The Boss's Fake Fiancee (6 page)

Or, at least, satisfied.

“It’s perfect for you,” he said. “Just perfect.”

“You know me so well,” she replied sweetly, her eyes stabbing him like knives. She made a point of turning away from him, gently stroking the edges of the ring and positioning her hand at various angles to see how the tiny diamonds caught the light.

Garth turned to Ten. “Thanks for bringing that one out.”

“Of course, Mr. Solen,” Ten replied, nodding with pleasure as he studied Melissa and the ring. “You obviously know your lady. Those others didn’t do her justice. This is perfect.”

Garth watched the hint of pink in Melissa’s cheeks deepen under Ten’s regard. The soft color emphasized the delicate curves of her face, and the deep blue of the stone accentuated the cerulean cast of her eyes.

“I agree.” His response came unbidden, and Melissa turned to him, startled.

Damn it, since when had his mouth taken control of his brain?

Ten turned to collect the other rings, and Garth hastened to drop Melissa an exaggerated bow. “Only the best for you,
darling
.”

She could not hide the flash of disappointment that stole the smile from her face. Or the look of anger that followed.

A cold shiver danced along his spine. Less than a day of their “engagement” had passed, and here he was, lurching from emotion to emotion, resorting to cruel games to cover his own confusion and misplaced emotions. For the first time, Garth wondered if the entire charade could have been a big mistake.

No. Nan needs this.

He pushed aside the doubt. In three weeks, the game would be done. Nan would be better, he and Melissa would go their separate ways. Life would go on just as it had before.

She was, after all, a
fake
fiancée.

Chapter Six

Melissa awoke Saturday morning with a sore throat and a pounding headache. The sore throat came from parroting, “I know it’s crazy! What can I say—we fell in love!” over and over, and the headache from taking a fresh gulp of wine every time she said it.

To her mother. Her brothers. Friends from college. Friends she didn’t even know she had.

Apparently, becoming the fiancée of a billionaire made her something of a catch in New York social circles. One of the many things she hadn’t considered when she’d agreed to this ridiculous charade.

Why in the name of all that’s holy
did
you agree to do this?

The answer there appeared more than a little complex. Guilt? Yes, absolutely. She’d been caught in a lie and felt terrible about it. And she hated the idea of Garth’s grandmother being involved. Yet there was more than just guilt involved. There was also some part of her—an embarrassed, adolescent part—that had thrilled to the prospect of spending more time with Garth, particularly such intimate time.

He thinks you’re a lying, immature idiot.

And maybe you are.

A deep sigh.

A fake engagement? How in the world are you going to pull this off?

Then there were the other glasses of wine she’d drunk in an effort to forget that single, devastating kiss. Apparently, pretending to be Garth’s fiancée was going to require self-control of epic proportions. Hating him, which she had decided to try after his mocking look on the way out of Hadrien, couldn’t hurt.

Anything was better than the “
Take me, I’m yours
” response she’d given to his kiss.

Her phone rang and she rolled over, squinting at the blinking object with sleep-crusted eyes. She fumbled with the receiver until her clumsy fingers located the talk button. “Hello?”

“You ready? I’ll be there in five.”

Melissa cringed. They were meeting Garth’s grandmother that morning. Because she didn’t have a car, Garth had promised to pick her up. But he was ten minutes early. Ten minutes she desperately needed for a cup of coffee and a shower.

“Drive around,” she said, wishing she had the energy to sound resolute. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

“You’ll be ready in ten,” he replied. “I’ll pull up in front. I think there are reporters, so be prepared.”

He hung up, and Melissa groaned. Garth Solen the fiancé was just as much a force of nature as Garth Solen the boss.

Ten minutes later, a cup of coffee in her hand, a large pair of sunglasses covering her eyes, and four ibuprofen in her veins, she emerged from her apartment. Garth was waiting by the front door, looking heartbreakingly gorgeous in a pair of faded jeans and casual polo shirt. Two men with cameras flashed pictures as they hurried down her short flight of steps and into the car.

“So,” she said as soon as he pulled away from the curb. The presence of the reporters had unnerved her almost as much as the feeling of Garth’s body, mere inches away as he shielded her from the cameras, and she had to consciously adopt a breezy, casual tone to cover her discomfort. “Any last-minute instructions before I meet Grandma? Anything I should be prepared for? A casual groping, perhaps?”

