Chapter 20
Action Plan
Fenella
I feel sorry for Alan. After hearing his story about the seven years he spent with Amy, I can’t bring myself to hurt him. Guilt presses on my chest like a shadow I can’t escape.
But what Laird said is true. I have to find the courage to act, to keep Alan as far away from my life as possible. I’m the reason Alan did all of that. If I started it, then I need to take responsibility for fixing it. I have to help solve this case in whatever way I can.
“No.” Laird shuts me down fast.
He’s angry. Of course he is. He never wants to follow my crazy ideas again. We both know what happens when he does. Total disaster.
“But Laird, think about it. How else am I supposed to get deeper information if I’m not close enough to his circle? I need to dive in if we want real answers. Whatever it takes.”
“But you don’t have to accept his proposal,” he says, brushing it off. “You could pretend to be his girlfriend without actually getting engaged.”
“Laird, we’re dealing with Amy and her husband. They’re the masterminds. Just approaching Alan isn’t enough to dig as deep as we need. Remember what you said yesterday about the philosophy of war?” I nudge his arm, trying to push my point. “Come on, say it with me.”
“Know the enemy to win the battlefield,” I say.
“Know your field, win the battle,” Laird finishes. One eyebrow lifts.
“Am I wrong?” I mumble, coughing to hide my embarrassment.
“Well, it’s close enough,” he chuckles.
God, that’s embarrassing. I groan, fold my arms, and clear my throat.
“The point is, I need to immerse myself in their family circle to learn more. Amy and her husband will be cautious with any new person Alan brings in. But if Alan convinces them I’m part of the family, they’ll trust me more, right?
” I ramble, trying to make it make sense.
“I get it. But when I said inside information, I meant we, us, together.” He flicks his finger between me and him. “Surely I’m not a monster who’s going to let you face him alone. Especially not Amy or her husband.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. If you’re supposedly my ex, then why would I let you hang around me with my new boyfriend? If you were in his position, wouldn’t you be suspicious?” I raise my voice again.
Laird doesn’t answer. His head turns away as he stares at his glass with a deep frown.
“You’re right…” he mumbles. “If I were him, and had this sick, possessive obsession toward you, I’d probably hate to see me near you.
He’d always be on edge, watching us. One lingering look, and he’d know our breakup was just a lie. ” He side-eyes me.
“See?” I widen my eyes. Wait, he’s not talking about himself, right?
He stays quiet, thinking. “It’s just… Amy might not buy it, considering your history with her.”
“Well, I’m not trying to brag, but Alan will probably keep pushing for me. Remember how hard he worked to get me into Mallory’s social circle?” My hand presses against the other palm, my gaze locked on his.
His frown deepens. He exhales, long and heavy, already defeated. “Fine. But remember, no touching, no kissing, no physical intimacy. At all.”
“Deal. So what do I do?”
“You need to act like you love him. Otherwise, he’ll get suspicious.” His face twists like he just bit a rotten lemon.
I cup his cheeks and look into those green eyes I love so much. “It’s just an act, Laird. You’re the one I love.”
“Yeah, act like that,” he mutters, eyes flicking between mine and my lips.
He looks uneasy with his lips tight and his shoulders stiff. I know what he’s thinking. Alan’s the one person we should stay far away from, but I’m about to say yes to his proposal.
“You have to trust me.” He doesn’t move. “Will you?” I whisper.
Laird just looks at me, silent, the firelight painting his face gold. Christmas carols drift softly from the Evans’ house next door, mixing with the stillness around us.
“Yes, I do,” he says finally. “I always have, and I always will.”
“Aren’t you mad about the ad?” I ask, searching his eyes.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not mad at you? We agreed to let it go and move on. Besides, the ad’s already taken down.” He scowls.
“What about all the people dragging me online? Don’t you see my socials?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t give a damn. I’ve told you a hundred times, even if you weren’t a famous model, I’d still care about you.”
He’s said that to me more than once, and he means it. Even when my insecurities creep in, even when fear wraps around my heart, he’s always there, proving it. Over and over.
