Making It While Faking It Read online

  “Great minds!” she says and apologizes for being late. She tells me that her fiancé wasn’t feeling well. He was supposed to accompany her, and tonight would’ve been the first time he and I met. I’ve heard a lot about Mason, mostly that he’s a good guy and Hercules Lord’s best friend.

  I’m on the verge of inquiring more about Mason’s condition, as she looks so sad about whatever’s going on with him and I wonder if it’s serious, but a guy name Alex Shaw and his hot friend descend on us. I’m happy to see him even though I have a feeling Lake wanted to talk about whatever’s going on with her fiancé.

  Alex and I hug. His chest and arms are a solid mass of maleness, and his aftershave, body soap, and cologne are an ambrosia of deliciousness. Alex is a player for the new franchise baseball team my brother Lynx owns. We met at a party last year after the Connecticut Ramblers made the playoffs. There was a spark between us, and Lynx, who noticed us hitting it off, asked me to keep away from his players. My brother would never force me to stay away. He would only ask. And of course, I agreed. His sister dating any of his employees would be a conflict of interest.

  And so I slipped out of the party without letting Alex know I was leaving. I heard he’s tried to get in touch with me a few times since. He’s even called the restaurant on several occasions. I’ve been meaning to call him back and explain why I ghosted him. But tonight, just like the first time we ever made eye contact, he looks scrumptious. And for some reason, I want to test this new background relationship I have with Achilles Lord. One night of passionate sex can be our little secret since we’re not supposed to be with each other anyway.

  “Congratulations,” Alex croons softly in my ear. I’m still in his arms, and he’s holding me for way too long.

  “Thank you,” I say as I pull out of his grasp. Shit. As much as I want to get it on with Alex tonight, I can’t. That’s why my tone is highly genial and not flirtatious at all.

  His friend holds out his hand to Lake. “And I’m KJ,” he says, eyebrows raised, gazing appreciatively into her eyes.

  As KJ shakes her hand, Lake makes her engagement ring known.

  “Engaged,” KJ proclaims, letting her know that he’s received her subtle message loud and clear.

  “Happily,” she exclaims.

  Alex points at me. “But you are not engaged anymore. You’re done with Linney, right?”

  I roll my eyes. All night, people have been saying they’re sorry to hear about how my relationship with Simon ended. “I didn’t know you were Top Rag Mag’s demographic,” I say in jest.

  Alex, who has the world’s most gorgeous smile, raises his hands as if to say, You caught me.

  I’m in the middle of a laugh when arms wrap around my midsection, and a voice with an English accent says, “Hello, my love,” in my ear and then pelts a tender kiss that contains a light dab of tongue on my temple.

  Lake’s, Alex’s, and KJ’s expressions are frozen in time as if they’re marking the calm before the storm. I don’t know what to say or do at the moment. I last heard from Simon a few days after I left Iceland. He sent me a text message, asking me to not believe what I saw with my own eyes, claiming that he and Cherry were merely running lines. He didn’t know that I saw them fucking. I never told him. I’m also keeping the matter of his fake accent to myself, at least for now. Simon is never to be trusted. When he wants something, he’ll destroy everything in his path to get it. Unfortunately, he still wants me, and I’m not sure how he’s going to take it when he finally hears of my engagement to Achilles.

  Then, being the naughty boy that he is, Simon grinds me with an erection that’s as hard as steel. “We miss you. So let’s go somewhere quiet, you and me, and catch up.”

  His words sink through me like dread itself. With visions of him nailing Cherry Attwell dancing in my head, I ball up my right fist. I’ve never punched anyone in my life, but I really want to pound Simon one good time. But before I can decide whether to punch him or knee him in the groin, a ruckus explodes behind us. Simon’s hands are off me, and the empty air cools my backside as a man shouts, “Take your hands off her!”

  Lake slaps a hand over her mouth. Alex and KJ look horrified. When I turn to get the full picture of what’s happening, I’m horrified too.

