CHAPTER 2
Emily stood in front of her closet, staring at the two outfits Barrett had sent to her soon after she'd agreed to play fiancée for him several months ago: a Givenchy couture black, silk cocktail dress that cost more than two months' rent, and a light blue custom-made Chanel suit that cost three times more than two months' rent. It was hands down the most expensive thing in Emily's apartment.
She almost always chose to wear the black dress, mostly because the one time she'd worn the Chanel, Barrett's eyes had darkened appreciably like she'd done something wrong, which made no sense at all since he'd purchased the suit for her to wear in the first place. Honestly, she loved it. It hugged her size eight curves on top, but sucked her in at the waist and fell to a flattering but tasteful line across her thighs. Not to mention, the fabric color was such a close match to her eyes, it was almost unreal how blue they became when she wore it. But, he'd looked so displeased after the first time, she hadn't worn it again.
She huffed, taking the beautiful blue suit out of the closet, watching as the clear cellophane from the dry cleaners rustled lightly over it.
"I don't feel like black tonight. I'm wearing the suit, and I don't care if you like it or not, Barrett."
She pulled on her white cotton underwear and simple Playtex bra—it's not like she could afford La Perla to go underneath—and, keeping with the propriety of being Barrett English's fiancée, she pulled on some nude pantyhose with a scowl. A cream silk camisole covered her simple bra and tickled the skin of her stomach. Barrett had sent one pair of size seven black patent leather Coach pumps that were boring, but comfortable, and she slipped those over her feet, remembering the awkwardness of his proposition.
It was several months ago in late-Spring, and Emily had been sitting on a bench outside of College Hall at the University of Pennsylvania, where she was a first-year doctoral student, when she heard him say her name.
"Emily Edwards?"
She looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun to see Barrett's handsome face come into focus. "Barrett?"
"Yes. Hello. I thought that was you. I was here for an endowment meeting. Decided to stroll the campus for a few minutes before heading back to the office."
Stroll the campus. She grinned up at him. Barrett English always spoke like someone much older than his thirty-two years, but she sort of liked that about him. It was part of who he was.
In contrast to his stiff conversation was the way he looked—easy, smooth, and ridiculously debonair. Her eyes flicked down for a second to check out the cut of his suit, which was obviously custom made, because it fit him like a dream. Navy blue and sharp, it was the perfect complement to the light blue dress shirt with bright white French cuffs underneath. Her eyes touched on his wrists where shiny silver cufflinks were engraved with BEE. Barrett Edward English. It was good the sun was so bright—he wasn't able to see her pupils dilate with a lifetime's worth of lust.
"I'm interrupting you," he observed.
"It's fine." Emily's eyes strained against the sun, narrowed to slits in an attempt to maintain eye contact. "Do, um, do you want to sit?"
"No. How are your parents?"
"Very well, thank you. And yours?"
"Fine."
"Fitz, Alex, Stratton, and Weston?"
"All well, thank you."
Her shoulder slumped in disappointment as their pleasantries found a dead end.
Why did she wish, every time she saw him, which wasn't very often, that he'd loosen up with her? It's not like she had a chance with him, so why did it matter? Maybe because they'd known one another forever, and yet, they didn't actually know one another very well at all. What was it about Barrett that had always made her heart thump faster and her eyes widen with longing? And what would it take to get Barrett to be even a little bit playful? Was it even possible?
The sun was so intense, Emily couldn't bear the glare anymore. She had looked down at the notes on her lap, blinking to clear her vision, hoping she didn't appear dismissive as her pulse pounded in her neck.
The silence had grown thick and awkward between them, and she finally wondered if he was waiting for her to politely say "goodbye," releasing him from her company?
"Well..." she had started. "It was nice of you to say hel—"
"Are you dating anyone?"
Taken off-guard, Emily had gasped, then scoffed lightly, looking back up to see if he was serious. Without a smile to soften the boldness of the question, it appeared as though he was. "W-What? Why are you asking?"
"I'm just wondering," he answered, his blue eyes boring into hers.
Her heart had surged behind her ribs, racing like a prizewinner at Preakness. "N-no. Not right now."
"Then I have a proposition for you." His voice was businesslike and level, but the word "proposition" hung between them, loaded and—she guessed unintentionally—suggestive.
"Oh?"
"I need a—well, what I need is a woman to occasionally—"
"Barrett!" she exclaimed, a flush starting at her breasts and creeping steadily up her neck to scorch her cheeks.
"No, no! Nothing like that. Don't be ludicrous, Emily," he said, quickly moving to sit beside her. His thigh pressed against hers, and if anything was ludicrous, it was the jolt she got from that tiny bit of contact. She turned to find him looking at her seriously, and he searched her eyes as he added, "I don't want any romantic complications."
Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened with offense. "Now you listen to me, Barrett English. My family may work for yours, but I am not that kind of girl and you have no right suggesting that we—"
"No! Damn it. I said it wasn't like that. That's not—I mean, I need a date. Occasionally. I need a woman to pose as my fiancée from time to time."
