Fake Hearts and Kisses (Fake #1)

6. CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

BLAKE

One Day Ago

D aisy scans around my office as she settles into the chair across from my desk. There is barely any furniture in my office. Other than three monitors, the desk, and two chairs, the room is empty.

“You said you run a security company?” She places her purse on the floor by her feet. She’s wearing weathered brown combat boots, leggings, and a thick sweater. A colorful scarf hangs loosely at her neck, which she’s pulling off now. Her hair’s piled into a messy little knot on top of her head, fine tendrils of hair framing her face. No makeup, no fuss. Just her elegant beauty. A tightness forms in my chest. It’s amazing she’s here in my office, just feet away from me.

“Yes,” I say, watching her free the scarf from her neck. She is fucking beautiful. There is something so pure about her. No mask. She doesn’t hide behind a jaded exterior. She’s just…

Daisy.

“Like…” She looks at the monitors on my desk. “For businesses?”

I glance at the screens near me, wondering if this was a good move. I asked Daisy to come to my office today to discuss what I should expect from our weekend getaway. My office is in a small building downtown, not far from the coffee shop. A psychiatrist rented the only other office in the building. It’s a perfect setup. No one wants to admit going to see a shrink, so even if they spot me, and, on the off chance, recognize me, they won’t mention it to anyone. I thought the public space would be a neutral ground to get to know me better. Now I’m not so sure. She looks uneasy. “I don’t exactly own a security business.”

Something flashes in her eyes. “No?” she asks, looking at the door .

Nice job, you dumb ass. You just scared the shit out of her. My heart thunders at the thought I may have scared her.

I lean back in my chair, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. What non-threatening looks like, I don’t know. If I smile too much, I’ll look like a pervy creep. If I don’t smile enough, I’ll look cruel. I settle for a smirk, but then doubt myself and cross my arms, then uncross them. I need to say something.

This was a bad idea. I’m full of bad ideas lately. I don’t even work here. This office is just to cover up what I really do. I look around the room. It feels like my heart is about to leap from my chest. “Companies hire me to hack security systems and find a weakness in programs designed to keep hackers out.”

The tension in her spine seems to loosen. “Ah, my father will like that.” She leans back in the chair and meets my eyes. “You’re absolutely perfect to be my fake boyfriend.”

I can’t help myself. I laugh. Definitely not perfect. Daisy wouldn’t think I was perfect if she knew who I was. She’d think I was the opposite of perfect. Utterly, unequivocally un-perfect. But as long as she thinks I’m just a regular businessman who’s good with computers, I’ll take it. “Your father has an interest in software security? ”

“He does.” She glances at her hands, so I don’t ask further.

Of course, I already know about her father. A chill ran through me when I found out who her father was. I’m not sure if it was a good chill or a bad chill. I have tried to keep a low profile. I’ve tried really hard to keep my nose clean. Knowing who her father is should mean Daisy is off-limits. But once I watched her? Once I knew ? I decided there was no way I could stay away. It’s like, when I saw her, all reason faded, and everything became about Daisy. Life became nothing but me sitting in a coffee shop drinking shit-brown water every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, waiting for Daisy.

“I’m a teacher at a private school downtown,” she says. “Preschool, so it’s only part-time.”

I smile at her. I know. I know she likes apples over pears but will choose strawberries over apples. She likes two creamers and one sugar. “You must have the patience of a saint.”

“Not really,” she says, crossing her legs. They are long and lean. Even though she isn’t tall, she is leggy. “Little kids are fun when you only have to deal with them for half a day.”

“What do you do with the rest of your day?” I ask.

“I work afternoons in a bookstore. ”

I almost nod but stop. She doesn’t need to know I’ve dug into her private life. Part of me wants to tell her to change her passwords and consider not posting her whereabouts on social media, but I remind myself that she is a Conner. As much as she complains about her sister and her family, they live in the spotlight. Even Daisy isn’t immune. She’s just as active on her social media accounts as her sister and their mother. Heather has some sort of video class she offers. Yoga, I think, and is constantly posting pictures and videos of herself in various suggestive poses. Heather is beautiful, Daisy takes after her mother, so I’m a little biased, but she’s had some work done. Her face has that slightly unmovable, tight look. It’s obvious she takes her profession and her image seriously. The entire family thrives on attention, except the dad. George lies low and lets the ladies in his life shine. He probably thinks it’s better that way.

