The Proposal, page 18
“Are you sure you don’t want me to hunt them both down?” From the look on his face, he was completely serious.
It made my heart happy he cared so much. I shook my head, my throat clogged with a waterfall of emotions.
“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.” I stole a glance over my shoulder at the ruins of the home I’d tried to build. “I gave up on it. It wasn’t a safe place, and every time I turned on the lights it reminded me of what they’d done to me, so I stopped turning them on. I’d dump everything when I came in and try not to look too hard at anything.”
Wiping angrily at my face, I hoped the floor would open up and swallow me. Weepy wasn’t a good look on me and I’d already cried more than enough tears over the things in my past I couldn’t change. “It’s stupid, I know. I’m safe and healthy and that’s what matters.” There are worse things out there, Zara. Much worse.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around me. He smelled like bread, fresh from the oven, and I couldn’t help myself.
“There are worse things, but they took something from you and made you feel unsafe. They stole your peaceful place, and it does matter.”
My head rested in the crook of his neck. I wrapped my arms tight around him and let myself believe for a few seconds that I didn’t have to have all my shit together all the time and maybe, just maybe, someone would give me a little help, even if I tried to pretend I didn’t need it.
I patted his back and then dropped my arms. “Sorry about that. And thank you for the bagels and the croissant.” My voice dropped and I started cleaning up.
“Maybe I can help with the furniture situation.”
“Really, it’s okay. I’m barely here anyway, right. It’s not like I’ve been inviting friends over. And I’ll be moving to someplace smaller once my lease is up. It would only be more to pack.” I closed the lids on the cream cheese and put them and the bagels back in the bag.
Closing it, I held it out for him to take. “Thank you for everything. I appreciate it. I really do.”
“No problem. Keep them.” He nudged my hand back toward my chest.
I walked him to the door with the bagels clutched against me like my own protective barrier. The back of my hand tingled where he’d pressed against it. Gratitude swelled in my chest, not only for the bagels, but everything he’d done for me from the hot dog horror warning to staying with me all night to the groceries.
Opening the door, he turned to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course. We’ve got to plan another event to destroy Oren & Co. with. I’ll meet you tomorrow at ten at Stark.”
“Make it nine. We’ve got a lot to get through.”
I couldn’t hold back my chuckle. “Look at you, workaholic. Nine, then.”
Leaning against the closed door, I banged my head against it. Don’t even think about having feelings for your fake fiancé, Zara. Who had time for that anyway? Not me.
But a small part of me piped up. Maybe…
24
Leo
“You want me to come up with another front row ticket to one of the biggest concerts of the year with less than twenty-four hours’ notice?” Hunter splayed his hands out on the counter, leaning forward with a take-no-prisoners look on his face.
When I’d found myself in the elevator on the way up, I’d tried to talk myself out of it twenty times, but here I was in Hunter’s pre-war apartment feeling like an asshole. Zara had popped into the office today looking back to normal after four days of harboring a slight green tinge and a non-existent appetite. Every night I’d stayed up, itching to call her and see how she was doing, but I’d kept calm and confined our calls and texts to business only.
“I should’ve asked when we played basketball on Monday.”
Hunter scoffed. “No shit.”
“I’ve been thinking about it more and more, so I thought I’d ask. If it’s impossible, don’t worry about it.”
“No, don’t back down now. Have a seat.” He dropped back into the chair behind his desk. I felt like I’d come in to make a deal with a mob boss, asking for a favor in exchange for hiding a body at some point down the line. “You’d like a ticket for…”
“Zara.”
“The shrew I got the ring for, who was making your life a living hell.”
“She’s not a shrew.”
“Your words not mine.”
“We had a rocky start.”
“And that’s smoothed out now.” He steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the arms of the wingback chair.
“We’ve come to an understanding.”
“And you think a concert would be an olive branch.”
“Exactly. We’re friendly, and this could make the rest of our time together easier.” She’d dealt with a lot and rode herself harder than anyone else. A fun night out with music, drinks and dancing would be just what she needed.
“And you want to bang her.”
I jerked back in my seat. “What? No.”
He tilted his head, giving me a ‘do I look stupid?’ look.
I scrubbed my chin. “Once you cut through all that intensity, she’s a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t going to let anyone stand in her way.”
“Does she want you?”
“We’re friends.”
“So, no. But you want her to.”
“What the hell is with the million questions? If you can’t get the ticket, just tell me.”
“I’m only trying to figure out how much the ticket is worth to you.” He leaned back in his chair like a super villain.
“Do you want a kidney?”
“Do you have one to spare?” He glanced down at my right side, before holding my gaze for another beat. What the hell kind of shit was he into? Milwaukee had been one thing. How deep did his acquisition skills truly go?
His grim lips parted into a wide grin. “I’m fucking with you. Give me a second.” Picking up his phone, he held up one finger while tapping away using with thumb. “Sent.”
