Escorting the Groom (The Escort Collection Book 4) (5 page)

"Two million dollars," I whispered. "Can you believe that?"

She whooped. "Holy guacamole!"

"Right? Now can you stop being so overly emotional?"

"Definitely not!" I could hear her crying and laughing on the other end of the phone. My mother held a lot inside, but I knew how worried she always was about our situation—whether we would be able to afford groceries the next week, or which medications she was going to have to give up. This was going to change both of our lives for the better.

But there was one last detail to take care of.

"There's one other thing, and it's crucial," I said after she calmed down. "
Please
don't tell Chelsea. If she hears that I'm making that kind of money, she'll be all over this like a vulture on a steaming animal carcass." My sister had taken advantage of both me and my mother one too many times. Not to mention that she'd stolen my fiancé, who she'd subsequently taken advantage of by marrying, divorcing, and collecting alimony.

Even though I didn't mind what she'd done to Vince—he'd thoroughly deserved it—Chelsea was not my favorite person. She would only get a dime of this money if it was over my dead body.

And not even then, if I could help it.

My mother clucked her tongue. "Of course not. You know I wouldn't do that."

"Okay. But I mean it—don't let her talk you into anything." My mother and Chelsea weren't close, but my sister still knew how to work her when she needed something. When Chelsea came begging, my mother often gave her a handout, sometimes at the expense of buying her medicine.

The thing was my sister knew it. And she always took the money, anyway.

"I promise." Mom was quiet for a second. "Do I get to… visit you? Meet this man? Come to the wedding?"

"No. I'm sorry. Nobody can know about my family or who I really am. I won't have anyone there."

"That's too bad," she said.

I grinned into the phone. "You know what? It's totally fine. We're going to be millionaires, Mom! For once in our lives, everything's finally going to be okay!"

"Woo hoo!" I could almost hear her grinning.

"Woo hoo is right!" I hung up with a smile on my own face. Then I proceeded to fire up the laptop Lucas had left for me and start researching venues where I could marry my handsome, brooding, aloof billionaire fiancé.

"
I
told
you to close the deal," I snapped at Simon, one of the young entrepreneurs who worked for me. I was engaged in my usual yelling routine, but honestly, my heart wasn't in it today. I was thinking about Blake. I was pleasantly surprised by our question-and-answer session. I never spoke of Elizabeth and my father's relationship. It wasn't something I liked to dwell on. But it had felt good to tell Blake the truth and to know that she'd been burned before, too.

We were quite a pair.

The downside of that was becoming apparent to me. As I pretended to listen to Simon whine about his deal falling apart, I couldn't stop thinking about her. She was unbelievably gorgeous. She also seemed intelligent and kind—the total package. The guy that had cheated on her was an idiot
.
I didn't care how hot her sister was.

On one hand, it was good that I found her appealing. That would help our first appearance as a couple in front of my family seem authentic.

On the other hand, I needed to snap the fuck out of it and get her out of my head.

"Go ahead, Simon. I'm listening." I left him on speakerphone, jabbering and whining, while I went and jerked off in my office bathroom. My arousal was inconvenient, but it was only an erection. I dealt with it. And if I let myself fantasize about Blake—writhing in ecstasy beneath me, her hair tumbled across the bed—no one had to be the wiser.

Afterward—after I'd come, hard—I washed my hands and calmly regarded my eyes in the mirror.
Don't be a fuckup. You're going to marry her, and then live with her for a whole year.
It needed to be a hands-free relationship. If we started having sex, and she ended up in my bed every night…

That sounded
way
too much like a relationship to me.

"What did you just say?" I snapped at Simon as I zipped my fly and hustled back into my office.

"I was
saying
, the Nexus Group is trying to get out of the terms—"

"You know what? I don't care," I interrupted. "You're fired. I can't deal with your whining. All you're doing is spouting off a bunch of excuses and giving me a headache. I'm not paying you to do that."

"But, sir—"

I hung up before he could start sniveling. I punched in the number for Shirley, my assistant. "Shirley."

"Yes?"

"You're probably going to get a call soon—"

"From Simon in La Jolla? He's texting me now." She was quiet for a minute, probably reading. "He's pretty upset. Said you just fired him for no reason?"

"Oh, there's a reason." I wished I hadn't drunk so much bourbon earlier. My head was starting to throb. "He just screwed up another deal. Get him lined up with HR. Tell them to give him the usual severance package and send him on his way. Please."