She couldn't have been more shocked if he'd stripped out of his Armani suit and done the Macarena for her.
"Come again?"
He looked at his lap before seizing her eyes in the no-nonsense stare he must use for all of his corporate dealings, and she started to understand why his nickname was "The Shark." His gaze was focused and unyielding, she found it incredibly exciting.
"Emily, let me be quite clear. I am offering you a job. I would like to pay you to occasionally accompany me to business dinners posing as my fiancée. I will supply one ring, two dresses, and one pair of shoes so that you are appropriately attired for such engagements. I will always have a car pick you up and drop you off at your apartment so your safety will never be compromised. I will not require anything untoward whatsoever. I just want your occasional company for the sake of appearances. That's all."
"You want to pay me to go on business dates with you?"
He nodded. "As my fiancée."
Emily was so turned around by the course of their conversation, she took a brief glimpse over her shoulder to see if Alex English was hiding behind a tree, taping this exchange as some sort of family prank.
No Alex. Back to Barrett.
"Do you mind if I ask why?"
"I don't trust that many people, Emily, but I trust you."
She didn't want it to matter that he'd said that, but it did. It was a rare show of feeling from Barrett, she sensed, and the direct way he had said it made her heart lurch with hopefulness. She looked down at her lap, finding it easier to compose herself when she wasn't looking into his searing blue eyes.
"Don't you have a dozen women you could ask to do this? I mean, in your world?"
He shrugged beside her. "It could get messy. I don't want messy. I prefer neat."
And that lovely surge of happiness had evaporated into thin air. Of course. He was an English, and she was an Edwards, and he was merely hiring her to do a job. Further, he was basically saying he had no romantic interest in her and never would, so she was a perfect choice for non-messy, fake-fiancée employment.
Though Barrett had never been more than a far-reaching fantasy, it still hurt Emily's feelings a little that he should be so frank about how unappealing and unsuitable she was. She sensed he wasn't purposely trying to hurt her, but it did make her decision to refuse him easy, because she knew in her heart that even though she wouldn't be messy for him, he could be potentially messy for her.
"I don't think so, Barrett. I'm a first-year doctoral student. Even over the summer, I have to keep up with my studies. I tutor undergrads. I'm interning for one of the professors this summer. I don't, you know, I don't really date much. I'm working on my—"
"I'll pay you a hundred dollars an hour for your time."
Emily's jaw dropped as her lungs emptied like the wind had been knocked out of her. For a struggling student, that was an unthinkable amount of money for occasionally sitting next to him at dinner. She had stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before taking a deep breath and raising her hand to him. "Where and when?"
His lips twitched as he gave her a brief, inscrutable smile, then took her hand and shook it, causing a delicious current to trail from her palm to her wrist, up her arm and down her back, tripping the pulse in her neck.
"I'll be in touch," he had said, looking down at their clasped hands for a long moment before pulling his away.
Since then, Emily had been on seven dates as the future Mrs. Barrett English, always at The Union League Club, always with different business associates of Barrett's and always wearing the "engagement" ring Barrett had sent her via courier before their first date with the incredibly romantic note attached that read: It's paste, but it's good paste. Don't lose it. –B
Twisting her light blonde hair up into a chignon for date number eight, Emily looked at herself in the mirror. From the respectable distance of her station while growing up at Haverford Park, she'd had a front row seat to every English family soiree, every important social gathering at their Blueberry Lane estate, and a close-up look at every girlfriend brought home by the five handsome brothers.
Emily had learned how to dress, speak and act to fit in with the English family, who, when they encountered her, treated her like an almost-forgotten second or third cousin, of whom they were vaguely fond but unconcerned. Though she wasn't formally invited to any of their social events, with the exception of Boxing Day and the annual Summer Party, living on their property in close daily contact with the family had afforded Emily a certain education on how to fit in with the upper crust of posh Haverford. That was another reason that Barrett had chosen her to act as his fiancée: he knew she could pull it off.
Emily dusted some blush on her pale cheekbones and brushed some mascara on her light lashes, then swiped a bit of pale pink lip gloss across her lips. Subtle. Understated. Perfect. And all for him. Not that Barrett would notice or care.
As she pulled on the light blue tweed skirt, adjusting the gold link belt that accented her trim waist, she considered the question Valeria had asked yesterday and the very real feelings it had forced Emily to recognize.
Being "engaged" to Barrett wasn't just a job anymore. Emily loved being Barrett English's fake fiancée, which was not just inconvenient, but pointless. Because despite her deepening feelings, heart flutters, and silent longings, Barrett had made it clear from the start she held no romantic interest for him. Falling for Barrett was not only one-sided, but a recipe for heartbreak.
Emily looked at herself in the mirror, buttoning the Mother-of-Pearl buttons on the perfect-fitting cropped jacket, then running her hands slowly and regretfully over the beautiful material before grabbing her purse and heading for the door. She had looked at the situation from every angle, but regrettably had come up with only one feasible solution.
Before her feelings for Barrett developed any further, she needed to "break up" with him.