CHAPTER 7
HALLIE
When all else fails, it’s time to make a pro/con list. I’ve been going back and forth all day about what to do, whether to come clean to Scott and his brothers or to find a way to perpetuate the lie, and neither option is very appealing. Telling the truth means explaining why I lied in the first place and likely getting fired, or at least losing out on the promotion. But going along with the lie long enough to get through the retreat seems far more complicated, and even worse, it involves asking one hell of a favor from a man I can’t stand.
In the column in favor of telling the truth, I have a long list of reasons like it’s the right thing to do, it’s less complicated, and the biggest reason of all, doesn’t involve James. In the column against telling the truth, I’ve only written one thing: the promotion . I keep going back and forth, but the way I see it, the only way to stay in the running for the sales director position is to continue lying about having a boyfriend. The moment I come clean, I risk losing everything.
If it were just about me, the promotion wouldn’t mean nearly as much. I have a comfortable life and a nice apartment. I may not wear designer brands, but I still have a closet full of clothes. I travel for work a lot, so I don’t have to worry about plane tickets for lavish vacations. I try to contribute towards my retirement account when I can. If I only had myself to consider, telling the truth would be easy, but that’s not the case.
This promotion is my family’s last chance to keep the summer camp. When I think about Sadie and how far she’s come, I know that she’s a better person for having those experiences. Multiply Sadie by all of the dozens of other kids who have had similar experiences each summer, and my predicament becomes much, much, bigger than just me. Thinking about how many kids will lose a place that has changed their lives so much makes my heart ache.
Shaking my head, I put down my pen, knowing the pro/con list doesn’t properly illustrate what’s at stake. There is no way around this. I know what I have to do.
Standing outside James's apartment after work, wishing there was another alternative but not being able to think of one, I can feel the knot inside my stomach getting tighter and heavier. I keep telling myself that it’s only one week and I can get through it, but the very thought of spending even a week pretending James Cole is my boyfriend leaves a bad taste in my mouth. For a moment, I turn and take a few steps back towards my own apartment, but I spin around again, knowing what I have to do. I’m going to ask for James's help, get this promotion, and then do what it takes to save the camp. I still need to figure out how to deal with the aftermath of my lie once I’m sitting in my new office, but that’s a problem for later. Who knows? Maybe fake-breaking up with James could be fun.
With one last deep breath, I knock on the door and square my shoulders, silently telling myself that I can do this. I have everything I want to say planned out in my head, but when James answers the door without a shirt on, his chest glistening with water, and a navy blue towel twisted around his waist, all of my preparation goes right out the window. The sight of his six-pack alone makes me forget how to speak for several seconds. James is chiseled like a statue without being too bulgy. He looks like he could throw me over his shoulder to save me from a burning building, but that it would also be comfortable to curl up with him on the couch, my head on his chest, his arms wrapped around me…
“Can I help you?”
I blink several times, lifting my eyes away from James's body and staring back at him in horror as he grins in amusement.
“I um, we need to talk,” I stammer, averting my gaze from his. “But I can come back when you’re dressed.”
“Come in,” James laughs. “I’ll go throw something on.”
James turns and steps back into his apartment, leaving the door open for me to follow him inside. I step in hesitantly, still unconvinced that I can go through with this, and I shut the door behind me.
“Make yourself comfortable,” James calls as he saunters into the bedroom.
Alone in James’s apartment, I take a look around, a little surprised by what I see. It’s not the frat pad that I thought it would be, but a clean, well decorated apartment with framed photographs on the walls and a bookcase filled with hardcovers. It’s actually very nice. The rooms are the mirror image of mine and, as I suspected, his bedroom and kitchen share a wall with mine. I step into the living room and sit down on the couch, admiring a huge coffee table in the center of the room made from a beautiful dark wood. It matches the bookcase as well as two end tables on either side of the leather couch.
Looking around, I notice that none of the pictures on the walls are of people. There aren’t any family photos in the room or anything more personal than a framed bib from the LA marathon a few years back. I can’t help wondering if there’s more to James Cole than meets the eye, or if he’s just as shallow and superficial as I’ve assumed.
A few minutes later, James emerges from the bedroom in jeans and t-shirt that hugs his shoulders but hangs loose over his flat stomach, a reminder of the abs I caught a glimpse of in the doorway.
“Can I get you something to drink?” James asks.
“No thanks,” I reply right away, adding, “I won’t be here that long.”
James shrugs and heads for the kitchen anyway, opening the refrigerator door.
“You have some beautiful furniture,” I comment, reaching out to touch the coffee table as I delay the conversation I came here to have. “Are these some of your pieces?”
