Chapter 4
SAWYER
IF THERE WAS ever a moment in my life where I needed to pinch myself to believe what was really happening, it was when Beckett, this gorgeous-beyond-belief guy, looked me dead in the eye and asked me what I needed from him.
I mean, where did he want me to start? Because the list was long and extremely X-rated.
Good God, that voice? Those hypnotic blue eyes that locked on to mine and wouldn’t let go? Sandy-blond hair that made him look like a model? It was no wonder this guy was an escort—he was perfect. Peter was going to lose his mind when he saw him.
If Beckett agreed to go with me, and I was really, really hoping his answer would be yes. Funny how I’d almost not shown up at all. The bit about the train being late was a lie, because in reality I’d been talking myself out of this crazy idea and turned back home five times.
If I’d known Beckett would be the one waiting for me, though, I would’ve been here a half-hour early and two drinks in.
“Sawyer.”
My name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine and made me forget all about my very rational, totally sane plan.
All I could do was stare at him like I’d forgotten how words worked, which was…
new. I wasn’t a man who forgot how words worked.
I hosted a nightly radio show, for fuck’s sake. Words were literally my thing.
And yet…
“Uh, right,” I said, blinking like it might reset my brain. “What I need. From you.” I took another sip of whiskey even though it was the last thing I would’ve usually ordered.
What could I say? I’d panicked.
Beckett waited, not rushing me at all, not filling the silence by rambling the way I did when I was nervous. He was solely focused on me, and that kind of intense attention was a heady thing.
I held on tightly to my glass with both hands, took a breath, and said, “Okay, so I need someone to come with me to the Catskills for a week. I think I said ‘family event’ like it was a one-night thing, but no, it’s an entire week.”
I paused just long enough to wait for his reaction, but if he was surprised by this job’s length, he didn’t show it. His eyes stayed focused on me in a way that made me squirm in my seat, and not in a bad way.
“It’s just…my moms are celebrating their anniversary,” I went on. “Thirty-five years. Which is incredible and inspiring, and also deeply inconvenient timing for me personally.”
That earned me the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“And my ex, Peter, is going to be there. With his new boyfriend, because, again, excellent timing.”
“Mmm.”
That was it. All I got. Just that one sound like he was taking it all in, and I decided to rush through the rest before I lost my nerve.
“Sooo, I need someone with me to play the part of…you know. My boyfriend. Someone who can convince everyone to believe it. Convince Peter to believe it.”
Enough that I believe it, I thought, but I didn’t say that part out loud. The guy was a professional, not someone who would fall in love with his client.
Beckett was still watching me, still entirely too calm about all of this. Or maybe he’d just heard it all before.
“You want him to think you’ve moved on,” he said.
“Yes. Exactly. Thank you. Yes.”
“And you haven’t.”
I opened my mouth to refute that, but then snapped it shut. Way to read me like a book.
“Wow,” I said finally, shaking my head. “You’re very good at this.”
I was fully aware that wasn’t a denial. Not even close.
Beckett didn’t call me on it, though. Just sat there like he’d already filed it away.
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
Totally fine.
And then, because apparently I had no self-preservation instincts left, I said, “So that’s the situation. I need someone who can show up, be charming, pretend to think I’m amazing, meet my family and not be terrified of them and”—I gestured toward him—“look like…that.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you. You’re…you know. All confident and attractive and intimidating in a way that’s like, ‘don’t mess with him’ but also ‘he probably opens doors for everyone.’ It’s a very specific vibe.”
That did it. The corner of his mouth curved, just enough to tell me I hadn’t completely gone off the deep end and embarrassed myself.
His steepled fingers ran along the scruff of his jaw. It was wild how my eyes were like a magnet, glued to every little movement he made.
“And what does this very specific vibe require?” he asked.
“Just the basics. Hand-holding.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Smiling as if you actually like me. Maybe an arm around me if my ex is around. Some light flirting. Nothing too insane, just enough to sell it.”
“Just enough,” he repeated.
“Exactly.”
Beckett leaned back, taking his whiskey with him, studying me, and I had the distinct and alarming realization that I was being thoroughly assessed. Maybe he was wondering if this job was worth it, if he could deal with a week of what my brother Rome called “the hot mess express.”
