Faking It with the Frenemy

“Have the memo ready for me in the next ten minutes,” I say, because I don’t want her to forget or print it wrong or whatever. Then I step into my office and shut the frosted glass door.

After I sold my patents, part of the deal required that I work at Sweet Darlings Inc. for at least three years. The salary and bonuses I make are separate compensation from the billion bucks they paid me.

At least I enjoy the work, and it keeps me busy, so that’s a huge plus. I text David.

–Me: Sorry my assistant bugged you.

–David: No prob. Melanie’s not the most tech savvy. How’d your lunch go? Dane hook you up?

I feel my whole face purse like I just took a big bite out of a rotting apple.

–Me: No. I need to see that girl you mentioned earlier. Bethany, right?

–David: Yup. Tomorrow night good? She’s gonna be free.

Might as well get it over with. There’s no way Kim’s going to Geneva’s wedding. They get along about as well as two silverback gorillas sharing a four-by-four cage.

I check with Lori, the teenage babysitter I found via Sweet Darlings’ HR. Everyone I spoke to recommended her. Gotta make sure Vi’s properly supervised and fed.

–Lori: Sure, I can watch Vi tomorrow.

I text her my address, then add, Thanks.

–Lori: My pleasure.

I make a mental note to pay her extra for being so flexible. Besides, it’s going for a good cause—her prom and college fund.

I let David know that it’s a go with Bethany, put the phone on the desk and lean back with a sigh. If Kim were half as accommodating as most normal women out there…

A message drifts up from my nether regions. She’s really hot.

Yeah, but that’s about all there is to her. And I need more than a hot body. There has to be a personality, too. A kind heart. I’m not a single guy who can screw around and not worry about consequences. I can handle whatever fallout occurs, but Vi’s been hurt before—Thanks, Geneva—and I don’t want her suffering again because I’ve made a poor decision about the opposite sex.

Besides, so what if Kim’s hot? I’m never going to see her again. She can be relegated nicely back into my past, where she belongs.

Chapter Five

Kim

I grab an extra-spicy taco on the way to the office because it’s that kind of day. Argh. As I gobble up the tongue-incinerating Mexican food, I stew over the fact that I got denied crème brûlée. And not just any crème brûlée, but crème brûlée that’s good enough to cure menopause and erectile dysfunction. And it’s all Wyatt’s fault.

Annoyance still brimming, I suck down an icy lemonade and drive to the office to do my job. Even if my boss thinks I’m something he can just wager, I think what I do is worth more respect than that.

Dane probably le

d Salazar astray. Everyone knows he’s the Lucifer of the family. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with my boss betting me. Like the way Wyatt fucked me to win a damned bet. And the salt on the wound? Dane deciding to hand me over to Wyatt. What am I, anyway? An indentured servant?

I shove every ostentatiously expensive location I can find into my boss’s surprise getaway, lengthening it to a month and covering Europe and Asia and hitting all the major tourist attractions. That should do it. If not, he can just cry into his five-figure scotch, because if he complains about his vacation again, I might just strangle him.

Sometime later, Salazar walks up, holding a beautifully wrapped white box in his hand. He stops in front of my desk and smiles.

“I thought you were working from home today,” I say stiffly.

“I thought maybe I should be here.” He gives me another brilliant smile, the one he always flashes when he knows he’s done something he shouldn’t have, but feels pretty confident he’ll be forgiven.

I shoot Salazar a thin smile in return. “That works out, because I was just about to text you about your good friend Churchill Phillips III’s wedding.”

Salazar considers for a second. Churchill is a dick who thinks being rich entitles him to grab a few unsuspecting asses. He almost tried it once with me, except he aborted the attempt when he noticed my boss was watching. However, Churchill’s family was close to Salazar’s late mother, and both families have some mutual business interests, so the ass groper’s assistant sent an email about his fourth—or fifth?—wedding.