“Yup,” James nods. “I made everything except the couch.”
“Wow,” I reply, impressed despite myself. “You have a real talent.”
“Thank you,” James says with clear pride for his work. “It’s my passion.”
He comes over to the couch with two beers, setting one on the table in front of me with a wink.
“Just in case you change your mind,” he says. “So, what can I do for you?”
I glance at the beer, wondering if it would help make the conversation any easier, though I want to keep my head clear.
“Well, as you know, I’ve gotten myself into a little bit of a mess at work,” I begin. “I can’t believe I am saying this, but…I actually need your help, if you’re still willing to give it to me.”
A smile stretches across James’s face as he leans his arm against the back of the couch.
“Did you just say you need me?” he asks.
I press my lips together for a moment, trying not to go off on him. He’s not going to make this easy for me.
“I need your help , not you,” I clarify.
“It’s kind of a package deal,” he shrugs, enjoying every second of my misery.
I let out a groan and then press forward, needing to get this over with.
“I want you to come to Wyoming with me and pretend to be my boyfriend,” I manage to spit out.
“You made it seem like you would rather die than pretend to be in a relationship with me,” James points out. “What changed?”
“I’m desperate,” I admit.
“My type of woman,” James replies.
“Forget it. This was a really bad idea,” I say, jumping up to my feet.
“Oh, relax, I’m just having some fun with you,” he says. “When is this?”
“Next week.”
For a second, James’s eyebrows furrow and I can see him calculating the days, working something out in his head. Eventually, a grin comes to his face, and he takes a long pull from his beer bottle.
“That works,” he says.
“Wait, really?” I ask. “You’ll do it?”
“Sure, I hear Wyoming is nice in the fall and it’s perfect timing for me.”
“Oh, thank you,” I tell him, breathing a sigh of relief, thinking maybe this will work out after all.
James leans back, his grin turning back to his usual smirk.
“I knew you’d change your mind,” he says. “Who would have thought, the two of us at some high-end dude ranch, cozying up by the fire, then going back to our romantic suite to?—”
“No,” I quickly cut him off. “I want to make it crystal clear that this is all for show. Nothing is going to happen between us. Nothing .”
I’m already regretting asking James for the favor. Maybe there’s another way and I just haven’t thought of it yet. Maybe I could say he’s coming to the retreat and then make up a family emergency at the last minute. The Winter brothers are all about family—they would completely understand that he had to be with a sick grandparent. On the other hand, Chase would be even more suspicious than he already is. If he felt I had any advantage over him for the promotion, he would stop at nothing to tear me down. He has every right to want the job as much as I do, but he seems especially set on making it personal.
“Look,” I say to James firmly. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t be here asking you to do this unless there was no other option. I’ve been thinking it over all day, trying to find another way out, but I just can’t. This job means enough to me that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get the promotion. I know it’s not going to be easy, but I need you to take this seriously, okay? I owe you; I know that. I’m not in any place to be making demands. But at the same time, my career is riding on this. It's not a game to me.”
“I know that,” James says, his smile fading, as if he’s hurt that I think he wasn’t taking the situation seriously. But a second later, the smirk returns, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “You aren’t exactly the game playing type.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, taken aback by how sure he sounds. “Then what type am I?”
“Oh no,” James laughs, shaking his head adamantly. “Let’s not start off on the wrong foot before we even leave on the trip.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” James insists, still chuckling to himself.
“No, I want you to tell me,” I push back, crossing my arms over my chest. “What type am I?”
My back stiffens as James studies my face a moment. He then takes a long swig of his beer before setting the bottle down on the end table.
“Okay, since you really want to know, I think you’re a bit of a control freak,” he says, point blank. “You never let your guard down; you never relax.”
“I relax, I’m relaxed.”
To prove my point, I grab the beer from the coffee table and start to chug, wincing as I try to swallow one large gulp after another.
“Look at your shoulders,” James says, putting his hands on my shoulders and pushing them down a couple of inches. “They are supposed to be down here, not up at your ears. You’re so tense; everything in your body is wound up like it’s ready to pop.”
Leaning in closer, James starts to massage my shoulders. At first, I want to pull away, but his hands feel so good on me, just like when he put his arm around me at the office. Not only do I really need a massage, but I miss being touched by another person. I haven’t had time for even casual dating, plus I haven’t met anyone I’ve been remotely interested in, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt someone’s hands on my body. It doesn’t help that James is right—I’ve been really tense and my muscles are tight.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting my head drop forward a little. I could lie down on the couch and let him massage my whole back, but before I can get too swept away in his touch, I quickly pull myself together and back away from him, taking another sip of beer.
