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

  The girls gasp, and the guys groan.

  "Incredible,” Rena murmurs as if Hunter just showed her a video of a dog riding a motorcycle.

  "Never thought I'd settle down?" he asks.

  "Never thought I'd see you plan something," Daisy teases, and he shoots her a withering look.

  We might all be friends, but we’re very different people.

  I’m a big-picture guy, but Daisy spots what’s running under the surface. Sometimes she misses things she needs to think about, and I have to step in—like how she was so fastidious going over the lease agreements for her company’s first home that she forgot to question whether they needed one in the first place.

  I’m glad she has some weaknesses. It means she’s human and that I can help her.

  Which I like doing.

  “She’s been proposed to before, you know," Rena comments.

  Hunter’s ruddy face goes pale. “Come on. Give me some credit.”

  “I’m offended I haven’t seen you in my office yet,” Jake, who runs a gem company, weighs in. “How many carats?”

  “Wait. You guys have been dating less than a year,” Rena says.

  “When you know, you know. Plus Rory’s the cutest kid ever.”

  Daisy and Rena beam, and Wes shakes his head.

  “So, a lot of carats,” Jake says dryly.

  We all catch up, but as we order coffees and mimosas and pancakes and French toast, my mind drifts back to the bigger problem at hand.

  I need a girlfriend.

  Not a real one, of course. Just someone to make Xavier comfortable in my solidity as a potential successor long enough to put the groundwork in place—the first step of which is me winning this award.

  I’m not about to drop this on the table in front of my friends, but as I drink my coffee and listen to the comfortable buzz, I’m mentally running through my options.

  I’ve had dates for various social events, any one of whom I’m sure would be happy to play house with me for a month. However, none of them know me well enough to carry it off, and I wouldn’t trust them anyway.

  Then there’s the decorator I dated last year for three months. When she started insisting I let her sleep over, pressuring me to cancel work trips and spend time with her and introduce her to my mom, I told her we had different ideas of where we were going. She’d responded as if we hadn’t agreed from the get-go that we weren’t looking for something serious.

  Not calling her.

  “How’s the fugue state working out?” Daisy murmurs so only I can hear. “You’ve been staring out the window for five minutes.”

  “Not great.” I pick up the other half of her English muffin and bite into it, forcing my attention back to the table, which is engaged in a lively discussion about vacation spots.

  Daisy has a sip of her mimosa before setting it down and adjusting the bracelet she’s worn on her wrist for as long as I’ve known her.

  Daisy wouldn’t have gotten herself into this problem. She has her shit sorted out, and everyone else’s too.

  We talk about Tris’s birthday this week as Hunter shares Kendall’s kid Rory’s new project with pride, and Serena's boyfriend Wes talks to me about a new science idea to follow up on the investment I made in his online dating platform.

  Daisy jumps in from time to time with pointed questions or appreciative laughter before cutting everyone off with a political question or prod for one of our friends to get more involved in one of the charities she’s stumbled across recently.

  That’s when it hits me. Daisy would be the perfect fake girlfriend.

  She’s smart, articulate, attractive, single, and she knows me better than anyone.

  I shove my sweater up to my elbows and bend toward her ear. “We need to talk.”

  She jumps, startled, and knocks coffee onto her shirt. “Dammit.”

  "How many cups have you had?"

  "I swear this is my first."

  She pushes back her chair, and I'm right on her heels.

  “Daisy, for my birthday, I want you,” Tristan calls as D leads the way toward the hall.

  “Jumping out of a cake?” she asks over her shoulder, amused.

  “He’s rich, but rich can’t keep you up all night.”

  “You wouldn’t know,” I retort, flipping my brother off. “You’re following in my footsteps but you’re slow to catch up.”

  Laughter follows us toward the hallway. The first single-person bathroom is full, so she ducks into the second. I follow her, squeezing in behind her so the door will close.

  “Did you reach your mom?” she asks as she tugs the hem of her T-shirt, running it under the water.

  “Not yet.” I’m working on tracking her down, the sinking feeling in my stomach growing by the hour. But I force it away as I take a paper towel and hold it out to her. “I need a date to my awards gala.”

  “I’m sure a million women would go with you.”

  I lean back against the door. “I don’t want a million women. I want you.”

  Daisy meets my gaze in the mirror, laughing.

  “Come on. You don’t even know the details. It’s on our night, so I know you don’t have plans.”

  She scrubs at her shirt. “We’ve been hanging out every Friday for eight years."

  "Which means it's unshakeable."

  Daisy cuts me an unreadable look from under a fringe of dark lashes. “Or… maybe it’s run its course.”

  Cue record scratch.

  “We’re adults. We have jobs and lives and responsibilities,” she goes on, as if she didn’t turn my world upside down a breath before.

  “Which is why fucking off every week together matters more. We don’t have to pretend with each other.”

  “What about when you start dating someone who wants your Friday nights?”

  “I’ll manage her expectations.”

  She balls up the paper towel and tosses it in the garbage before turning to face me. “Then what if I do?”

  It takes a lot to render me speechless, but her words do it.

