5. Oz
Oz
Whiskey Business is empty at the moment, those weird hours between lunch and dinner when we get random rushes or I twiddle my thumbs with nothing to do. It’s always one or the other. I prefer the former because at least I make money that way.
“We need to talk.”
I spin away from the point of sale and glance across the bar toward the sound of the voice.
The green troll whose name I still don’t know sits on a stool, brows knit together, making him look very concerned. Or angry. And, damn it, there’s that pine and snow scent again too.
He leans forward onto the bar, ears twitching as he stares expectantly.
Ginger pops up from her spot below the counter, propping both front paws on the bar top as she stares at him.
I lift both hands. “Yeah I am so sorry about this morning, but I appreciate you playing along.” I flash him a sexy grin. “Table’s all yours, like I said.”
He shakes his head. “It ain’t that easy now, unfortunately. I need your help.”
Cocking my head to the side, I try to figure out what part of this is a joke.
A worried-looking wrinkle forms between his brows as he runs a hand through that shock of blond hair.
“Listen, I ain’t good at small talk and catchin’ flies with honey, which is what I need to do here, but I need your help. Shit.” He lets out a frustrated-sounding breath. “And now I’m repeatin’ myself. Where the hell’s Willa when I need her?”
I toss my bar rag over my shoulder. “I’m really lost. You wanna clue me in?”
He refocuses on me. “That male you were hiding from at my table, Saint Ashbourne…I met him for dinner this evening.”
The heat flushing over my face turns to ice. I left Saint, but the idea of him dating still pains me, and I purse my lips. “What you two do has nothing—”
The male growls. “He’s representing the estate of a family I’m buying a ranch from. It’s located here in Pine Gulch,” he says in an irritated tone.
“Okay…I don’t see what that has to do with me, though.”
The male lets out another low growl that pulls goosebumps to the surface of my skin.
“Apparently one of the requirements of my sellers is that I be mated, and you introduced me to Saint Ashbourne as your boyfriend.”
My mouth drops open, and, at my silence, he continues, “I need you to keep up the lie until I get this sale done.”
I scoff. “What? Are you serious?”
Ginger lets out a soft growl that trails off into an unhappy-sounding whine.
The male rises as he nods, leaning over the bar and ignoring her warning.
“You started this, and I don’t have other options now.
I don’t give a shit about the coffee shop table, but this sale is important, and apparently, you’re the key to it going through.
” He lifts his chin. “Pack a bag, please; you’re relocating to my place for a while.
Or I’ll come to yours, whichever you prefer. ”
My mouth drops open a second time as I stare at him in shock, trying to process his plan. After a moment, I slump against the point of sale as I shake my head.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I’ve got a life, and while I appreciate what you did—”
“Two weeks,” he says with a growl. “Give me two weeks, and I’ll owe you one, plus I’ll never take your table again.”
I scoff. “The table doesn’t matter that much.”
Ginger lets out another soft whine, leaning forward and licking the male’s big hand.
“Then I’ll owe you,” he presses.
Lifting my chin, I stare around the empty restaurant. I do feel a little guilty that my lie led to him being in that position, but also I don’t think that means I necessarily owe him this.
“And I’ll pay you,” he continues.
My mouth drops open, and my brows furrow. “I’m not for sale, mister whatever-your-name-is. I don’t do that kind of work, not that I have anything against it, but you can’t just hire me to service you like—”
“I don’t need that kind of help,” he says quickly. “I just need you to fake it in public enough so Saint buys the lie. What’ll it cost me?”
“What’s it gonna entail?” I wrap my tail around my thigh to avoid slapping it anxiously from side to side. “And I’ll give you a quote, I guess.”
Am I doing this? This is…weird. But I could get down if it involves cash, I suppose, as long as there’s nothing physical expected.
He frowns. “Live together. You’ll have to come to a couple meetings. We’ll have to appear together in public, and we’ll have to fake it in front of him. I’m not expecting anything physical, but we might have to hold hands from time to time.”
Oh. Oh. That part is slightly more appealing. Flaunt a hot trollish male in front of Saint Ashbourne, who called me trash when we broke up? Who said I’d never belong to anyone worthwhile. That sounds like payback, and I’m nothing if not petty, once pushed past my breaking point.
