The Pretend Boyfriend 2 (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance) (2 page)

“Let’s lay all the cards on the table, Ms. Fox. We can only maintain one of you in this position. You . . . or Ms. Angleston.”

Kathy Angleston? That tramp?

Sam can’t believe her ears. She’s competing with Kathy Angleston? Since when has Kathy Angleston ever secured an account without spreading her legs? Sam is surprised that Elaine Landry – her previous boss – hadn’t fired Kathy while she had the chance. But maybe the Landrys were never too particular about how they got their accounts.

Patty’s mouth twitches, suggesting that she finds the idea equally as ludicrous.

Rutgard goes on, “To determine which one of you is more suitable for the role, I’ve decided to give you both a task.”

“A task?” Sam raises her eyebrows.

“Yes. There is one account in this business I’ve always wanted to land.” Rutgard leans back. His chair creaks in protest. “Moody.”

“Moody?” Sam crinkles her brow. “But that’s impossible. Henry Moody has been with McConnaughey for twenty years!”

“No one ever said it was easy.” Rutgard steeples his hands. The grin on his face is crafty. “You both have a month to land Moody. First one with a minimum commitment of a hundred thousand dollars gets to keep her job.”

“But sir – ”

Rutgard holds up a palm again. “Are you the type of employee to turn down a challenge, Ms. Fox?”

One with impossible odds? Sam thinks of her new apartment. She is in the midst of decorating it. She has gotten the white sofa – the one she has been eyeing forever – and committed to plunking down four hundred dollars a month for installments.

Oh why oh why did Landry and Sons have to be bought over?

“OK,” she says in a small voice.

“I didn’t hear you.”

Sam clears her throat. “I said OK.”

One month. She has one more month to keep her job. Or start looking for something new.

Patty gives her a sympathetic look.

As Sam exits the boardroom, she can feel Rutgard’s gaze boring a hole in her back. It clearly says:
You’re gonna be out on your ass in a month
.

3

“He did what?” Brian says, frowning.

They are both seated at a table for two in an ice-cream parlor. The parlor is fairly empty at this time of day. Outside, the sky is pouring cats and dogs, which accounts for no one getting ice-cream pangs today because they are all too busy getting sloshed. By dirty rainwater, that is.

Brian has ordered a raspberry sorbet while Sam digs her long spoon into a double fudge sundae. He watches her fascinatedly as the curved end of the spoon disappears into her mouth. He loves a woman who isn’t self-conscious about her eating.

Wait a minute. He used the ‘L’ word again. He doesn’t technically mean it, of course. He
likes
Sam – a lot. OK, more than a lot. But she’s a friend. A fuck buddy. That’s all she is.

They have been hanging out for the past six months. And he has enjoyed it. A lot. They go for dinners. They grab lunches together. They catch movies. They go bowling. Dancing. Clubbing. None of what they do can ever be considered a ‘real date’, of course – even though most of their outings end up in sex. In her new apartment. In his penthouse. In seedy motels. Wherever strikes their fancy.

It has been fun. Especially now that Caleb is in a relationship with Cassie, Sam’s best friend, Brian needed someone to hang out with. And who better than the one who is left out in the cold while their respective best friends fuck each other’s brains out?

He still maintains his freedom, of course. He does the occasional one night stand. Probably not as often as he used to, because he finds himself planning to do things with Sam rather than with some random woman whom he’s never going to see again after he has fucked her. And Sam is free to do whatever she pleases. Of course.

Like he says – they are just ‘hanging out’.

“He threatened to retrench me if I didn’t get him the Moody account,” Sam says with a sigh. She spoons another big dollop of ice-cream into her mouth. Nothing like ice-cream as a balm for pain management.

“Uh . . . ” Brian indicates his own mouth. She’s so cute when she has fudge-smeared lips.

“What? Am I dripping?”

“Not yet, but I can practically see your double chin forming.”

She flashes him a murderous glare. Still, she hastily puts down her spoon.

“Aw, come on, don’t stop on my account. I like love handles.”

She picks up her chocolate-covered spoon and flicks spatters onto him. Milky droplets get onto his face and hair. He laughs as he holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, watch it, will ya? This is a two thousand dollar leather jacket.”

“Then you can afford a two hundred dollar laundry bill.” She plunges the spoon into her ice-cream again and morosely scoops in another mouthful. “I’m depressed, and therefore, I’m allowed to get fat.”

“I’ve always been partial to whoopee cushions.”

“I’ll whoop your ass if you make one more snide remark. Anyway, I have to land Moody . . . or it’s hasta la vista, new apartment.”

She looks so glum that he wishes he were on her side of the table so that he can put his arm around her.

“You know, Sam, if it’s money you need – ”

“Nope, nope, nope. Caleb warned me you’d be doing this – ”

“Oh, so Caleb has been talking about me behind my back. What else has he done? Sold my ass to the highest bidder without my stamp of sordid approval?”

“He was just trying to warn me about you.”

“Think of it as a loan. You can pay me back . . . with interest.”

“You’re already thinking I’m going to fail to get Moody,” she accuses, waving her dangerous spoon around.

He ducks his head under the table. “I’m just making allowances. It’s not about failure. It’s about contingency. And don’t wave that weapon around.”

She makes a face at him. “Anyway, I’m up against slutty Kathy.”

He pricks his ears up. “Slutty Kathy?”

“If you sleep with her, I’ll do more than wave this spoon around. I’ll positively shove it up your – ”

“OK, OK, I get the drift. Any way I can help with Kathy? I mean Moody?”

“No, I’ve got to this on my own.” She sighs. “I can’t get you to bail me out every time I run into a spot of trouble. What will happen when you’re no longer around? I’ll have to learn to fend for myself.”

