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

  “This isn’t a request. It’s an interview. To see if you’re the right person to take my business,” Richard say. “My resorts are personal for me, so I need to know you can take care of my family. I would, of course, compensate you fully for any expenses.”

  He slides a number across the table and I try not to let my eyes widen. Even in New York, it’s big money. More than enough to fix my sister’s tuition problem.

  “A few interviews, plus the rehearsal dinner and of course the wedding itself. Babysit the media crews, act as a filter between us and them. Ensure the right things get through.”

  And the wrong things don’t, he says without saying it.

  "I'd need to discuss it with my staff," I hedge. There's no way they have extra bandwidth for this, and I wouldn’t ask them to do something like this on such short notice. Which means I’d need to do it. Which means my staff would have to take over all of my current projects.

  Richard laughs, leaning forward. “I haven’t offered it yet.”

  I can't help bristling. “I assure you, my team is extremely capable.” Kendall smiles, but I can tell she’s as surprised by this turn as I am. “And I’ve personally managed campaigns for dozens of major and emerging brands.”

  “Which is why this wouldn't be a job for your staff. It would be a job for you.” His gaze flicks to my hands. “I'll admit, when my team did a background check on you, it seemed strange you're not in a relationship. I assumed someone in your line of work would be the biggest advocate for love.”

  It takes a moment for me to grapple with the pile of bullshit he’s dropped on the table, to remind myself it’s a common misconception of men of a certain age that women must want to be married.

  “Maybe this isn’t the right fit.” He retracts the sheet of paper.

  I see the number slipping away. Shit. I want his business. It’s the next step I’ve seen for us for months.

  A figure emerging from the stairwell into the foyer beyond the glass wall has me frowning.

  “Would you excuse me, please.”

  I head into the main office, pulling the conference room door behind me.

  Ben’s determined expression softens when he sees me. “Delivery. Hold out your arm.”

  I do, and he clicks the bracelet around my wrist. I heave out a sigh. “How’d you find this?”

  “The waitress found it under the table after brunch. The restaurant called me because my name was on the reservation.” He looks past me. “How’s the pitch going?”

  “He wants a spin doctor for his son’s wedding.”

  “You’re not taking it?”

  “I want his resort business, not to play PR babysitter. But,” I relent. “It doesn't help that Lil told me she lost her scholarship today. I could use the extra money.”

  “I thought she crushed her exams.”

  “She did.”

  He brushes a piece of hair from my face.

  I need to get back to the clients. “Thank you for this. You happened to have a spare hour to return it personally?”

  “My assistant canceled two meetings so I could.”

  My chest tightens. I’m caught in his eyes when a throat clearing from behind us has me turning.

  “Benjamin! I had no idea you knew each other.” Richard extends a hand, which Ben takes.

  “Daisy and I went to school together. Met through a mutual friend.”

  “Congratulations on your award nomination,” Richard says.

  Of course Vane would know Ben and Xavier. They'd run in the same circles.

  Richard looks between us. “You make a striking couple. If I’d known you were a team, I wouldn’t have questioned my offer, Daisy.”

  Ben starts to correct him, but I grab his wrist before he can speak, squeezing hard.

  Because Vane's face lit up. In it, I see paying for my sister’s tuition now and landing his company on retainer later, which means the ability to take on more staff—plus maybe even interns, people a couple years older than Lil, graduating school with brains and ambition.

  I see the ability to grow my business and help more people.

  “You caught us,” I say, smiling.

  Ben recovers so fast, I’m left wondering if this was his plan all along. “I thought you didn’t want to tell anyone.” He brushes a hand down my bare arm.

  I’m going to eat so much shit for this later. “Well, since we both know Richard, I suppose it would be hard to keep it a secret forever. But just as the right publicity is important, so is the right privacy.”

  Vane looks between us before offering a grin. “Camila said I should give you another chance, and it seems her intuition is right. I appreciate your discretion and I trust you understand what I require—what we require—of this arrangement.”

  “Of course. I’ll draw up an agreement immediately. If you could send the schedule of activities and contact information, plus any contracts with media or other partners, I’ll review those today and be prepared to move forward.”

  “Good. If this goes well, I would be pleased to talk about further business. Consider this a trial.”

  A month and I can get the real business I want. In the meantime, I can pay for Lil’s school.

  “We have an interview scheduled for this week,” Camila tells me as we head toward the door.

  I nod, committing that to memory. “I trust your fiancé will be involved.”

  “Oh. One would think.”

  Her tone has my attention flying to her eyes, searching for the irony her voice seemed intent on masking, but they leave before I can ask what she means. I’m standing with Ben as I stare after them.

  “So, we’re doing this.” His smug voice has me turning to face him.

  As I take in his handsome face, the triumph on it, I can’t get onboard with his comfort level.

  “Yes. We'll attend your awards gala together. Act like a couple. But we need a plan. A backstory. And ground rules.”

  Ben cocks his head, apparently amused. “This isn’t war games.”

  It feels like it. The smallest miscalculation could mean disaster.