I needed him to say yes.
“Obviously I’ll compensate you,” I said quickly. “I agree to the rates you posted, that’s no problem, but if money is the issue I can—”
“I’m not worried about that.”
Oh. Okay. That was…hot.
“Right,” I said, and cleared my throat. “Okay, good. That’s…great.”
God, pull it together.
“Um, logistics, just so you know,” I added. “We’d leave Sunday, drive up there, stay the week. There are a bunch of events planned—dinners, activities, probably some sort of theme night, because my moms love a theme. So I’d need you for all of that, but we’d also have downtime too, obviously, and—”
“Stop.”
I blinked. “What?”
He reached out, his hand covering mine where I was still holding on to my drink like my life depended on it. “Breathe,” he said.
Oh. Right.
When he inhaled, slow and steady, I did the same, matching his breaths. In and out, three times, letting him lead me—and for some reason, when I let it all out, it actually helped.
“There you go,” he said. He drew back his hand, and I immediately missed the heat of his touch, but I couldn’t deny I felt better for it.
I nodded, doing my absolute best to pretend my stomach hadn’t completely flipped on itself. “So, um. Those are the basics.”
Beckett nodded once. “Anything else?”
“I don’t think so? Well, I mean, just don’t let me make a complete fool out of myself, I guess.”
“That won’t happen.”
Something in the way he said it made me believe him, which felt…dangerous.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “So…you’re in?”
He held my gaze for a long moment before nodding. “I’m in.”
The weight lifted from my shoulders, and I sat back in my chair, a chuckle slipping out as I shook my head. “Wow. Sorry, I guess I’m just more than a little relieved at how well this is going.”
Beckett’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something there. Something knowing.
“Why do you seem surprised?”
Why? Because I’d just hired this man to be my fake boyfriend, and not only was he going to make Peter absolutely miserable, I had a feeling he was going to help make this next week survivable.
“Well, I just met a stranger, pitched him my unhinged plan to make my ex jealous and keep me from throwing myself off a bridge, and now he’s—you’re—on board with it. You’re not even a little bit concerned?”
“What should I be concerned about?”
“Uh, maybe the fact that I just trauma-dumped on you and asked you to meet my entire family five minutes later?”
Beckett’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’ve got it.”
Shit.
I’ve got it, that same calm certainty that quieted everything in me for half a second before my brain kicked back in and started overthinking it.
“You keep saying that,” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. “I’m starting to wonder if I’m not the most batshit bonkers person you’ve had to deal with.”
His mouth twitched again and his eyes crinkled in amusement. “I didn’t say that.”
I laughed and dragged a hand through my hair. “Fair enough. Guess we’ll revisit this conversation after the week is over, then, and see if you’ve changed your mind.”
The waitress stopped by our table again, glancing at our almost-empty drinks. “Another round for you two?”
I’d already gotten what I came for, and staying longer put me at risk of Beckett changing his mind.
“Just the check is fine,” I said, reaching for my wallet.
“I’ve got it.” Beckett was already handing the waitress his card, and I shook my head.
“Damn. You’re either incredibly good at your job or I just got very, very lucky. Thank you, Beckett.”
Something flickered in his expression then. Subtle, but it was there.
“Maybe both,” he said.
Fuuuck me. I was gonna be thinking about that later. Or immediately. Probably immediately.
I forced myself to look away from his eyes before I could get stuck there, and finished off the rest of my drink.
This was really happening. Thank God for drunk me last night or I’d be in a bad way tonight.
“Well, Sawyer,” he said, as he signed the credit card slip and ripped off the end of it. Then he wrote down his phone number and held it out to me. But when I reached for it, he didn’t let go. “It looks like we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
A week in the Catskills. My ex. Beckett. Yeah, Peter was absolutely going to hate him, and a smile spread across my face at the thought.
“This might actually work,” I said, more to myself than to Beckett.
“Oh, it’ll work.” Beckett’s gaze never left mine, and my stomach did that weird flipping thing again.
And for the first time since everything with Peter had blown up in my face…I actually believed it.