Chapter 1

1

BARON

" I know, right? I can't believe it either. Ands, that asshole bailed on me! The nerve, Jesus." Heather's voice rises, and she slams a palm against the hardwood high-top table, making the bartender—who's halfway through wiping the glasses—look up in surprise. "It's only four days before Mimi's party. I won't be surprised if this is Corinne's doing. She probably spent the past month dancing and chanting in front of her cauldron. Or more realistically, she probably paid him off. That one sounds more like her."

I don't hear the voice on the other line, but Heather puts her phone between her ear and shoulder, both hands cupping her glass. "Thanks, Ands. I appreciate it … Yeah, I mean I could go alone, not go at all, or just pay some guy to pretend as my boyfriend."

Heather lets out a pained laugh. "Why does the world hate me so much?"

My fingers involuntarily grip the edge of my stool. I'm sitting at a table just behind Heather in her favorite upscale bar. She comes here every Wednesday at eight on the dot. She orders the same drink—first, an espresso martini followed by a pina colada—and eats the same food—an Angus beef burger with skinny fries on the side. She spends approximately one hour alone before she leaves in her fire orange Alpine A110, a car she received as her parents' gift for her 18th birthday.

I don't like to think of it as stalking because I've been doing it for years—going on her socials, asking about her, and maybe even hiring a PI for things I cannot do, like finding out where she is for the holidays or who she's spending time with for Spring Break. That kind of stuff. Totally normal thing to do for a twenty-seven-year-old man.

Besides, it's not stalking if it's with my future wife. It's more like a ‘getting to know you' phase, but only one way.

"I think Corinne knows … Well, you know, she sent me a photo last night of her date." Heather holds the phone with one hand, hangs her head, and runs her fingers through her silky smooth raven-black hair. "It's Alex."

The other person, her best friend Andrea and the one she calls Ands, must have yelled since Heather briefly distances herself from her phone before putting it back up by her ear. "Yeah. You know her, she's always stealing everything from me. Maybe she finds this funny. Her idea of a joke. I wouldn't put it past her honestly."

My eyes zero in on Heather's tense back. She's wearing a simple black dress with thin shoulder straps. Her hair cascades down her back, ending just above her waist. She's always had long hair. Well, almost. Except for the time she accidentally leaned against a wall with gum plastered on it. She had to cut it down to her shoulders and came to school with her eyes bloodshot from crying.

Heather gathers her hair to the side, revealing the tattoo along her spine – phases of the moon. I've fantasized about trailing my lips along it.

"I'm fine, Ands. I guess … I'll call you when I get home. Love you. Bye."

Heather swirls her drink, watching the dim lighting dance through it. More patrons arrive, but she doesn't seem aware of anything. She's lost in her own world.

A guy in a suit stops beside her and smiles, but Heather doesn't even glance up, just waving a hand at him. "Move along. I'm not interested."

The laughter bursting out of me surprises both of us, and she whips her head to where I'm sitting. Her dark brown eyes narrow, her full lips pursed in a thin line. "Baron Bishop. Just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse."

I raise my own glass to her, holding her gaze as I sip my drink. "Hello, Heather Cain. You're charming as usual."

Her beautiful face splits into a smile so fake, I can't help but chuckle. "Welp. That's my cue to go home. It feels suffocating in here, like something's here that doesn't belong. Something that stinks. Something disgusting."

"You noticed just now? I've been sitting behind you for the better part of an hour."

Heather snaps her finger, her eyes widening comically. "So it was you! I knew something didn't smell right. I'm surprised your ego fits through the door."

"I always fit in places that look tight at first glance."

"Tiny things always do."

God, she's perfect. She can fight fire with fire. That mouth she likes to paint crimson red? I wonder what I need to do to her to keep that shut. Maybe fill her with my ‘tiny thing'?

I tilt my head, acquiescing to her. "I can help you, you know."

Heather slides from her stool and grabs her phone and purse. "Nah, I'm not into tiny things."

That image is so absurdly hilarious that my cheeks hurt from trying not to laugh. "I can stand in for your fake boyfriend."

Heather's smile falters, and she stops in front of my table, resting both hands on it. "What did you say?"

"I told you I've been here for an hour already. I heard your conversation with Andrea. Besides, you weren't exactly being quiet."

The shock quickly gives way to anger. Her mouth tightens, brows drawing together and casting shadows over her eyes. Her nostrils flare slightly, and I can feel the heat of her anger radiating off her.

"I really am not in the mood for your shenanigans, Baron. I've had to deal with enough assholes for today." Heather's voice is dangerously low, and she clenches her jaw as her chest rises and falls with deep, measured breaths. I try not to stare at those milky twins almost spilling out of her tight dress.

"I'm not joking, Heather. Now why don't you take a deep breath and listen to what I have to say?"

Heather scoffs but doesn't say anymore. She looks away from me and stares at the framed photo of the bar owner and some A-list celebrity on the wall by the door. The fact that she hasn't left yet and is willing to listen is all the encouragement I need.

"You need a fake boyfriend for your grandmother's party, and I need a girlfriend to take to the company's founding anniversary." I stand and round the table, pulling out a chair for her. She jumps out of my reach as if I have something that would infect her. "Sit down, Heather. This is going to be a long talk."

