Too Goode to be True (Love Hashtagged #2) (7 page)

“No.” Drea shook her head. “Because your work is a lot better. You can eat all the French fries you want, and I bet no one ever tells you that you can’t have a chocolate milkshake.”

Gwen couldn’t argue with that. “But your dad likes what he does.”

“But why?” Drea dropped into his seat, the high-backed executive chair making her look even smaller. She leaned in and deepened her voice. “So tell me, miss, who are you, and how will you make me money?”

Despite her mood, Gwen almost laughed at the impersonation. “Well, I’m—”

“No, no, no. You hand me a business card as you introduce yourself. That’s the way they all do it.” Drea looked at her, eyes wide with expectation. “Well?”

“Oh, we’re actually doing this?” Gwen fumbled for her purse. She couldn’t believe she was taking orders from a ten-year-old.

“You do know how to play pretend, don’t you?”

Given the reason she was here, apparently not as well as she thought. Gwen snagged a card from the case in her purse and handed it over.

Drea took it with a grin and shoved it in her pocket.

“I’m so sorry about that, ladies.” Brad’s hurried tone cut through the game. He rested a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “My time is all yours now.”

Gwen tried to be subtle about jerking from his touch, but she let the anger rush back onto her expression as she stood and faced him.

He looked her over, and then nodded at the doorway behind him. “Follow me. Drea, I’ll be back soon.”

Though it had been less than a week, Brad had no doubt the red spots on Gwen’s face and the way she clenched her fists meant she was pissed off. It was a universal sign anyway, but he’d seen the look on her enough already. He wasn’t sure what had her furious, but he might as well get it out of the way. He led her into the room they used to record sound for commercials.

She glanced around at the curtained walls, then back at him. “What’s this?”

“You’re going to yell, aren’t you? The room is soundproof.”

“Yeah, odds are pretty good I’m gonna yell.”

“Do I get to know what I did wrong first?”

She drew her lips into a thin line and focused a glare on him. “This isn’t the kind of thing that gets misinterpreted. I can’t fathom what kind of excuse you’ve got for it. But sure, let’s play some more pretend and say you don’t know why I’m furious.”

He racked his brain for any hint of what might be going on, but came up blank. He’d be happy to apologize if he knew, but the blind accusations without basis were too much like Emily. He’d put up with that for about half a second if Gwen didn’t explain. “I’d appreciate that.”

“When you told me last night you respected that I didn’t want to sell, I assumed you meant the issue was over and done with. Not that you’d find a different way of using my hard work to your advantage.”

He struggled to process her meaning, and still didn’t find an answer. “It is. We’re working on an alternative.”

“Which includes a bit of grey-hat SEO and redirecting anyone who searches for my site to yours. How do you think that’s okay?” Her voice rose in volume as she finished her question.

He was millimeters from telling her she was insane, and to maybe check her meds before she stepped off the deep end, but it wouldn’t be right. He might tell Emily such a thing these days, but if he was irritated at Gwen for assuming the worst, he wasn’t going to do the same. “I promise—swear it on everything I hold dear—I’ve no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“Like you had no clue who I was, when you agreed to meet up with me? The same way you didn’t have any idea I was the person you’d been trying to find for months, though you conveniently located me the next morning? That kind of no fucking clue?”

He definitely didn’t like having that thrown back in his face. “I thought we moved past that. Are you calling me a liar? You told me all was forgiven.”

“Apparently, I was wrong.”

The accusations hurt as much as they enraged. It seemed as though everything he appreciated about her, she felt he was lacking in spades. “I didn’t do any of this.” He said each word slowly, emphasizing the syllables as if talking to a child. “I’ll prove it.” He led her into the recording room. “I assigned one of my people this morning to work on SEO. Told him we couldn’t get your domain, so we needed alternate ways to push ourselves to the top of the rankings.” He hit the speaker button on the phone and dialed a familiar extension.

“Matthew Gordon.”

“Matt, it’s Brad.”

“Hey, boss. What’s up?”

Brad glanced at Gwen, to make sure she was listening, then said, “Sanity check. What are you working on right now?”

“That website SEO thing you gave me this morning. I’m almost done, though.”

Brad didn’t like the sound of that. A project like this, if done right, should take weeks if not months. Especially competing with the work Gwen had done. “How’s that work, then?”

“It’s freaking brilliant.” Pride oozed in Gordon’s retort. “403 redirect on our biggest keywords. Someone types in
bad date
, they get the other site listing, but when they click the link, it takes them to us.”

Shit. No wonder Gwen was pissed. That didn’t stop Brad from being bothered she doubted his word. What his guy did might not technically be illegal, but it definitely jumped far over the line of ethical. Brad wouldn’t tolerate that. “Gordon, I need to see you in ten. Clear your calendar.” He hung up before he could get a response. He needed to call HR next, and apparently his afternoon would end with an exit interview. He turned back to Gwen, who looked like she didn’t know if she should be angry or sheepish.

