Pretend It's Love (6 page)

“I liked her well enough while you were going out, but you can’t really excuse what she did.” Des frowned. “I know Ma always says we have to remember she’s still part of the family but…”

“But?”

“She still cheated on you.” Des shook his head and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. “That’s low.”

“Thanks.”

“I never knew what to say when it happened, and I thought bringing it up would make it worse.”

Paul speared the last piece of his dessert with a fork and popped it into his mouth. “But now that you’re all partnered up you can talk about girly shit like that.”

His brother smirked. “You’re partnered up, too, it won’t be long before you have to give your opinion on flowers and champagne and colors. Honestly, I don’t know how girls manage to look at three pink things and think they’re all different. Salmon, my ass. It’s bloody pink.”

“They should come with an instruction manual.” Paul looked back over to where the girls sat.

Libby threw her head back, laughing at something his mother had said. The tinkling sound sent a shiver through him. At that moment she looked up, her eyes connecting with his. Color spread through her cheeks and her neck, reminding him of how hot she’d felt underneath his hands.

She’d kissed like she meant it. He didn’t believe for a second that she was
that
good an actress. He certainly hadn’t been acting. The moment her little hands grabbed his T-shirt and she’d thrust her hips up against him he’d gone hard as stone.

Just business. Yeah right.

He was going to convince Libby that her “no sex” rule was pointless. He had absolutely no trouble separating sex from emotion. And if they had to play the part, why not use the real chemistry that already existed between them? It made sense, they’d fool everyone completely. No one would ever suspect it was all for show.

Chapter Six

L
ibby stared at the calendar on her wall, neat squares with tidy little
X
s in green ink. She’d accumulated seven since her visit to Paul’s family dinner. Since she’d set in motion plans to get Libby Gal Cocktails into First. Since she’d kissed Paul.

A whole week and the memory of his lips on hers pulsed within her as though it had happened moments ago.

Distraction plagued her like a dark cloud hovering overhead. Thinking about
that
kiss, being annoyed and forcing herself to think about something else, then thinking about the kiss again.

Nothing dulled the memory, not sleep deprivation from her vivid dreams nor the fact that no other restaurants seemed keen to take her on.

“You’re acting like a silly school girl,” she said to herself as she paused in front of the ornate mirror in her hallway. “It was just a kiss.”

But
oh
, what a kiss it had been. The kind of toe-curling, sigh-inducing, heart-rate-spiking kiss you saw in movies. Paul had a kissing mastery like none she’d experienced before.

“That means he’s kissed a lot of girls,” she said to her reflection, frowning. “Don’t go thinking you’re special.”

Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the open blinds in her office, causing rainbows to dance in the antique crystal perfume bottles that decorated her bookshelf. She hefted a box of custom stationery that had arrived in the mail that morning. Pink envelopes, matching “with compliments” slips, and swing tags that would never see the light of day if she didn’t convince Des to take on her product.

She’d stopped by the restaurant once this week to have coffee with Nina, hoping to catch either Paul or Des. But they’d been out, apparently organizing something for the wedding.

Libby set the box down next to the bookshelf and pulled her phone out of her pocket. No missed calls, no texts. No communication whatsoever from Paul.

It would be okay to call him, wouldn’t it? The kiss wasn’t real and therefore the rules of dating didn’t apply…did they? She shoved the phone back into the pocket of her white sundress.

It was just a kiss, get out of your own head! It didn’t mean anything to him, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you.

A knock at the front door broke Libby out of her thoughts. She slipped on a pair of beige heels—she was raised never to greet a guest barefoot—and made her way to the front door.

“Hello?” She opened the door with a smile that died on her lips. “Dad.”

“Hello, Libby.”

Her father towered over her, his physical height nothing compared to the intimidation wrought by his sharp hazel eyes and stern mouth. He wore a sports coat over a white shirt and chinos and, despite the fact that it was sweltering outside, not a drop of perspiration glistened on his skin.

Kirk Harris was ever the cool cucumber, totally in control…even of his sweat glands.

“Please, come in,” she said, her stiff lips struggling to get the words out.

“You haven’t been taking my calls.” He walked past her, looking around the room as though surveying enemy territory.

“I’ve been busy,” she said, letting the door close behind her. “It’s nothing personal.”