She deliberately squashed the red-hot desire that had electrified her the instant her gaze fell to his lips, and the feeling of
want
that had set every nerve tingling when she smelled his hint of spice and sandalwood.

“If you’re referring to what happened yesterday, I was trying to act engaged,” Garth said, as he checked his side-view mirror and merged into traffic, not the slightest hint of regret in his voice. “What engaged man doesn’t kiss his bride after he finds her the perfect engagement ring?” He looked pointedly at her lap. “You do know I’ll want that back, I hope.”

Melissa glanced down and realized she’d been involuntarily caressing the cool surface of the aquamarine stone. “Of course,” she said, even though she’d spent most of the night obsessively admiring the gorgeous thing that had taken up residence on her hand. “But in light of yesterday’s incident, I think we need to set some ground rules for our little masquerade going forward.”

“Oh?” Garth quirked a brow. “Like what?”

“Like no more kissing.” Melissa had replayed that kiss a thousand times over the last twenty-four hours, and one thing had become perfectly clear: it could not happen again. With the simple pressure of his lips and deliberate stoking of his tongue, Garth had teased, promised, and set her body yearning. In short, he’d given her an experience she did
not
want to repeat.

Not when his smile afterward had told her that he absolutely did not feel the same.

“Sorry,” Garth said, not sounding the least bit so. “That’s a negative. You’re my fiancée. I have to be able to kiss you whenever I want.”

Melissa gritted her teeth. Great. Now he’d kiss her because he
knew
it irritated her.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But only in public. And I draw the line at kissing. No other, ahem,
touching
.”

“Wrong again,” he said. Her dour mood seemed to be having the opposite effect on him, as his voice grew increasingly cheerful. “I need access to the torso.”

“Why?” Melissa demanded.

“October 29 is the annual Autism Advocates charity auction. The press will be there and they will want to see us acting like a couple. Which may involve some posing. And touching.”

She ignored the reference to touching and focused instead on the rest of his statement. “You’re going to the auction?”

“Natalie Orelian is a sponsor. It’s the perfect opportunity to talk to her.”

Now
that
was dedication. Melissa had volunteered for the Advocates charity auction for years and it was a huge, lavish affair designed to appeal to New York’s wealthiest. Tickets were a thousand dollars each, and the live-auction items ranged from original art to jewelry to haute couture clothing, donated by New York designers. Reporters swarmed the place before, during, and after. For a private person like Garth it would be a nightmare.

“Why do I need to go?” She tried to picture walking into the gala with Garth, wearing her sparkly new engagement ring. The image simply didn’t compute. On the rare occasion Garth attended a public event, he inevitably appeared with a lanky, expressionless model or a brilliant but cold heiress. Not a painfully average-looking engineer with a distinct lack of suitable evening attire.

“I had planned to bring a different date,” Garth explained. “But—”

“That would be awkward,” Melissa concluded, “now that you’re engaged.”

“Exactly.”

Melissa tapped her finger against the armrest and considered the proposition. She couldn’t think of any reasonable excuse for saying no. “Fine. I’ll attend. And I give you permission to touch me while we’re there. But above the waist only, got it?”

Garth’s eyes gleamed. “Got it.” He paused as they turned onto a smaller, two-lane highway. “Unless, of course, you go somewhere else first.”

“What?” Melissa straightened so abruptly the seatbelt locked and held her rigidly in place. She forced herself to relax and sink back down so she could loosen the strap’s death grip on her shoulder and hip. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, and she thought she caught a hint of a tiny, genuine smile. “I’m just saying it’s tit for tat.” At her outraged look, his mouth actually quirked up at the corner. “Bad choice of words. All I’m saying is that I might not be the only one doing the groping. And fair’s fair, right? You go below the waist, I can, too.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Melissa said darkly.

“Of course not,” Garth said.

“Why do you say it like that?” she demanded.

“What?” He cast her a quick look, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m
agreeing
with you.”

“Hmph.” Melissa took a long sip from her cup of coffee. “Why are you in such a good mood, anyway? Did Solen Labs end up on the cover of
Artificial Intelligence Today
or something?”

“Better. Orelian sent me an email congratulating me on my engagement. And she wants to see a draft funding agreement.”

“Really?” Melissa turned to him in surprise.

