go, right?”

  Janelle clasped a hand on her mouth. She looked as if she were about to cry happy tears. “I think I need more wine,” she said.

  Johnathan started to get up, and she said “No!” Everyone at the table blinked, but she recovered quickly. “I mean, no Johnathan dear. Sutton and Reeve brought a fabulous bottle with them tonight.” She turned to the both of us, but mostly Reeve, unless I missed my guess. “Would you mind fetching it from the cellar?”

  “No problem,” Reeve said and stood up, holding out a hand to me. I took it and followed him.

  My knees wobbled, another sign of how much Reeve’s in-love act had affected me. A warning about how vulnerable I was to him.

  I was so angry with myself for not keeping my guard up, and even though he was only doing his job, pouring on the charm, convincing everyone that he loved me, irrationally, I was angry with him for not holding back. For not making it easier to remember he was acting.

  21

>   Reeve

  Sutton’s heels clicked on the floor as we went down the hall Janelle had shown us, and her back was poker straight. I didn’t want to borrow trouble but that didn’t seem like a good sign. Her emotions were up, but not in the way I’d have wanted or expected after I’d poured my heart out that way.

  Once inside the wine closet-slash-cellar, Sutton started looking for the wine we’d brought. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, but then she said in a clipped tone, “That was quite a performance. I’m impressed. Even better than I’d expected, and my hopes were pretty high.”

  Her voice had layers hiding layers, and I didn’t understand the half of them, but especially the sarcasm. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. Her search for the wine bottle slowed, but it seemed now to be just an excuse to not look at me. “I wanted a good act, and you sold it.” She paused, and said in a different, softer tone, “It was all an act, wasn’t it?”

  “Totally. Because you know what I’d have said if I’d told the truth?” I took her arm, turning her around so she was facing me, wine bottles on either side of us.

  “What? That we had a bargain? That this engagement was all trumped up?”

  “No.” I held her by the shoulders, but gently, because I was frustrated but still felt so tender about her. “I would tell them that you’re hot and cold. That it makes me crazy. That I can’t read you, and I can’t figure you out. That one minute you are all over me and the next you push me away. That I want you so badly, and I love the way you are, but that I find you totally absolutely crazy-making at the same time. And that makes me want to just push you out of my life.”

  “So push me out,” she said, challenging me.

  “Yeah? That’s what you want?”

  “Absolutely,” she said in that crisp, too-controlling voice. “Just push me out. I’ll be on my way, and you’ll be on your way, and it’ll be all fine, as if this week never happened. We’ll both get what we want.”