“You don’t do anything without purpose, my dear.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“Like I said, I’ve been busy.” She forced herself to appear relaxed. Undaunted.

Shoulders down. No fidgeting. Move slowly as though you have all the time in the world.

Her father sensed fear, so the best thing she could do would be act like everything was peachy. No mean feat, but she’d fooled Paul’s parents with her perfect girlfriend act. A flicker of guilt swept through her, but she shoved it aside.

“How is the…” He swallowed. “Business?”

“Don’t say business like it’s a dirty word, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m making cocktails, not porn.”

“I heard you’ve got a competitor.”

“All businesses have competitors.” She stood her ground, kept the emotion out of her voice, and maintained eye contact as he’d taught her to do when she needed to deal with a difficult patient.

His gaze swept over the room as if searching for clues that she was failing. “So it hasn’t affected you?”

“I’ve had a few setbacks but nothing I can’t handle.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“When are you going to give up this charade and go back to your studies? You were so close to finishing.” He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over one arm, picking at some imaginary imperfection in the fabric.

“I’m giving this a shot, Dad. One setback doesn’t mean I’ve failed. I’m not going to run back to med school with my tail between my legs.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. You had everything laid out before you. I could have gotten you into any hospital in the country.”

She turned away from him, trying to control the anger swirling like red mist in front of her eyes. “I’m
not
going back.”

“How can you throw away everything I’ve done for you? All that expensive schooling, the strings I pulled to get you into the best university in the country.”

Libby glared at him. “I never asked for your help.”

“You’re throwing away a bright future for nothing.”

“A bright future?” She laughed, the humorless sound echoing in the quiet room. “Will it be filled with failed marriages and abandoned children like yours? If so, I don’t want it.”

“I never abandoned you.”

“I’m twenty-five years old, you can stop lying to me now.” Tears pricked the back of her eyelids, much to her disgust.

The angry silence radiated off her father like a toxic fume. “You never wanted for anything growing up. I gave you the best education, the best toys, the best food.”

“What I wanted was a mother and father who could stand to be in the same room and who didn’t bad-mouth each other.”

“Your mother and I divorced years ago, you can’t hold that against me.” He waved his hand, shooing away her concerns as if they were nothing more than an irritating insect.

“No, especially since it’s clear marriage means nothing to you. Speaking of, how is wife number five?”

“Julianna is my
fourth
wife,” he said, cold eyes raking over her. “And I will not have you talk to me with such disrespect.”

“You turn up unannounced to berate me. What did you expect?” The words rushed out of Libby before she could stop them; goading her father would do no good, but the clench of his jaw gave her a millisecond of satisfaction.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I own this house. You live here practically rent-free. That means I will turn up whenever I damn well please.”

The chilly tone of his voice rankled Libby. She hated that he could sound so emotionless when talking to her. But that was exactly the point, her relationship with her father had never been about emotion. She was merely a trophy for his collection.

“I want you to leave.” She would either scream or cry or hurl something at him if he didn’t vanish from her sight in the next thirty seconds.

“I will leave when I am damn well ready.”

“She wants you out of here.” Paul walked through the entranceway into the living room, his face hard. “I suggest you do it.”

Libby’s breath caught in her throat. Having Paul here was going to make it worse. The last thing she wanted was for someone else to witness this humiliating exchange with her father. “How did you get in here?”

“The front door was unlocked. I heard yelling.” He looked from Libby to her father and back again. His forehead creased, and his shoulders bunched around his neck as though he sensed the tension in the air and had embodied it.

“And you are?” Her father turned to Paul, his brow quirked in disdain.

“Libby’s boyfriend.” He folded his arms across his chest, unflinching in the face of Kirk Harris’s legendary withering stare.

“Seems you’ve chosen your men as well as you’ve chosen your career,” he said, looking back to Libby and shaking his head. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because you’re not trying to help
me
.” Her head swam, and she pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You’re doing this for yourself.”

“How can you say that?”

For a moment she wondered if there was a hint of emotion in his voice, a small crack in the tough outer shell that might allow her a peek inside. Did he really care about her deep down? She hated that even now a part of her still hoped it might be true.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Dad. Please just go.”

Paul took a step toward her father, his six-foot plus frame giving him an inch or two. Dressed all in black, he seemed even bigger. Stronger.

“Do I need to make you leave?” Paul asked. Unlike her father, his tone was filled with undisguised emotion.

