Twisted Love: A Fake Relationship Romance (Modern Romance Book 3) Read online

“Why can’t you leave me?”

  I set down the controller and turn toward him, leaning an elbow on the seat of the couch. “Because I can’t,” I say simply.

  Ben sets down his controller and reaches for his glass, his strong arms flexing. He narrows his dark eyes at me over the rim as he takes a sip. “You’re too good for me,” he says when he’s done.

  That’s not true. Not even close.

  “Why did you miss your flight?” I ask, propping my head in my hand.

  “There was a surprise call notifying me that I’m a finalist for a big venture award next month. It hasn’t been announced publicly, but Xavier’s on the awards committee. He wants to talk tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s a big deal,” I say, reading between the lines. The senior partner at the prominent venture firm calls the big shots, but my friend is a rising star. His first few years at the company, the investments he backed had more than twice the returns of anyone else's.

  “Rumor is Xavier is retiring in a couple of years. This award would be a big step toward being named his successor. Not only would I decide on deals, I’d get to influence the venture landscape in a whole new way.”

  “That’s great, Benji.”

  His eyes crinkle at the corners, a glint of satisfaction in them as he tugs on his hair. “It is.”

  There’s no cockiness in it, though he’s more than capable of it. But when it’s the two of us, his walls come down. He’s worked hard to get where he is, and he deserves the rewards.

  I’m so damned proud.

  On impulse, I lean in and hug him.

  With half a second’s hesitation, he draws me against him.

  I might’ve initiated, but now it’s his strong body surrounding me. His heartbeat is a slow, steady rhythm against mine. The light stubble coming in along his jaw tickles my cheek.

  I shut my eyes and breathe him in. “What did your mom say when you told her about the award?”

  Ben stiffens against me, his shoulders tightening beneath my arms. “I haven’t.”

  He pulls back the next second before rising to head for the kitchen.

  Startled, I watch him go and turn over the brusque response.

  He returns a moment later with the tequila bottle and pours another glass for each of us before he sits again. “I’ve been trying to reach her for three days, but she’s gone AWOL.”

  His voice isn’t as crisp as it was before, and a ripple of worry runs through my stomach.

  “What do you think happened?”

  I know every line of his hard jaw, his firm lips that default to serious but curve in a heartbeat, the strong nose and dark brows. His eyes range from the color of good whisky to the color of earth.

  Right now, they’re dark with emotion.

  “I’m trying not to think,” he says.

  My heart aches.

  His mom was a soap star in LA who got her break when Ben and his brother were little. Ben’s dad was in and out of their lives, but when Ben’s dad finally took all his things and most of the family’s money and left when we were in college, it broke Ben’s mom. He was left picking up the pieces.

  “We’ll find her,” I say.

  Ben leans in, grabbing a piece of my hair and twisting it around his fingers. “I don't know what the fuck I'd do without you.”

  I do. Ben would still be Ben, and I’d be the one left adrift.

  The thought comes from nowhere.

  I tuck my hair behind my ear, an excuse to pull away from the careless touch that has heat stirring between my thighs.

  But he goes on before I can come up with a response.

  “Nice dress. Is it cold in here?”

  It takes me a second to realize his gaze has fallen to my chest. My nipples are sticking through the fabric.

  “You flew home and showed up at my apartment so you could criticize my boobs?”

  “I’ve been cooped up with a bunch of dudes for a week. There was no criticism.” The laughter in his voice doesn’t make it better. “I can return the favor.”

  He’s lifting his T-shirt before I can protest.

  “Why do men think the response to being caught checking out yours is showing you theirs? Keep it for your dating profile. I’m saving myself for Henry Cavill and…” My traitorous gaze locks on the grooves of his abs. “You’ve been working out.”

  He tosses his head back and laughs, a warm sound that vibrates along my nerve endings. “I’m offended you just noticed. I was named the fourth sexiest bachelor in Manhattan this year. The associates at work made sure to bring me a print copy of the magazine.”