And Saint Ashbourne brought out every ounce of petty in my soul.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” I say with a smile, batting my eyes. It’s an exorbitant number, but—
“Done,” he says, rising from the stool with a frown. “You take a check?”
I scoff and stare. Is this really happening? “Check’s fine,” I manage as he grabs his bag. “But we need some ground rules. And I like my privacy, so I’ll come to your place. I don’t want anyone at mine.”
He eyes me from beneath pale lashes, almost like he’s about to reconsider.
“Great.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws a slip of paper and puts it on the countertop between us.
“Here’s my address. Bring whatever you need for a couple weeks.
” He withdraws a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbles on a check.
“What’s your legal name for me to make this out to?”
I blink rapidly as a two and four zeros appear in the numerals box. Is this really happening?!
“Oz—Ozifer Luzzi,” I stutter.
He finishes making the check out to me and then slides it across the bar with a quick move. “There.” For a moment, time stands still as I stare into those deep green, wary eyes.
Is this happening?
The moment breaks and before I can say anything else, he spins on a heel and heads toward the door.
He slaps a baseball hat on, muscles flexing under a tee that barely hides anything.
Powerful musculature moves beneath the fabric as he shrugs a coat on.
When he opens the door, Ginger whines and crouches on the bar top with a tail waggle.
Grabbing the check, I stare at his chicken scratch handwriting and the egregious amount he wrote it for. Shock has my fingers trembling at this wild turn of events.
“I’ll include the dog for free,” I shout toward the front of the bar.
He freezes, glancing halfway over his shoulder at me. Then he sails out the door without looking back.
What in the hells am I getting myself into?
* * *
That evening, I lift my hand to knock on the door to his cottage on the outskirts of town.
I assume Bluebell’s family doesn’t own this cottage, or she’d have recognized him in the coffee shop that first day.
The Tucker family owns a shitload of rental properties, which means she usually knows the Gulch newcomers.
Just as my fingers brush the smooth, pale blue wood, the door swings open. The troll male stands inside wearing a suspicious expression. Green eyes skate down my figure and land on the three large suitcases at my feet. His frown deepens.
“That’s…I only need you for a couple weeks, and you can go home sometimes. What all did you bring?”
I push the first luggage over the threshold toward him with a cheeky grin.
“That one’s toiletries and my skincare. Obviously, I can’t skimp out on that because it’s gotta be done morning and night.
I’m opening a spa downtown once this check clears.
” I wave at the second and third pieces of luggage. “Those are clothes. Oh, and sex toys.”
Lies, but I might as well tease him a little bit while I take his money. He needs to lighten up anyhow.
He grimaces but wheels the first piece all the way inside. “Come on in.”
I swan through the doorway, careful to keep my wings tucked tight so I don’t hit him. “Thank you…errr, I don’t know your name, hubby.”
His low growl is probably meant as a warning, but if I’m going to be stuck in a literal situationship with this male for several weeks, we’d better get started with the info dump.
“Wilder,” he says with an unhappy look that tells me he’s likely regretting all of his life choices right now.
“Wilder what?” I bat my lashes. “I should probably know your whole name if you’re my boyfriend.”
“Wilder Orpheus Lane of the haven of Laporte, in southern Louisiana.”
Orpheus?
He gestures to the room behind him. “Let’s set some ground rules and maybe go over some basic information. It’ll be awkward if we run across Saint, and you don’t know anything about my family or me.”
“Sounds good, boo boo,” I say with a big smile. Oh yeah, I’m gonna have fun with this.
Wilder’s green eyes flash with what can only be irritation.
“No nicknames,” he says with an angry-sounding grunt. “That’s rule number one. Call me Wild or Wilder.”
“Sounds like a good time,” I say with a little laugh.
He snarls again. “There’s only one bedroom, but I’ll give up the bed and take the sofa. And we can’t tell anyone what we’re doing. Saint Ashbourne can’t find out what we’re up to, or I’ll lose the ranch and… Hey, are you listening?”
“Yeah,” I murmur as I stare around the room. The dining table’s covered with documents and photos of bulls and what, at quick glance, looks like a photo of a big log ranch house.
“I need you to take this seriously,” the male says. “Please.”
I spin and lean against the table, crossing my legs at the ankle. “I can be serious.”
Wilder snorts. “Says the male who flipped about his table at a coffee shop.”