  Top Rag Mag

  A RUMBLE AT TREASURE’S GRAND REOPENING

  Last night things got…

  Well, kind of sexy, now that I think about it.

  Stay with me.

  Last night was the big reopening bash of Grove heiress Treasure Grove’s restaurant, formerly known as The Chest of Chelsea and now called Treasures, which we at TRM agree was a smart move on her part. It was getting hard to say, honey, let’s have dinner at that restaurant with the long name but bomb-ass food.

  But getting back to the subject at hand, if you weren’t there, then you missed it.

  Psst…

  There was a brawl. On one side of the ring stood Treasure Grove’s ex-fiancé and actor extraordinaire, Simon Linney, who we confirmed, if you missed it, cheated on her with none other than Cherry Attwell (refer back to our June 3rd alert).

  On the other side of the ring, and shockingly so, stood Orion Lord.

  Say what?

  Our last report of Orion Lord and our favorite heiress together had him dry humping her in her restaurant over a month ago.

  Treasure is still our favorite Grove heiress, right?

  (Don’t skip the poll below. Who is our favorite NYC heiress, Treasure or her super-rich and lucky cousin who managed to nab Hercules Lord, Paisley Grove?)

  Now back to the deets.

  Sources say Orion Lord wrestled Simon Linney to the floor, punching him in the face while defending Treasure’s honor. Apparently, the sight of two strapping men rolling around together on a hard surface was hot. It’s been reported that several women, and men, orgasmed just a little.

  However, we are still trying to figure out why Orion Lord attacked our favorite naughty bad-boy actor. Orion Lord does know that gorgeous face of Simon’s is insured, right?

  A lawsuit is sure to follow. We’ll alert you when it happens. However, the question still remains—are Treasure Grove and Orion Lord a couple?

  Our sources say that he’s the real reason TG escaped the set of Marked by the Sword. Apparently, Mr. Lord asked her to come home to be with him, and she said, “Hell yes, you sexy thing.”

  The streets are talking, and they’re saying that it’s getting serious between the two lovebirds. Don’t worry, we’ll bring you every moment of their hot and heavy, or torrid, love affair.

  So stay close.

  TRM, bringing you the scoop before it happens.

  * * *

  P.S.

  Don’t forsake the poll! Your favorite heiress… Treasure or Paisley?

  I know my choice.

  The Fallout

  TREASURE GROVE

  I groan, rubbing one side of my aching head as I sit against the headboard. This is the third time I’ve read TRM’s alert. I should be thankful that they didn’t mention the fact that I panicked and fled the scene. All I could think about was being the one responsible for ruining the contract between the Groves and Lords. We’re still in the early stages of our agreement. I don’t want to do anything to mess it up. Plus, during the signing process, Clive explained that if I’m found in breach of contract, then I will have to repay all the funds that have been released to me or an amount the executor of the trust sees fit—basically, the amount my dad sees fit. To be under his control sucks. But that’s not the reason why I haven’t spent the trust money on anything but my restaurant.

  The day after I signed the contract, Xan emailed me a list of all the important parts he wanted me to examine. He circled one particular section in red ink. Apparently, I can pay the trust back any funds used before the end of the contract period, after which I’ll be able to nullify the contract. And so I thought, great. I would spend as much as I needed to bedazzle my restaurant, which will surely make me a lot of
money. Then, probably within two years, I’ll make enough money to pay back the trust, and if I fall in love with someone else, I’ll divorce Mr. Storm Cloud Achilles Lord.

  As far as personal expenses go, I’m ahead of the game there too. Last Wednesday, I received a payment in the amount 330,025 dollars from Tuff Studios, the producers of Marked by the Sword. I emailed Jaycee to thank her. Of course, she complained about not being able to get in touch with me.

  “Join the team,” I said, my way of letting her know that I was unreachable on purpose.

  One thing I like about Jaycee is she knows how to get right down to business. We transitioned right into talking money. She still wants to pay me three million for my followers.