“Apparently she’s a romantic at heart.” Garth’s pleasure was obvious in the smooth cadence of his voice. “Now I just have to convince her to fund ThinkSpeak before you walk away and break my heart.”

Chapter Seven

It took a little over forty minutes to get to Garth’s house in Scarsdale. Melissa kept her face carefully impassive as they passed through a large iron gate and wove down a long driveway. The last thing she wanted was to give Garth the satisfaction of ooh-ing and aah-ing over the ancient, spreading oak trees and expansive green lawns of his—well, his
estate.

His enormous, spectacular estate.

She knew she was unlikely to maintain the façade. Melissa’s brothers had always teased her for her inability to hide her true feelings, whether they were horror at the sight of an ugly shawl her mother had found for her at a thrift store in The Village, or heartbreak when the boy she liked in high school referred to her as “one of those chess club geeks.”

Melissa was, as they said, “an open book.” And Garth, she was quickly realizing, was astonishingly wealthy.

Though Brit had made them all quite comfortable when he took Excorp public three years before, Melissa hadn’t grown up with money. Even after Excorp became profitable, she’d always deposited her share of the family fortune directly into an investment account. It wasn’t that she didn’t want the money—she fully intended to use it as a trust fund for her kids, if she was ever lucky enough to have any—but she refused to let herself become dependent on it. Melissa had spent her whole life living in the shadow of her successful older brothers, and once she’d had the opportunity to make her own way in the world, she’d left New York and vowed not to come back until she was just as successful as they were.

And look how well
that
turned out…

Melissa pushed the dark thought from her head and focused on her surroundings. Regardless of how much Brit had made, the Bencher family fortune couldn’t begin to rival this. After driving through what had to have been acres of green lawns, dotted with enormous old trees, the gardens began. It was October, so there was nothing in bloom, but throughout the carefully tended beds there were low shrubs with fiery red leaves mixed with spreading evergreens, and all around them were soaring maples, birches, and oaks dusting the sky with their mix of sunset-colored leaves. Melissa wasn’t a real estate expert by any means, but she knew there weren’t many properties, even in Scarsdale, with grounds like this.

Finally, the driveway curved around to give Melissa her first view of the house. She could barely stifle an indrawn breath at the beautiful sight. The graceful old Colonial-style structure had pristine white siding and crisp black shutters, with a wide brick path leading to a columned front porch. The house had the feeling of early America in the simple design and multi-paned windows, yet had obviously been updated for twentieth-century luxury.

Garth slowed to a stop beside the entrance to the brick walkway and turned off the car. “Before we go in,” he said, “I have a few ground rules of my own.”

Melissa deliberately turned away, peering into the side view mirror to fluff her bangs. “I don’t think I like your rules.”

Garth ignored her protest. “You are about to meet two people. One is Nan. She really wants to believe this whole engagement story, so she shouldn’t be too hard to convince. Her mind is still sharp, but she does get confused sometimes. She’s eighty-five, and the pneumonia has taken a toll on her. She’s quite fragile, really, though she refuses to believe it.”

Melissa nodded, suddenly contrite. “I understand. And I’m sorry. That must be hard for you.”

He blinked, as if not expecting her sympathy. “Yes. Well, thank you, but it’s fine.” Seeming slightly flustered, he brushed past the moment. “At any rate, the other person you’ll meet is Jessalyn.”

Melissa waited. “Aaand…?”

“She’s going to be a little grumpy this morning. I haven’t seen her since this all went down yesterday and I didn’t want to call her about it last night because I knew she’d give me hell.”

Before Melissa could ask exactly
who
the grumpy Jessalyn was, or why Garth didn’t want to make her mad, he leaned over her lap to peek out the passenger side window of the car. Then he leaned back and swore.

“Sorry, no time to explain. She’s come out to meet the car. Just be strong and don’t show any weakness.”

With that dire statement, he threw open his door and jumped out.

Don’t show any weakness?

Melissa took a deep breath and got out of the car. A woman was walking toward them, moving at a significant clip. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five and had short hair dyed hot pink at the ends. She wore ripped jeans and a white button-down shirt tied in a knot at the waist. The angry flare of her pierced nose and the position of her tattooed arms—tightly crossed over her chest—perfectly illustrated her feelings about Garth’s engagement.

She didn’t like it one bit.

