Making It While Faking It Read online

  I’m glaring at my dad, and he’s watching with a receptive expression. But still, I can tell that he feels no remorse for his decision.

  Finally, elbows out to his sides, he smashes his palms against his thighs and sets his penetrating glare on me. “Treasure Island—remember that place?” His eyebrows quirk up. “Huh?”

  My face tightens, and so does my mouth as I nod.

  “But first, you went on that reality show where you spent money so fast to show off a lifestyle we never approved of. The expenses you racked up went way beyond your inheritance payments. Xan was filtering in extra money to your account. I couldn’t keep up with how much you were spending. Then you didn’t finish college. For goodness’ sake, who quits Smith College with a respectable 3.6 GPA?”

  My dad sighs forcefully as he massages his temples now. He’s worked himself into a frenzy as he went from composed to exorbitantly gesticulating with his hands. And frankly, I never saw myself through his eyes until after hearing everything he said—all of my major fuckups, sans the restaurant, laid bare before me.

  My throat is tight, but I manage to eke out, “I’m sorry.” I can’t believe I said that, but I meant it.

  Leo drops his hands from his forehead and looks at me as if he can’t believe I apologized either.

  I shrug. “You’re right. I used to go through a lot of money. But look at me now.” I look down at myself in the ugly costume I’m wearing. “I received your message loud and clear.”

  My dad studies my wry smile and then chuckles a sigh.

  “Listen, I know what I’m asking you to do is unorthodox,” he says in a tender and convincing voice. “And I might be crossing a line here that I’m not quite comfortable with. But since you’ve had a relationship with one the Lord brothers…”

  “No!” I shout, shaking my head vigorously. “Never will I ever marry Orion Lord. No.” I set my chin and purse my lips defiantly. Because I mean it.

  “Okay.” Leo’s tone is cautious and uncertain. “Well, you don’t have to live with him. It’ll all only be on paper.”

  “That’s not how Orion operates,” I say, still shaking my head. But hell if I’m going to let one hundred fifty-three million dollars slip through my fingers. “I’ll marry Achilles—on paper. And only Achilles.” Because Achilles is like a sleek and independent cat that will go somewhere and hide unless he wants something that’s very, very, very important, and it won’t be sex. I’ve heard in circles that Orion and I share that Achilles is either not into women or is a sort of self-ordained monk, vowing celibacy, chastity, and obedience to his family—but poverty? Never.

  Our Meeting Is Not Cute

  TREASURE GROVE

  BACK TO 6 HOURS LATER

  The man I’m looking at after stepping out of the limousine is Achilles Lord. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him in the flesh.

  I absentmindedly fan my fingers over my collarbone with one hand and wave tentatively at him with the other. Instead of waving back, he frowns, leaving me feeling stupefied and confused. Why is he staring at me with such a severe scowl? He looks as if I’ve just kicked him in the shin or something.

  This morning, my dad stepped out of my trailer to negotiate the details of our marriage contract with Achilles. By the gestures he was making, I could tell that my insistence to marry him instead of Orion hadn’t gone down easy. Maybe he’s mad that I refuse to marry his brother. I’m certain he doesn’t know why I’m so insistent about keeping my distance from Orion. His brother would never tell him what he did in St. Barts. That incident was the straw that broke the camel’s back as far as I was concerned.

  Even though being given the cold shoulder by Achilles stings a little, I will not change my mind, not at this juncture. And frankly, Achilles should be happy that he’s marrying me. I don’t want to infringe on whatever or whomever he does during his free time. There are plenty of rumors about him floating around. I’ve learned that rumors aren’t always true, but still, I want to assure him that he doesn’t have to worry about my wanting more than a nonexistent relationship.

  I flash him a final smile to convince him that his assholish glower hasn’t deterred me, but his frown turns worse. Then he stiffens as if he’s just realized the error of his response to me, rips his eyes away from my face, and continues to stride a little less confidently into the building.

  “Miss Grove, is everything okay?” the driver asks.

