Chapter 4
It had taken all of three seconds for Marisa’s soul to settle back into her body.
It was the only plausible explanation for her lack of involvement in a discussion that, one, very much concerned her love life, and two, determined the fate of her business.
She of Many Words, as Eden liked to call her.
And she’d had none to fling! Still didn’t, truth be told, given the shock of it all.
But oh, they’d come, and as soon as they did, Marisa would be laying down some goddamn ground rules, not the least of which would be—
“Why are you here, Alec? Really?” Phoebe asked, her tone taking on the bored yet agitated note of a woman not used to repeating herself.
The man Marisa had yet to look too closely at simply folded his arms across his wide chest and lifted a shoulder. “I heard they had good raspberry and brie bites.”
“Not here. In Jersey,” Phoebe seethed, but even that was too strong a sentiment for how her words maneuvered around the coiled tension.
“Visiting Cal.”
Phoebe twisted her lips and arched one slim brow.
“During the season? You’ve never visited him before between tournaments.
Unless there’s another reason you’re not on the circuit.
” She narrowed her eyes at him and raked that razor glare over his finely tailored suit, as if on the hunt for answers Alec wasn’t willing to give.
He was having none of it.
“Oh, get over yourself, Phoebe,” he said, waving his hand to break her stare before pegging her with a warning glare of his own. “You wanted no part in my life, so why start now?”
Over by the bar, Eden was waving at Marisa, brandishing her cocktail shaker like an aircraft marshal’s wand and jutting her chin toward the kitchen door where Angela was scanning the crowd. For Marisa.
Shit.
“You know, I feel terrible about what happened to your dress earlier,” Marisa said, planting her fists on her hips and shaking her head in mock dismay, pretending to scrutinize the garment.
“Clearly, the club soda was a little light on the bubbles. I’ll tell you what.
” She clapped, hoping to move this show right along.
“Why don’t I go back to the kitchen and get you a proper drink, this time fully carbonated.
And hey,” she said, putting her hand to the side of her mouth as though she wasn’t drowning under boatloads of embarrassment, “maybe I can even bring you that glass of wine you asked about earlier.”
It seemed like a fair way to sidestep the consequences, until the meager light shifted and Marisa discovered why Alec had to brace himself behind his thick forearms before squaring off with his ex.
Phoebe Boyle, a.k.a. The Plant Nanny, was the most chillingly beautiful creature Marisa had ever had the misfortune to mire.
She hadn’t had the opportunity to pay much attention earlier, what with Monica Freeland on the brain, but it was all there in excruciating clarity, as was the unfortunate truth of Marisa’s circumstances and who she’d inadvertently started a war with.
Marisa, my dear. You’ve messed up. Big time.
Long and vibrant copper curls, studded through with sparkling hair clips, cascaded over bare, slim shoulders that caught the eye of every man and several women.
She had the kind of hair that Marisa’s muddy curls, which were often too wiry to coil and too frizzy to lie flat, couldn’t achieve in their wildest dreams. And that severe side part that always showed off too much of Marisa’s patchy temples?
It was pure side-swept brilliance on Phoebe.
Add in the glittery shimmer dust around the woman’s captivating green eyes, which she’d also applied to her ample cleavage and, yeah, well . . . Marisa got the picture, all right?
She’d just pissed off perfection.
Yay. Go team.
Phoebe gestured at Marisa while ignoring her offering. “I’m going to need you to explain this, Alec. I know you’re not dating her.”
Marisa had been steeped in so much deception that evening that the truth should have been a delightful breath of fresh air.
She’d never been good at lying and hadn’t been since she’d stolen that twenty-five-cent pack of Juicy Fruit gum when she was seven and never stopped to think that maybe chewing the gum in front of her parents, when they hadn’t purchased any for her, wasn’t the brightest idea.
Her mother drove her all the way back to the grocery store to return it, all the while letting her know that her thievery was costing an additional twenty-five cents in gas.
But the truth of her present circumstances hadn’t made her feel lighter at all. Instead, everything made her exceedingly uncomfortable. The too-tight, slip-resistant shoes, the hair tie choking her curls, Angela and her classic you’re-fired scowl scanning the room for her.
Explaining her deception to two glamorous people while her polyester cuffs chafed her wrists, and what the hell was that yellow stain on her boob? Really?
Marisa didn’t need the play-by-play of just how unlikely her lie was, and the fact that her brand-new partner in crime was taking his sweet time answering Phoebe?
No way could she bear to have this woman know the truth. The few remaining scraps of her dignity wouldn’t allow it.
She needed to get out of there. Fast.
Alec pinched the bridge of his nose. “Phoebe, you’re not—”
“Enjoying enough of the party. Go enjoy. Chat soon. Bye!” Marisa yanked Alec away from the conversation, having exactly zero time for any of his thoughts. And hadn’t he been the one who’d gotten her into this mess?
She needed to have words with the man. Big hairy words. Words that were as thick as his shoulders and had more punch to them than every single one of his rolling Rs.
But first, seclusion.
Running out of options and time, Marisa snaked them through the back of the ballroom and out one of the side entrances that emptied into a few hallways. She picked the first one she saw, dragged him well past the bathrooms, and didn’t stop moving until she’d forced them both into a stairwell.
Which he’d let her do, obviously, as there were no real-world scenarios where someone of his size would involuntarily let someone of her size pull him along.
And that just pissed her off even more.
