Chapter 6
SIX
“Absolutely not.” Leo ground his teeth, lest a more forceful answer fall from his lips.
Amelia met his gaze, looking as fierce and determined as ever. He loved that little pinch of her lips. It made him want to run his thumb over her mouth just to feel it soften against his skin.
And she wanted him to teach her how to attract some other guy? Fuck no.
“Leo,” she said, smoothing her little cocktail napkin on the table before her. “Listen. It’s simple. You need me, and I need you.”
“You don’t need me to learn how to be attractive, Amelia.”
“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” She stuck her index finger in the air. “I do need your help with that.”
Jaw clenched, he cast an eye over the sheer, loose, cream-colored blouse she wore. The top few buttons were undone, and he caught a glimpse of something lacy underneath. The blouse was tucked in the front of her jeans, which were tight enough to make him want to peel them off. Her little brown booties had clip-clopped over the bar’s polished concrete floors when she’d walked toward him five minutes earlier.
“You’re plenty hot, Amelia,” he growled.
She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. God, he wanted her. Not once had she engaged in the usual flirtation with him. She hadn’t giggled or playfully smacked his arm. She hadn’t tried to gaze at him seductively or start any of the usual dance steps that usually led him to a horizontal position with a woman. Every time she spoke to him, he almost forgot who he was. With Amelia, he wasn’t Pestilence. He wasn’t the shameless flirt. He was just Leo.
She made him feel like a better man than the one he knew he was.
“Be that as it may,” she said, smoothing her cocktail napkin again, and again, and again. “This is my offer. I’ll go to your work retreat and pretend to be your fiancée if you help me improve my dating and seduction skills.”
Stubborn little minx. Fine. She wanted to play this game? He’d entertain it. He leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass. Ice clinked against the walls of it as he tilted it this way and that. “That’s a very vague target,” he said. “How will we know the objective has been achieved?” The next words, he had to force out. “Is there a specific man you have in mind to seduce?”
The pulse jumped in her neck. Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, and Leo’s heart began to pound. There was a man. Was it that barista? That scrawny little jerkoff? He should have punched him when he had the chance.
“No,” Amelia finally answered. “There’s no one specific. But, well, recent experience has indicated that my skills are lacking across the board. So, I’ve created a rubric.” Her expression brightened on the last word, and she pulled out the tablet she’d used to run Maggie and Emory’s wedding from her purse.
“A rubric.”
“A curriculum, if you will.” She swiped up on the tablet and tapped a few times. “This is what I’d like to learn.”
Leo pulled the tablet toward him, watching Amelia swallow nervously, then dropped his eyes to the device. “I’m surprised you don’t have a full binder with labeled tabs and everything. You seem like the type of person who would have a color-coded binder.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the twenty-first century. An electronic copy is far superior. I have a color-coded spreadsheet.”
He bit back his grin and looked at the file. “‘Section One,’” he read. “‘Flirting.’”
She leaned closer, and he caught a bit of her scent. Something fruity and sweet, different from Saturday—her hair? Shampoo?
Determined to see this charade through, Leo ignored the way his body tightened in response to the smell and read through the line items in the first section. “‘Topics of conversation. Laughing and/or giggling. Physical contact—how much and where? Eye contact—how much is too much? Bedroom eyes.’” He huffed, looking at the woman beside him. “What is this shit? You don’t need this! ‘Bedroom eyes?’ Seriously?”
She straightened, and Leo knew he’d offended her. She closed the cover on the tablet and shoved it back into her bag. “These things might come easily to you, Leo, but not all of us have such a lengthy resume of conquests.”
She made to leave, her cheeks fully red now, but Leo caught her arm. “Wait. Wait , Amelia. I’m sorry.”
“This was such a stupid idea. Forget it.”
She wouldn’t look him in the eyes, and he hated it. “Hey,” he cajoled. “I’m sorry. It’s just—you’re an attractive woman, Amelia. I can’t believe that you think you need me to tell you any of this.” Still holding her arm, he slid his hand down and brushed his thumb over the pulse point of her wrist. Her skin was so soft. Touching her like this, even when she wouldn’t look at him, settled something inside him. Ever since he’d held her hand before the wedding, he’d craved the feel of her skin against his. He knew he didn’t deserve her, knew he should stay away—but he couldn’t help himself. He brushed his thumb over her wrist once more, studying the fine tremor that passed through her body.
“You can stop saying that, you know,” she said softly.
“Saying what?”
She flicked her gaze toward him, then rolled her eyes. “I know I’m not some sexpot, okay? I’ll never be a bombshell, but I still think I deserve to find someone who cares about me.”
Her words made his chest ache, which was odd. He didn’t like that feeling at all. He tugged her closer and spun her around, gently touching her hips until they were face-to-face. She stood between his spread knees, watching him suspiciously.
“All right,” he gentled. “Why don’t we see what we’re working with?”