  “Yes,” I say, blinking myself back into the moment. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, I tell the driver that his services will not be needed. But still, I can’t get what just happened between Achilles and me out of my head. This arrangement of ours might be harder than I thought.

  Achilles stands in front of the semicircle-shaped reception desk that has platinum siding and a white quartzite top. The three women working behind the barrier behold his amazingly handsome face as though it’s a never-before-seen masterpiece by Chagall. For a moment, I feel as if time has stalled and I’m able to take in the entire scene without being noticed. For instance, each receptionist wears the same kind of smart black suit with a crisp white blouse buttoned to the neck. Each has her hair pulled back into a tight bun that clings to the nape of her neck, so it’s easy to see that all their faces have turned various shades of red, depending on the hue of their skin. They only turn to acknowledge me when Achilles does. His disapproving gaze runs up and down my body. Looking into that gaze reminds me that I’m wearing faded bell-bottom blue jeans with a fitted, crisp white button-front blouse that has oversized sleeves. My hair billows from a loose topknot. And since the weather is warmer and more humid in New York than Iceland, as soon as I deplaned, I rummaged through my suitcase and found my gladiator sandals. I look down at my feet and then at Achilles. It’s apparent that he’s judging me for being the only underdressed person in the room. I probably should’ve worn something else, but I did the best I could with what I had, being that I didn’t pack any business-formal attire to take with me to Iceland. So screw Achilles. He doesn’t get to judge me anyway. What an asshole.

  Shoulders back, I finish closing the distance between me and the desk.

  “Hi, I’m Treasure Grove,” I say, pretending Achilles is not with us, although his cologne smells searingly delicious. My nostrils detect hints of sandalwood, apple, and black pepper. I can feel him looking at me still. What’s his deal? I never back down from a passive-aggressive challenge, but I’m feeling myself shrink under his glare. I hate that I’m responding to him this way. I should purse my lips and dress him down properly, but I can’t do it. He’s won. I’m intimidated by him.

  “Yes, Miss Grove. We’ve been expecting you,” the girl whose name tag says Tonia remarks before shifting her dutifully friendly eyes to Achilles. “Will you both follow me?”

  Achilles waits for me to walk first. I continue to avoid eye contact with him as I follow the receptionist through a white-walled corridor with clean gray sandstone floors. It’s been a long time since I’ve walked this path, but I know it well. We’re on our way to the secure elevators that go directly to my uncle Xander’s office.

  Gosh, he’s walking so close behind me. Thankfully, the clacking of Tonia’s heels and Achilles’s dress shoes echoes loudly enough to make it impossible for any awkward attempts at small talk. But why does my head feel so cloudy? Why am I able to sense his every movement? The subtle power of that cologne he’s wearing continues to wash over me. Orange blossom—I missed that scent at first, but it’s plainly there. I would compliment him on the scent if he weren’t behaving like a storm cloud. I figure if Achilles is pretending that I don’t exist, then I should do the same. He’s already setting the tone for our affiliation, and heck, I think I like it.

  “Tonia,” I say now that my inner dialogue has made me feel a lot more relaxed.

  Tonia raises her eyebrows up high as we stop at the platinum-plated elevators. “Yes, Miss Grove.” Her smile and voice are less robotic. I think it’s because I referred to her by her name.

&nbs
p; “Is my mom, Londyn Grove, around?” She runs the Grove Philanthropic Foundation and has an office in the building and on the same floor as my uncle Xander. I would love to stop by and see her. I hadn’t laid eyes on her since Christmas Day dinner.

  “No, Londyn, I mean, Mrs. Grove is uptown on business,” she says, pressing her finger to the identification pad.

  Grunting, I feel a stab of disappointment. I would’ve loved to hug and kiss her. I’ve been missing her and too preoccupied with my own life and worries to make a plan to meet her for brunch. “Oh well, thanks for letting me know.”

  The elevators begin to slide open. “But I can let her know you inquired about her.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  Her smile takes a different dimension as the doors finish sliding open. “By the way, I really love the food at TCC.”