  Yesterday, I didn’t blink before paying that guy in the boarding lounge for his ticket so I could get back.

  I didn’t regret taking a limo straight from La Guardia to my friend’s apartment and letting myself in, because our nights together are sacred.

  Last night, I felt as if she was pulling away, but I was tired enough from my day that it took a while for the sinking sensation to kick in. Now I'm thinking of her sitting on the floor in that dress too nice for playing video games.

  She’s dated people, and so have I—no one who interfered with our friendship, though.

  Now, I'm thinking the guy she was on her way to see last night could be the one who changes things.

  “You’re dumping me,” I state, only half joking.

  “No. We’re friends, and we always will be.”

  “I need you to be more than my friend.”

  Her expression is incredulous, dark eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

  “Xavier has this crazy idea I need a partner if I'm going to succeed him.” I fill her in on this morning’s conversation. “I’d be the youngest senior partner ever. Xavier seems to think Holt’s worthy of emulation. He can’t seriously be thinking about appointing him over me, but I’m not taking the chance. The firm needs to be in good hands, which means smart decisions and actual leadership.”

  Her mouth screws up in that look that says she’s thinking.

  “Just pretend to be my girlfriend for one night. I need Xavier to not worry about me.”

  “Maybe he should be worried about you.”

  I scoff. “There’s nothing wrong with me, and you are the last person to judge someone for how they live. You run a company that's all about understanding people, meeting them where they are.”

  Her finger digs into my chest. “And I didn't start it so people could lie to one another.”

  I cup her face in my hands. “You’re saying you won’t do this for me?”


  Daisy folds her arms over her chest. “You want me to dress up and parade around on your arm. Gaze up at you adoringly. Flirt with you.”

  Hearing it spelled out is oddly compelling.

  "It's no worse than dating the Wall Street douche.”

  She grabs my wrists and pushes my hands away.

  I frown. “Even if you try, it won’t last.”

  “You don’t know everything about me.” She tries to squeeze past me. She might be a foot shorter than me, but she’s fierce.

  I shift to trap her, unsure of how this morning has devolved so quickly.

  From the second I realized Daisy would be the perfect girlfriend, I thought my problems would be solved.

  Now it seems as if there’s a bigger problem—my friend is pulling away from me at warp speed.

  “I know what makes you tick. I know why you’re as protective of Lil as if she were your own kid. I know you can size someone up before they even open their mouth. That any man should be terrified to sit across a negotiating table from you, and anyone you invite into your life is so goddamn lucky.” Her eyes go shiny at my words, and it takes me a second to regain my composure. “I don’t get why this is a big deal. Go to the gala with me. Act like I’ve seen you naked. A lot of women would kill to be my pretend girlfriend.”

  Her gaze drags down me, and awareness has the hairs on my arms lifting even before she leans in, close enough I get a hit from her jasmine shampoo.

  “Then invite one of them.”

  She shoves past me and heads back down the hall, her wedge sandals clicking on the floor and sounding like something I'm not used to hearing, especially from my best friend.

  Rejection.

  3

  Monday is the most important day in my recent memory, but after I get up, shower, and dress for my meeting with Richard Vane, there’s nothing to eat.

  “Are we all out of bagels?” I call from the kitchen of my two-bedroom apartment.

  Lil sticks her head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth, wet hair hanging around her head and a fluffy purple towel fastened around her body. “Rtkmthlbry.”

  “Come again?”

  She disappears, returning a moment later without the toothbrush and dragging her fingers through shoulder-length hair darkened to chocolate by the shower. “I took them to the library to study. They’re a good dinner."

  I grab my phone off the kitchen counter and head for the door of the apartment.

  "Hey,” she calls after me. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  I glance at the time. I need to get to the office. “What’s up?”

  “How would I go about getting a small bank loan? I mean, I know how banks work and inflation and monetary policy,” she goes on as if she’s ticking off shades of toenail polish, “but I mean getting an actual person at the financial institution to approve my actual request for cash.” She folds her arms over the towel.

  “Tell me how much you need.” I pull out my phone and tap a few keystrokes.

  “Thirty thousand dollars.”

  Her young, makeup-free face scrunches, and I blink at her. “Lil, in what world is that small?”

  “It is compared to the GDP of even the most emergent national economy.” Defensiveness accompanies the folded arms.

  “What do you need thirty grand for?”

  “My scholarship for the fall is gone.” The words are so low and miserable I barely make them out.

  Horror slams into me. “How? You crushed your finals in April. You have one of the best GPAs in your program.”

  “I was so focused on my exams I missed the email reminding me to file my end of term paperwork.”

  Unbelievable. Lil’s always been the brain of our family, but when her head’s not in a book, it’s in the clouds.

  “Call the financial aid office. Talk to them.”

  “I did. I explained what happened. They wouldn't reconsider.” Her eyes are big and round like she knows she fucked up. “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t even know who she’s apologizing to. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

  It’s one more weight on me on this already critical day, but I feel partly responsible.

  Vi, Lil, and I might be sisters, but we were always distinctive. Vi was the popular one. Lil’s the smart one.