"You know this is the fourth person you've fired this quarter?" Shirley's voice contained no judgment. She knew how to handle me. She was just reporting facts without drama, which was why I paid her well, and why she was the employee who'd been with me the longest.

"We need to fire the headhunters, too," I said. "They keep sending us losers. I want you to start working with HR and form an executive search committee. You can vet the applicants. You'll do a better job than anyone else. We can talk about your increase in compensation tomorrow. Right now, I have to go."

"Mr. Ford, it's only six o'clock." Shirley sounded dumbfounded. With so many deals happening on the West Coast, I usually worked until at least nine every night. And I came in at four in the morning so I could conduct business for an hour with my Chinese associates.

"I know. I have a date." I never talked about my personal life at work, largely because I didn't have one. "With my fiancée."

"What?" Shirley whooped. "You're
engaged
?"

I cleared my throat. "That's correct." Might as well start spreading the news.

"Oh, Mr. Ford, I'm so glad!" She hung up and came barreling around the corner from her office. Her short legs moved in a whir, as fast as a cartoon character's. She stood in front of my desk and clapped. "Do you have a picture? What's she like? Can you bring her in? When're you getting married?"

I held up my hand to stop her. "Easy, Shirley." I took out my cell phone and scrolled to the picture the madam had sent me of Blake.

"Oh, my," Shirley said in awe. "Is she one of those Victoria's Secret models? She looks just like one!"

I indulged her with a smile. "No. But she is pretty, isn't she?" It seemed ridiculous, but pride bloomed in my chest.

Shirley, who had maybe seen me smile three times in the past ten years, patted my arm approvingly. "She's beautiful. I hope you two will be very happy together. Are you planning a large wedding?"

"That's what we're going to discuss at dinner tonight. But no matter what we do, I hope that you will join us at the ceremony. I would love for you to meet Blake, and for her to meet you." I grinned at my assistant, but I was mentally kicking myself. What the hell was I saying? I was inviting my staff to my fake-but-legal wedding? And I was
smiling
about it?

For fuck's sake.

"Oh, Mr. Ford!" Shirley's eyes glittered behind her glasses. "I'd be honored."

My stomach sank. It didn't sound like Shirley would be forgetting about the invite anytime soon.

I let her cluck and coo for another minute before I said a hasty goodbye and hustled out of the office. I'd made dinner reservations, and I wanted to change first.

I had a very important date.

* * *

B
LAKE

I twisted the straps of my dress nervously. Lucas had called and said he'd made reservations for seven. His voice was stern and sexy on the other end of the line. Anxious, I'd started getting ready at five, wanting to make sure I looked perfect.

And not daring to think about why.

I was looking forward to tonight. I was looking forward to talking to my client about our wedding. That was crazy, right? Still, I'd looked online at some venues today and had braved a few bridal websites. I'd found some beautiful dresses. Some of the pictures were so dreamy, with the models looking as if they were actual princesses. Even though the wedding was only pretend—pretend for real—I intended to have fun with the planning. I surprised myself with that. I never had fun. Fun and I did not coexist.

I smoothed the fabric of my long black dress and studied myself in the mirror. I looked good. But who wouldn't, wearing a dress that cost six hundred dollars? Elena always kept designer clothes available for high-end assignments like this. She wanted us to be able to fit in when we accompanied our clients to upscale functions and restaurants. She wanted us to look the part.

The dress was tightfitting through the chest; it had spaghetti straps and went all the way to the floor. I had curled my hair in loose waves and pulled it all over one shoulder. I was wearing enormous cubic zirconia studs in my ears. If anyone saw me in this dress, on Lucas Ford's arm, they would never doubt that the earrings were real. They wouldn't question a thing.

I certainly looked the part of the billionaire's fiancée. Still, I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that people actually lived like this. That women could spend hundreds of dollars on a single dress and live in an apartment that cost millions, overlooking the park. When Lucas paid me at the end of this assignment, I was going to buy a simple, safe condominium in a nice neighborhood. I would still buy my clothes from Target and Marshall's, like a normal person. Who needed a dress like this in real life?

There was a knock on my door, and Lucas stuck his head in. "You ready?" His eyes traveled over me slowly and I flushed. "I'm going with yes. As in hell yes."

I laughed. "Then you'd be right."

"I like being right. I also like that dress." He opened the door and gestured me out. "And I'm starving."