  I hesitate before slapping a hand over my chest. Is that what people are calling my fine five-star dining restaurant, TCC? That sounds like a chain-food restaurant or a yogurt shop. I’ll have to change the name of my restaurant after the renovation. But this deal isn’t set in stone yet. Anything can happen, especially since Achilles is behaving like sour candy.

  “Really?” I say in a high-pitched voice, forcing myself back to the moment.

  “Very much so, and we’ll be back soon.”

  “Then…” I look over at Achilles, who surprisingly appears to be patiently watching the exchange between me and Tonia. I thought he’d be tapping his watch, signaling that he has more important things to do than listen to two girls prattle on about a restaurant he’ll never visit. Regardless, I don’t want to be rude, so I step into the elevator and then turn around to ask her, “What’s your last name?”

  She appears surprised, like she knows she’s about to receive a reward. “Um, Gamble.”

  “Tonia Gamble,” I say as I move over and give space for Achilles to enter. “I’ll put you on the guest list. Anytime you want a reservation, we’ll find space for you. And your next five dinners are on us.” I raise a finger as the doors begin to close. “That includes you and your guests.”

  Tonia belts a loud and happy “thank you” before I’m shut into the elevator alone with Achilles.

  “You’ll never make money giving away dinners for free.”

  I startle in surprise. It almost sounds like his voice whispered from the heavens. “Ah,” I say, quirking an eyebrow with intrigue. “So he does speak.”

  His serious grimace is pinned to my face. We’re just staring at each other as the elevator soars to the top floor. The silence between us is torturous and awkward. But the ball is in his court. He’s supposed to respond to my last comment with something. Anything. But he doesn’t. The thing is, I haven’t gotten this far in life by playing asshole with an asshole. So I reach inside myself for genuine empathy for this dick and release a sharp sigh before finding the best smile I can muster.

  “How was your morning, Mr. Lord?” I ask in a syrupy voice.

  I’m waiting for something on his face to change, but his pressed lips and the puckered skin between his eyebrows don’t ease up. But still, I wait expectantly for him to say something anyway. Goodness gracious, he can’t be this socially awful.

  “It was fine,” he replies quietly.

  Pressing my fingers to my collarbone, I lean toward him like I have a secret to tell him. “I know this is awkward. But believe me, whatever you do, whoever you are, will not be exposed by me.”

  His eyes contract even more as his glare laps my face. It’s like he didn’t hear a thing I just said. Then he leans away from me. “You look different.”

  I tip my head to one side. I didn’t expect him to say that. “Of course I look different. You haven’t seen me since I was a kid. I’m a woman now.” My smile is friendly. I want him to recognize that I’m lightening the mood, showering sunshine over his storm cloud.

  But Achilles’s expression doesn’t wane. “Right, right…” he whispers thoughtfully.

  The way he continues staring at me has rendered me speechless. Is that attraction I see in his eyes? If so, then why the frown? Gosh, he’s so hard to read. But tingles of sensation fluttering through my heart and lady parts scare me. Especially when in one flashing moment, I admit to myself that I would fuck him. I seriously would. He smells divine. He has the sort of looks that make men envy him and women crave him. And his body… he’s a bona fide Adonis. I can visualize the ripple of his abs and see them pushing against the fabric of his suit jacket.

  The thought makes me swallow a gasp and stare at the floor.

  No, I can’t. I just can’t.

  “Are you…” he starts but the doors slide open.

  The welcome sight of my uncle Xander fills the frame and steals both of our attention.

  “Treasure Chest,” Xander says, unfolding his arms from his chest and holding them out to receive me.

  “Xan,” I sing and then kiss him on the cheek, and then we give each other a heartfelt hug. I haven’t seen my uncle since Christmas either. But I love that he’s always so happy to see me. He smells a lot like Achilles and my dad—it’s a rich man’s scent.

  Xan leans back to get a look at me, and his smile is tight. His eyes jump around my face as if he’s trying to get a read on how I feel about signing away my freedom.

  “You okay with this?” he asks.

