11. Sean
When I leave the apartment in the morning, she’s already left for work early. Work has been quite demanding for both of us.
The first thing I do once I leave the apartment is stop by her favorite coffee place for an iced French vanilla with a shot of espresso. I’m aware of how occupied she is, not just with the transition, but also managing a large group looking to stay at Westerlyn for their yearly retreat. She probably won’t have the time to go, considering that she occasionally uses getting coffee as a way to take a breather in the midst of her busy mornings. Maybe the refreshing chill of the cup in her hands will help alleviate some of the frostiness between us.
However, when I arrive at Westerlyn, her office door is closed. Briefly, I halt at Sarah’s desk. Having learned that she prefers green smoothies over hot drinks, I’d ordered one for her too, and she plucks it out of the holder. Everyone deserves a little treat once in a while. With a delighted smile, Sarah informs me that Jess received an unexpected visitor.
“Who?” I ask, marching toward my own office.
“Mr. Rutherford.”
I nearly fumble the coffee holder with the remaining two cups. Turning to face her, I confirm, “Richard Rutherford?”
“Yes.” Sarah nods, taking a sip of her smoothie.
Well, shit.
I walk into my office, setting the coffees down.
The rumors and the information my PA uncovered were spot on. The shark is here to make his offer. To outbid me. To get his grabby hands on my hotel. To steal her shares from under me.
Dammit.
Not gonna happen. Over my dead body.
How much is the bastard willing to pay? He can easily outbid me, but fortunately, it’s not money she’s after. Yet who knows what else he has up his sleeve? My father’s mocking face is already in my mind, taunting me about his warnings to get her to sell as quickly as possible before some savvy investor swoops in.
Richard Rutherford of all people.
I wish I could be a fly on the wall. Perhaps I should confidently walk in, hand her the coffee, and loiter around, maybe even pretend to need her printer for something? It would be completely unbelievable, considering my commitment to not wasting paper, but who would even notice? Answer: she would notice. If anybody would notice, it’d be her. I’ve given her a hard enough time about going paperless as it is.
I need a better idea.
My office phone rings. It’s an internal call coming from her office.
I pick up. “Yeah?”
“Babe,” I hear Jess say brightly, even cheerfully, “will you please come into my office for a second?”
My heart hammers. “Babe”? Is that what she said?
“Sure. Gladly,” I say without hesitation. I don’t even attempt to conceal the upswing in my mood.
Deciding to not bring the coffees along—it wouldn’t be appropriate to offer her a coffee while not being able to accommodate her guest—I walk to her door and enter after my first knock. Jess is already strolling toward me, meeting me halfway.
“Hi, babe,” she says joyfully, giving me a gorgeous smile, “there you are!”
Her pleading eyes are locked on mine, her expression begging me to play along.
Before I can answer, she leans in to give me a kiss on my lips. At least, that’s what I think she intends to do. I realize too late that she was actually aiming for my cheek. She almost squeaks in surprise when I—accidentally (for the most part)—turn my head and our lips touch. Of course, I let my mouth linger for a moment. You know, playing along.
It feels good to press my lips to hers. It feels natural, as it should.
When she pulls back, I detect a micro-embarrassment-slash-amusement at the kiss mix-up, but she confidently brushes it off, saying, “Honey, let me introduce you to Mr. Rutherford.” She faces the tall man seated in front of her desk, who’s looking straight at us. “Richard, this is Sean Blackwood, my fiancé.”
I blink.
I’m her fiancé?
I’m not just “Babe” but “officially engaged”?
Okay, why not.
She’s fighting fire with fire. I can work with that.
Turning toward him, I’m trying to make sense of it all. Most likely, there’s some unfinished business between the two of them, and I’ll gladly portray her fake husband-to-be, shielding her from my main competitor.
This is clearly to my advantage.
Richard Rutherford, the biggest hotel mogul in the nation with wealth that engulfs his “I get what I want” approach, appears surprised at the announcement. His jaw clenches, but only for a moment, before he sets up his poker face. She called him “Richard,” addressed him informally, and I get a sense they’ve known each other for years. For whatever reason he’s here, private or business, I’m not entirely sure. What I do know is he didn’t expect to see me here—engaged to this stunning woman.
