Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Amy
My jaw almost hits the floor as I watch the interaction between Ivan and this vision of a woman in front of me. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.
Her auburn hair is poker straight, hanging perfectly down her back as if cut using a ruler. Black eyeliner, tattooed on with pinpoint precision, highlights her huge cat eyes. Every item of clothing gracing her body screams money and class.
She’s openly flirting with Ivan, and every so often her manicured hand drifts to his arm. Her laugh, a little too bright, draws eyes from all around. A fiery sensation twists and turns in my gut. It’s sharp and unwanted. I don’t like it.
And clearly, neither does he, considering he just told her we were dating and slid his arm around my waist.
“What’s going on?” I ask as she bids us farewell and totters away.
“Shhh…the woman has ears like a bat. Keep your voice down until we can’t see her.” He glances at me and smirks. She turns to give us a small wave, and he leans in and pecks me on the lips. Her face contorts instantly, the smile vanishing mid-wave.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss when she turns away.
“Kissing you. What does it look like?” he replies. “And I don’t know about you, but it felt pretty good.”
“Dream on,” I mutter. His eyebrows draw together, his playful expression tightening to a frown.
“Listen, Amy,” he says, “I know we’ve not always got on.”
“I think that may be the understatement of the century.”
“Okay, we’ve openly hated each other. But if I don’t turn up at that ball on Saturday night with you on my arm, that woman will smell a rat. She’ll hunt me down and demand an explanation. That is a situation I want to avoid.”
“Why?” I say, snarky. “Couldn’t you just fuck her into submission? She was practically drooling over you.”
“Did that bother you?” he asks, the side of his mouth lifting into that infuriating, confident half-smile.
“No,” I snap a little too quickly.
He grins wider. “Then help me out.”
“Not a chance. Find someone else to play pretend girlfriend. I’m sure you have a queue.”
“I’m asking you,” he insists. His voice lowers, the first hint of frustration bleeding through. It’s satisfying. “You’re the one she’ll believe.”
“That’s not my problem.” I fold my arms. “You made this mess; it’s up to you to dig yourself out.”
“Please, Amy. One night only. Endure a few hours of champagne, pretend to be my date. Then, after, you can dump me spectacularly. If that would make you happy?”
I arch an eyebrow. “I would enjoy humiliating you.”
“I have no doubt you’d be good at it too.” His lips twitch.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of notes. “Go get yourself something to wear. It’s black tie.”
My skin prickles. The gesture feels like charity, not an agreement. I’d rather be dead in a box than let him buy me a dress. If I go to this ball, it will be under my own steam.
“I don’t need your money,” I say.
“I didn’t say you did. I’m asking you to do me a favor. At least let me…” He holds the notes toward me, and I bat his hand away.
“No, I’ll wear my own damn dress.”
He hesitates, jaw tight, then nods once. “Fine. Please come.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him, staring a little too long.
“Please.” He tries again, but he knows he has me beat.
I sigh. “Alright. Just once. For show.”
Something flickers in his eyes, relief maybe. But it’s gone before I can be sure. “Thank you,” he says.
He takes my free hand, raising it to his lips. The contact is brief, but electric. A flicker of heat that lingers long after it’s gone. “Until Saturday.”
With a suggestive smile, he turns and walks off into the crowd of shoppers as I watch on. I tell myself the flutter in my belly is nothing but irritation. But deep down, not even I believe that.
***
The navy dress hangs on the back of my door.
The moment Ivan invited me, I knew what I’d wear. It’s over twenty years old now, but still as stunning as the day she wore it. It was only worn once, on what was one of the most monumental days of her life. It’s floor length and classically fitted, with sparkles across the bosom and waistband.
Bex wore this the night Ben and she finally admitted their feelings. I’d been there when she bought it, one of my happiest memories of her. Actually, Ben bought it. He handed over his credit card and let us go wild. She’d twirled in the dressing room like a film star; I’d never seen her more alive.
My hair is curled to perfection after I begged the hairdresser for an appointment. She took pity on me and squeezed me in, then I’d done the same with the local make-up artist. Luckily, it had all come together.
I pull the gown from the hanger, and it pools on the floor at my feet as I step into it. Then, I hoist it up over my shoulders. The zipper on the back is going to be a hindrance. I twist, strain, and curse under my breath. The damn thing won’t budge.
Ivan will have to do it when he gets here.
I’ve only heard from him once since our meeting in the shopping center―a simple text last night, confirming he would collect me at seven this evening. I’d texted back okay. He hadn’t responded.
My phone beeps, alerting me to a message, and it flashes up on the screen.
Outside.
You’ll need to come up. Door’s open.
I text back, then wander over to my window. There’s a sleek black limo sitting at the curb. My heart flutters. I watch as the driver, wearing a cap, opens the rear door. Ivan steps out onto the pavement. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome in his tux.
My focus stays glued to him as he strolls up my pathway. He glances up to my window, and our eyes meet. I lift my hand in silent greeting, and he smiles softly.
He appears at my apartment door within minutes.
My two little roommates scurry across the wooden floor, yapping at the top of their lungs.
Ivan stops mid-step, allowing them to sniff around his shoes.
Once they realize he hasn’t come with treats and isn’t a murderer, they lose interest and return to their beds.
“Sorry,” I mumble, “they like to think they’re guard dogs.” He glances at the two rat-like terriers now sprawled on a huge cushion covered in sheep jumping over fences.
“Don’t think I’d be trusting them with my safety,” he says. “Why did I need to come up?”
I turn around, showing him my exposed back. “Could you pull up my zipper?”
His breathing audibly hitches. I know the top of my lace thong is exposed, my back clear from straps. He’ll know the only underwear I have on is the scrap of material between my legs.