“You must like to read,” I say. Daisy also writes, but again, I can’t know these things. She’ll get freaked out if she knows how long I’ve been watching her. I don’t want to scare her. She’ll never agree to this weekend with me if I give off stalker vibes.

Note to self: Check your stalker vibes. Don’t creep her out by knowing too much about her .

She nods, but leaves her response to my statement at that. When I saw her in the library, she checked out one of those romance books. The ones with all the dirty talk. Maybe she thinks that I’ll somehow disapprove. I won’t. I don’t. I’ve read a few that someone had smuggled in. It gets boring sitting in a cell all day.

It was thanks to those books I discovered I really like dirty talk.

“What do you do when you’re not hacking into banks?” she asks.

I nearly choke, but I cover up my surprise at her word choice and reach for the keyboard on my desk, tapping the F key a few times to center my thoughts. “I have many hobbies.”

“Fishing? Whittling?” she asks, her brows furrowing.

“Whittling?”

“You could enjoy whittling.” She shrugs. “I’d like to know what my fake boyfriend does in his free time. It would be more believable if we knew about one another beyond our jobs.”

I think about that for a minute. What do I like? There are many things I like, just nothing I can confess. “I read too,” I say finally .

“Nice and vague,” she says. “So, what will you do after I leave here today?”

I glance at my computer. Obviously, I can’t tell her what I’m really going to do, which is make the phone call to inform my parole officer I have to leave town, so I give her my usual routine. “I will walk home—”

“Walk?” she cuts in. “Do you not drive?”

I open my mouth to tell her I’m not allowed to drive, but I say instead, “I live close, and I like the exercise. It clears the mind.”

She nods, accepting my answer.

“Then I will cook—”

“Do you like cooking?” she cuts in again. This little habit of her interrupting me would be annoying if it were someone else, but it’s like she’s so curious she can’t seem to help herself.

“I enjoy cooking,” I tell her. I don’t mention that if I had not learned how to cook early on, I’d have starved. How cooking the few items the elderly neighbor brought me when my father decided to leave town again saved my sanity and saved me from the horrible hunger pains of neglect. How, by thirteen, I had a job in a kitchen so I could feed myself when my father went off on another binge. “I’m also very good at it. ”

“What’s your favorite meal to cook?”

“Calzones,” I say immediately.

“Are you Italian?” She eyes my black hair and olive skin.

“Greek,” I say. “My grandmother was from Athens.”

“Oh, so very Godfather -Esque, but Greek edition,” she coos, her eyes brightening. “Is she still alive?”

“No,” I tell her. “And I’m not close to my parents anymore.”

“Any more?”

“That’s a story for another day,” I say. “What are your hobbies, my pretty, fake girlfriend?”

She flushes, and she looks so adorable at this moment that I want to grab her and kiss her red cheeks until they are on fire. “I read.”

“Nice and vague,” I say with a smile. “What else?”

“I write,” she says, averting her eyes.

There it is. I was wondering if she’d admit the writing to me. I’m a little surprised she did. “Write?”

Daisy shrugs. “Some poetry and stuff.”

I let the subject go, even though I want details. I want to know what she writes so intently in those notebooks she brings to the coffee shop. “Tell me what to expect when we arrive at the lodge. ”

“My father, George, and mother, Heather, are both pretty old-fashioned. My mother has a yoga course she teaches online. My brother and his wife are easygoing, even though they are both lawyers, and my sister is a clothing designer. And then there is her entourage headed by Erin, but I think Erin is the only one gracing us with her presence this weekend.”

