Chapter 4
Harlan
A n actual half-minute passes before my words seem to fully sink in, and Quinn Monroe’s brain rearranges itself around the concept that she’s being given a new job to do.
“Oh,” she says, looking stunned. “What?”
I suppose the last thing she expected walking in here with her “apology cake” was another job.
“You will meet my family,” I inform her. “And you’ll pretend that you’re my lover, Darla.”
I hear the words, but I still can’t believe I’m saying them out loud.
If she hadn’t signed an iron-clad NDA when she was hired by Vance Hospitality, I wouldn’t be.
“But… my name isn’t Darla,” she says slowly, struggling to make sense of this. “And I’m not… your lover.” Her voice cracks a little on that last bit.
I try to ignore the way her cheeks flame.
“That is what ‘pretend’ means,” I tell her, deadpan.
“Wow. Can I sit down?”
“Go ahead.”
She seats herself on one of the stiff chairs in the sitting area off to the side of my desk that no one ever uses.
My whole office smells like her now. Like a spring meadow and something faintly edible. Like cupcakes.
I’ve always hated cupcakes. Too sweet.
Her turquoise hair is twisted up in back, her eyes are clear and blue, and her lips are like succulent berries without a drop of makeup. She looks precious and pathetic, like something you instinctively want to protect.
Kind of like a scared baby bunny.
I don’t know what this annoying flutter in my gut is all about. My breakfast must not be sitting well.
Ever since she walked in here wearing a chef jacket and sneakers and somehow looking even sexier than she did wearing next to nothing in Velvet Lounge, blathering apologies and trying to give me a pink cake, I’ve felt… off .
I concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths as I get up and round my desk. I stand in front of her, and she looks up at me.
She seems to be struggling to breathe right, too.
Maybe she really thought I was going to fire her.
Good.
“This is a joke, right?” she says, still struggling to digest the situation. “I saw this in a movie once. Demi Moore and the billionaire… Indecent Proposal , right?”
What a nice time to discover that she has a sense of humor.
I slide my hands into my pockets, a stance of calm control, but my fingers are feeling twitchy. “This is not about sex. I’m not paying your husband for a night in bed with you.”
“Oh, good. You’ve seen it, too. Then you know how ridiculous what you just said to me sounds.”
“I’d caution you to take me seriously.”
She frowns. “Doesn’t the billionaire lose in the end…?”
“I am not trying to win, or buy, your love,” I grit out. “Pay attention. You will attend a family dinner with my siblings and I. All you have to do is pretend that Darla is one of your names. It shouldn’t be a problem. You seem to have several of them.”
“Several of what?”
“Names. Identities.”
She shakes her head, confused. “I… what?”
“Your name is Allison. You told me it’s Quinn.”
Her full name, according to her employee file, is Allison Quinn Monroe.
“Quinn is my middle name,” she says. “Everyone calls me Quinn. I literally only use Allison when I have to.”
“You go by Dominique at the club.”
“Because I was told to.”
“And I’m telling you, your name will be Darla, for one night.”
I can see it’s sinking in, slowly. That I am serious.
“Why, though?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m your employer. But,” I force out, “I broke up with Darla and didn’t tell my family. They’ve never met her. So, you’re her, for one night.”
That should be explanation enough to satisfy her, true or not. It’s all I’m willing to give.
Maybe the undertone of this whole conversation is becoming clear to her. That I’m in control of this situation, and I’m not giving her a choice.
I’m not asking.
“But… how can you trust me to pretend to be someone I’m not in front of your family?”
“Because I told you you’re going to.”
“But if you call it a job,” she pushes back, eying me like I might be some part insane, “usually there’s payment involved.”
“Your payment will be keeping your job at Velvet.”
“Oh.” Her voice is small when she says, “I see.”
My eyes narrow as a prickle of something like sympathy creeps up my spine. I replace it with irritation. “If that isn’t enough for you… I can assure you that I’ll also keep your secret.”
A dark, silent pause stretches between us, before she manages to ask, “What secret?”
“That you’re sleeping with your boss.”
Her eyes widen.
To my surprise, she doesn’t even try to deny it. “Dating him, you mean,” she says, with a note of indignation.
I slip one hand from my pocket and rest it on my desk, sliding my fingernail purposefully across the edge. Back and forth, back and forth, in a restless pattern. Spelling one word over and over in the back of my thoughts.