“First of all, I plan on us being friends for a long, long time – whether or not we decide to fool around or whether you decide to get married or do something equally painful and disastrous.”

Her expression flinches. “Marriage is not disastrous.”

“You obviously haven’t met my parents.”

“And you’ve obviously met my mother.”

“There you go.”

“That’s not the point. Anyway, back to the topic at hand before you so rudely distracted me. I won’t stand a chance if Slutty Kathy has her way with Old Man Moody, who is seventy if he has seen a day.”

“So you want
me
to have my way with Old Man Moody?”

“Can you be serious for, like, a second? This is my job on the line.”

“And this is my help that I’m offering. I’ll make a few calls. Moody can’t be that reclusive, not if he runs a multimillion dollar business.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve got to do this on my own. You wouldn’t understand.”

He throws up his hands in defeat. “OK, have it your way. But when you’re destitute and peddling your ass in the streets, don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

“Your confidence in my abilities is staggering.”

“No, my confidence in Slutty Kathy’s ability to get a rise out of that moody old pecker is staggering, and I haven’t even met her, although she’s beginning to sound interesting.” He grins boyishly.

She rolls her eyes.

He indicates her empty ice-cream tray. “End of your calorie binge? Say, have you ever thought of doing something else?”

She frowns as she puts down her clean spoon. “You mean like eating frozen yoghurt instead of ice-cream?”

“No, I mean literally doing something else other than account management.” He shrugs. “Like, you know, coming to work for an advertising agency, for example.”

“You mean work for you?” She tosses off a laugh. “No way.”

He puts his elbows on the table and leans over in earnest. “What is it that you really, really want to do?”

She hesitates. Her pretty face is scrunched up, the way it always is when she’s in deep thought. He finds himself noticing things like these about her.

She says shyly, “For the last couple of years . . . since I got into it . . . I’ve kind of, like, wanted to open a gym.”

“A gym?”

“Yeah. You know, where people go to ‘hang out’.”

“You mean to hook up.”

“Same thing.”

To you
, he catches her hidden meaning.

She says dreamily, “There will be classes. Zumba. Les Mills Body Combat, Sh’bam, Body Pump. Belly dancing.”

“I thought you said it was a gym.”

“Gyms can have so much more. There will be a swimming pool. Yoga. Pilates. Cafes. Foot massages. Sauna.”

“It’s beginning to sound like a spa.” He’s interested despite himself.

She jabs a finger at him. He’s glad it isn’t her spoon. “Would you sign up for such a gym?” she demands.

“If the female trainers are hot.” He has his own personal gym in his penthouse . . . and even a female trainer to help him out. But that’s an idea. He should be joining a public gym to pick girls up. Not that he needs help in that department.

“There you go.” Her smile is spread across her sweet rosebud lips – those very lips he likes to suck upon.

“So why don’t you?” he says.

“Why don’t I what?”

“Follow your dream. Open up on your own gym. You could get a loan.” Or I could loan you the money, he thinks but doesn’t say for fear of incurring assault.

She sighs. “There’s too much risk involved in striking out on your own. It’s always better to have a stable job with a fixed salary.”

He snorts. “Whoever told you that?”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re Brian Morton. You’ve never had to worry about money for a day in your life.”

“There are a lot of other things a rich kid has to worry about, thank you.” Like getting mugged. Like the unpredictable mood swings of your parents and uncle. “But seriously, if you want to set up your own gym, I can – ”

“I don’t want your money, thank you.”

“I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted, that I can be your
partner
. A silent one.”

It’s her turn to snort. “I seriously doubt you can ever be silent.”

He’s enjoying this. But then, he has always enjoyed their banter. “You’re discriminating against me? If you’re going to open a gym, you’re going to need investors. Partners. Co-conspirators. And who better than friends to lend a helping dumbbell?”

She opens her mouth to protest, but he holds up his palm.

“‘I need to do this on my own’,” he mimics her singsong voice. “Christ, will you get a grip? Millionaires don’t get rich doing it all on their lonesome selves. They get help. Rich uncles. Investors. Friends. Internet buddies. The Billionaire Boys’ Club. No one does it alone anymore. We’ve come a long way since someone invented the wheel . . . and even
he
had prehistoric help holding it up.”

“I’m not used to taking risks. There’s a lot on my plate right now. And there’s that little thing about . . . ” She pauses.

He arrests her downcast eyes. “Let me guess. You don’t want to take anything from
me
.”

“I don’t want to make it seem like I’m only friends with you because I want to use you,” she mumbles.

He’s hoping she doesn’t feel that way about him either when it comes to sex. Because he’s not using her body for sex. He can have sex with anyone anytime. He’s with her because he
wants
to be.

“You’ve never given me that impression, not once,” he says, “except for when you’re playing with my penis. And I’m assuming you like to play with it because you don’t have a dildo.”

The expression on her face makes him want to laugh out loud.

“Life’s hard enough without having to be serious about it.” He reaches across the table to clasp her bunched fist. “So take your time to think about that gym.”

She hesitates, and then nods.

A shadow falls across their table. It’s their waitress – a spiky-haired teenager with more studs in her ears than earlobe space.

“Since it’s raining and all,” she drawls, “I’m going to close this place up early. So if you’re finished and all – ”

She picks their empty ice-cream trays up with a look that says,
Get lost so I can clear up and go home.

Brian flashes his most charming smile. “Tell you what and all. How much would it cost you and all – ” He lingers on the ‘all’ “ – to let me rent this joint for two hours? I’ll even buy up every single tub of ice-cream you’ve got on your display.”