  “Six,” I said.

  “Four,” she countered.

  “Five and half or nothing.”

  “Five.”

  “No.”

  “Five and a quarter,” she shot back.

  “Pay me half now and half when I deliver, and you have a deal,” I said.

  She took that deal. I’ve been using that money to pay for my personal expenses.

  Shaking my head, as I once again feel the anguish of last night grip me, I cringe as I lift the bedcovers and look down at myself. I’m still wearing the dress from last night. My escape comes back to me in rapid and vivid succession. My breaths are quick as I’m surrounded by darkness in the alley. My feet burn with every pounding step because wearing those Louboutins with a certain degree of comfort had long expired. I fought back tears when I made it to the building that houses the Airbnb I’ve been living in for over a month.

  That was so insane. As I ran, it was as though I was having an out-of-body experience. Hands over my face, I groan into my palms. I am so embarrassed.

  Then my doorbell rings, and I heave a sigh so heavy it makes me realize I’m out of breath.

  “Damn it,” I whisper.

  It has to be my dad, or worse—it could be Max.

  The doorbell rings again.

  Grabbing the knob, I crane my neck forward to look through the peephole.

  “Shit.”

  It’s not Max. Up until this very moment, I thought seeing him would be worse, but now, seeing my dad suddenly feels like the worst thing ever.

  I clutch my stomach, which feels as if a boulder sits inside it. There’s no use in delaying the inevitable. My face is numb as I turn the knob and blink at the eyes of my father.

  The corners of Leo’s mouth are pulled downward into the most awful frown.

  “Good morning,” I sing in a voice of manufactured cheer. Shamelessly, my goal is to affect his mood. But it doesn’t work—his stern expression remains resilient.

  “You’re going to live with Achilles Lord. A car is waiting for you downstairs. Pete will take you to Achilles’s apartment.”

  I gape at him as if he’s lost his mind. “What? I just can’t pick up and move in with Achilles. I need my…”

  “You need your belongings,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. I feel like my brain is processing what he just said way too slowly.

  “Martha and Lena packed your clothing and other personal items to be transported over to Achilles’s apartment. Martha knows you very well, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  A sardonic laugh escapes me. “She touched my things, Dad?” Because it’s funny. It’s so fucking hilarious to find myself back in the same position I hated ten years ago with my dad calling the shots.

  “I know,” he says empathetically, to my surprise.

  I jerk my head back. “You do?”

  I’m sure he’s about to say something else until one of his eyes narrows, and his gaze drops down to what I have on.

  Dang it. Leo is reading the scene. I don’t look as if I have my act together. I have last night’s dress still on, and I didn’t even wash the makeup off my face. I must really look a mess.

  “What happened last night wasn’t my fault,” I say, knowing now it’s time to defend my reputation. I need him to know that whatever I may look like right now, I’m no longer a screwup. “I didn’t mess up. I had a party, and the wrong people showed up. That’s it.”

  His gaze flits across my face. “I know that, Treasure Chest.”

  And just like that, tears burn the back of my eyes as most of the tension leaves my body.

  “Thank you,” I say from my heart.

  The corners of Leo’s mouth tease a hint of a smile. “I heard you had a great event last night. I wish your mom and I would’ve been invited.”

  My face drops as warmth flashes across my skin. I thought about inviting them. “I know. I should’ve.”

  My dad puts two fingers under my chin and gently lifts my face. “Next time?”

  I nod. “Next time.”

  He initiates a hug, and I squeeze him tight. My dad acknowledging that last night wasn’t my fault expands in my chest, filling me with contentment, making me forget how unsettled I am about Martha and Lena rummaging through my things.

  “And I’m aware that moving in with Achilles isn’t easy for you. But after the bad press, it has to be done.”

  I snort a chuckle as I decide against reciting some of the passages in TRM’s last post about me. In essence, my dad is right. I actually hate to admit that living with Achilles is a pretty good tactical move. Although the thought of spending time alone with Achilles Lord in the confines of his home scares the hell out of me.