He gets up and faces me. He’s definitely aged since the last time I saw him, at the Grand Hotelier Convention in London a year back, and throughout the years at one of the city’s high-profile fundraising galas, including, of course, the Grand Hospitality Affair. His salt-and-pepper hair adds an air of sophistication, and he stands two inches taller than me, dressed in a dark blue Brioni suit with a top-tier timepiece gracing his wrist.
“We’ve met,” I inform her as we shake hands.
“Small world,” Richard says in his deep baritone. “How do you do, Mr. Blackwood?” He smirks, just as he did when we competed in a bidding war, both of us eager to acquire a prominent hotel chain in Europe. I wasn’t a sore loser, even though my father never fails to rub it in.
“Good,” I reply, keeping it friendly. “How are you?”
“Honey, are you ready?” Jess interrupts, effectively putting a stop to any potential conversation. “I don’t want to be late. The jeweler is waiting.” She beams at me.
“Ready, baby,” I say, and a chuckle escapes. I don’t even have to pretend. It feels nice and natural to call her “Baby.” Also, the whole situation is hilarious. The jeweler is waiting?
Richard grabs his jacket, understanding the message, and heads toward the door. When he reaches for the knob, he pivots to face her. “Think about my offer, Jessie.”
Jessie? They definitely have a private history.
Do I really want to know what else they shared?
“No need,” she replies, her tone icy. “The answer is the same.” For a moment, I’m baffled. Yes, I’ve seen her assertive side, but this coldness is on a whole other level. While Jess argues, and damn, argue she does, she usually maintains a touch of playfulness. Here, there’s exactly zero of that.
“I’ll see you at the charity auction in two weeks.” He looks from me to her then back at me.
“Of course.” I nod. “As is the tradition every year.”
“Bye, Jessie.” He faces me. “Mr. Blackwood.”
“Have a good day, Mr. Rutherford,” I say.
He gives me a curt nod and heads out.
My happy mood isn’t an act. I’m ecstatic that my competitor bit the dust. The match is 1:1. Clearly, I won this one—the easiest win I’ve ever achieved. Somehow, the most amusing too.
As soon as he’s gone, Jess quickly shuts the door and turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Sean. He surprised me, and this was the only way to make him understand that I’m not interested. And never will be. Thanks for playing along.”
Not interested in…what? Selling the hotel? Dating him?
“You’re welcome. Any time. How do you know him?” I ask.
“We were engaged at one point, and it didn’t end well,” she says curtly. “It’s not my favorite conversational topic.”
Talk about a plot twist. That, I didn’t see coming.
At least the whole fake fiancé thing makes sense now. There seems to be a pattern in her picking her fiancés. Slowly, the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place. He is the “missed wedding” she referred to, the rebound, the reason she found herself drowning her sorrows at Swayze’s.
“Did he make you an offer for the hotel?” I ask, getting down to the interesting part.
She shifts away uncomfortably. “He did.”
“How much did he offer you?”
She turns. “A lot.”
I remain standing where I am, watching her walk to her desk. “How much?” I press.
She shrugs, indicating this conversation is done, that she’s ready to get back to her duties. When I don’t make a move, she looks back up. “Not enough. It’s not important. Also, none of your business. I’m not selling to him.”
“Well, good. You shouldn’t.”
I’m relieved, even if not calmed. “Not enough” won’t deter a man like Richard Rutherford. Somehow, he’s caught wind of the chain’s immense potential and expressed interest, most likely upon learning of Norman Whitman’s retirement. I doubt that was his final play. My presence won’t dissuade him—if anything, it will embolden him. Like the shark he is, he has detected blood, and individuals like him thrive on challenging deals.
I must stay vigilant. Unlike me, he doesn’t have a board to answer to.
“You should have called security on him,” I joke (not really).
“Right?” She smiles, unbuttoning her jacket. “I should have. Next time, I will.”
“Be right back.” Snapping my gaze away from her curves, I walk to my office, grab her coffee and head back.
When I return, she’s already sitting at her computer, quietly getting into her morning duties. It’s the first time I’ve had a moment to take in her office. It’s cozy, not the typical hotel manager setup like Norman’s, with two plush armchairs decked with green pillows. The walls are painted in soft greenish tones. The heavy pine desk bears traces of its previous life, and is covered with a jumble of documents and folders. My eyes land on a photo of her standing between her folks, in front of what seems to be the family hotel in a woodland area, with two Great Danes playing around. It’s impossible to overlook the striking resemblance between Jess and her mother, although her mom sports glasses, and short brown hair with numerous grays. Standing firm, her father wields a quiet authority and a noticeable robust physique.