“I’ve had a stressful week,” I murmur defensively. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here asking you to do this. I just hope to God you don’t make it worse.”
“Me?” James grins. “Don’t worry; I’ll be my usual charming self.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I sigh, thinking about the self-satisfied look on his face when he’s kissing a different girl goodbye every morning. The man is all attitude. He’s cocky and confident to a fault and he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I don’t know why he’s even helping me, unless he really thinks he can get me in bed by doing me this favor.
“You know what?” I sigh, getting to my feet. “This is a bad idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Setting my beer bottle down, I turn and head for the door.
“You need me, and you know it,” James calls after me just as I’m turning the doorknob.
I freeze in place, trying to coax myself to open the door and leave, but deep down, I know he’s right.
“Think about it, Little Miss Buttoned Up Tight. Are you really going to let your dislike of me cost you your promotion? Are you going to let that asshole Chase beat you? Or are you going to spend one short week pretending to be crazy about me to save yourself?”
It takes three very deep breaths in, thinking about the situation and hating that he’s right, before I let go of the doorknob and turn back around. Without looking at him, I return to the couch and sit down.
“Fine,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “But if we are going to do this, we need to set up some pretty serious ground rules.”
When James gets up from the couch and heads for the kitchen again, I watch with concern, thinking he’s about to bail on me. Instead, he reaches into the fridge and grabs two more beers, even though I’m still working on my first. Sitting back on the couch, he opens his beer and turns his body towards mine.
“Alright,” he says. “What are the rules?”
I nod, glad to see he’s taking this seriously. I still don’t trust him entirely, but I don’t have much of a choice but to move forward.
“First of all—we will not be sleeping in the same bed,” I say firmly. “I’ll try to come up with a reason why I need two queens in my room, but if there’s only one bed, you’ll sleep on the floor.”
“The floor?” James asks, eyebrows shooting up.
“Or the couch or armchair, wherever,” I tell him. “But not with me.”
“You’re not really selling this vacation,” he says with a laugh as he takes a sip of beer. “I promise I’m an excellent cuddler. I love being the big spoon.”
“Rule number two,” I continue. “Obviously we’ll have to display some level of affection in public, mostly in front of Chase and my bosses, but when they’re not around it can be kept at a minimum and when it’s just us, there will be no touching whatsoever.”
“Okay, but what if you have a spider on you?” James asks.
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a spider on your arm and I see it and you don’t,” he says. “Do you want me to shoo it away or just let it crawl up your arm.”
“Just tell me there’s a spider,” I scoff, unconsciously scratching my arm.
“But by the time I say something, it’s already up your sleeve and then you freak out and start swatting at it and then we have no idea where it is.” James leans forward, his face deadpan. “Is it up your arm? Did it fall on the ground? Is it in your hair? You’ll spend the whole day thinking about it when I could have just brushed it off you when I saw it.”
I stare at him for a second in total disbelief that this man has my career in his hands.
“Oh my god, you’re a child,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Rule number three—no flirting with other women.”
“Not even when we’re alone?” James asks.
“How could you flirt with another woman when we’re alone?”
“Not when you and I are alone; when I’m alone with another woman,” he clarifies, though I sense he’s messing with me again.
“Don’t be alone with another woman!” I shout, quickly growing exasperated. “You have to look committed to me. Is this really so hard to follow a few simple rules?”
“Wow,” James huffs, sitting back again. “Tell me you’re controlling without telling me you’re controlling. Guess I was right.”
“Come on,” I moan. “I’m being serious.”
“I know, but you need to lighten up a little bit,” James says. “I’m not the only one who has to look like they are happy and in love. You have to sell it, too. I can’t be trying to hold your hand and having you pull away.”
I reach for my beer, finishing off the first one and then opening the second. He’s right. I have to pretend to be in love with him too if this is going to work. It’s going to be impossible not to roll my eyes at him or flinch if he touches me, but Chase is going to be watching us like a hawk. This just keeps getting worse.
How the hell am I going to convince people that I’m in love with a man I can’t stand? James is a complete womanizer, and he seems to enjoy getting under my skin. There is no way I’m going to be able to last a whole week with him, sharing a room, pretending to like him—no, love him. And the worst part is that as much as I want to back out again, I know that I can’t. I’m screwed.
“Don’t worry,” James says, “I can make anyone think I’m into them. You’ve seen the women when they leave here in the morning, the way they look at me, hanging on my every word, thinking I’m going to?—”
“Stop,” I interrupt. “Just stop. You’re making me dislike you more than I already do.”
I let out a long sigh and close my eyes for a moment, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.