“So… how does it feel to kiss Alan?” I ask, suppressing my laugh.
“God, please, don’t you dare mention that ever again,” he groans while I cackle. “Babe! You ruined the moment!”
Air bursts out of me as I laugh so hard my face warms up. “Come on, it’s kinda sexy, honestly,” I say between laughter.
“Stop it.” His fingers pinch my cheeks while I dodge him, our heads bobbing up and down like two idiots playing cat and mouse on the couch. “You should help me erase his lips from mine.”
His hands try to hold my head still. I duck and swerve, breathless from laughing. Then his body presses against mine, pinning me down on the couch. Feeling his weight on me—his cologne, his face so close, his warm breath brushing my skin—I stop laughing. My heartbeat races faster than I want.
He sighs and laughs, and my face heats up instantly. My lips purse, trying to hide how embarrassed I am. I fall into his arms like a moth to a flame.
A second later, his lips crash into mine, fierce and hungry. His tongue traces the edge of my lips, then slides against mine, deep and deliberate.
He sucks on my tongue, nibbles my lower lip, then pulls it gently between his teeth before letting go. I try to breathe, but he doesn’t let me. His arms only tighten around my shoulders.
“L—Laird.” His name slips out between my moans. “I—”
He must sense I’m running out of air, because he pulls back and studies my face. His thumb brushes my cheek, soft and careful.
“That would work,” he murmurs.
“No. You never said you love me,” I whisper.
“I’m tired of trying to convince you with words. You’d never believe me anyway.” His emerald gaze reflects the fireplace.
“You shouldn’t give up so easily,” I say between quick breaths. “I still want to hear it sometimes.”
“Then you better be ready to deal with the ache between your legs, because I’m sure all those words will turn us on.” His lips brush the corner of my mouth.
“God, get a room, you two!” My mother’s voice cuts through the air like an alarm.
“Mom?!” I jump up as Laird scrambles to his feet, only to slam my leg against the coffee table with a loud thud. “Ugh, damn it!” I hiss, rubbing the spot with both hands.
“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt.” Laird tries not to laugh and helps me sit back on the sofa. His large hands rub my leg with gentle pressure.
“This is still my house, for God’s sake.
I’ve been trying to leave for ten minutes, and you two have been making out on my couch,” my mom scolds, strutting through the living room in her perfectly pressed jacket.
She heads into the kitchen and grabs a big thermos identical to the one that broke at the bazaar.
“Where are you going?” I ask, frowning as she grabs her coat.
“Where else? The Evans family Christmas party. Aren’t you going?” Her eyes flick to Laird like he’s an intruder in her living room.
“I have an important job, Mom. Please don’t tell my dad,” Laird says quickly.
My mom rolls her eyes to the ceiling and lets out a dramatic groan.
“If only I could use that excuse. But all the neighbors are counting on me to bring this to the party.” She pauses at the door and points a finger at us.
“Don’t forget to lock up. I’ll be playing poker with the ladies.
We’re betting bakery discount coupons for a month.
” She wraps a scarf around her neck and walks out, the door slamming behind her.
“Oof. She’s definitely not happy with me,” Laird mutters, wincing.
“That’s crap. She likes you more than she likes me,” I say, pouting.
“That’s even more crap. She cares about you so much it makes me jealous.” He pinches my nose, and I swat his chest.
“Gosh,” I mumble, and he laughs softly. Laird might’ve found the mother figure he’s always wanted in mine. His mom was cold and demanding when he was a kid. Then, when he hit his teens, she left. Now his dad’s out there chasing women younger than him.
“Maybe you’re right,” I whisper, looping my arms around his shoulders.
“I swear you’ll be the death of me, Fenella,” he says, kissing the back of my hand.
His lips trail up, brushing my wrist, my arm, then my mouth. His tongue slips in, teasing, coaxing me to open for him. And I do. I let our tongues meet, slow and deep, until the world fades again. I can even taste the remnants of the sweet cream in his mouth, sending me into a blissful daze.