“Sure,” he says, clearing his throat. His voice sounds rougher than usual, strained. It’s like he’s trying to swallow something that won’t go down.
I feel him in my space―his breath on my neck causing my blood to heat violently from his proximity. He pinches the feeble metal between his fingers and tugs. It doesn’t move.
“You’ll need to draw the sides of the dress closer together, then pull,” I advise. Without a word, he tries again, and it slides up seamlessly.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Shall we go?” he asks, his breathing heavier than when he arrived. I turn to face him and nod. For a second, neither of us moves. Then he takes my hand and leads me from the apartment.
Inside the limo is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. In complete contrast to the dark exterior, the interior is sumptuous white leather with chrome. Ivan has a bottle of champagne ready on ice. Within minutes of setting off, he’s popped the cork, poured two glasses, and passed one to me.
“Is there anything I should be aware of?” I ask. “Do we have a cover story?”
He glances over. “Just tell them we met at one of the bodybuilding competitions and we’ve dated a few times. I doubt anyone will ask much.”
“From what I’ve heard, I’m the latest in a long line of women,” I say, my tone aiming for teasing, but lands closer to defensive.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he replies with a scowl.
“You’re a womanizer.” It was meant to sound like a joke, but there’s a bite I can’t hide. The insult stings more than it should.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Womanizer?” he repeats. “That’s what you think of me?”
“From what I’ve heard, you have an array of previous conquests.”
“Do you always believe rumors, Amy?” he asks, his lips thinning to a line in annoyance. “I thought you were an independent woman. Someone who came to their own conclusions.”
“I do,” I protest, “but according to Trey…” I trail off when I see his expression. He’s pissed off, and we’ve not even got to the Country Club yet. Great, tonight is going to be a blast.
“Trey has known me since we were young men. His sex life isn’t exactly vanilla either. I could tell you a few stories about him. Does he know you’re here this evening?”
I blush and twist my hands together, then shake my head.
“Why not?”
“Because he warned me off you. He told me you were bad news.”
“But you’re still here, against his advice.”
“It’s not a date,” I say simply. “I’m here so you don’t have to explain to a woman, whom I assume you’ve slept with, why you won’t sleep with her again. I’m a decoy.”
“And I don’t think I could have recruited a more stunning decoy,” he whispers, raising his hand to my cheek.
Time stops for a moment, tension pressing everywhere. Sex buzzes in the air, my skin tingling beneath his touch.
“I’m a decoy,” I repeat, snapping my gaze from his and taking a sip of my drink. He drops his hand, the coolness of losing his touch unpleasant.
“As you wish,” he says, his tone clipped. “Just get through tonight, and we won’t need to see each other again. Thank you for agreeing to do this,” he adds as an afterthought.
The rest of our journey is made in silence. We both sip our drinks, ignoring each other.
After thirty minutes, the limo slows and turns off the main road between two huge black iron gates.
The driveway is lined with trees, between which are lanterns emitting a soft light.
We progress slowly, and I gaze out of the windows into the darkness.
I can almost make out what looks like miniature flag poles.
“What are they?” I ask, and Ivan looks up from his phone.
“It’s a golf course,” he replies. “Have you never seen a golf course?” He smirks.
“Not in the half-dark,” I mutter, annoyed at him being obtuse. “I’ve never been to a country club before.”
He sighs, holding my gaze with his. “Amy, tonight will be lots of stuck-up people wearing expensive clothes, trying to one-up each other through what they claim they have. Most of the members come from deep pockets and old money. Very few have created their own success stories—most have been born into it.”
“Like you?” I state. He’s unfazed by my comment.
“To an extent. I was lucky that my father started the business and implemented a solid foundation. But the major growth we’ve seen has been under my leadership.”
“You’re a cocky bastard,” I snipe, and he chuckles. “Do you even know what humble means?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”
The light surrounding us brightens suddenly as we pull into an open area covered in white gravel in front of the most incredible building I’ve ever seen.
The limo stops at the foot of a white stone staircase, which leads up to a magnificent mansion.
Our driver exits the car, then comes to open my door.
I step out onto the crisp, clean stone, which crunches noisily under my shoes.
Ivan comes to my side silently and slips my arm through his. “Are you ready to win an Oscar?” he asks. I don’t respond―I can’t, too shocked by the opulence of my surroundings. He tugs on my arm, and we make our way up the stairs toward whatever the night has in store for us.
Upon reaching the top, we’re met with heavy wooden doors pinned back, allowing entry into the most exquisite house I’ve ever seen.
A gentleman stands at the door, dressed in top hat and tails, handing out crystal glasses of champagne.
Inside, every wall is covered in intricate wallpaper that is soft to the touch as I brush past. I glance up and see the ceiling decorated with incredible paintings depicting cherubs and scenes from Greek mythology.
In the huge oval windows, heavy red drapes hang and pool onto the floor.
Men and women stand around in groups chatting animatedly, dressed to the nines. Every conceivable color and style of ballgown is in attendance today. I glance down at my second-hand dress and suddenly feel very out of place.
“Are you all right?” Ivan whispers, dropping his lips to my ear.
“Yes,” I respond, glancing up at him. “It’s just all so…” I wave my hand around, forgetting my champagne, and it splashes over the side of the glass. “Shit,” I hiss, and he chuckles.
“Don’t worry about it. You were saying, it’s all so?” he prompts.
“Opulent,” I stammer. “And completely out of my comfort zone.”
His gaze runs over me. “I think you fit right in,” he says. “You’re every inch the country club woman tonight.”
My heart beats slightly harder as my breathing hitches. He smirks knowingly. “If this is one night only, Ms. Corrigan, I plan to offer you the full Ivan Harley experience.”