The Boss's Fake Fiancee (3 page)

Chapter Three

Melissa’s computer dinged to notify her of an incoming email. She ignored it, staring at the piece of rebellious computer code on her screen. She’d been wrestling with the language for over an hour this morning, and she’d been able to tune out her demanding inbox for most of that time. She loved pouring all of her attention into a problem, knowing the satisfaction that would come with success. At times like this, she felt overwhelmed with gratitude that Garth had given her a chance. She’d always loved her work, but she loved it even more now that she was doing it on her own, without Mark breathing over her shoulder. If only she could focus long enough to…

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Melissa turned off the volume on her computer, but the incoming messages kept flashing on the bottom of her screen.

Another.

And another.

With a growl of irritation, Melissa clicked open her inbox. And blinked. Sixty messages? In one hour? The most recent was from her brother, Ross. She could practically hear his voice in the regarding line: “Open your damn email and call me!”

She paused for a moment when she saw the email, with a single link illuminated. Virus? No, Ross had included one other line of text: “’Lis, what the hell is going on?”

Suddenly nervous, she clicked on the link. A pause. Spinning circle in her web browser. A grainy image slowly filled the screen, beneath a screaming black headline.

She froze, scalp tingling.

No, no, no, no, no…

But there she was, holding Garth’s hand as he helped her from the passenger seat of his Tesla. His face was hard to make out—the photographer must have been at an awkward angle—but her face, and the goofy smile on her lips, was painfully clear.

“Engaged?” she whispered in horror. “Ready to tie the knot?”

The photographer must have been hiding in a doorway a few doors down from her townhouse, or maybe even lounging by a streetlight, camera hidden somewhere in the fold of a long coat. She would never have noticed him. Even if she had, she never would have thought he might be waiting to take a picture. A picture that would appear on the cover of a tabloid, viewed by millions of readers.

Only one word described this situation:
disaster
. Complete and total disaster.

She dropped her head into her hands.

She was going to jump off the Verrazano Bridge.

No—she was going to find Mark, hit him over the head with something very heavy, and then drag
his
body over the side of the bridge with her when she jumped.

Because Mark was the only possible explanation for the picture and the story. She’d never said a word about dating Garth to anyone else. Mark must have gone straight out of the convention hall and told a reporter they were getting engaged. Planted the story so Garth would publicly announce that they weren’t dating.

All to humiliate her one more time.

She dug her phone out of her purse, hands shaking. She’d turned off the ringer for Garth’s speech yesterday and had evidently forgotten to turn it back on.

Fifteen missed calls. Seven from unknown numbers, four from her mother, two from Ross, one from her brother Joe, and one from Tori. She listened to Tori’s message first, cringing when she heard the amused but concerned voice. “This is a joke, right? Call me right away when you get this. If Brit finds out, he’ll flip.”

Unable to contemplate speaking to Tori right at that moment—let alone her overprotective older brother—Melissa texted a quick message instead.

Tabloids are crazy!! Nothing going on with Garth! LOL!

If only she could be as nonchalant as her text.

“I take it you’ve seen the picture?”

Melissa jerked upright and choked when she heard his voice at the door of her office. He loomed there, looking like the grim reaper, come to take her with him to hell. “Garth!”

His jaw was a rigid line, his steely gray eyes dark, his brows drawn together. He wore his usual workday garb—blue oxford, top button open, fitted black trousers. She found herself staring at the lean cast of his hips for a long moment before jerking her eyes back to his scowling face.

Bad idea to stare at the man’s pants when you’re about to lose your job, ’Lis.

“May I?” He started to close the door to the office.

She nodded unsteadily, heart racing, and then got to her feet so her eyes weren’t positioned exactly at his groin. The door clicked shut, and the room suddenly seemed ten times smaller. Melissa’s office was the end of the hall, a light, open space with a tinted-glass window looking out onto 32nd Street. But right now it felt like a tiny, dark bubble.

