Chapter Four
Scarlett
O oookay, so I might have bitten off a little bit more than I can chew. The whole eyes too big for the stomach metaphor. But…and there’s a but, I decide as I hug my old ratty bear, Mr. Figglesmort to me as I stare up at the ceiling that night.
Hudson is a tall, gorgeous drink of…not water. I’m going with something unexpected, like a dry vodka martini with a hint of olive juice and herb twist. Something with a little spice and flavor you think is just gloriously mixed to taste like water and then it hits you.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m all over the place with these analogies, but it’s not like I go around leaping into someone else’s shoes and pretending to fall in love. It’s stupid. It’s…surreal.
We spent about forty minutes in his office chatting about this and that. Movies and food and drinks. He likes fine dining and the fanciest place I’ve been was an Italian joint with red tablecloths and candles on the Upper West Side a few years back when some guy was trying to impress me right out of my panties and onto his dick. It didn’t work. I got food poisoning and I wasn’t into him.
That’s not the point.
The point is, I stuck as close to the truth without giving it. Sarah’s been all over the place, to the trendiest spots in town. When you have the right name, money doesn’t matter. But thank goodness my varied job resume includes high-end event waitressing, so I’ve eaten great food. I just told him eclectic, but between us, I like down-home food. Give me a good burger and a shake and I’m there.
He took off for drinks but said we’d do more tomorrow.
That bad part of my brain wants to think he means the horizontal samba, but he doesn’t. And I don’t want that.
He’s just hot.
And it’s been a long-ass dry spell.
My roomie, Amber, is out, thank goodness. She’s all black curls and big dark eyes and curves that I’ve seen grown men drool over, not to mention get boners at the wrong time over, especially when she wears one of her clingy, low-cut outfits. So she might not be home tonight. But she’s going to want to know what’s up with a sudden job change and the rest.
Actually, if someone had asked me yesterday, I’d have balked at the idea of an NDA. Right now, I’m thankful for it.
No one needs to know. Not even my brother, whose business is in trouble.
It’s people like my fake fiancé to be that cause those problems in the real estate world. Danny works hard, and sure he’s made mistakes and aligned himself with some idiots, but getting a foot in when you’re indie is hard.
He needs money to save his business, and he needs me to do so.
Four weeks.
It’s only four weeks.
I’ve had relationships that last longer than that.
Barely.
With that cheerful thought in mind, I will myself to sleep.
I hit the ground running the next morning.
Hudson strikes me as a man who doesn’t tolerate tardiness and I’m not about to disappoint him. He’s a little scary under the urbane high-end martini of him. Scary like he’s a billionaire, and he made that threat. Or promise. Or dire warning. And I’m lying to him. That sort of scary.
I raided Amber’s closet for an outfit. One of her more…buttoned up ensembles. On me, it’s chic matron. On her, men still no doubt drool. But it’s pretty and it had an expensive vibe about it because that girl knows how to find a bargain. I left her a note saying I’ll bring it back clean.
After fighting throngs of commuters at the Halsey St. L train stop, then the N train at Union Square, cramming myself in like a sardine, I head to Fifty-Sixth and Fifth Ave and make it to Hudson’s office on the top floor with about two minutes to spare.
His gaze is cool and unimpressed and I get the distinct impression I’m late in his eyes.
I smile, and say, “Here for my first day.”
“Follow me, Ms. Colton.” And he hands his harried receptionist an iPad he’s holding.
She barely looks at me as I do as ordered.
The moment the office door swishes shut behind me, I’m encased in silence. Not even the traffic from below, or the noise from outside in the office, penetrates the space.
It strikes me what that means.
“I didn’t have my ear to the door,” I say. “It was a little open. That’s all.”
He stares at me and laughs, shaking his head. “I didn’t ask.”
“It’s like the Cone of Silence in here.”
“The what?”
“There was this old show and…” I trail off. It occurs to me Sarah might not have sat around watching old Get Smart reruns on TV as a kid. Or a teenager. Or last week. “It doesn’t matter. It’s quiet in here. And—tell me about the job.”
Both his eyebrows rise. “Hilarious. I don’t have time for this, not today. Here’s the NDA and the contract. I have a lawyer to go over it with you—”
“No, I trust you.”
Again his eyebrows rise and I refuse to let the fluttering at the pulse in my throat turn into a full on panic attack. I’ve never had one, but I assume that’s what it is. I feel like something’s about to explode and my windpipe is getting tighter and I want to run away. But I’m made of sterner stuff than that.
“Okay, Scarlett.” He shrugs and hands me a slender folder that’s made of the softest leather I’ve ever touched. It’s in a deep mahogany color with a darkly gilded edging. “There’s a pen in there, too. My receptionist, Georgina, will give you the tour and settle you in. I’d planned on setting aside time, but I can’t. But we’ll have dinner.”