Eight tense seconds later his phone buzzed. “Done. She’s on the list.”
I huffed out a laugh. “That’s it? She’s got a ticket?” I dragged my fingers through my hair, relief washing over me. “No kidney needed?
“Not today.” Even harder laughing. “The look on your face. I do not trade in black market organs. Would you prefer I sucked at getting things done?” He chuckled, wiping away his tears.
“No, I much prefer things this way, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still a little afraid of you.”
His chest puffed up like it was a point of pride.
“I need to let Zara know. She’ll be floored.”
“Yeah, not the tiniest bit of attraction there at all.” His words and nod dripped with skepticism.
“We’ve hit a stride in our relationship.”
“Ahhh, a relationship, is it?”
Asshole. “Our working relationship.”
“A relationship where you’ll be striding into someone’s panties after the encore from Without Grey.”
“No panties will be gotten into.”
“Not by you, anyway.” We left the office. The hallway stretched on past five doorways on one side and three on the other before opening to the living room we all took over for our weekly Chinese food feasts.
“It’s not weird living in this place alone?”
“I prefer it this way. I get in late at night and don’t have to worry about waking anyone up. No dirty dishes other than my own. It would drive me crazy to have to tiptoe around someone else.”
The floorboards creaked under our steps. “Plus, the ghosts would hate to have to share you with anyone else.”
“There’s more than enough of me to go around.” His hand shot out like he’d just had the most brilliant idea. “Do you want to get a drink?”
Giant floodlights painted a pattern in the sky as we got closer to the brightly-lit multistory structure up ahead. There were huge nets stretching up higher than I could see beyond the building.
“Where are we?” I leaned forward between the driver and passenger seat of the cab. A line of people snaked their way down the path in front of the building.
We got out of the taxi and Hunter jogged up the steps, slapping hands with the security guard at the front of the line before walking in like there weren’t fifty people staring daggers at us. Who needed a former celebrity when you had Hunter?
Instead of stopping at the check-in counter like everyone else, we took the elevator up to the third floor. There were bays filled with groups of people at low-backed couches and high tables, drinking, eating, and golfing. Golfing?
“This wasn’t what I thought you meant when you said out for a drink.”
“I like to mix things up.”
We ordered food and drinks and got set up. While Hunter was pulled away to schmooze, I grabbed my phone.
Me: Hey Zara, are you at home?
Gingersnap: No, I’m out.
On a date? Was she out with someone else right now?
Gingersnap: Having fun?
Gingersnap: Not in the slightest.
I let out the breath that had caught in my chest. At least it was a shitty date. Not that I wanted her to put up with an asshole, but the thought of her out with some guy with his hands all over her made me want to punch something. Namely the fuckwit who thought he could go out with my fake fiancée in the first place.
A moment of indecision rushed through me before I tapped her name.
“Bad date?” I said, before she could even say hello. But it was the question I needed answered, even if I didn’t want to know at the same time.
“If only. I’d rather be on a date with Hannibal Lecter than where I am.” A spark of laughter ran through her words.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I was at a symphony cocktail reception for corporate sponsors.”
“Lucky you. That sounds drier than a box of Saltines in the Sahara.”
“I’ve already fallen asleep standing up twice. Are you at a club?”
“It’s a driving range nightclub combo, Vertex Golf.”
“It opened recently, right? Ads were all over the radio.”
“Opening night was tonight.”
Her words were whisper quiet. “Are you on a date?”
Why did it make me so damn happy she’d even asked? I suppressed my smile. “In a way.”
“How’s your date feel about you calling me in the middle of it?” Her words were a little clipped.
“I’m sure they’d be fine with it. They’d probably want you to join us.”
She gasped. “Don’t even—”
“I let Hunter talk me into coming out with him. We’re shooting a few buckets of balls.”
“Oh! Thank him again for getting the ring.”
“Why are you working tonight?”
“After the reception, I remembered there were some things I forgot to do in the office, so I’m currently being blinded by a copy machine and getting paper cuts that’ll last until next year.” She sighed, her weariness coming through the call. “My boss’s daughter doesn’t want to do anything that’s not one hundred percent fun all the time, so I’m stuck here.”
She worked harder than anyone I knew, including quarterbacks who have multiple championship rings.
“I’ve got some news to make it easier to get through your night.”
“Lay it on me.”
A particular part of my anatomy jumped at the sleepy, sultry tone of her voice and phrase.
“Hunter had an extra ticket to the Without Grey concert tomorrow and I wanted to know if you were up for it?”
“What? Hell, yes!”
I jerked the phone away from my ear.
“Shit, I’m in trouble.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Yes, that’s amazing. Text me the details and I’ll be there. Thank you and thank Hunter again.” She ended the call.
He showed up with two beers, sliding me one.
I chose the dartboard version of golf. My thoughts kept drifting back to Zara. Was she still in the office? How was her stomach after her night of adventurous eating? Could I help her fix her place up without her threatening me with bodily harm?