  “Deception isn't my thing. So to make sure there are no slip-ups, we should decide on a few principles around what to tell Vane if he asks, and Xavier too."

  “Fine. You’re the details person.” Ben’s phone buzzes and he glances at it. “I'm taking a lunch near the Met. Let’s meet there after.”

  I nod. “I’ll come up with a list of questions. We’ll go through them together.” I rub a hand over the bracelet, and his eyes warm. "Thanks again for—"

  "My pleasure.”

  My black pumps root to the floor, my traitorous skin tingling as he catches my hand and lifts it to his lips. Every part of me tightens in anticipation.

  The second his mouth brushes my skin, the anticipation turns into something far more dangerous. I swear he lingers there, that sexy mouth touching me in the middle of my office.

  "I'm glad you're my girl," he murmurs when he pulls back.

  I can't pretend away the ribbon of heat chasing down my spine, settling at my core.

  Each sensation adds to a screaming red WARNING sign, an indication I’ve made a huge mistake.

  Which is an overreaction. A huge mistake is taking on the wrong client, or the year my accountant underestimated our corporate taxes and I had to work through my planned vacation to make up for it.

  Not pretending to be attracted to my best friend.

  Even if, since the other night, I can’t stop thinking about how lickable his body is.

  4

  “The interview is in three days. There’s no time to have the questions approved in advance,” the woman on the other end of the phone tells me.

  “The sooner you can send the questions, the sooner we can approve them,” I reply as I trot out of the office at lunch, glancing at the clouds before dismissing them.

  “We’re People magazine.”

  “And I’m responsible for my clients. They’ll be as candid as possible,
and knowing what you’re interested in will help them prepare. Getting married is a stressful time, and the kind of funny and charming anecdotes your readers will love don’t come out of nowhere. I want every person who opens this story to be delighted, not let down.”

  As I reach the Met, the sky opens up, raindrops landing on my hair and face. My heels click on the concrete as I hurry up the steps and out of the rain.

  Since the meeting this morning, we’ve already signed the contract and Vane sent me a deposit.

  I asked the bride to coordinate a meeting, but she said I’d do better going to the groom’s admin directly, so my assistant reached out to find a time for the three of us to talk tomorrow.

  I also reviewed my commitments over the coming weeks, arranged to bump one client, then huddled with Kendall and Rena to reallocate some of my work so they could take on more. I’ll owe them big time for this, but if we land Vane after this month, we’ll all be benefiting for the foreseeable future.

  As I reach for the Met’s front doors, I’m glad to have had the walk outside. Today is rushing by and I need to breathe. This year is rushing by, really. Building a business makes it hard to stop or vacation or sleep.

  Not that any of it’s about me. It’s about what we can do for clients.

  I scan my membership pass on the way in. I’m a few minutes early, so I check my email when it dings with the questions from People. Scanning them has the tension in my gut dialing up, because these questions are personal—but nothing I can’t handle.

  “You’re wet.” Ben’s voice over my shoulder has me turning.

  “Forgot my umbrella.” He doesn’t have one either but is perfectly pressed, meaning he was dropped off or got here before it started. “I was just reading some questions for my new client.”

  He swipes the phone from my hand. “‘How did you meet? What about the other person turns you on? What is his/her favorite thing? What’s their best and worst attribute?’ These are very specific.”

  “If you’re dating, you know these things,” I correct, lifting the phone from his fingers. I head for the big staircase in the middle.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Impressionists. I need to unwind.”

  He chuckles but gestures for me to go ahead.

  “First, specificity is our friend,” I say as we take the stairs. “We’ll appear at the gala together, act cozy in front of your partners and Vane, and we’re done. There won’t be anyone there who would refute that we’re a couple, right?”

  “Tris." Ben’s grimace has me suspicious.

  “Hold on. So we need to make Tris think we’re dating too?” I come off the top of the stairs, rounding to face him so he nearly bumps into me. “No way. This is not what I signed on for, Ben."

  "What's the difference?"

  "The difference?" I notice people looking over and lower my voice. "The difference is that convincing work acquaintances for a single night is relatively straightforward. Convincing Tris—which mean we have to convince all of our friends, by the way—means starting now, and it's a complex maneuver."

  He doesn't look nearly as upset as I feel. “You want rules? Here’s rule number one. For the next month, for all intents and purposes, we will be dating. When we’re together, we act like a couple.”

  I continue to my favorite room on the second floor as my mind works. “But if we need to convince our friends, that means repeated public engagements as a couple. We might need a social calendar like Camila and Aiden.”

  It’s a joke, but Ben nods. “Perfect. That’s rule number two. We don’t have to go everywhere together, but we already hang out, and it makes sense we would be seen with each other. If we pick the right times, that will reinforce our story.”

  I suck in a breath. “I don’t like the thought of lying to our friends.”

  “Come on. They’d love it if we dated. This’ll be like fanfic for them.” I shake my head as he continues. “Listen, I get that it makes you uncomfortable. I grew up being lied to by my dad, but he did it to manipulate and get what he wanted. I need to run this firm. The associates cringe when Holt walks down the hall, and I’m sure some of them would leave if he took the helm. But they have business school loans to pay off, so who the hell knows. They’re not taking it up with Xavier.”