“I guess you’ve heard the news?” Garth came around the back end of the car and stood beside Melissa. She felt oddly glad for his proximity, though the woman was several inches shorter than she was, and had no visible weapon.

“Is this an f-ing joke? Engaged? You?”

Garth winced. “Sorry, Jess, but it’s all true.”

Jess held up a cell phone and pointed it at Garth’s face. On the screen, Melissa caught a look at a picture of herself emerging from Hadrien, Garth’s arm curved protectively around her waist. She didn’t even remember him touching her at that moment, probably because she had been in such a fog at the time over their mind-boggling kiss. “It’s on Twitter, Garth. I heard about your engagement from Twitter!”

“Jess, I was going to—”

Garth broke off as she shook her head and then tucked the phone in her back pocket. “Whatever. I’m just the housekeeper. No reason to tell me.”

“It happened fast,” Garth said quickly. “I should have sent you a note last night, but I was overwhelmed with calls.”

Melissa glanced at him, fascinated by the apology in his voice. This wasn’t the ultra-confident boss who walked into meetings and made decisions with a single word, or the man who signed million-dollar contacts without a moment’s hesitation. This was a man who didn’t want to get in trouble.

Instantly, Melissa decided that she loved this pink-haired virago, with her utter and complete confidence and ability to scold Garth Solen with impunity. She vaguely reminded Melissa of Tori, albeit in pierced, tattooed sort of way.

She carefully extended her hand, fully aware that Jess’s anger could come her way next. Were they really getting married, Melissa decided Jess would be an invaluable ally—or a terrifying enemy. “I’m Melissa Bencher, the fiancée. Nice to meet you.”

Jess stared, examining her inch by inch, from Melissa’s simple flats and knee-length black skirt to her cherry red coat. Melissa had thrown together an outfit in a matter of minutes, and she hoped the other woman wouldn’t notice the run in her hose that was slowly inching from her ankle toward her calf.

The housekeeper’s gaze came to rest on Melissa’s outstretched hand, and the ring sparkling on her finger. “Jessalyn Cislo.”

They shook hands. Melissa winced when Jessalyn squeezed hard enough to make the ring pinch her fingers. “Nice to meet you,” she said, gulping.

“Hmph.” From Jessalyn’s noncommittal noise, it was clear that she would decide later if she was pleased to meet Melissa or not. She kept hold of Melissa’s hand and tugged just hard enough to make her stumble forward. When she was only a few inches away, Jessalyn held the ring closer to her face to examine it.

“Wait.” She narrowed her gaze at Melissa, and then looked over at Garth. “Isn’t that—”

“Jess,” Garth’s voice held a warning.

“I just noticed—” Jessalyn started to say, but then trailed off at the look in Garth’s eyes.

“Why don’t you keep your observations to yourself?” he suggested.

They matched stares and in an instant, Garth reasserted himself as boss. Melissa watched, fascinated, dying to know what they were talking about.

Jessalyn looked away first. “Way to overreact,” she muttered under her breath. With an obvious about-face, she said in a formal tone, “Will you be needing lunch,
sir
?”

“Yes, something light,” Garth replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “Do you know if Nan’s awake?”

“She just finished her morning nap. Nurse Margaret is with her.” Jess raised her nose in the air and stomped off toward the house. That was when Melissa noticed her combat boots. And the pink socks that matched the tips of her hair.

“I think she likes you,” Garth offered.

Melissa turned to look at him. “Are you kidding?”

“She didn’t kill us,” Garth replied. “That says a lot.”

Jessalyn stopped at the front door. She opened it a few feet, and three small whirlwinds of fur and legs rushed out and ran down the path at an astonishing speed. When they arrived at the end of the path, they leaped in the air at Garth’s feet.

Melissa’s mouth dropped open. In all her fantasies about her boss, she’d never imagined him surrounded by little white dogs. “Um, wow,” she breathed.

Two of the dogs were barking with apparent joy, while one sat down and howled, then resumed jumping. At the sound of her voice, the howler broke away and bounded to her side. It had silky white hair that partially covered its eyes, and a pink, panting tongue. When she crouched down to pet it, the dog leaned into her hand for a moment before flopping onto its back for a tummy rub.

