11. Hayden
HAYDEN
I stand before the clothes neatly laid out on my bed, contemplating them.
There isn’t anything to actually contemplate. The selections are precise, the packing a familiar, methodical ritual born of a life lived out of a suitcase. My thoughts are not on wool or cashmere. They are on her.
Today, I join Gabriel and we head for Colorado to Ford’s family estate. An annual pilgrimage I typically endure with detached indifference. But this time, Ford is bringing Maeve. As his fake fiancée.
A muscle in my jaw clenches. The entire ridiculous premise is a raw nerve, and I can’t stop probing it. Get a grip. I take my clothes and place them into the luggage, my movements sharp and economical.
Everything is set for while we’re gone. I have a housekeeper coming by to clean the penthouse right before I get back, although I don’t expect much dust to have gathered.
I don’t have a lot of furniture so there’s not much to clean, and I’m rarely here, always at the office.
When I moved in, I hired a premier interior designer to make my condo look good in case I ever had to host a party—pick out some tasteful modern art as statement pieces, that kind of thing.
The designer had left everything white and chrome, told me that it made the space seem larger than it was.
It’s a sterile, impersonal fortress, which is exactly how I like it.
I’m distracting myself from thoughts of Maeve with thoughts about my apartment. This has to be a new low.
Zipping up my luggage, I make my way down the private elevator to the lobby of my apartment building, where a car is waiting to take me to the airport. Gerry smiles at me as I get in, but doesn’t say anything.
That’s why I keep the man around. He knows when I need silence, which is often. I hate to admit it, but I also enjoy the quiet friendship he struck up with Maeve behind my back. He’d do anything she asked if she gave him some of her homemade lemon bars.
Not that I’ll ever let either of them know that it amuses me. I give Maeve an inch, she takes a mile.
Which is why I have no idea how this whole scheme Ford came up with is going to go.
“Maeve’s place,” I tell Gerry, my thumb hovering over my phone before texting Maeve that we’re on our way. Me being the one to pick her up means that someone’s laughing at me, somewhere. Probably my parents, wherever the hell they are now.
Maeve is efficient and punctual, and she’s never failed to be on time for something we need from her, so I’m surprised when I text her that the car is downstairs and I don’t get a response.
I text her again a few minutes later and get the reply that she’ll be down in a second.
Five more minutes pass. An unfamiliar irritation coils in my gut. I am not a man who is kept waiting.
New Yorkers are not the type of people who are afraid of getting into fisticuffs over parking and traffic, so I get out of the car and tell Gerry to just circle, so that we stop taking up the street.
Maeve’s apartment building doesn’t have a doorman or even require a key or code to get into the lobby, which is barely big enough for me to stand in.
Ford didn’t mention that she was living in a place like this.
I climb the ancient stairs, frowning as the banister wobbles when I put my hand on it.
We pay Maeve enough to live in a better place than this.
The knowledge that she comes home to this decrepit building every night settles like a stone in my stomach.
I get up to her apartment and knock on the door, the sound sharp and impatient in the narrow hall.
“Coming!” Maeve sounds incredibly stressed—more stressed than I’ve ever heard her, actually. Part of why she’s such a good assistant is she doesn’t let last-minute changes or a large workload rattle her.
She opens the door, freezing when she sees me, her beautiful green eyes going wide. Her gorgeous red hair is tied up in a messy bun, and behind her, I can see into her tiny apartment. The damn place is smaller than my bathroom, for fuck’s sake.
That’s not what has me staring, though. It’s the fact that the place looks like a bomb went off in it. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and my brows shoot up at the chaotic sight.
“If this is what you think ‘ready’ means,” I say dryly, “I would hate to think what your ‘not ready’ looks like.”
Maeve huffs. “Just what I needed. Your sarcasm.”
She turns and wades back into the sea of clothing. I take that as an invitation to step into her apartment, closing the door behind me. The space is small, but it smells like her—something clean and sweet, like citrus and vanilla. “What is all this? Maeve, we have to be at the airport.”
“God, I know, I know.” Maeve runs a hand through her hair, making the loose bun untwist. “I was ready, I swear, I had everything laid out last night. But then I couldn’t sleep, so I thought, hey, maybe you should rearrange the packing a little, be productive.
And then I couldn’t stop second-guessing what I had chosen.
