Charade (A Fake Fiancée Romance) (Pretense and Promises Book 1) Page 3

  She was destined for bigger and better things.

  Brock had told her they would spend the next week working through the fake prenup. He’d email it to her once he was done and let her look it over and make any changes necessary. Once they were happy, they’d sign it in front of his secretary, a woman who was also a notary public, and then the game was on.

  It all seemed so simple.

  Erica rolled over again. The damn clock mocked her. 11:34. And she was no closer to sleep than she’d been an hour ago when she lay down.

  Sitting up, she flipped on the lamp on her bedside table. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d struggled with drifting off. This job had left her so sleep deprived, her head would hit the pillow and she’d find herself in dreamland seconds later. Something was bothering her—aside from the fact that she was going to be playing make believe—and she needed to get to the root of it. Then, perhaps, she could sleep for a few hours before having to awaken.

  She picked up the little book sitting behind the lamp. It had an ocean blue cover made of fabric, and there were no words on it, just a pattern of little red, green, and blue designs in the cloth. Cracking it open, she flipped through the thin lined pages. About halfway through, she saw that the last entry she’d made had been over a year ago, the night before her graduation.

  Words. Just words. She’d been so eager, so excited, but even then, she’d had doubts. She’d already been clerking at Ford & Associates, and the writing had been on the wall. She’d predicted—correctly—that she wouldn’t be actually practicing law for a while. Granted, she’d still had to pass her bar exam, but that wouldn’t take forever. In fact, reading through her entry, she saw that she’d expected to be practicing actual law by January. And here it was November—almost a year after she’d expected to be in the thick of things—and the only reason she was even close now was because of this stupid bargain she was making.

  She was going to do it, right?

  Well…it wasn’t like she was actually going to marry Brock. There was no denying the guy was hot—super hot. Part of the problem was that he knew it. His face was ridiculously handsome—gorgeous blue eyes and dark hair—and he seemed to have the body to match. Under his expensive, beautifully tailored suit, she had no way of knowing for certain, but she suspected he took good care of himself from head to toe.

  Yeah, he was good looking, the kind of guy she’d gaze at across a crowded bar or down the street while waiting for the light to turn so she could safely walk to the other side—but once he opened his mouth, she’d lose all interest. It was clear from their short but productive conversation that Brock Ford hadn’t entered law to do good things. Unlike herself, who’d entered law so she could defend the downtrodden, help good people find justice, and right wrongs, the youngest Ford seemed to have entered the family business because, one, his brothers had and it was expected, and, two, he was all about the money. Well, not just the cash but the prestige and fame. He was a hotshot.

  No, he was a prick.

  If he’d been the guy she’d seen at a bar and been intrigued by, as soon as he’d started talking, her lady boner would have gone limp. Yes, he was confident, hot, and sexy—and that would make pretending to be his fiancée easy. The problem would be when he opened his mouth.

  So, like Brock, she hoped their engagement would be short lived—that, as he predicted, his father would hand over the firm to his sons right after Christmas (and maybe even before)…and the two of them could go their separate ways.

  The irreconcilable differences part wouldn’t be difficult to fake.

  No…it was the next two months that would be hard.

  But she’d be doing what she’d set out to do years ago when she’d taken her first prelaw class and knew this was her dream. She’d be acting like a real attorney. Rather, she wouldn’t be acting; she’d be doing. And she wouldn’t have to fake that shit at all.

  She was writing furiously in her journal for the first time in ages, and sometime close to one, she’d closed her eyes to think about her last few thoughts but drifted off and didn’t shut off the lamp until she felt the pen drop from her hand half an hour later.

  And she dreamed about being a real attorney.

  When she awoke, her mind was made up. She’d do whatever it took to get there—even play Brock Ford’s bride to be. It would be a piece of cake.

  Chapter Three

  DRESSED IN A soft pink t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and a light black coat, Erica stood next to the short line in Starbucks while looking out the window. She saw her best friend Camilla’s car turn into the parking lot before the woman maneuvered into a parking space and got out of her car.

  Oh, it had been too long, thanks to her stupid damn job. She and Camilla had become best friends when they’d both been sophomores at DU, but Camilla had been a business major, and she’d graduated with her MBA a couple of years before Erica finished law school. They used to get together for lunch once a week, but since Erica had become immersed in research hell at Ford & Associates and Camilla had found the love of her life, their weekly lunches had become monthly ones. They still texted and talked once in a while, but both women were emerged in their own worlds. In fact, the last time they’d done something together, Camilla was busy talking about all her wedding preparation, making Erica decide right then and there that she wanted nothing to do with a traditional wedding, if that time ever came. Nope, she’d rather elope to Vegas and be done with it. All that money and time for the perfect romantic wedding felt like major bullshit—too much money and preparation for an hour or two of torture when all the couple really wanted to do was declare their love for each other and spend the rest of their lives together.

  Camilla walked in the door, pulling down the hood of her jacket, and her red hair tumbled out, looking messy but pretty. During the week, her friend would pull her hair back into a bun or a ponytail but, away from the office, she’d let her hair go wild. She often looked to Erica like a lion, fierce and proud. As she got closer, Erica smiled and held out her arms to hug her friend.