Her suspicious look intensified, and Leo had the urge to laugh. Not in a mocking way—not at all. But she was so cute and leery of him, every skeptical thought written right there in her quicksilver eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Hit me with your best bedroom eyes.” He made a little “come at me” gesture with the fingers of both hands.
“What—right now? Here?”
He glanced around the bar. The Shed was somewhere between a dive and a sports bar, and it was about half-full of beer drinkers and pool players. There were about a hundred screens showing various sports dotted on every wall. Camilla and Lucy were watching them from the corner booth without even trying to hide it. He turned back to the woman in front of him. “Yeah. Here.”
“I can’t just…turn them on. I’m not even sure I have bedroom eyes.” She frowned at him. “That’s why it’s in the curriculum.”
Leo dropped his lids to half mast and let Amelia see a mere fraction of all the things he wanted to do to her.
She threw her hands up like a shield. “Whoa! Jesus!”
He laughed and reached up to tug her hands down, gently circling her wrists with his fingers. Touching her was an impulse he wasn’t quite able to leash. He tugged her a bit closer and laughed again at the sight of her grumpy face.
“That’s unnatural,” she complained, not pulling her hands away from his grasp. “You’re a freak.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Yeah, well…” She huffed, then bit her lip. “How did you do that? All of a sudden you looked…”
The flush that warmed her cheeks made Leo want to look at her like that again and see where the evening took them. He dropped her hands and took a sip of his drink to try to get himself back under control.
Marlon’s voice floated through his mind, and Leo knew he needed to keep some semblance of distance from her. Amelia wasn’t interested in him. She was never going to be interested in him. He wouldn’t do her the disservice of pursuing her, only to inevitably leave her disappointed when he couldn’t be the man she deserved.
Being with her might make him feel like he was a better man, but he still knew the truth. He was Pestilence. He was a playboy. He was good in bed, but not much else.
“All right.” Leo spoke slowly, his eyes focused on the task of centering his drink on its coaster. He cleared his throat and glanced at Amelia. “Your turn.”
Her brows were slightly darker than her hair, and they lowered at his words. “But…how? What were you thinking about when you did that?”
Ha. That was something Leo would never, ever tell her. Not when she deserved so much better. “Just think about something that turns you on.”
“Like what?”
“You’re asking me what turns you on?”
“Well—no. I mean…” She huffed, shifting her gaze to the side. “I don’t know what turns me on.”
He paused, then asked, “You’ve had sex before, right?”
Amelia pursed her lips. “Well, yeah. But my sex life hasn’t been…” She let the sentence drift off, then dragged her gaze back to meet his. She looked lost and a little overwhelmed.
Leo shifted in his seat and put his hands on his knees. She still stood between them, wearing that sheer blouse, looking entirely delicious. “Okay. Let’s try this. Just look at me.”
“Just look at you?” Her frown deepened.
“Yeah. Just look in my eyes and try not to think of anything. You don’t need to be turned on, but—wait. No, not like that. Not like you want to stab me.” He laughed. “Amelia, just, clear your mind. Just look at me normally. Now you look suspicious—no.”
She let out a rough little growl, tearing her gaze away from his.
Leo reached up and turned her chin back to face him. “Hey. Come on.” He spoke softly, stroking her cheek with his thumb, then forced himself to drop his hand.
“This was a stupid idea.”
Her eyes were pools of silver, and for the first time, Leo saw a hint of vulnerability. It made his chest ache. “Forget the bedroom eyes. They’ll happen naturally when you’re interested in someone.”
“If that’s true, how did you just turn them on like you were flicking a switch?”
Because I want you so badly I can barely think of anything else .
He rolled his shoulders and gave her his best lady-killer smile. “I’m just that good, baby.”
Amelia clicked her tongue, but the corner of her lips kicked. The dull thumping in his chest eased off the tiniest bit.
He grinned, then said, “You just need practice. Any one of the guys at this bar would be lucky to spend five minutes talking to you. All you have to do is go up to one of them and strike up a conversation.”
Amelia stared at him for a beat, then gently shook her head. “Leo, you saying ‘just strike up a conversation’ is like saying ‘just build a rocket ship and go colonize Mars.’ It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is.” He looked up and saw a familiar face leaning against the bar. Although everything in him rebelled, he made himself say, “There’s your barista friend. Just go up to him and say, ‘Hi…’”
“Ben.”
Ugh. Ben . “Say, ‘Hi, Ben. Nice shoes.’”
Amelia stared at him for a beat like he’d suddenly started speaking Finnish. “I’m supposed to tell him he has nice shoes?”
“It doesn’t matter what you say. It’s just a little compliment you can use as an icebreaker. He’ll say thanks, and you can ask him where he got them, and then you’re off. Easy.”
The words seemed to take a while to penetrate, but Amelia finally let out a long breath. She straightened her shoulders and gave Leo a curt nod, then glanced over her shoulder at the bar. “Okay,” she said. “I can do this.”
“You definitely can.”
“I’m doing it.”
“You’re going to kill it.”
“Off I go.”
“Go, Amelia, go.”