It shouldn’t bother me that she’s carrying on a relationship with her boss, when her willingness to keep secrets only contributes to the fact that she’s the ideal candidate to pull this off for me.
But it does bother me.
Those surveillance photos of her and her boss at the bakery walking out of his apartment in the early morning, after spending the night together, bother me.
Finally, I feel in control enough to speak. “Do you think that’s appropriate?”
She raises her chin. “So this is blackmail.”
“It’s respecting your privacy. No one needs to know that you’re involved with your boss.”
“Except the man who’s using it to blackmail me. And I’m supposed to trust you?”
“I’ll remind you that I own the bar where you just said you’d like to keep your job, and I just assured you continued employment. All I’m asking for is one evening.”
“And now we’re right back to that Indecent Proposal vibe again,” she says smartly. “But like you said, I’m already in a relationship. So your proposal is highly inappropriate.”
“A secret relationship.” I can’t seem to resist asking, “Do your coworkers know you’re sleeping with him?”
“ Dating him. Secret or not, I’m not a cheater.”
“It’s not a real date. And he doesn’t have to know. In fact, you won’t tell him.”
Her eyes widen again as she takes that in.
Then her gaze drops to my hand, where my fingernail slides across the edge of the desk in a restless pattern. I still my finger.
“If I do this,” she says carefully, “I don’t want it getting back to people we work with.”
“It won’t. Because you’re not going to tell anyone about it, and neither will I.”
“The dinner can’t be in public.”
I frown. “I don’t do public.”
“It’s just one dinner, right? One lie?”
“Just one.”
She’s silent for a moment. Then: “Why me?”
“You need your job. I need this.”
“Why, though? Who is this Darla person? Does she look like me?”
“It doesn’t matter what she looks like. You signed an NDA when you were hired, and this is just another job. All you need to know is your role here.”
“Which is… Darla.”
“Correct.”
“So… your family thinks you’re still with her? But you’re not. And they’ve never met her before?”
“Correct.”
“Then why do they need to meet her now?”
I grind my teeth. I don’t love the inquisition. But I need this girl to play along.
I just need to get this done.
“Because they’ve asked to meet her.”
“But… it’s over?”
“Right.”
“But won’t it bother them that I work for you? I mean, do you think that’s ‘appropriate’?” She serves my word back to me.
I don’t like it. She’s proving feistier than I expected her to be.
Was the data wrong?
My finger continues the restless rhythm across the edge of the desk, dragging my fingernail back and forth.
“It won’t matter,” I growl. “It’s just a quick dinner. Then we’ll ‘break up.’”
“I see.”
That’s the way it has to be. After the dinner, I’ll tell my siblings we’re through.
Neat and tidy.
Why does it not feel neat and tidy?
Maybe because we’re alone in this office, and I underestimated how appealing she would be when we actually had a conversation. She has backbone. She doesn’t like that I’m making her do this thing, making her go on a fake date with another man who isn’t that baker guy.
Maybe she’s in love with him.
I’ve never been so irrationally jealous of a man I’ve never even met. But I don’t know a thing about him, nor do I care.
“Dinner will be tomorrow night,” I inform her, trying to stay on track. “I’ll have a car pick you up here, at Vance Tower. Brant has your number and he’ll let you know when to be ready.”
“But I can’t do it tomorrow night. I have cakes to prep for the weekend. I have a cake design business on the side, and I have a wedding and a baby shower.”
I consider this, my finger pausing briefly then resuming the pattern, back and forth over the edge of the desk.
She waits for my response, her eyes locked onto me.
We’re playing with fire here, aren’t we?
Or am I just imaging the way she looks at me? With those wide-open blue eyes…
“We’ll do it Saturday, then,” I growl.
“I can’t. I work at Velvet that night.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell her. “It has to happen this weekend. All my siblings are in town. You’ll still be paid for the shift.”
“But I’ll miss out on the tips.”
“I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”
“Oh. Well… okay, then. I guess.” She gets to her feet, slowly. She’s still eying me like she can’t tell if I’m just dangerous or completely insane. “I guess I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“Yes.”
She heads for the door, but turns back.
“Uh, what should I wear? I’ve never dined with a billionaire before, much less a family of them.”
My gaze sweeps over her chef jacket, the jeans beneath. “What does it matter?” I head back to my desk. “You’re not actually Darla. In case I wasn’t clear…” When I glance at her, she’s still watching me warily, and I force the words out. “After Saturday night, we’ll never see each other again.”