I place the French vanilla on her desk, and she looks at me with surprise. “What’s this?”
“I thought it was obvious.”
She looks amused by my response and lets out a chuckle. “I know what it is. I meant why did you get me coffee?”
“A fiancé can’t get his fiancée a drink?”
She smirks. “Other people can. You usually don’t. I thought…”
When she doesn’t finish her sentence, I ask, “What did you think?”
Jess studies me carefully, and I can see that she’s not sure how to respond. She frowns and regards me suspiciously but picks up the cup regardless.
“Thanks,” she says, giving me a warm smile. She takes a big sip. “So, about that charity event Richard mentioned. You’re going?”
“Yes, I attend the Grand Hospitality Affair every year, representing Blackwood. Interested in going? I can smuggle you in.”
“Well, the thing is, I already have a ticket from Norman. There’s an art piece that’s going to be auctioned, and I was thinking of acquiring it for the lobby. It would be perfect, well, if I can get it for a reasonable price. I was looking forward to going, but now...”
“…but now it looks like we’re attending, as an engaged couple?” I finish for her.
She blinks, then takes another gulp of her coffee. “Well…only so he thinks we’re an engaged couple. Do you mind? He knows I’m going. He saw my ticket.” She gestures to the burgundy auction ticket next to her laptop. “And it would be weird if I went alone. I mean…all we need to do is show up together. That’s it. We keep it under wraps for everybody else.”
I shrug. “Doable. For everybody else, we’re just two people attending an event.”
“But wait…what if people ask who I am?”
“I’ll introduce you by your name and as co-owner of Westerlyn. We come late, leave early. People attending are mostly interested in their own affairs. Don’t worry. Should any question arise: we’re private, we haven’t decided to go public yet. Done.”
“Oh, that’ll work.” She looks at me with a thankful expression. “You really don’t mind playing along?”
“Let’s say, I can arrange it—if you cooperate.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “Cooperate?”
“You know what I want in return,” I say, satisfied with the bargaining tool she has presented to me. “How about this? If I play along as your fake fiancé for the next few weeks, you reconsider my proposal. You said it’s risky, but I’ll say let’s embrace the challenge. What do you say? At least don’t shoot my offer down right off the bat.”
After a pause, she finally nods. “I won’t say no right away.” Her tone is careful and measured. “I’m going to think on it.”
“Fine.” I nod. “My offer is good, and you know it.”
Jess regards me carefully, as if she’s trying to gain insight into what I’m thinking. She doesn’t have to look too deep. I’m not hiding anything. I have no intention of deceiving her in any way. This isn’t some kind of power play to placate her.
If there’s one thing I learned early in life, it’s that deception and deceit won’t achieve satisfactory results, at least not in my book. Besides, the way Jess acted in Norman’s presence and the hurt I’ve seen in her eyes leads me to believe she appreciates openness and loyalty.
At least something we both see eye to eye on.
It’s nice to see her softening toward my idea, if only a little.
“Are we going to the jeweler now or later?” I ask. “As far as I know, he’s got a one-of-a-kind engagement ring on standby waiting for us.”
She smiles, her features are half a shade brighter. It’s not the smile she gave me when we first met, but it’s a smile nonetheless, which is a step in a positive direction. I hope.
“Not so fast,” she says. “How long do I have to think it over?”
“I can hold the board off for another day. Any longer than that will be pushing it, and then someone else from the company will likely get involved.”
AKA, my father will butt in, and I’m not going to let that happen.
She sits up in her chair, placing her empty coffee cup on the desk. “You’ll have my answer by then.”
I walk to my office, sit down at my desk and power up my computer, occasionally taking a sip of my own drink. I can tell I’ve thrown her off—much like she did with me. Which means I’ve achieved my goal: to keep her on her toes—just as she keeps me on mine.
The rest of the day is fairly quiet as we both handle our tasks, barely speaking unless to exchange pertinent work information. Even still, my mind is on high alert, and I feel more aware of her presence than I have ever been before.