Mister Fake Fiance

She flushes. “I mean, you know. Sunday.”

“It was…fine,” I manage. “Yours?”

“Quite productive. Thank you.”

“Did you finish the training?” I ask. I should be giving her the chocolate and apologizing, but I’m delaying the inevitable. Besides, I want to know if she did or not. It’s a matter of a boss managing his people correctly—to ensure she gets enough rest. Or so I tell myself.

“Not quite. I still have a few minutes of the final video left.”

So she followed the letter but not the spirit of my instructions. Sneaky. I didn’t realize there was a subversive side to her.

“I also watched the cooking videos you bought for me.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement.

“Oh, good.” Maybe she picked up some baking tips. I had to get those, more for me than for her. “Were they any good?”

“Yes. I made a chocolate lava cake. Speaking of which…” She goes out and comes back in with a small cake box. “I thought you might want to try it.” She opens the lid and places it on my desk, next to my laptop, along with a small disposable fork.

I stare at the black, round thing. Is it glistening? I can’t smell any chocolate coming from the cake. It should smell chocolaty, right? And isn’t lava cake supposed to be served hot?

Finally, I raise my eyes and look at her across my desk. She’s smiling expectantly, her cheeks slightly flushed.

She wants me dead. I know it.

“Did your phone go off all weekend?” I ask, trying to figure out why she’s doing this. I’m entitled to that much. Some tabloid writers can be surprisingly resourceful. Some of them might’ve figured out it was her in the picture and bugged her. Or maybe some acquaintances from Virginia did. Okay, the chances of that are small, but… There has to be a reason for these continual attempts to murder me.

“No. I turned it off after I came home from the auction,” she says. “You told me to ignore calls from you and your mom, and it wasn’t like anybody else was going to try to get in touch.”

Okay. Well, that’s good. So maybe this is about the kiss. Or bothering her on a Saturday. I look down at the cake. Penance. Just think of it as penance.

Inhaling deeply—and still not smelling any chocolate—I pick up the fork and cut off a small piece from the thing. It holds. At least the texture feels okay. It doesn’t resist like a brick.

I take a careful bite. My mouth almost rots on the spot as something incredibly bitter, vinegary and salty explodes on my tongue. I press a fist against my lips, hiding any involuntary grimace from her view.

Be grateful. At least it isn’t dog poop.

“How is it?” she asks, searching my face.

I force a smile like I always do when she feeds me baked poison and I pretend I’m not dying. “Mmm… Nice. Very nice.”

She beams.

“Thank you, Erin.” At least my eyes aren’t tearing up like they did when she gave me that chili-sauce carrot cake.

“My pleasure.” She picks up her legal pad and places it on her lap. “So. Let’s go over the day’s agenda. Feel free to have some more while we talk. It won’t bother me.”

Chapter Eleven

Erin

After I go over the agenda with David, I smile at him. “Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t think so.” His voice is calm and even. So is his expression. “Thank you, Erin.”

“No problem. I’ll leave the rest of the cake here for you. Would you like me to bring you something to drink with it?”

He smiles. “I’m fine. I’ll…get some juice later.”

Nodding with relief, I leave his office. That went a hundred times better than I expected! I spent Sunday wondering what I should do to erase the awkwardness from Saturday.