Garth bent over to pet one of the two dogs that continued begging for his attention. “Han, Luke, enough.” At his warning tone, they stopped barking, but continued to leap with increasing fervor. Finally, he picked up the smaller of the two—a brown and white ball of squirming hair and legs—and held it in his arms. The dog immediately settled down with what Melissa could only describe as a smile on its face.

“What kind of dogs are they?” she asked.

Garth scowled at her. “Havanese. They’re Nan’s dogs.”

“Of course they are,” she said gravely.

“They are!”

“I can see that,” Melissa said. She’d never heard of the breed before, but they had long muzzles with dark noses, and when they stood, their tails waved behind them like cheerful flags. None of the three looked much more than ten pounds, though it was hard to tell with all that hair. “And their names are Han and Luke?”

“The other one is Chewbacca,” Jessalyn called, as she made her way back toward them. “In case you were wondering.”

“You’re a
Star Wars
fan,” Melissa said with a smile. “I should have known.”

“Nan named them, not me,” Garth said, a trifle defensively.

“He’s lying, isn’t he?” Melissa asked Jessalyn.

The other woman shook her head. “I need to keep my job. I’m not saying a word.”

“Smart move,” Garth said. “Nan’s obsessed with rescuing strays,” he said, in what seemed to Melissa to be an obvious attempt to change the subject. “These three were born at a puppy mill that was closed because of the inhumane conditions. The dogs were in terrible condition, so of course Nan had to step in.” He put down the dog he’d been holding and picked up the other one, who immediately tried to lick him in the face. Garth carefully held the happy creature so its tongue could not reach him. He petted the dog behind the ears for a moment before setting it back on the ground.

Jessalyn snorted. “I’ll take
Nan’s
dogs for a little walk. You two go ahead in.” She whistled and started walking toward the back of the house. With one last longing look in Garth’s direction, the white blobs of fur ran off behind her.

Melissa stifled a giggle as they walked through the front door. Garth and small white fluffy dogs? If she’d read it in a tabloid, she never would have believed it.

“They’re sweet.”

“They’re ridiculous,” Garth groused. “They don’t deserve to be called dogs.”

“Clearly, they are beneath you.” Melissa snickered. “I mean, literally. Since they’re the size of hamsters.”

Garth glared at her as they walked through the front door. “I’ll have you know Luke weighs eleven pounds.”

Melissa paused. “Right. That would be a really big hamster. Guinea pig, maybe? Rabbit?”

Garth stopped to set his keys on a marble pedestal table by the door, and Melissa completely forgot about the dogs as she took in the beauty of the house. The front foyer had a white marble floor leading to a huge, curving staircase at the far end. Smooth, highly polished wood floors ran in every other direction as far as she could see, and a rich, lemony scent permeated the air. On one side of the entry lay a formal sitting room, with several brocade, stiff-backed chairs, a Queen Anne sofa, and a thick Oriental rug. On the other side of the hall was a formal dining room, with a mahogany table and crystal chandelier. In every direction, the sun sparkled through multi-paned windows.

This, at least, she had expected—a breathtaking mansion, filled with priceless antiques and works of art. The little white dogs and bossy housekeeper, not so much.

They proceeded down a hallway that lay to one side of the staircase. Garth waved toward the left as they walked past an arched entryway. “Kitchen and great room are over there, along with the sun porch, my office, and the library. Bedrooms are on the second floor. Nan’s rooms are in back.”

Every piece of furniture and art seemed to fit together seamlessly. The style was traditional and muted, but woven rugs, vases filled with flowers, and huge oil paintings provided spots of color that tied everything together.

For an apartment dweller, the house seemed to reverberate with space and silence. Although her building mostly housed other professionals, Melissa’s next-door neighbor liked to play opera while he prepared dinner, and the resident in the apartment above her engaged in some kind of high-impact aerobics every night at eight—or at least that was what it sounded like. Not to mention that the only natural light entering her apartment came from two small windows in the combination living room/kitchen/study/dining area that represented 350 feet of her 600 square-foot apartment. Melissa could feel her shoulders dropping and some knot in her stomach untying as she eased through the beautiful space.

“You have an incredible home,” she said, trying not to think about the final piece of their journey, and the woman at the other end of the hall. After meeting Jess, Melissa figured all bets were off. Garth’s grandmother could be a domineering matriarch or a flighty old heiress. At this point, nothing would surprise her.