  “Hey, I’m glad you suggested this. You finally emerged from your cave! And the best part—traffic wasn’t too bad this morning.” Camilla’s green eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait to hear this big announcement.”

  Erica grinned, leading the way into the line proper. “Well, don’t get too excited. It’s not what you think—but I’m bursting at the seams. I have to tell someone.” After they’d both ordered lattes and stood at the corner of the counter waiting to hear their names, Erica asked, “So how are the wedding plans coming?”

  Camilla half frowned. “Oh, they’re a pain in the ass. Mainly because Gary’s an only child and his mother has huge plans. I don’t know a nice way to tell her that my parents had offered to foot part of the bill, too, but I’ve turned them down because I know what I want. If it’s my money, I should have the wedding I want. But Gary’s mom is so worried about appearances…”

  “Sorry.”

  “No. I need to learn to diplomatically deal with her, you know? This is going to be the first of many negotiations.” When Erica started to laugh, Camilla said, “No, seriously. I don’t need her telling me what schools to send my children to or what daycare center is best or why they shouldn’t eat tofu.” Erica nodded. She hadn’t thought of that. Just another reason to not get serious with anyone. And that was just fine with her. Now she was going to finally be able to focus on her career—and that was more important than a relationship. “But what about you?”

  The barista slid both their drinks out on the counter within seconds of each other, and the two women gravitated toward a table beside a window that looked out on the busy street. “Still working away.”

  “Yeah, but what about this outrageous news you keep teasing me about?”

  Erica had been trying to decide how to tell her best friend how crazy her life was about to become—but, not knowing how Camilla would react had made her rethink what to say dozens of times. She only knew she ha
d to tell someone—and Camilla was it. They’d kept each other’s secrets like buried treasure for several years now. That wasn’t about to change.

  Sipping her hot venti mocha, Erica took in a slow breath through her nostrils. When she set her cup down on the table, she asked, “Did you ever play house with neighbor kids?”

  “Well, yeah. Who didn’t?”

  Erica nodded, glad her friend was on board thus far. “I’m going to be doing the adult version of that, starting next week.”

  “The adult version? What does that even mean?”

  “So…you know Ford & Associates is owned by Brady Ford and his sons are partners?”

  “Um, maybe?” Camilla winced. “Sorry. I guess I don’t pay much attention to the details of your job.”

  Erica let out a soft chuckle. “I think you have a little bit on your own plate.” And she doubted she could return the favor of knowing many specifics about her friend’s job, which made them even. “So there are three sons. The deal is that, when father Ford retires, he plans to pass the business on to his sons—but only if they are family men.”

  “Meaning?” Camilla had picked up her cup to take a sip but hadn’t yet.

  “Meaning they need to be married or well on the way. I guess Senior Ford feels like family guys are more reliable and work harder.”

  “Or not. Gary used to work seventy or eighty hours a week until we started dating hardcore. Now that we’re living together, he works even less. And it doesn’t really matter—he’s on salary anyway. Sure, he works more from home than he ever did, and sometimes on Saturdays, I have to beg him to shut off the computer, but he’s always home before seven on weeknights.” She finally took a sip from her cup. “It wasn’t always that way.”

  “Hey, I don’t make up the rules. I’m just telling you what I heard the old guy thinks.”

  “But the news…”

  “I’m getting there. So the oldest and middle brothers are married already. The middle brother even has a child and I think the oldest has one child on the way or maybe they’re just thinking about it. I’m not sure. But the youngest one, Brock, is nowhere near even considering marriage. I think he’s been having too much fun playing the field.”

  Camilla arched a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. “So where do you come in? Are you wanting to tame the wild beast?”

  Erica sucked on her upper lip as she tried to decide how to delicately tell her friend some of the weirdest news in her life. “Not exactly.” She let out a slow breath and then explained to Camilla all the events that had transpired a couple of days earlier. Her eyes grew wide several times during the conversation and she couldn’t help even giggling once or twice.

  “So he wants you to play his fiancée?” Erica nodded, knowing it sounded stupid. “What makes him think his family will fall for it?”

  “I don’t know. All I do know is it’s going to get me out of research and into a space where I can actually practice law, putting my talents to good use before I completely forget them.”

  “Will you have to sleep with him? Or spend the night at his place or anything like that?”

  It was something Erica hadn’t considered. But she didn’t need to. “Umm…no. Just no. The guy’s an egomaniac—he’s a slimeball. He’s all about money, prestige, fame. He’s arrogant and cocky. No, thank you.”

  A sly smile spread over Camilla’s face. “You should see your face. Methinks you protest too much.”

  “Well…the guy is hot. Really hot. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.” She got ready to begin describing his looks and then stopped herself. It was simple enough to say, “Think of a young version of Jon Hamm with slightly lighter hair.”

  “Yum. So what’s the problem? Just tune him out and stare.”