  After Vi up and left in college with zero notice, my parents were as shocked as I was, only they blamed me, deciding I must have done something to drive her away. As a result, Lil got shortchanged, dealing with the awfulness plus my parents’ disappointment and distraction.

  I’m trying to make up for it. When Lil finished her first year at Columbia, I suggested she live with me. I don’t charge her rent.

  As I rummage through the front hall console table, Lil asks, “What’re you doing the spastic gopher for?”

  “My bracelet. I can’t find it. I don’t want to pitch without it.”

  Even though my sister left, I kept the one thing we always had in common—the matching Tiffany bracelets Vi got us when we were eighteen. She saved an entire summer for them, which was so unlike her I never forgot it.

  “Did you have it after brunch?”

  I frown. “I don’t remember.”

  “You seemed weird when you got home,” she goes on.

  I give up, reaching for my black strappy heels.

  She moves between the door and me. “Did something happen at brunch? Like the waitress dropped her tray because she was checking out Logan again? You need to let me hang out with your friends.”

  Lil might be so focused on one thing she misses all else, but she will dig until she learns the truth.

  I answer as honestly as I can. “Ben was nominated for this big award and asked me to be his date for the gala next month.”

  Lil’s face slackens. “Bougie crowd, uncomfortable shoes, pretentious types… but good arm candy.”

  “He wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend.”

  She grabs my arms, a dreamy smile spreading across her face. “You have to do it.”

  That stops me.

  I think of how persistent he was yesterday, how stunned when I’d said no.

  None of it matters. I’m trying to put boundaries on our relationship—boundaries that are long overdue, especially if I’m entertaining the idea of an actual relationship with someone else—not get in deeper.

  “You realize if you don’t do it, he’ll get someone else,” Lily points out as I reach for the door. “He’ll smile at her and kiss her and grab her ass—”

  “There won’t be ass grabbing."

  “All new relationships involve ass grabbing,” she calls after me as I start down the hall. “It's a well-documented fact!”

  The entire way to the office, I try to focus on my pitch, rubbing my hand over my wrist where my missing bracelet goes.

  Getting to the office always comforts me, because it’s mine. I created it from nothing. Sure, the building was here before, but all the activity in it started with me.

  Occupying a suite on the second floor of a converted warehouse in SoHo, Closer helps customers with relationship products, everything from online dating to sex toys to lingerie to—if I can land this Vane account—couples’ resorts. And I want to expand to help other companies improve the relational aspects of their businesses. Technology helps but can make people feel disconnected rather than connected if the creators aren’t intentional.

  I want to be intentional.

  Plus, I love that I've built a team of more than a dozen account reps, designers, and communications experts who are not only savvy businesspeople but amazing individuals. I consider all of them family, and some of them friends too.

  The two tenants below Closer are a cannabis dispensary and a rare bookstore that specializes in mainly erotic literature, fiction and nonfiction. It’s kind of poetic.

  Once I’m upstairs, I say hello to the four people here this early, including Kendall, who's sitting in with me on the Vane pitch, before heading to my office.
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  “Let me know when he’s here,” I tell my assistant.

  “Of course.”

  I check my email, answer a few requests from clients and my team, and run through my points one more time before my assistant comes to get me, even though I can see through the glass walls.

  “Mr. Vane.” I greet him warmly with a smile and a handshake.

  “Richard,” he insists. “It’s good to see you, Daisy.”

  At his side is a woman I’d judge as my age, fidgeting with the sleeve of her tailored jacket. She’s beautiful, with unblemished caramel skin and shrewd eyes. Her dark hair is straight and falls in glossy, social-media-ready waves over her shoulders.

  “I apologize. I didn’t realize someone was joining us," I say.

  Her eyes warm a degree. “I’m Camila.”

  I hold out my hand and she shakes it. “What’s your role in the company?”

  “I’m not involved in the company. Yet.” She cuts a look at Richard.

  “She’s my future daughter-in-law.”

  I show them to the conference room where I’m all set up and introduce them to Kendall. Once that's done, I square my shoulders and begin the remarks I've prepared.

  “Although the Vane hotel empire is established and impressive, your acquisition of these twenty properties is a huge opportunity—if you play your cards right. But the focus of a romantic couples’ getaway is different from a regular high-end business hotel chain. I have a number of ideas for how to enhance your connection with your customers to help you know them better and serve them better.”

  I don’t need to look at my notes. I have ideas on how to make the resorts more inclusive, welcoming, and feeling personal all at once.

  Richard holds up a hand. “Actually, I’m here for a specific request. My son is getting married in a month. Our publicity lead quit last week and we need someone to liaise with wedding publications. There’s already an interview scheduled with People. An exclusive photographer. You’d need to oversee the execution of the brand and events.”

  Surprised, I straighten in my seat, smiling. “Mr. Vane. Richard," I amend at his look. "I appreciate that this is a special day. For both of you,” I say to Camila. “And I understand the need to get this right. I handle corporate publicity and marketing, not personal brand. But I can find you the right person on short notice.”