  Let’s be clear—a ripped body does not make a perfect boyfriend, but it’s natural to stare a little longer.

  When a man is already intelligent, protective, funny, confident and a little infuriating and he also possesses those hard planes and grooves... it’s downright unfair.

  “I didn’t think you were coming tonight,” I say at last. “I was going to meet someone. A Wall Street guy I met at a charity event. Rena and Kendall were practically getting us a hotel room.”

  Ben’s gaze sharpens as I reach for my glass. “I don’t want some loser touching you.”

  I arch a brow. “This isn’t a veto you get with your partners. I’m not an investment.”

  “No. You’re my best friend.”

  Because Ben would never see me as someone he’d pursue romantically. I’ve experienced the truth of that firsthand.

  I drain the glass in a single drink, two hundred dollars of tequila burning down my throat.

  “D? You good?”

  I blink to see his handsome face drawn in concern—for me, for my state of mind.

  I set the glass on the table and force my attention back to the screen. “Yeah. We should play.”

  We do, falling into familiar rhythms, the challenge and thrill of experiencing life-or-death in a safe way burning off some of the frustration in my bloodstream from the week. By the time we finish, it’s after two.

  “Good job, partner,” I offer as I stand, stretching to alleviate my cramped muscles.

  He follows my actions, high-fiving me once we’re both upright.

  “Surprised Lily isn’t here,” he comments as he takes the glasses to the sink and tucks the remaining tequila into a cabinet.

  “She’s staying at a friend’s.” I reach for the bracelet on my wrist on instinct, and his sharp gaze follows the motion.

  “You still think about her,” he says, but he doesn’t mean Lil.

  I swallow, drawing in a slow breath. “Of course.”

  Do you still think about her? I want to ask the question, but I’m not prepared for the answer.

  Once Ben has his jacket back on over the T-shirt, he steps close. His thumb grazes my jaw, his fingertips brushing the hair at my nape. The touch isn’t unusual.

  But tonight, I swear he takes his time, not wanting to step back.

  “Why do you touch me like that?” I blurt.

  He frowns as if thinking about it for the first time. “Because it feels like you’re half somewhere else. I want you here with me and when I touch you, you are.”

  My chest aches. I am here. I’m all the way here, Ben.

  I wish to hell he would see it.

  His thumb on my cheek sends sparks that have me parting my lips, and it takes everything in me not to let my traitorous gaze fall to his perfect mouth.

  “Get some sleep,” he murmurs, those dark eyes searching my face. “I'll see you at brunch in a few hours.”

  Then his touch is gone, and a moment later, so is he.

  I lean back against the door, wrapping my arms around myself because I’m suddenly cold in this dress.

  “I want you here with me and when I touch you, you are.”

  The irony burns.

  There’s no way Ben and I would happen, because he doesn’t see me that way. Because we have too much history as friends, because he’s too precise and controlling, because our lives are too demanding.

  Beca
use before she left…

  My twin sister had him first.

  2

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” Tris drawls over the Bluetooth in my car. “I take it you saw an investment you liked in LA?”

  I shift in the driver’s seat of the Tesla Roadster I bought earlier this year, navigating the early-morning weekend traffic. “A new networking app. The demo they showed me was unreal. I’ll pitch it Monday at our partners’ meeting.”

  “You know Holt’s pitching a second round of funding for that health services company he’s sweet on.”

  I shake my head. “We need to cash out and free up funds for new ventures. We’re a VC, Tris, not entrepreneurs. We have to get in and get out at the right time.”

  My company invests in early-stage ventures and helps them scale. Me, two other partners, Xavier and Holt, plus Tris—our corporate counsel and also my brother—run the show.

  Since I started with the firm two years ago, Holt and I have disagreed on most things. I’ve built my reputation of being strategically impulsive. I have big ideas others don’t. I take bold risks, but they’re calculated. It’s what I love about my industry. I get to help make things real, make products that change lives, turn smart kids into millionaires or sometimes more.