Whipping my tail out, I slap him on the back of the head with it. Wilder moves faster than expected, though, grabbing my tail in his fist and wrapping it up tight. Yanking me away from the table, he hauls me until I hit his chest, pressing his body to mine.
“Don’t manhandle me unless you wanna get manhandled right back, gargoyle.”
I swoop both arms around his neck, brushing my nose against his. “Is Saint looking through the window or something?” Nuzzling him, I press closer, but he just shoves away from me and puts the kitchen table between us.
A knock on the door surprises me, and I spin to face it. It swings open without Wilder doing anything, and a beautiful troll female steps through with a black bag over her shoulder. She wears a bright purple baseball hat, grinning at me from beneath the brim.
“Are you Oz, our sweetie little Oz, beloved of Wilder’s entire family?”
Confused, I reach a hand out to shake hers. She takes it, wrapping green-nailed fingers around mine. The she shakes fucking hard.
“I’m Willa,” she says with a bright smile, tiny tusks poking up from her lower jaw. “Wilder’s favorite sister.”
“Only sister,” he grumbles from somewhere to my right, but I’m busy being lost in her gorgeous green eyes.
I like her immediately—unlike him. She looks sassy with those bright eyes and dark brows.
Sassy is my favorite. It reminds me of Lemon and Bluebell, who have a whole townful of sass between them.
Willa drops my hand and tosses her bag to Wilder, who catches it with another grunt, then disappears toward the bedroom.
I lift my chin, shooting her a little smirk. “I thought I was getting the bed.”
She chuckles. “You can sleep on the opposite side from me or on the sofa. Wilder’ll do the floor or sofa depending on what you pick. Or if you two need privacy, I’m happy to head to town and check out the Welcome Inn. I’ve heard it’s absolutely darling.”
Wilder returns and stops in front of the stove, swirling something that smells dangerously like booze, cloves, and cinnamon. Neither of us address her comment about us having privacy.
Willa slips into the nearest chair with a happy clap. “Wild, is that your spiked cider? I’m dying for some, and nobody does it like you.”
“Mhm.” That’s all he says, doesn’t turn around or anything.
I slide into the chair next to Willa and lean over, although I don’t bother to whisper. “Does he speak in anything other than grunts?”
“Only to me,” she says with a playful wink.
We stare at him, and then she explains, “He was a quiet kid. I did the talking for the both of us, although actually, our mama gets a few more words outta him.”
I waggle my brows. “Okay, a mama’s boy…I like that.”
She chuckles. “Well, we can’t be daddy’s anythings since our asshole sperm donor left us when I was, like, two.”
I fall silent, because I’m not sure how to respond to that. She says it so offhandedly, and Wilder still hasn’t acknowledged any of her commentary.
“You’re gonna like my besties.” I lean back, changing the subject. “Bluebell grew up here, but Lemon just moved from Rainbow. She’s a city girl—very bright, very vivacious.”
“I like bright and vivacious. Kinda goes with the territory, being from Laporte. New Orleans is its own thing entirely,” Willa says.
“The sheer history alone is so beautiful. Light and dark and steeped in so many fabulous cultures.” She smiles up at Wilder as he joins us, setting three cups of cider on the tabletop.
He pushes one over to me, and she grabs a second one.
He takes a seat and brings the third to his dark green lips, sipping as he looks intently at his sister.
Willa looks between us, brows lifting high.
“Okay, so you two don’t talk much, I gather.
Fine, I’ll do the talking then. I came into town to help sell the fake relationship between you two.
It’ll look better if I know all about your partnership and I’m here visiting you.
That being said, we need to get on the same page. ”
I nod sagely. “Ground rules, sure. I just learned Wilder’s name, like, three minutes ago.”
“That’s what I mean,” Willa says, pointing to me.
“We’ve gotta fix that.” She reaches into a bag over her chest and withdraws a single sheet of paper, then slaps it on the table between the three of us.
“This is a list of everything we should go over and know. That way we don’t get caught in a lie. Deal?”
She looks from me to Wilder and back again.
“Deal me in, sweetie,” I say dramatically, grabbing the list so I can look through it.
But inside, I’m second-guessing this whole thing. Nobody mentioned studying. I don’t do studying.
Except…maybe I will for twenty thousand dollars.