I find it interesting she didn’t mention her father’s profession like she did everyone else, but I guess she doesn’t advertise that George is president of the largest investment banks in, probably, the entire country. “Tell me about this, Erin person,” I say. “The way you say her name, she sounds like she will be a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, she is,” Daisy agrees. “She’s constantly taking pictures and forcing everyone around her to pose or help film.”

“Film?” I ask. I know Erin is one of those social media people obsessed with fashion, celebrities, and makeup because I glanced over her profile, but I’m still uncertain about what she does. “Pose?”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “Whenever we do the Gatherings, she uses them to grow her audience or promote a new brand.”

I’m still not exactly sure what she means, but I let it go. I’m not interested in Erin, and I’m only interested in Lily and her family because they’re attached to Daisy. As much as she has complained to her friend about her sister, she loves her family. It’s obvious because she tolerates a lot from them, including disrespect and insults. Which I don’t like.

“How is this going to work?” I ask. “How do you propose I convince your family that I’m madly in love with you?”

She smiles, her cheeks heating again. “I guess you just do stuff that boyfriends do.”

I lift an eyebrow, and she flushes a deeper red. She pats her chest and pulls at the neck of her sweater.

“I mean, we can be affectionate. Hug, and I guess a peck here and there,” Daisy says, looking down at her boots. “My family is pretty open and doesn’t frown upon some PDA.”

My lip twitches. I rub my jaw to hide my smile. “We can work out the details involving PDA later.”

Daisy sinks back in her chair. As much as I’d like to watch her cheeks grow red as I listed the things I’d like to do to her, I don’t think she is on board. She’d be pretty shocked if she knew what I had already imagined.

Maybe I should tell her. See if she wants to get on board.

“What do you want in exchange for posing as my boyfriend?” she asks, breaking my chain of thought.

“I get a free trip to the mountains with a beautiful woman,” I say. “That’s enough for me. ”

“Oh no, you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” She looks suddenly dismayed, her hand flying to her mouth. “Or, oh goodness, you don’t have a wife, right?”

“No. I don’t have the time for dating. No girlfriend. No wife.”

She puts her hand to her chest again. “That’s good.”

“I want nothing from you, Daisy,” I tell her. Except that’s a lie. I want a lot from Daisy. I want more than this weekend, but I’m a fucking fraud, so I do what I do best. I lie. “I could just use a getaway, and you need someone to introduce to your family. We both win.”

She looks a little relieved, which is disappointing. While I don’t need a relationship, I want her. Talk about a hit to my pride. She is so blatantly uninterested.

“Good, we are on the same page,” she says. “I’m trying to focus on a full-time writing career, so I barely have time for a social life.”

“That’s a big step for someone who dabbles in poetry,” I say.

She smiles but ignores my statement. “So you’ll be a fake boyfriend for two days, and when the weekend is over, we part ways. Then I’ll tell my family I dumped you. ”

“Wait.” I chuckle. “Why do I have to be the one getting dumped?”

“Because it will look better for me.” She quirks a brow and smirks.

I stand up and walk around the desk, mostly to be closer to her. She stands with me, seeing this as a sign our meeting has come to an end. She’s reading it wrong, though. I don’t want her to go, which is a sign she needs to.

Remember Blake, you just told her you don’t want or need a girlfriend.

Note to self: Liars don’t deserve girlfriends. If you want a girlfriend, don’t be a fucking deceitful dick.

I watch as she collects her purse and scarf, moving closer to her. She’s wearing that musky floral perfume again. The one that makes me want to taste the smooth skin on her neck. It’s like a magnet pulling me to her. She looks up at me; her breathing’s a little heavier, her eyes a little wider. I brush a few strands of hair from her shoulder. I can’t help myself. My hands itch to touch her.

“I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you ever had,” I say, watching her pupils grow larger in her green eyes.

“You’re the only fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.” She moves to the door, stepping away quickly like she can barely tolerate being near me. “See you tomorrow,” she says and walks out.

I lean back on my desk, picturing her face. Everything I’m doing is selfish. I want her so badly that I’m risking her safety just to spend time with her. Just being near me puts her in danger.