"Me too," I admitted. I'd been so nervous about the job, then so busy settling in and researching wedding options that I'd barely eaten. Bourbon was the only thing I'd had all afternoon. My stomach howled.

"You didn't even have to say it. I can read your mind. Or at least hear your stomach." He smiled and held his hand out for me, and I tentatively reached for him. "I'm sorry I left you locked in here all afternoon. You know you can come and go as you please, right? And help yourself to anything in the kitchen?"

The truth was, I'd been too afraid to leave the apartment. I was worried I wouldn't be able to figure out how to get back in, and I hadn't really known what to do with myself. "I know. Thanks." I grabbed my clutch, and we headed toward the door.

Lucas was wearing a dark suit over a white button-down shirt, open at the throat. He looked impossibly dashing. His dark curls glittered in the early-evening light, and a five-o'clock shadow covered his square-cut chin.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"My favorite restaurant in the North End. Do you like Italian?"

My mouth started to water. "It's my favorite."

"You know what, Blake? We have more in common than I'd hoped." He led me into the elevator, and I noticed that my heart was pounding. I tried not to think about what was going to happen after dinner…

"I told my assistant that I was engaged today." Lucas looked a little sheepish. "She was… excited, to say the least. Can we invite her to the wedding?"

"Of course." I felt oddly touched. "I had the chance to look at some different venues this afternoon."

"Great. Tell me about them over dinner. You look beautiful, by the way."

I flushed in pleasure. As soon as the doors opened, Lucas pulled me through the opulent lobby. Several of the guests and hotel staff stared at us. We must have made a tall, attractive, expensive-looking pair.

"Ian." Lucas nodded to his driver, who was waiting out front. "North End, please."

I thrilled at the way the city looked from inside Lucas's luxury SUV, riding high above the heat and humidity of the streets. It was still light at seven o'clock. The summer day was stretching out, long and languorous. "So… how was work?"

"We sound like an old married couple already." He laughed, seeming more relaxed than he had that afternoon. "It was fine. I'll actually have to be going back in soon." He checked his watch.

"You mean after dinner?"

"Yeah. I have to speak with some of my Chinese colleagues. The time difference makes it necessary to go in at odd hours." He shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I'm not much of a sleeper."

I felt a little crestfallen, knowing that he would be heading back downtown instead of the penthouse. Part of me was getting curious to see that chest of his and find out what else he had going on underneath that suit.

Part of me just wanted to get it over with, because the first time with a new client was always awkward.

"How many hours a week do you usually work?" I asked, trying to redirect my thoughts from the gutter.

"Most of them." He smiled, and I noticed again that he had a dimple. Just the one. "What about you?"

I was taken aback. "Um… do you really want to know the answer to that?"

"We're business partners, remember?" Our eyes locked for a moment. "But we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"I don't want to," I said immediately.

"Is it that bad?" His gentle tone surprised me.

"You don't have to feel sorry for me," I said.

"I didn't say I felt sorry for you."

I turned away, but I could still feel him watching me. "It is what it is. Mostly I see it as a means to an end. Otherwise, I just try not to think about it. The money's decent—at least I've been able to take care of my mom."

"That's good," Lucas said, and I heard no judgment in his voice.

I hoped he was done with questioning me.
Most awkward conversation ever.

We pulled up outside a beautiful brick building. Soft lights illuminated the name,
Mio Fratello
. I turn to Lucas and grinned. "This is my favorite restaurant. They have the best olive-and-pasta appetizer thingy. I
love
it."

"That appetizer
thingy
is my favorite, too." He was cute when he teased me, not at all like a zombie who guzzled the brains of unassuming technology companies.

"You're gonna have to order your own," I warned. "I'm not sharing."

He agreed. "I doubt you'll ever see me share food. And I would
never
share that. It would be a sacrilege."

We climbed a winding staircase to the second floor and went inside. The
maître d'
bowed slightly at us. "Mr. Lucas. Ms. Maxwell. Right this way." We were definitely getting the Lucas-Ford-billionaire treatment. I'd been there before with a client, but no one had ever called me by name. The host led us over to a private corner table overlooking the street. Candles lit up the room as the sky darkened.

"I'd like the wine that I had set aside," Lucas told the
maître d'
.

He bowed slightly. "Of course."

"You had wine set aside?" I asked.
Who does that?

Lucas arranged his napkin on his lap. "I don't leave the office much. When I do finally have time to go out, I like things to be as nice as possible. As soon as possible."