And then it just all kind of…” She gestures around us at the mess. “Snowballed from there.”
“I can see that.”
Maeve starts trying to fold the various clothes. She looks heartbroken, like someone’s threatening to run over her puppy. I’ve never seen her like this. In spite of myself, I find myself reluctantly asking, “What has you so nervous?”
Maeve gives a semi-hysterical laugh. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’m about to go to the family estate of a super-rich sophisticated family, where I’ll have to pretend to be some handsome, successful guy’s fiancée, where an entire massive business deal is riding on my convincing performance and, oh yeah, his brother is my ex-fiancé! ”
I can feel the corners of my mouth turning downward into a frown and force myself to keep a neutral expression. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Hayden, you’re handsome and rich and you own a whole company. Look at me.” Maeve gestures at herself.
“Not sure I follow.” Maeve is beautiful. Her luscious curves are mouthwatering, and she always dresses nicely. Professionally, of course, but in skirts and blouses that flatter her figure.
“I’m an assistant. And I know, I know…” Maeve holds up a hand.
“I know there is nothing wrong with being an assistant. But that’s not good enough for people like Liam and Ford’s family.
Ford is old money. They have a lot of expectations.
They want designer clothes, and for me to come from a good family, and to be successful in my own right. ”
I can’t hide my frown this time. “And they… told you all this?”
“I haven’t really met them, honestly. Just really briefly. I’ve never been to the family estate. Liam… um, he always kind of made an excuse. I think he was ashamed of me.” Maeve gestures at the clothes strewn around us. “I never dressed right, I couldn’t lose enough weight, I’m too awkward.”
“Liam said all that.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact that settles like ice in my veins.
Maeve shrugs one elegant shoulder up and down.
Jesus. I’ve never liked Liam, to be honest. I don’t think Ford’s actually a huge fan of his brother, either.
But now I want to wring the little brat’s neck.
I can’t believe someone, anyone, would say that kind of shit to Maeve of all people.
But especially someone you’re dating. You’re supposed to make the person you’re dating feel like they can walk on water. What the fuck.
“I don’t think you should listen to a damn thing Liam says,” I snap. “He’s an arrogant spoiled party boy living off a trust fund, and he wouldn’t recognize an intelligent thought if it bit him in the ass.”
Maeve’s jaw drops open.
“Don’t worry about what anyone thinks of you. You’ll be there as Ford’s fiancée. That means he thinks you’re good enough for him. And that should be good enough for anyone else. Ford’s not an idiot. He’d never choose someone to date, especially not propose to them, for no reason.”
“We’re not really…” Maeve splutters, eyes wide.
“Doesn’t matter. You think Ford would ask just anyone to fake this with him? He’d pick someone he could trust and respect.”
I know for a fact that Ford trusts and respects Maeve. Gabriel and I do as well. We wouldn’t have kept her as our assistant for nearly two years if we didn’t. We have to trust her, with all she does for us and the contracts she sees and the paperwork she handles.
Maeve still looks a bit shocked. I know I’m a hardass, but it hadn’t occurred to me that she might not know that I respected her the way I do.
I sigh and start to sort through the clothes. “You want to know what to wear? Fine. I’ll pick it out. Since you’re allergic to making decisions.”
Maeve folds her arms but for once doesn’t have a witty line in return. “Didn’t think you knew much about women’s fashion,” she mutters quietly.
“I’m used to making decisions that affect an entire company. I can make a few decisions about some clothes. Here. You look great in this one.” I pick up a dress she’s worn to the office a few times and toss it at her. “And this blouse complements your eyes.”
I pick through the clothes, throwing them at Maeve, who catches them and quickly folds and puts them into her suitcase. Maeve is still a bit quiet, like she can’t believe I’m capable of being a decent guy.
When she finishes, she looks at me expectantly. I frown. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“You aren’t going to clean up the other clothes? I don’t think you want to walk back in here when we get back and have a mess.”
Maeve blushes furiously. “You’re right. Ugh. I’d die of embarrassment if Allison had to see all this.”
She starts cleaning up the clothes. “Who’s Allison?”
“My best friend, she’s watering my herb garden while I’m gone.”
I see the grid hanging down on one wall, rows of plants in tiny pots that give the place a homey feel. “Should’ve known you’d have an herb garden.”