Playboy Prince

I've never had that before.

I've never wanted it before.

But I want to wake up next to her tomorrow. I want to fall asleep next to her tonight.

Will I feel the same way after this ruse? In six months? A year?

I don't know. It's hard to imagine feeling otherwise.

"I've been too busy trying to convince myself not to touch you," I say.

"Me too," she admits.

"I've never done this before. I have no fucking idea how it goes."

"But you want it to go somewhere?"

"Yeah." I know it's true the second I say it.

"What if it's too complicated with work?"

"Then it's too complicated with work. I can bow out."

"End this…"

"Find someone else to advise you."

"Oh." She swallows hard. "You'd do that?"

"If that's what you want. I want you in my life, Bri. As much as I can have."

"That almost sounds like a commitment."

"A letter of intent, maybe?"

"Should we draft something official?" She laughs.

It's a joke, but I don't fucking care. I'm ready. "Let's do it." I stand. Grab a paper towel. Find a sharpie in the drawer.

"Really?"

"Fuck yeah."

She laughs. "Okay. Well, it's your letter of intent. Go."

Normally, these are advanced versions of cover letters or pre-contract promises. They have a lot of fluff about work experience and qualifications.

Too much to fit on a paper towel.

I keep it simple.

Dear Briar West,

I, Liam Pierce, am interested in the role of your paramour. I promise orgasms on demand, stupid jokes, and all the avocado you can eat.

Yours,

Liam Pierce

We roll into the meeting five minutes late, holding takeout coffee, smiling like idiots.

Simon eyes us suspiciously—of course—but he sticks to the meeting script. Even says congrats on his way out.

It's bullshit, but I can't bring myself to care.

Life is blue skies and sunshine and the sound of Briar's groan.

Work passes in a blink. The night is even faster. A perfect blend of talk and takeout and Briar coming again and again.

Life is good.

Easy.

Until Simon knocks on my door Thursday and asks if I'm ready for the bachelor party.

Only it's not just Simon.

Preston is next to him, and he's wearing his exhaustion like a cheap suit.

Simon knows something is wrong.

He knows I'm keeping a secret of my own.

But he doesn't know what. Not yet.

I have to keep it that way.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Briar

Ah, sweet relief. The server drops off our tray of drinks.

Brandy for Preston—I swear, he's a character out of a movie.

A very expensive Japanese whiskey for Simon—ditto. The same for Harrison.

Then Liam's bright green appletini and my pink grapefruit martini.

We stand out. Not that I mind. I rock purple hair and combat boots on purpose. Usually, I enjoy it. Okay, I still enjoy it.

But the weird silence between Simon and Liam—the one that's been growing tenser every minute, for all ten minutes of our walk, then another ten of our wait—

It has me on edge.

They're trying to keep it from Preston, but they're not fooling anyone. Liam and Simon have many modes of engaging. Irritated stares. Loud arguments. Jokes at the other's expense.

Silence?

Not so much.

"Thank you so much." I nod to the server and pounce on my drink. Grapefruit and gin and St Germain and a release from the voice in my head, wondering what the fuck is going on.

Who cares? I have a martini.

I have a… whatever I should call Liam. Boss, boyfriend, fake fiancé. Potential paramour, I guess.

Does he really mean it?

I, Liam Pierce, am interested in the role of your paramour. I promise orgasms on demand, stupid jokes, and all the avocado you can eat.

Liam as my boyfriend. That I can handle.

But fiancé? Husband?

I care about him. I want him in my life.

But saying I do?

The thought still makes me sick.

But, hey, we're at a pre-bachelor party dinner (since when is that a thing?). This is the time to say, "are you really sure you can be with one person forever?"

"Are you going to the party?" I ask Preston.

"I don't think anyone wants their father watching their night of debauchery." Preston holds up his drink to toast. "To your wedding, Harrison."

"And your last night living it up as a free man," Liam says.

Simon shoots him a cutting look. "Aren't you engaged?"

"To Briar." Liam winks at me. "That's a prison I want to inhabit."

"Was that a compliment?" I ask.

"Was it not?" Liam asks.

Preston chuckles silly boy. "Stop while you're behind, son."

"The point is, I want to be tied to you for the rest of time," Liam says.

"I think Simon is pointing out the discrepancy between the claim you adore me and the claim this is Harrison's last night of freedom." I take another sip. Let the sweet, tart liquid warm my tongue.

"It's you," Liam says. "How is this not clear?"

"He's an idiot. I'm used to it," Harrison says.

Good enough for me. "Are you excited to revel in your freedom, Harrison?" I hold up my drink. "To debauchery."

"The end of debauchery." He raises his drink. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time. Lee is going to be my wife." He beams. "If I have to watch Liam throw money at strippers for one night, I can do that."