Garth, of course, did not sit.

“The picture,” he prompted. “You’ve seen it, I assume?”

Melissa nodded miserably. “Just now.” She indicated the phone in her hand. “Apparently my mother has, too. And my brother. And my other brother. And Tori, and then—”

He cut her off with a raised hand. “Please. I get it. Everyone in the tri-state area has seen the damn thing.”

“Actually, Tori called from Scotland, so it’s way beyond a tri-state sort of thing,” Melissa replied. She instantly wished she could withdraw her words, as Garth pushed his thumbs into his temples and blew out a loud breath.

“Again, thanks,” he bit out.

“Sorry.” She lowered herself back into her seat.

End of job. End of career
. End of whatever fantasy she’d begun to develop about Garth having feelings for her.

“What did you tell them?”

“I haven’t had a chance to call them back yet. They left messages while I was on the subway to work.”

“Good,” she thought she heard him say under his breath. But that was absurd. Why would he care what she told her parents?

Melissa drew in a deep breath. She had to tell him what she’d done. She had to. Even if it meant her job. If she didn’t come clean, her conscience would eat away at her soul.

Yet the words didn’t come. Her mouth flopped open and then closed, like a fish.

“This whole thing is a nightmare,” he said, as he began to pace back and forth. “If I get my hands on that Stanley Hartwaddle—”

“Stanley who?” Melissa asked.

Garth waved a hand. “You know, the reporter. Stanley Hartwaddle. The one who published that ridiculous thing. I still can’t believe people are actually falling for it. I swear, I got at least ten calls on my way to the office, and those are the people who should know better.”

Melissa frowned. “It’s not
that
ridiculous,” she said. A tiny bit of her guilt was replaced with annoyance at his dismissive tone.

“Of course it is,” Garth snapped. “Engaged? Me and you?”

A little more of the guilt slipped away. “What are you trying to say? It’s not like I’m some kind of monster, you know.” Melissa fluffed her bangs and sniffed. “These things do happen.”

Garth stared. “You’re not going to get all sensitive on me, are you? That’s the last thing I need.”

“Sensitive? I’m being
sensitive
?” Annoyance bubbled over into irritation.

“Melissa…” He spoke slowly and calmly. “All I said was that people should know better than to think I’d be dating someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” she squeaked, eyes popping wide. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Garth pressed a hand over his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything wrong by that. I’m just saying that I usually date women a little, well,
tougher.
You’re too nice.”

Melissa crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s the worst attempt at a compliment I’ve ever heard.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not some kind of namby-pamby nice girl,” she said. “I happen to be extremely tough.”

“You’re offended that I said you’re nice?” Garth’s scowl blackened.

“You’ve got to admit that it’s not entirely crazy that people would believe something like this,” Melissa threw back. At some point during this conversation she had lost her fear of Garth, and was now simply furious with him for being so dismissive. “After all, we do work closely together. And it isn’t as though there are a lot of women around the office. When you think about it, it’s perfectly natural that someone might dream up a story like this.”

“It’s like talking to Nan,” Garth muttered to himself, eyes raised toward the ceiling. He blew out a breath. “Let’s rewind, okay? We’ve got a situation here and I don’t really care how plausible it is or isn’t. Someone told a reporter we’re getting engaged. Apparently, everyone in the free world has already heard the story, and it’s only—” he made a point of checking his watch— “nine-thirty in the morning.” He resumed pacing.

Melissa nibbled on the end of one fingernail, her bluster seeping away as she recalled exactly
how
the rumor had likely begun. “You’ve probably dealt with this sort of thing before, right? I assume if we just ignore it, in a few days the story will disappear completely.”

And if it does, you’ll never need to know who started it in the first place.

“Well, actually, that’s what I need to talk to you about.” Garth stopped pacing long enough to bury his hands in his pockets. His eyes slid away from hers, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “We might need to…ah…play along for a little while.”