  “Well, I’ll see you at brunch. What are you doing until then?” Tris asks.

  “Meeting Xavier.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Got to go,” I say, clicking off as I pull up to Xavier’s house and park in the private lot around the corner.

  Our industry never sleeps, but it’s still unusual for our senior partner to invite me for coffee at his brownstone on a Saturday morning.

  His housekeeper shows me into a masculine study, full of dark wood and leather-bound volumes. Scattered in between are pictures of family in bright frames.

  “Benjamin.”

  I turn to see our senior partner, more casual than normal in a dark sweater and chinos.

  Everyone in the industry, and in the city, knows Xavier Cousins. Valedictorian of an Ivy League business school, and one of the first black leaders of a major venture firm, he's built his reputation—and his fortune—by balancing patience with decisiveness.

  I wanted to work with him, to learn from him, as soon as I finished grad school.

  Growing my trust fund fiftyfold was enough to get me on his radar when he expanded his Manhattan firm.

  “Thank you for coming this morning.”

  He gestures to two wingback chairs by the window, and I sink into one.

  "You nominated me for this award. It means a lot to me.”

  “A nomination isn’t a win,” he says. “You’re capable, ambitious, but young.”

  “I’ve made this firm more money in two years than anyone has in the last five.”

  “I’ve noticed. And as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there have been rumors about my retirement. Though I can’t confirm the timing, I am thinking about succession planning. I want to see you do well, but you need a lot to move up to the next level.”

  “I have a Harvard MBA.”

  “You need more than that. You need a life outside of work. Holt’s ten-year anniversary is coming up.”

  A laugh escapes as I think of our other partner, but it dies when I realize Xavier’s not laughing with me.

  Holt might have a circle of high-powered friends, but he lacks the vision and integrity to lead the firm into a new generation. His decisions are conservative because he can’t stand a blemish on his record—to the point he’ll get his hands dirty in order to save face.

  He’d rather be seen dining with the right people than actually do the work behind the scenes. Holt doesn’t waste his time rolling up his sleeves and involving himself in nonprofit governance when he can just cut a check and bask in the kudos and tax credits.

  Every associate on our team has horror stories about his demands—from the Yale grad he tried to fire when he learned she was pregnant to the intern he demanded go through his office and home closets on the weekend while Holt was traveling to find a jacket he wanted cleaned for when he returned, only to find out later that Holt had it with him all along.

  He’s in it for the prestige, not the job. The only place Holt would run our company is into the ground.

  Xavier might not be privy to Holt’s indiscretions, but he must know Holt misses great opportunities, especially from up-and-coming entrepreneurs, that could pay off.

  “You’re joking,” I say.

  “I’m not. And don’t think I’m entirely old-fashioned. I’m not saying you need a woman. I’d say you need a man, if you were into that.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t see how having someone to share a bathroom with makes you a better venture capitalist.”

  Xavier steeples his fingers. “Having a partner at home is as important as having a partner in the office. It’s less about your day-to-day capabilities and one-off decisions. You need someone to trust, to confide in. Someone to seek counsel from.”

  I don’t know where he’s going with this, so I listen steadily as he continues.

  “It’s easy to wear the clothes and pretend to be the kind of man who can lead a company like this. It’s harder to do it for real. At a certain level, being well-rounded, having support, it matters.”

  “Does it?” I shift back in my chair, looking at one of the pictures of Xavier with his family. “When I was a kid—old enough to behave, of course—I used to go to dinner parties in LA with my mom. One of the TV studio execs in particular indulged me. My mom said he didn’t work in Hollywood anymore but liked to be around the people. Anyway, he let me play with the statues in his office. One night, I noticed the most recent award was five years before. When I asked him why there wasn’t anything newer, he said his partner had died and he couldn’t bear to keep creating.”