  The thought of someone awful winning out over Ben sticks with me, even though it’s not my company. I feel for everyone on their team, and I know Ben would be a far better boss and mentor. He’s tough but fair, and wants to see his people succeed.

  “This world is messed up,” he goes on, “and we have a chance to make it better. But until we’re calling the shots, the best way to get there is to do what people like Xavier and Richard Vane expect. After the gala, we’re home free. You’re off the hook. And in case it gets weird, rule three—we won’t do anything to compromise our friendship. We can lie to the world, but we don’t lie to each other.”

  My stomach drops, but the intensity on his face has me nodding slowly.

  Everyone keeps secrets, I remind myself.

  “It’s not that strange,” he says, turning to stare at one of the paintings. “Hell, in another world, maybe we would’ve dated.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck lift.

  “In another world,” I say, “Vi and I wouldn’t have fought, and she wouldn’t have left. Your dad wouldn’t have been an asshole.”

  “Sounds like a better world.”

  His gravelly voice has the knots in my stomach tightening.

  Ben clearly wishes my twin had stayed. I get why, but the hurt lingers anyway.

  “It’s dangerous to deal in alternative worlds, Ben. It would also be a world in which we didn’t go through the things that made us who we are today.”

  When I first met Ben, I knew several of our friends came from money, and I’d heard Ben had a sizeable trust fund. Eventually, I learned his dad had taken most of his family’s money, that he’d pressured his mom into keeping a trust for him so that he could invest it.

  While most of the students in our class were complaining about course loads or relationship drama, Ben was quietly finding small, high-risk, high-reward investments with the right potential to pay off, immersing himself in business training after his engineering course load, and building back up what his father had taken from them to ensure his mother and brother would always have enough.

  Now, he’s one of the most successful investors in New York.

  Only a handful of people know why.

  He crosses to another set of paintings, and I follow. “We should answer the questions on that list so we’re prepared if someone asks us.” He lifts my phone and reads off the screen. “‘What does the other person do that turns you on?’”

  I try for nonchalance. “Sometimes you stop talking.”

  He laughs. “Come on.”

  I frown at the strap on my handbag. “You do this thing with your hair. It’s too long, and you kind of twist it in your fingers before you shove it out of the way. At least that’s what I would say if we were dating,” I add. “What about you?”

  Ben casts a look around the room before his warm gaze finally lands back on me. “When you watch other people, I watch you. I like how your mind works. Sometimes, you cross and uncross your legs, and it makes me wonder how long it would take for me to get your attention if I slipped a hand under your skirt.”

  Everything in the room grinds to a halt.

  The paintings are a blur of colors.

  The other patrons in the room are unmoving blobs.

  Because it takes every inch of my brain to process the words Ben dropped on me as casually as if he was sharing the weather.

  Heat chases down my spine, settles into a dull, throbbing ache between my thighs.

  “…That’s what I would say if we were dating,” he goes on pleasantly before turning on his heel and heading toward the door. “Let’s keep moving. We have ten minutes,” he tosses over his shoulder, leaving me wondering if he came up with that
on the spot or if he’s actually thought about putting his hand up my skirt.

  As we start into the next room and I'm still recovering from his words, he asks a new question. “How do you like to fuck?”

  “If that’s on the list, I’m killing the Vane interview right now.” I snatch my phone back from him.

  “It’s not, but if we’re dating, it’s something I’d know.”

  I tuck the phone away and find myself trapped in Ben’s intense, curious gaze.

  There are a couple people on the far side of the room, a mother and a kid. It feels as if I’m overexposed, standing here thinking about how to describe the kind of sex I like to my best friend.

  “Slow,” I say at last.

  “It doesn’t have to have one speed.”

  “No. But most men tend toward one.” We continue through the galleries. “What about you?” I ask after a moment.

  “I like to be in charge.”

  “Like, ‘blindfolds and whips’ in charge?"

  His frame looms large, close enough his woodsy scent that has no place in Manhattan floods my senses. His smirk is entirely sexy, and I’ve never seen it directed at me before. “It’s still early days. You haven’t found out yet.”

  I twist my bracelet, reminding myself this is make-believe. “We have to decide what to tell our friends when they ask why we got together now after all this time.”

  His phone buzzes, and he jerks his head toward the door. “We’ll play it by ear.” We head back out into the lobby and he stops me. He heads straight for a display of umbrellas at the entrance of the gift shop and picks out one with my favorite painting on it. “There. For my girlfriend.”

  “It’s touristy,” I say, but I can’t resist the smile tugging at my lips.

  His eyes dance. “How can having your favorite thing to look at be touristy?”

  He’s right. The more I look at it, the more I like it.

  "You can be really sweet when no one's looking,” I accuse.

  He cocks his head as he pays for the umbrella. "That's the time to do it. Can’t have women indiscriminately falling in love with me.”