Marisa’s clipped “Explain” landed in time with the door slamming, and she had to hold her hands behind her back to avoid fist-bumping the Universe in thanks for the emphasis.
At least someone’s on my side.
Alec threw his hands up. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You should know that.”
“Then how did it happen?”
“Look, can we start over?”
“Why did you say yes? How did you even know what you were saying yes to? You’ve never met me before, and I sure as hell would have remembered meeting you.” Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that, but hadn’t she, though? Oh, she was making such a hash of this and likely losing her job in the process.
“I’m Alec, by the way. Alec Elms. Figured I’d introduce myself properly at this point.”
The hand he held out to her was one of the gentler shocks to her system and made her realize she was standing in a stairwell with a stranger.
A stranger who was attempting to broker peace through what seemed to be a genuine smile and introduction, despite the insanity they’d just fled from.
Aw, hell.
“Marisa Silver.” She took his hand and gave the single conciliatory shake she gave to all business acquaintances, but when he returned the gesture with a slight warm squeeze before taking his hand back, she couldn’t help but breathe out some of her anxiety.
“It’s nice to meet you, Marisa.”
“Likewise, I guess,” she mumbled.
Then, with his arms clasped behind his back, he hinged forward at the waist. “Will you let me explain now?”
Oh, jeez, how could she not? The rumbling burr he spoke with rebounded gently off the stairwell’s concrete walls, calming her overexcited nerves with an oddly comforting echo.
She nodded. “You have five minutes.”
“Five minutes?” He arched a single brow in query, but the corner of his lips joined in the conspiracy, lifting as well. The bastard was grinning. Adorably.
“Fine. I’ll accept seven.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” He righted himself and unclasped his hands, as if he would need their aid to answer her. “All right. I joined your conversation because I came to find you.”
“Why?”
“To apologize.”
“What could you possibly have to apologize to me for?”
He itched at the back of his neck, taming his more rugged features with a splash of boyish bravado.
“I feared I may have distracted you a wee bit. When I happened to notice you earlier, I mean. Across the room. Right before you . . .” The swirling gesture with his hands filled in the gaps as to what he was so kind enough not to say out loud: Marisa stalling out and backing into Phoebe, staining her dress and causing a scene she hadn’t needed.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. I felt terrible, and then seeing that it was my ex-girlfriend you had the unpleasantness to run into, well . . . given the circumstances, I knew she wasn’t about to treat you kindly.”
Marisa snorted and waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“But you also deserve better.” The syllabic R on the last word lingered between them, punctuating his stance on the matter.
Then he gestured toward the door. “I heard what you were talking about before I joined you, and then I saw Phoebe waiting to pounce on every stuttered word you managed to get out. I could tell you were trying to impress Monica, but if there’s one thing that can be said for Phoebe, it’s that she can smell blood in the water a mile away. ”
“Why would you ever date someone like that?”
Alec stiffened and frowned, finding something on the floor terribly interesting.
“We’ve all made mistakes. But the point is that I’m here hoping to correct the one I made earlier this evening.
When I knew Phoebe was about to go in for the kill, that she’d trained her sights on you after you ruined her dress, and it was all because of me, I couldn’t let that happen.
So, when Monica made the assumption about who I was, I didn’t exactly correct her. ”
“You lied to her.”
“Isn’t that what you did first?”
“Hey, buddy, if you’re going to act all smug, then just go start a YouTube channel like everyone else who needs the validation. My career’s on the line here.”
“Exactly. So is mine,” he said with leashed frustration, the only evidence of cracks in his cool-as-a-cucumber facade up until then.
“What do you mean?”
Alec paced in a small loop on the fractured concrete landing for a minute before leaning against the wall across from her.
“I mean that I’m not exactly on holiday, despite my presence at tonight’s party.
I got injured in my last rugby tournament.
It was the middle of November. I took a bad hit during a match, so I’m off the roster for a while.
With my contract up in May once the regular season wraps, and given my age, my agent has concerns about whether I should continue to play and whether my team, or any other team, will even want me to.
I’m in New Jersey staying at my brother Cal’s place to think through some things. ”
“What happened to you? In the game?”
He shook his head. “It’s not important.”
Marisa wanted to keep prying, but a shadow passed by the small windowpane in the stairwell door, reminding her that time was not her friend at the moment. She was about to say as much when Alec spoke again.
“What is important, though, is Monica’s friend Arthur recognizing and regarding me enough to involve me in the Christmas Ball.
It’s something that would definitely get my agent’s attention, show him that, despite me turning thirty-five in February, I’ve still got a lot left to give to the game and can draw a fair crowd, which means money for him.
And if I can help you in the process by carting you around on my arm for a wee bit as a date so you can still achieve Monica’s favor for your business, I can’t see the harm in it, really.
A bit of awkwardness, maybe, but no harm.
The key to us both getting what we want is for Monica to believe we’re a couple.
” Then he lifted his head from the wall and smiled.
“Pretty sure that was only six minutes, by the way.”
Marisa didn’t bother pulling her phone out to check. All she could do was laugh at the man before her and the deal they were about to strike.
“Well, Mr. Elms,” she said, straightening her spine and giving him her hand again while praying the yellow stain on her boob didn’t ruin her air of authority.
And to the man’s charmingly sweet credit, he kept his eyes on hers and not her blemished boob as they shook hands before he opened the door and gestured for her to go before him.
“For the next several weeks, it looks like we’ll be dating. ”