“You expect me to believe you didn’t know about that?” The force vanished from her tone.

“I don’t care what you believe. I’m tired of trying to justify myself to you when I didn’t do anything wrong.” He gestured to the door. “I’ve got another meeting. Can you find your way out?”

“Brad, wait.”

“Enjoy your afternoon, Gwen.” He stepped around her and made his way to Human Resources. He had enough people in his life who spent their time lying and refused to take him at face value. He didn’t need it from her, too.

****

Brad was exhausted by the time he dragged himself into his condo. It was almost nine. He felt ambivalent about dropping Drea off with Emily. On the one hand, he hated to see her go, but on the other, he didn’t want her to have to put up with him in this mood. Firing Gordon sucked, especially after the guy started crying in the HR manager’s office and saying he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong. His violation had nothing to do with Gwen, though. It was unethical and against company policy.

After that, Brad dealt with a couple more crises, including the fact Art missed the FedEx drop anyway, and he had to take it to the airport offices himself. At least Tori could deal with her people for the delay. Then Emily handed him the newest court papers, officially filing her request for full custody. The evening’s saving grace was that it was Friday, so he could sink into a bottle tonight and not have to wake up before noon tomorrow.

His phone buzzed. He wasn’t going to look. He’d pour himself a straight shot of Bourbon or two, or five, and watch bad movies until he passed out.

His phone taunted him from its spot on the coffee table, light flashing with an unread text, reminding him he wasn’t the kind of guy who shirked responsibility. If it was Emily or work, he needed to know.

What if it’s Gwen?

Why would it be?

Wouldn’t that be better?

Definitely not. He couldn’t believe he was arguing with himself. It was true she didn’t owe him trust. Regardless of what they talked about last night, it was only the surface of either of them. That didn’t stop it from gnawing at him, clawing at his chest, that she continued to assume the worst when he was involved.

Fuck it.
He grabbed the phone. The sharp stabbing behind his ribs grew when he saw the message
was
from her. He turned off his phone without reading it. If there was an emergency, everyone else trying to reach him had his house number.

He knocked back his drink. It hit his empty gut with a thunk and almost surged back up. Okay, so maybe that was a bad idea until he ate. He’d watch TV instead. Nothing romantic—that was the last thing he needed. Something horrific.

Memories of last night taunted him—Jason in his hockey mask, killing people in the background, while Brad talked to Gwen.

Nope, horror was out too.

This was bullshit. He wasn’t going to wallow. He powered the phone back on and pulled up Gwen’s message. Two simple words might as well have screamed at him.
I’m sorry.

It wasn’t enough. He dialed her number, letting exhaustion and irritation drive him.

“Hey.” Hope and hesitation filled Gwen’s greeting.

“You don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”

“Wow.” The syllable crackled from the speaker. “And you argue like a girl.”

“We’re done.” He reached to disconnect.

“Wait. Please. I really am sorry. And I do know why you’re angry.” She sighed. “I’m just… reactionary, you know?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Fuck you, too. I’m trying to make this better.”

He should be furious about this. Pissed off. Hanging up. Done. He recognized the cage around her words, though. And the glibness drew him in, the way she had a tendency to do. Not that he was letting her know that. “You’ve got a really strange way of apologizing.”

“No odder than you pretending I don’t mean it.”

“That makes two of us who refuse to see what’s in front of them.” He was being childish.

“I forgave you.” She wasn’t doing much better.

Irritation raced in. “Don’t do that. You didn’t let me turn the blame back on you, and I shouldn’t have. Besides, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did I. Put yourself in my shoes. My links get hijacked by the guy who tried to buy me out the day before. What was I supposed to do? Let it happen? What was I supposed to think?”

“Maybe not the worst about me. I know it’s only been a few days, but what have I done in the entire time we’ve known each other, to make you think I’m capable of something so completely unethical?”

“Nothing.” Her words were weak. “But neither did anyone else. I never see it coming until it’s too late, and I’m sick of that. Aren’t you?”

Her words hit close to home. Driving in years of anger and frustration. “I am. That’s why I can’t put up with it again.”

Her laugh was strained. “So we’re two not-so-bad people—I mean, I’m not perfect and neither are you, but I like to think I’m decent—and we’re going to push each other away rather that get burned again.”

“Sounds exactly right to me.”

“I don’t want that.” Resignation replaced the edge in her voice. “I don’t like going through life always second-guessing myself. I’m sorry I assumed the worst.”

“I guess I can’t blame you. I would have done the same.”

“Are we better?”

We.
It was so odd to talk to her as if they were a couple. Even as a fake one, they weren’t doing so well. “I could say
yes
.”