“Play along?” Melissa repeated. “What do you mean?”

Garth dropped into the chair beside the desk. He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. “What if I told you I had a reason why I needed to keep the story going, just for a few weeks?”

Melissa laughed. “I’d say you were crazy.”

He stared at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist. “Great. So after that, what would you say?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Melissa stared, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“No. I’m not.”

“Garth, we can’t pretend to be engaged. That’s, that’s…” she sputtered, unable to complete the thought.

“Crazy, yeah, I got that. But it doesn’t have to be that big a deal. We play along with the press for a couple of weeks, and then we get unengaged.” He shrugged, spreading his hands to indicate how incredibly unimportant the prospect of getting married was. “Simple.”

Melissa gave a short laugh, hardly believing his nonchalance. “Garth, most people make a
very
big deal out of getting engaged. They make announcements. They tell their friends. They get engagement rings, and have parties and tell their parents.”

“I’m not most people,” he noted.

“Well, that’s clear,” Melissa said. “Why in the world would you want to do this? You hate publicity. I assumed you were furious about the story.”

“I was. And am. Whoever planted that story is going to pay, believe me.” He paced the room, flexing his hands in frustration. “You don’t have any idea who might have said something, do you? Usually, these things start somewhere.”

Melissa shivered. She had hoped that they might be able to ignore the whole thing, and her involvement would never have to come to light. But evidently, Garth was not going to let this story fade away without finding out the truth. And as terrified as she was to tell him the truth, the prospect of hiding it and having him find out later was far worse.

“Actually, I think I might,” she forced herself to say.

He straightened. “Really?”

“Yes.” Feeling like she was plunging into a deep abyss, Melissa continued. “It was me.”

…

Garth froze. It took approximately twenty seconds for the surge of anger to travel from his gut to his brain. And then explode from his lips. “You?
You
planted the story?
You
told Stanley we were getting engaged?”

“No, no, no!” Melissa said quickly. “I never talked to any reporter.”

“Explain,” he bit out.

How had he missed the signs? Why had he trusted her, even for a minute?

Melissa swallowed twice, in rapid succession. “You remember how I was talking to Mark Venshiner at the conference yesterday? Well, the thing is, he and I were pretty serious for a while.”

“You were involved with Venshiner?” Garth’s lip curled. He’d known Melissa had worked for Venshiner, thanks to the cease and desist letters that Mark’s attorney had sent to try to keep Melissa from working for Solen Labs. Still, he hadn’t realized the two had been romantically connected.

Garth had only met Mark in person a few times. He’d been left with the general impression of an arrogant blowhard who thought far more of himself than his intelligence and skills deserved.

An image of Venshiner grabbing Melissa’s arm the day before appeared in Garth’s mind, and he felt a surge of protective anger. Venshiner had a reputation as an academic who liked his graduate students young, pretty, and na
ï
ve. Garth hadn’t liked the man before. He liked him even less now.

“Yes.” Melissa paused. “It didn’t end well.”

“So you told him we were getting engaged? Because you had a thing that ended badly?”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that.” She shook her head, and a few strands of long dark hair, highlighted with flashes of golden honey, escaped from the loose knot on top of her head. She tucked them behind her ears. He couldn’t help but notice her hands were shaking.

Garth tried to shake a surge of defensiveness at the obvious tremor of fear. He wasn’t the one who caused this mess—she was. So why did he have the sudden urge to apologize? To tell her everything would be all right?

“I just, sort of, well,
implied
that we were seeing each other,” Melissa said. “I never said we were engaged.”

“Then where did the story come from?” He kept his voice even. Calm.

Melissa got up from her desk to peer out of her window. The narrow line of her body looked vulnerable, silhouetted by soft morning light. “I don’t know for sure.” Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat. “When he left me yesterday, Mark was pissed. Really pissed. I was trying to make him jealous, and I think it worked. I shouldn’t have done it, I know that. But I had no idea he’d take it this far.”