  Xavier doesn’t blink. “One man’s view, Benjamin.”

  I could give him more personal examples, but I won’t. Besides, I can see he won’t relent on this, so… I lie. “I have been seeing someone.”

  “Really? Someone serious?"

  I force myself to nod even though the idea feels ludicrous. “I’ll bring her to the awards gala."

  His eyes brighten. “Make it sooner. I’d like very much to meet her.”

  And that’s how I take what should have been a perfectly good weekend and fuck it up before I’ve even had a coffee.

  I’m late to brunch. It’s not a cardinal sin—in fact, it’s practically a virtue—but my friends are already squeezed at a round table, elbow to elbow as if the restaurant couldn’t accommodate the entire crew.

  Logan Hunter—known just as Hunter to everyone except his girlfriend and his mom—Jake, and I went to Columbia together. Hunter's girlfriend, Kendall, works with Daisy and Serena, whom I know from the private high school I transferred to after moving from LA. Serena's boyfriend, Wes, is a top-rate geneticist, and his DNA dating app is one of the diamond-in-the-rough discoveries that's helping cement my reputation in the VC world.

  But one person’s missing.

  “Where’s Daisy?” I ask.

  “She’s running late," Rena supplies. "Something to do with her sister.”

  “Lil was out all night.”

  Tris cocks his head as I take a seat, my chair bumping against the empty one. My brother is two years younger, but once he started college, he wound up hanging with my friends—a fact I occasionally find myself regretting.

  He’s waiting for an explanation as to how I know anything about Lily’s night, so I say, “Daisy tells me everything."

  "Doubtful. There are some things a woman doesn't tell someone who hasn't shared her bed. And she's way too ambitious and dedicated for you.”

  I frown. “I’m ambitious and dedicated.”

  “Exactly. You’d make magnificent bookends and terrible lovers.”

  Tris says I have a problem letting people in, but that’s not accurate. Rather, there are few people I want to invite in.

  �
�Have you heard from Mom?” I ask. “Been trying to track her down all week.”

  “No, but I’m sure she’s fine. Probably drinking too many martinis and delighting over the fact that you’ve got your panties in a knot over her whereabouts.”

  Irritation chafes at me. “She put you through law school. Don’t be a dick.”

  “She manipulated both of us for years. You’re still playing along.”

  When Daisy strides in, my retort is forgotten. She’s wearing cherry-red shorts and a crisp white T-shirt. Her dark hair, cut blunt at the ends, swings in a curtain around her shoulders. Her sandals make her taller and display curvy legs that come from walking everywhere in this city.

  “Afternoon in the Hamptons?” I murmur as she shifts into the seat next to me, struggling because of the close quarters.

  “You weren’t invited,” she tosses back, her dark eyes locking on mine.

  We always made fun of the rich New Yorkers, but now we work with them every day.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Lily came home this morning panicked because she got a B on an essay. I sat her down and reminded her the sum of her life experience won’t be determined by an economics paper.”

  “Way to go handing out life lessons before coffee.”

  She threads her fingers through my hair. “Speaking of… you need a haircut. I felt like an asshole pointing it out when you’d just spent an extra thousand dollars and hours at LAX to get back to see me.”

  “Justified.” A grin pulls at my lips, and hers curve to match.

  Daisy’s been my friend since undergrad. Our friends were friends. She was down to earth and self-possessed as hell. The night we met, I mentioned that girls always seemed to be tripping around me, and she informed me any collisions were due to the fact that my hair was too long for me to see straight.

  I liked her immediately.

  I thought the feeling was mutual, but after her twin sister, Vi, dropped out of school, Daisy all but ghosted me. It wasn’t until almost a year later, after a spring break trip, that we started hanging out again.

  Hunter clears his throat. “Kendall couldn’t be here because Rory’s sailing boats at the park," he says, referring to his girlfriend and her son. "But I wanted you to know I’m planning to propose.”