  “That’s pretty hard. He has this commanding presence. He’s not the kind of guy you can ignore…which is good, I guess, considering his favorite place is in the courtroom.”

  “So how long do you have to do it?”

  “Just till the business is turned over to him and his brothers. Then, sometime after that, we ‘break up,’ telling everyone it just isn’t working out. Once Brock owns his share of the business, they won’t take it away from him. Especially since the whole ‘family man’ thing is an unspoken agreement.”

  “They won’t shove you back into the research department then, will they?”

  That was something Erica hadn’t thought much about—and they hadn’t done their “prenup” agreement yet. “I’m counting on it, but nothing’s set in stone yet. It’s death in research for me—I just can’t stomach it anymore. But I have about two months to prove myself. If I can prove to them I’m better practicing law than conducting research, they’d be fools not to keep me doing that.”

  “But what if, Erica?”

  She’d go back to what she’d already been contemplating on Monday, faced with another week of research purgatory. “If I go back to research after all that, then I’m moving home—and maybe hanging out my own shingle.”

  “What? Seriously? You’d come back for my wedding, though, right?”

  “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Good. Because I want you to be my maid of honor.”

  Erica felt her face begin to beam. Even though she and her friend had been besties since college, she hadn’t thought much about Camilla’s wedding plans. It really was an honor to even be considered. “Oh, my God, Cam. Wow. Yes. Of course.”

  “Excellent! Now…let’s talk about your wedding…”

  “Let’s not.” Erica took a big swig of her coffee before she added, “If his mouth was closed, it would be easy. He really is a gorgeous guy. Pretending to be engaged to him would be simple because he’s hot…but it’s really not, because he’s…ugh.”

  “Is he really that bad?”

  “Yes. And I suppose part of his behavior is founded. I mean he really does have the reputation of being all that in a courtroom. I just hate the smugness of it all.”

  “But if you don’t have to kiss him or sleep with him or anything, but you get all the perks, what’s the problem?”

  Erica looked out the window in slow contemplation. “Nothing, I guess. As long as I can do a good job acting the part, it should be okay.” Camilla nodded and smiled. “But I need your help with something.”

  “Name it.”

  “First of all, you are sworn to secrecy. You can’t say a word to anyone, not even Gary.”

  Camilla’s emerald eyes flashed and crinkled in a smile. “Fine. I think I can do that.”

  “Seriously, Camilla. Our coffee today was for me to tell you I’m engaged to Brock Ford.”

  “Fine. Then I want to meet this guy you’re suddenly head over heels with.”

  Erica couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fair enough.”

  “So what next?”

  “I need your help, girlfriend. I have this retirement party thing next week. Something semiformal. All I’ve been wearing the past year has been suits for work and jeans and t-shirts on the weekends. I have nothing to wear to something like this. Nothing.”

  “Then we’re shopping as soon as we finish our coffee. How much money do you have on your credit card?”

  “The question’s not how much I have but how much I’m willing to spend on this silly scheme.”

  “I’d say these are billable expenses. How much is Brock Ford willing to spend?”

  Erica smiled. “Hmm. I can text him and find out.”

  “Buy first; text later. You can always threaten to wear a gray DU sweatshirt and holey jeans to the party.”

  Both women erupted into gales of laughter. Yes, Erica had needed this badly. Time with her bestie was better than therapy.

  * * *

  Goddamn. Brock had spent the last several days having serious doubts about the plan he had concocted, but he felt no regrets as he walked into the restaurant’s large private dining room with Ms. Erica Larson’s arm linked in his. Sure, she looked cute, even a little mys
terious, in her day-to-day business attire, but she’d really cleaned up for this. She’d chosen something a little daring—an off-the-shoulder red cocktail dress with an asymmetrical skirt and matching four-inch heels that made her look like a model. Her hair was pulled up loosely with a few wisps of hair falling here and there. She looked breathtaking, professional…and fuckable.

  In other words, she fit the part of a woman Brock Ford would consider marrying. After all, if he was convinced, his family would be as well.

  He’d started to wonder after their long lunch together on Monday, where they hammered out a prenuptial agreement they could both happy with. Most of it was standard—the property they owned before marriage would remain their own, yadda yadda yadda, but this unconventional pretend couple had more than that to worry about. He’d promised Erica to protect her position in the firm.

  Not just the position she already held…but the one he was going to get her promoted to.

  They had to take caution with the wording so it would look like they were talking about the position she held now but so that it would apply to any future positions she might hold in the firm. Of course, even that was easy enough to do, because, of course, anyone with a mind to practice law would want to move up the ladder.

  Just that short time playing lawyer with her helped him realize she was a sharp cookie. She knew her stuff and, even though family law wasn’t going to be her emphasis, she understood the ins and outs.

  The perfect touch was when Harriet, his personal secretary, notarized the agreement. She took a shine to Erica, and that didn’t happen too often. It had taken her over a year to be comfortable with Brock, not that he gave two shits. Now they understood each other and he wouldn’t have another assistant if he could hand pick one. The woman was professional and understood him—but he suspected she hadn’t liked him much when she’d first begun working for him.