“You’d be winning right now, if you were paying attention to what you were doing.” Hunter’s voice pulled me out of my Zara-filled thoughts.
The scores were almost tied up.
“You’ve always got tricks up your sleeve?” I took a swig from my beer, lifting the driver out of the golf bag.
“Nah, you’re going to want this one.” He handed over a 3-wood. “Of course, I need to keep things exciting. Making an appearance at their grand opening is a favor I’m doing.”
I lined up my shot. Outside of a few ‘celebrity’ tournaments, my golf experience was lackluster to say the least. “You showing up here is a favor? How are you connected with this place?” Keeping my head down, I followed through with my shot, connecting with the ball. It sailed through the air and landed in the outermost ring of the net target. A point appeared on the computer screen tracking our progress.
Hunter shrugged, tugging on the bottom of the rolled sleeve of his button-down shirt. He gave Everest a run for his money in the well put together department. But Hunter was scrappier than Everest could be. He didn’t ooze money, but he could wear the look like a coat depending on what circles he was around, and I had no doubt they were varied. “You meet people and things happen.”
“Only for you. I’ve never met someone who could wheel and deal like you. You were the campus dealer, weren’t you?”
He laughed into his beer. “Sort of.” Grabbing his club, he took his spot at the ball dispenser and set up his shot. It made mine look like I should’ve broken out the Little Tykes plastic play set. The ball blasted off the platform. I couldn’t even track it, but the computer told me all I needed to know.
A damn bullseye.
He holstered the club like the lethal weapon it was in his hands, and grabbed one of the sliders off the table in our low seating area. Club music vibrated the floor beneath our feet.
“How’s it feel no longer being a pro athlete?” He lounged on the seat with his arms along the back edge.
I stood for my turn. “Weird as fuck. I can’t even lie. I’ve spent the last twenty-one years of my life devoted to football. From pee-wee leagues up until five months ago, I lived and breathed football. Every off season I was in the gym keeping up my conditioning. My singular goal was to make it pro. The odds were against me, but I was determined. Gave it my all in every practice…
“And now it’s all gone.”
“This is why I’ve never dedicated my life to a singular purpose. I like to spread the love.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“That’s why you’re thinking of the sports TV thing.”
“It was an idea, but I figured it was a long shot.”
“Not entirely.” Hunter wolfed down half his quesadilla.
Sitting on the edge of my seat, I was seconds away from giving him the Heimlich, just to get him to spit it out. “You haven’t said anything about it.”
“I don’t like to confirm anything until I’m sure. Pieces are working in the background, and I’m close.”
“If you pull this off, I swear I’ll owe you fifty favors.”
He tilted his head in my direction. “Fifty, you say?”
“Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?”
Laughing, he lined up his shot. “Better the devil you know.” Following through, he tracked the ball sailing through the air.
“How do you think tomorrow will go?”
“As in, do I think Everest will either not show or absolutely flip his shit?”
“That.”
“Toss up. It’ll depend on whether Madison and the band are there or not. For every one the band shows up to, there are five they don’t. Half the parties are for the road crew who’ve been killing themselves for the past two years they’ve been on tour.”
“What happened? Right after, he lost his mind.”
“When your girlfriend starts fucking one of the biggest bands in the world it’s hard to keep it together.”
Beer spurted past the lip of the bottle. “She’s screwing the whole band?”
He laughed. “No.” A thoughtful look crossed his face as he looked up at the ceiling like he was flipping through his mental rolodex. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“I’ll be prepared to tackle him if need be.”
“You’d do that on a Tuesday.”
“True.”
“Don’t worry. You two are past the angry phase. You’ve slid into the hostile phase. Next up is acceptance, and then finally love.”
“Everest can find another group of friends to hang out with instead of mine.”
“What about me? I’m the newest to the crew. Are you going to kick me out next?”
“You’re way too useful, man. Plus, you don’t piss me off like he does.”
“And you piss him off just as much.”
“Good. I don’t know why he hangs around.”
Hunter shook his head. “It beats the alternative.”
“What’s that?”
“Being alone.”
We finished our beers and headed out. The entire meal and three rounds of golf were on the house. He hadn’t needed to spend eighteen years putting his body on the line, and he still got all the celebrity perks.
Back in my apartment, I was tempted to call Zara again and make sure she’d made it home. Instead, I settled for a text in case she was in bed already. Not that the mattress counted. She needed a bed. A soft bed, up off the floor. A comfortable place after a long day.
I ran my hand over the cold side of my bed. We’ve barely made it to friends. Fake fiancée or not, we had one more event, one more week to our truce, and then the gloves came off. But did they have to? Maybe we could figure out a new arrangement entirely.
25
Zara
Flashes of light shot out the sides of the copy machine. Two reams of paper later, the last of the collated copies shot out. Heat from the overworked machine turned the cramped room into a sauna. Being stuck in here wasn’t as terrible as it had been ten minutes ago.