I almost say you and Georgina, but I’m not sure he appreciates my feeble attempt at humor, so I swallow the words.
He’s even more devastating today. The morning light through the wall of glass makes his hair shine with dark chocolate light, and his eyes are the deepest blue. He’s wearing a suit in deep charcoal with the finest, most delicate emerald plaid shot through it. I almost sigh but catch myself.
“Dinner?”
“Food? That thing you usually do in the evening? Dinner’s a good pretext for going over the things I need you to handle for me personally. I’ve been promising Georgina to have someone take that part of the work off her plate, and I’ll be adding to it.” He starts rattling off things at me, but I barely take mental note. “And it’s also a great way to start the romance. Wear something good. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
It’s not until I’m done for the day that I realize I never told him where I live.
And it’s not until I’m on the train home it hits me in my panic I put down the fancy address Sarah lives at in Manhattan on my forms.
Oh, boy.
Danny’s sitting on our sofa, chatting to Amber when I get in. She sees me and rolls her eyes. “I’ve better clothes, woman.”
“Why are you dressed like that?” Danny sets down his Coke and looks at me with a frown.
“A temp job,” I say, and then I turn to Amber. “I need a classy outfit. Help.”
The plea for help is real because Hudson thinks I live at a very fancy Park Avenue South apartment building where Sarah lives. So I need to get there before he does.
Dressed in the peacock blue silk dress Amber swears is pure class, I hastily apply makeup, and Danny crams into the tiny bathroom and frowns behind me.
“Why are you here, anyway?”
“Where are you going?” he counters.
“Out.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is. You asked, I answered.” I toss my hair, hitting him in the face and then set down the mascara and push him out of the bathroom into the living room. “It’s a work thing.”
“Well, at least one of us has prospects,” he says.
And my heart squishes in. He’s my brother and I love him. “It’ll get better, Danny. We’ll save your business. Build it. And have people coming and wanting places from you.”
“I only stopped by because the one place I’ve got right now is bad. That—” He stops and I know what he was going to say. He was screwed over and that’s burned him and his reputation. But that is why I’m doing this. “It’s got actual rats. I told the couple not to take it.”
“Danny, good for you.”
“No. I should have lied.”
“You’re the last honest realtor out there.”
“Yeah, unlike the Sinclairs of the world. Then again, they’re loaded.”
I bite my lip because I can’t tell him. I’ve signed away everything. But it’s for him. “I have to go, but…but trust me, okay?”
And I hope to God those words are true.
Running in heels is not a thing. Whoever thought it was is a demon. But I do it and manage not to fall flat on my face as I hobble-run to the apartment building I’m now pretending is home. My place in Brooklyn isn’t going to cut it.
I’m running late because of the trains, and of course, Hudson Sinclair’s the type of man who thinks on time is late and that means I’m in deep, deep trouble. He’ll find out, and—
I’m here.
The doorman eyes me suspiciously and I go for a smile and a hello, but I’m holding my side, wheezing—you’d think riding about makes me fitter than I am, but…heels. I hold up a finger, trying to get it together when someone appears in front of me.
Every single nerve ending is alight. And the air is suddenly thick and heavy and alive with awareness and I know without looking that it’s Hudson.
I look up. Even in heels, I’m nowhere near as tall as him. And I wheeze out a hello.
“You look like you ran a marathon. Traffic held me up. I’m late.”
He isn’t. He’s about five minutes early and by some miracle, I manage to arrive a minute before him. But I nod and wave a hand like I’m letting him off the hook.
“I did some exercise.” I take in a breath that is edging towards normal. Only now my heartbeat is erratic because he’s there, smelling divine, like that soft leather, honey, and lavender, and I wonder how many women ask if they can lick him, just to see if he tastes as good as he smells. “While I was waiting.” I take another breath. “I have to work to keep this up.”
I wave a hand down along my body, knowing it’s nothing to write home about, but hey, maybe I’m a rich girl with delusions.
Hudson slides a hand under my elbow and I shiver right down to my toes in the shiny stack black heels. My bag bangs against my hip on the other side of me as I stumble. He has magic fingers. They seem to elicit an insane response every time he touches me.
“I thought,” he says as our gazes crash and connect, and I almost swear there’s humor dancing there in those blue depths, “we could go to Eaton West.”
The place is low key, cool, and almost impossible to get into. But then again, most people aren’t billionaires.
“That sounds…nice,” I say.
“Come on, my car awaits.”
And I feel like I’m both tumbling down from a frying pan into a fire and stepping into a fairy tale as we get into the car that pulls up at the sidewalk.
As we pull away, I think, what have I done?