Kirk tilted his chin. “I
own
this place.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to talk to Libby like that. Apologize to her and then leave.” His dark eyes flashed like black fire.

“I will do as I please.”

Paul grabbed her father by the shoulder. The grip wouldn’t be enough to do any serious damage, but the message was clear. He leaned in close and whispered something that made the blood drain from her father’s face.

When Paul released him, the older man glared at Libby before stalking toward the front door.

“You should start looking for somewhere new to live,” her father said in his usual ice-cold tone just before the door slammed shut behind him.

“What did you say to him?” she asked, wariness spreading through her system and making her limbs heavy.

“I simply reminded him that as a father it’s his job to take care of his daughter, not to treat her like a piece of meat.”

“I’m sure you said it so eloquently as well.”

Paul smirked. “I may have colored outside the lines a little.”

She shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her sundress. Having Paul witness the truth behind her family—especially after seeing how loving and caring his family was—made her feel exposed, like he could see the fabric of imperfections that she’d tried so hard to cover up.

She was unlovable, and it shamed her.

“I wish you didn’t see that.” She sucked on her top lip and turned away from him, needing a moment to gather herself.

“Why?”

She shrugged, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Heat burned in her chest and neck. She walked to the fridge, her heels clicking against the tiled floor, and reached for a bottle of water.

So much for keeping Paul at a distance. The image of him standing there—protecting her, defending her—rolled around in her brain. No one had ever done that for her before…and it felt good.

“T
he guy’s clearly a jerk. It’s not a reflection of you.”

Libby didn’t turn around, so Paul had full view of her copper hair as it tumbled down the back of the white dress she wore. The sharp contrast struck a chord in him; she looked like a painting. Unreal.

Perfect.

Except that her guard had shot up the minute he walked in the front door. No surprise there, her father was a Grade A prick. If it had been anyone else they’d be sporting a broken nose for talking to her in such a demeaning way.

Getting him out of the house before he caused the guy some serious damage had been tough.

Tightness gripped his chest. She wasn’t his to protect, in reality, she wasn’t
his
at all. So why did he feel that roar of desire to pull her into his arms and comfort her? He did
not
comfort women.

That was a job for real boyfriends.

But the question hovered on his tongue, needling at him. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “You’re right. He’s a total jerk…sadly, I’m used to it.”

“So this isn’t just because you’ve dropped out of med school?”

“No, it’s not. He treated my mother like crap for as long as I can remember.” She turned and closed the fridge, leaning back against it while she sipped water from a bottle. “They only got married because she got pregnant at nineteen. They fought most of the time while I was growing up, and they ended up divorcing when I was ten.”

He listened as her history tumbled from her mouth in a rush of words as if she’d been trying to get it out for a long time. Normally this would be his idea of hell—being a shoulder to cry on wasn’t exactly his forte outside the sob stories he occasionally got at the bar.

But he found himself wanting to listen to Libby, wanting to be the person she turned to…not that he had even the slightest clue as to what to say to her in return. He’d always been better with actions than words.

“Mum got nothing out of the divorce. Dad had made her sign a prenup, and she ended up working crazy hours to make rent in the area where I went to school. Dad paid for my education, but he made it hard for her whenever he could. I think by the time she remarried and had another kid she didn’t want to see me much because I reminded her of all that.”

“And your Dad remarried?”

“He’s onto his
fourth
wife. It’s no wonder I don’t believe in marriage.” She rolled her eyes.

Paul let out a long, low whistle. “Fourth? At some point you just have to admit that something’s not working.”

“I swear, each one gets worse than the last. It’s like he purposefully tries to find these vapid, gold-digging wenches without a brain in their head. This current one could be on one of those
Real Housewives
TV shows.”

Paul cringed.

“My mother wasn’t like that, but she has a new family now.” The sadness in her voice hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re probably bored to tears.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said, motioning for her to continue.

She picked at the hem of her dress, her brows burrowed into a deep frown. “Dad’s good at forcing people to do what he wants. It’s one of the reasons I want to make this business work. If I make my own money I can do what I like. I never really wanted to be a doctor.”

“What did you want to be?”

“You know, I have no idea. I poured so much energy into trying to please him I never thought about what I actually wanted. Then by the time I decided I wanted to do my own thing I had no idea which direction to take.”