Her lips curled a tiny bit more, and she threw him an unreadable glance. Then she spun on her heels, huffed out a harsh breath, and started stomping toward the other man.
It killed Leo to watch her walk away. It felt like a little piece of him being torn out of his body. It was wrong . She should be beside him, shivering at the touch of his thumb against her wrist. She should be flicking her gray eyes up at him in exasperation, giving him her little grumpy frown.
He watched her hips shift with every step she took away from him, downing the rest of his drink. She walked with purpose, like an army advancing in war. The barista hadn’t spotted her yet, but he’d see her in the next three seconds. Leo gripped his glass and tried to regulate his breathing. Five more steps until she was beside him. Three. One?—
Amelia made a hard left and scurried around the gently curved bar. A sign for the washroom hung above her head as she turned to look at Leo. She slapped her hands on her cheeks and made a silent screaming face, like she was McCauley Culkin in Home Alone , then hurried down the hallway and out of sight.
Leo laughed. Relief swamped him so fast he could do nothing but try to breathe through the feeling.
He couldn’t continue this. She was too cute. Too charming. Too damn perfect.
After tonight, he’d figure something out with Fred—he’d come clean about the fiancée thing or cook up a suitable breakup story. He couldn’t keep spending time with Amelia and pretend that he didn’t want to drag her to bed. She was far too good for him, and Leo wouldn’t sully her life by being the guy who fucked her and left her the next morning.
A buzz in his pocket drew his attention. Then, a few seconds later, another buzz. He pulled his phone out and frowned. There was an email from Fred’s assistant and a text from Fred himself.
Fred: Nice to finally meet your lady, son. I’ve had Percival put both your names up for the scavenger hunt on Thursday, and I’ve upgraded your room to the forest-facing side of the residence. You know we’re a family here. Glad you finally understand that.
Leo read the text three times while despair settled over his skin like a slick of oil. He leaned back in his chair and groaned, dropping his head in his hands.
Fred’s insistence on family wasn’t just corporate lip service. Their team was small; less than a hundred people made up the core group of Goodhew’s company, with another few hundred contractors and temporary employees. They planned lavish parties all around the world, so networking and relationship-building was a key part of the work. Being one of Fred’s event directors was a highly sought-after position that paid well and had endless perks.
Despite what people said about him, Leo didn’t just party for a living. He built relationships with small vendors all around the world and coordinated them to throw parties on private islands, exclusive venues, even one event on a private jet. Clients came to Goodhew because they knew the company could cater to the weird and wacky, as long as their money was good.
Leo had worked very, very hard to get the position as a permanent employee in Fred’s company. It was only his third year on the full-time roster. Even being asked to the annual retreat was an achievement in itself. Only the top performers got an invite.
If Fred Goodhew found out that Leo had lied his way there by pretending to be engaged, he’d lose his job. No question. A decade of work would disintegrate in seconds.
Reading the text message over again, Leo tried to see a way out, but none came to him. This job was the one thing he excelled at. It was the one thing in his life that he could point to and feel proud of. His personal life was in shambles, his family life was nonexistent, and his friends—although they were good guys—thought he was just a party animal with a healthy sex drive and a phobia of commitment.
His job meant something to him. He couldn’t just give it up.
“Did something happen?”
Leo jumped at the sound of Amelia’s voice. She’d popped into existence near his elbow and was currently frowning at him like she could read every shameful secret written right there on his face.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and shook his head. “No. Everything’s fine, except for the fact that you chickened out.”
A groan slipped through her lips, and Amelia slumped against her stool. “I know. Pathetic.”
“Good thing you’ve got a master flirt to learn from.” He painted a grin on his lips, but his heart wasn’t in it. Desperate, he scrambled to find some way out of this. Maybe he could cook up a family emergency, and skip the retreat altogether?
No. Fred wouldn’t buy it. He’d already committed, and Fred knew he wasn’t close with his family.
Amelia saw right through him, of course. She straightened, frowning, and asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sorry to drag you into this,” he said.
She snorted, then gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not. It’s obvious I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to find a boyfriend.”
She’d find one. Leo knew it. She’d find a guy who had a steady job and a big heart, and she’d probably marry him within a year. Because once she cracked open her shell even the tiniest bit, it wouldn’t take long for someone to realize how special she was.
But that man wouldn’t be Leo. It couldn’t be.
“We’d better get started,” he heard himself say. Extending his hand toward her, he popped a brow. “You get a date with Ben the Barista by the time the retreat is over, and we’ll be square. That’s got to be worth four days as my fake fiancée, right?”
Amelia’s teeth sank into her lower lip as she considered his expression, then his outstretched hand. She slipped her palm against his and pumped once, a witchy smile curling her lips. “I guess we’re about to find out. You’ve got a deal, St. James.”
Now, all Leo had to do was keep his attraction for Amelia buttoned up and hidden away. He’d keep his job, she’d get a date, and they’d go their separate ways.
In one week’s time, all of this would be behind them, and they could both move on.