She plops down on the hard stool, and I ignore the impulse to run my hand over the curve of her ass. I can't even count how many times I've jerked off to thoughts of her wide hips, thick thighs, and glorious ass. She fills dresses and denim jeans like no other.

Not fucking now, Baron.

I'm glad for the lighting and my dark jeans because she can't see the tent in my pants, and as I sit across from her, I shift uncomfortably, my cock straining against my zipper. "So here's the thing. I go with you to your grandmother's party, and you go with me to the anniversary. We'll both act like we're crazy about each other." Which isn't going to be hard for me. I am. I've been crazy about Heather since grade school.

Heather closes her eyes and breathes deeply. When she opens them, I'm struck by the realization that I've never had a conversation with her like this. Not this close and definitely not talking like adults. Our interactions are mostly taunts, jabs, jokes, and pranks. "Why me?"

"Why not you? Showing up with The Heather Cain on my arm? I'll have enough bragging rights until the day I die." It's true, though. Heather rarely dates, and I distinctly remember some of the guys betting who could take her to prom. Then, she went alone. That was partly my doing, of course.

"Everyone knows we hate each other."

I lift a finger. "One, hate is such a strong word. I don't hate you, Heather."

She folds her arms over her chest, unknowingly pushing her tits upward, and raises a brow at me. "Could've fooled me."

I ignore her. "Two, who's everyone?"

"Everyone as in everyone. Have you forgotten everything you did?"

"Maybe, I don't know. Remind me again."

Heather leans forward, and I almost wither in my seat with the way she's glaring at me. "You started the rumor that I liked to flirt with our janitor. He had a wife and three kids."

"The janitor's name is Keith, and no one believed that, Heather. He was like 70."

"You also told everyone I pooped in my pants after I sat on brown paint in art class."

"That one was hilarious. Shame on the jeans, though. Was it Levi's?"

"For your information, it was 7 For All Mankind. It was also my favorite pair because it was hard finding the perfect jeans for someone with my ass and thighs."

"What the hell does that mean? Your ass and thighs look perfect."

Heather looks at me like I just sprouted wings. "My point is, I had to throw that in third period."

"Damn. That's an easy fix, you know. You could've soaked it in vinegar, then blotted?—"

"That's not the point!" Heather's voice grows louder, and people from nearby tables turn to stare. Her cheeks turn as red as her lipstick, and she bows in apology. When she faces me again, she jabs a finger in front of my face. "Let's not forget senior prom when you gave my date two hundred dollars to stand me up."

I laugh and shake my head. "Guilty as charged but only because I bet on you showing up alone. I won a thousand dollars that night and gave the poor guy two hundred."

"There's so much to unpack with that confession, but we'll get nowhere and I've just had enough of your presence." Heather sighs. "You've made my life miserable since we were kids. There's no way anyone would believe I suddenly fell in love with my bully and started dating you. Nobody would believe I like you enough to bring you home."

Heather talking about falling in love with me makes my heart slam against my ribcage. Never mind she's claiming no one will believe us. "I'm a good enough actor, Heather. I don't know why you're so against this brilliant plan. It's a win-win for us."

"No."

"And we both know both your sister and your ex hate me."

"Something we all have in common."

"So what better way to rub it in their faces than showing up on my arm? Acting all lovey-dovey with the guy they abhor?"

This gives her pause, and finally, FINALLY, I get through to her. When she speaks, her voice doesn't have the same vitriol as before and has a hint of uncertainty. "You have such a high opinion of yourself, I'm surprised your head hasn't exploded yet."

I raise a hand to the bartender. "I know, right? If I met me, I'd date myself."

"Of course, you would," Heather mumbles even though I can see the gears turning in her pretty head. She's considering it, and that's good enough for me. For now at least. "You have an ego the size of Texas."

"I'd say Europe, but same same." The bartender arrives, and I tell him, "A Manhattan for me, and for the lady…?" We both turn to Heather, who waves a hand to decline.

The bartender leaves, and I tap my fingers on the table. "So are we doing this?"

Heather raises her gaze, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to see doubt and worry etched on her features. "What's the catch, Baron? Are you gonna lift my skirt in the middle of the dance floor? Pour a drink on me? I need to prepare myself for whatever craziness you're planning."

My heart sinks. I did this to her—made her hate me and question my every action. I deserve this, but that doesn't hurt any less. "No craziness, Heather. I promise to be on my best behavior."

A smile plays on her lips. "Your promise means shit. Baron Bishop and best behavior don't even belong in the same sentence."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I can send you a dick pic as insurance. If I act like an ass, you have my permission to send it to everyone on your contact list."

She wrinkles her button nose. "That's disgusting, and I'm pretty sure half the women in the city already have your dick pic."

My hand flies to my chest in mock offense. "You offend my modesty, Heather. Take that back."

For the first time since sitting down, tension leaves her shoulders, and she chuckles—a sound that my whole body responds to. "You wouldn't know modesty if it hit you in the face."

My shoulders shake as I laugh. "God, Heather. There's never a dull moment with you. If you go with me to the party, I guarantee you'll have the most unforgettable night of your life."

She stands and smooths her dress. "In a good or bad way?"

My drink arrives, and I raise it to her in a toast. "In the best way."