  “I am,” I say, reassuring him with a smile. I really am okay with it, but I just want this part to be over already.

  He nods stiffly and then looks up at my future husband. “Good afternoon, Achilles.” Just like his expression, Xan’s voice is all business.

  “Good afternoon, Xander.” All business there too.

  Apparently, cutting a deal together doesn’t mean the Groves and Lords will automatically become best buddies. I recall how much Achilles and my cousin Max, who is co-CEO of GIT along with my dad, hate each other. It wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that Xan, who normally doesn’t have a hateful bone in his body, would dislike Achilles in support of his only son.

  Achilles impatiently checks his watch. “We should get this over with. I have meetings.”

  Xan’s left eyebrow quirks up as if he’s curious to know about the meetings Achilles is referring to. Then Xan asks me to lead the way. As the two men walk behind me, they quickly engage in a spirited back-and-forth about Achilles’s cousin Nero. Xan wants to know the point of the documents that Nero had sent over late yesterday afternoon.

  “Ask him,” Achilles says in dismissive tone as we enter Xan’s main office.

  “Why can’t you let TRANSPOT go? It was just a pipe dream my father had,” Xan replies.

  “If it’s just a pipe dream, then give us what we want, and it all stops.”

  I can’t see them because I’m taking in an eyeful of the better part of Xan’s large office. But I can feel them glaring at each other. Our families have been fighting over TRANSPOT since forever. It’s some sort of technological possibility, the merging of computer technology and astrophysics. That’s how my grandfather explained it. Basically, that relationship will create software that’s able to make 3-D image projections into solid figures. It’s a complicated invention, at least to me it is. My cousin Paisley, Xan’s only daughter, a beautiful nerd, has been working on the software since high school. I think she’s actually getting close to making it happen. I’m indifferent about it all. I’m not a computer person. I’m a restaurant owner, which is why I’m here saving my restaurant.

  But I had forgotten how breathtaking Xan’s office is. First of all, he has stellar views of the Hudson to the south and the rest of Manhattan to the east and north. The solid furniture like his desk, the long conference table, end tables, and large block coffee table are made of the finest light beechwood. The sturdy furniture is upholstered with gray tweed fabric which he pairs with bold pops of modernity like colorful abstracts and contemporary bar lamps on the walls and arcing floor lamps positioned throughout. Combined with the breathtaking views, Xan’s office is the perfe
ct place to hang out all day and get a lot of work done. I think I’m going to follow his design lead when I finally have my money and start renovations on my restaurant. The changes will happen fast, starting today.

  “Let’s sit,” Xan says, lowering himself into one of the large armchairs facing a long sofa.

  I thought Achilles would take the chair adjacent Xan’s. That’s what my dad would do. He calls it “never losing the advantage.” The man in the big chair has the power. But instead of matching Xan pound for pound, Achilles sits next to me on the sofa, and rather close too.

  I work to keep my breaths even as Xan says that since I’ve been engaged to Simon for three months, it will sound more believable if the marriage between Achilles and me is announced early September.

  Achilles’s sharp grunt signals he disapproves. “No. The sooner the better.”

  Smirking wryly, Xan asks, “Why the rush?”

  Achilles leans forward. “Why are you dragging this out? That’s not the deal.”

  Oh gosh, my head feels light. I try very hard to maintain my patience. Part of me wants to run away from this situation as fast as I can. I want to get this over with. And I don’t want Achilles and Xan to blow up this deal.

  “Can we just get this over with?” I blurt. “No one who knows Simon or I expected us to actually go through with it anyway. Plus, he’s a cheater. He cheated on me. TRM has already posted about it, and now everybody knows.”

  Silence sticks in the air. I don’t look up to see the pity on their faces. I’m the one who chose to become involved with a cad like Simon Linney. He’s not the kind of guy a girl gets involved with if she’s expecting a solid happily ever after.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Treasure Chest,” Xan finally says.

  “Four weeks,” Achilles cuts in behind him.

  I allow myself to look at my in-name-only future husband. There’s not a sign of sympathy on his face. Achilles is all business.