  “Okay,” I say, acquiescing with a sigh. “I’ll move in with him.”

  Then Leo puts his hands on my shoulders and leans back to make steady eye contact with me. “If at any second you don’t feel comfortable in his home, then you call me.”

  I want to say that I don’t feel comfortable right now, just thinking about living in the same place as Achilles. I want to complain about how mean Achilles has been to me thus far and how I can’t imagine him being hospitable to me at all. But after Dad’s congratulations on my adult-sized success, I don’t want to whine like a little girl who wants her daddy to fix all her worries.

  “Okay,” I say in a voice so small that I wonder if he heard me.

  “Also,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “I expect you to be present at dinner tomorrow night.”

  Shit. How did he know I planned to skip it?

  “Your grandmother’s hosting it.”

  I gasp as my jaw drops. “Grandmother? She’s in town?”

  His eyebrows wrinkle in a worrisome manner. “Yes,” he barely says.

  I ask when she got into town and why no one told me before now, and Leo assures me that he also just learned that she’s the one hosting, and whatever she wants to tell the family is supposedly very important.

  Now I share my dad’s worried look. “Do you think she’s sick?”

  Leo’s expression changes from worry to something that makes him look as if he’s trying to solve a complicated math equation in his head. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I guess we’ll learn what the hoopla is about tomorrow.” He kisses me quickly on the cheek. “Just be there, Treasure Chest.” He tips his head to the side as he points at me. “I mean it. Don’t skip this dinner.”

  Moving In

  TREASURE GROVE

  I feel like I’ve been clobbered with a baseball bat, one of those plastic ones that T-ballers use, as I ride alone in the elevator up to Achilles’s place. My hands fly up to the sides of my head, and my fingers massage my temples. Ooh, my headache aims to get the best of me. But I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nostrils. I’ve already gotten through the process of getting checked in as a resident. They fingerprinted me so that I have touch access to all the amenities, including Achilles’s private gym and spa and indoor swimming pool. How fancy. But that’s not all. I’ve been assigned my own parking spot in Achilles’s private garage on the seventy-eighth floor.

  Is Achilles home? Another wave of nausea ripples through my gut, and I inhale deeply to let the cool elevator air dissolve that sick feeling. I hope not.
r />   It’s Saturday. Unless he is a workaholic, which I suspect he is—all uptight people like him are—then he has to be out. Contrary to what my life has looked like since diving headfirst into renovations, I am not a workaholic. If last night’s brawl hadn’t happened, I would no doubt be having brunch with a few friends and then making dinner for another set of friends. I love throwing dinner parties. I fear now that I’m living with the Grinch Who Stole Happiness, I won’t be able to host as much.

  I hug myself tightly as chills climb up and down my arms. After my dad left, I accepted the fact that I’m not feeling so well. It’s common for me to become stress sick, and after the month I’ve had, I think that is what’s happening to me. If I’m going to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow night’s dinner, then I’ll need to go to bed early tonight. But that’s going to be impossible. I’m too nervous. I am not ready to see Achilles.

  Maybe he’s out to brunch with his girlfriend, or boyfriend. People are really puzzled about which sex he prefers. His sexuality has been in question for many years. I never paid attention to the rumors because I never felt the need to. Not until Paisley started up with Hercules did I have to think about another Lord brother. But Achilles has never been seen in public with a woman who isn’t his mother or with a man unless it’s one of his brothers. Personally, I think he’s been subject to unfair scrutiny. When a man who looks like him isn’t womanizing or spruced up with the love of his life, then people go looking for a reason why he’s not shoving himself into a box. His looks are top shelf—chiseled jawline, sensual mouth, and bedroom eyes that can peer into your soul. But by the way he’s treated me thus far, I can seriously understand why he’s single. He’s a storm cloud, and nobody wants to be rained on every day of their lives.