“But you wouldn’t completely mean it. I know.”

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night. An actual date. We’ll go somewhere we both love, we’ll talk, we’ll try and keep our clothes on for a few hours.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun.” The teasing was back in her voice, and some of his exhaustion ebbed. “But I’m willing to try it this once.”

He felt a smile work its way onto his face. “Generous of you. When can I pick you up?”

“Depends. How do you feel about picnics?”

“Lukewarm?”

“I’ll change that. How about four, and I’ll bring lunch-slash-dinner?”

“I can’t wait.” As he hung up the phone, he realized he meant it. He’d still have to deal with the reality of the custody battle on Monday, and he didn’t look forward to that, but if he and Gwen were on speaking terms again, he had her engagement offer on his side.

A voice nagged in his head that this meant more than that. He argued back it didn’t. It couldn’t. He needed to get along with Gwen, to pull this off, and he appreciated her help and that she’d made the suggestion, but this was a business transaction. It had to be.

Gwen tucked her legs underneath her and rested her weight on one wrist. They’d stashed the remainder of dinner in Brad’s car, and now sat on the blanket, in the middle of a quiet clearing in the mountains, talking. “So, being impulsive, arrogant, and full of teenage-boy testosterone, you… What? Launched a denial-of-service attack on their site? Brought down their servers?”

Somehow, the conversation had shifted to things they did as kids they weren’t as proud of now as they were back then.

“That’s what I claimed I was doing.” Brad almost looked sheepish. “Really, I was refreshing their webpage over and over again, thinking if I did it enough times, I would slow down their server to the point no one else could get in. Instead, those being the days of dial-up, I just made it so I couldn’t access anything else myself.”

“Ouch.” She laughed.

“It gets better. When my mom got home and realized me being online was the reason I forgot to pick up Tori from soccer, and why she hadn’t been able to call the house to ask where I was, I was grounded for a week, and the people who ran the MUD never had any idea I was pissed off.”

“And from there, a master hacker was born?” Between last night’s call and this afternoon, Gwen had been concerned something else would happen to shatter the tentative peace they found over the phone. Despite the number of ways she tried to convince herself this was about appearances—the engagement, looking like a real couple—she fidgeted with anticipation all day at the thought of seeing Brad.

Any worries she had about tension vanished within a few minutes of him picking her up. They said their awkward hellos, packed the food she’d had the cooks make, into the back of his car, and headed up the mountain with her navigating. He wasn’t native to Utah, and had no idea there was anything to do in the mountains during the summer, since there was no snow for skiing.

She wasn’t sure how late it was, but the sun would vanish in the distance any moment now, so it was after eight. They’d been talking for almost five hours non-stop, about everything.

Which was why she felt comfortable sliding into a topic that had nudged the corners of her mind since it popped in. “Can I make an observation?”

“Why ask permission now?”

“Nice.” With someone else, she might worry she’d been too brash. Not that it would stop her, but it typically meant an end to the evening. With him, especially with how his eyes crinkled at the corners with laughter and amusement danced on his face, she knew he didn’t mind. He might even appreciate it.

“Of course you may,” he said.

She wasn’t sure there was a tactful way to phrase her statement, though she only meant good things by it, so she spat it out. “When I think
billionaire CEO
, the guy who owns his own underwear company he built from the ground up, you’re not quite what I picture.”

“You know a lot of us, do you?”

She stuck out her tongue. It was childish, but the mood was right. “Not as well as I used to. They’ve stopped inviting me to their annual secret-brotherhood meetings. Which is fine. They’re arrogant, cruel, and egocentric. I assume.”

“I can be those things.” He wiggled his eyebrows and dropped his voice to a false baritone. “Does that do something for you, babe?”

She tried to adopt a stern expression but couldn’t help her giggle. “Being condescended to and talked over? You tell me.”

“Nope. I can’t picture it. Besides, I’m pretty sure not all wealthy, successful men are like Tony Stark. You’ve been watching too many superhero movies.”

“Or not enough. Can you ever really watch too many?” Another thing she enjoyed about his company—he didn’t mind the geeky references. Until now, Jaycie had really been the only person who appreciated them.

“Good point. But I also don’t have a costume in my closet or a secret identity.”

“That’s a shame. It could be kind of kinky. I mean the observation as a compliment, by the way. I just wondered… Never mind.” Now she’d talked it up enough, and they’d danced enough circles around the comment, it felt odd pursuing it.

He raised his brows. “Don’t hold back now.”

“Last time I brought it up, the mood got a bit somber.”

For a moment, his playful expression faltered, but it rushed back in. “You want details about how I got into this.” His voice was too bright, and his eyes didn’t hold the same laughter as before.

“No. Don’t worry about it.” She wanted to go back to teasing and joking, and close the distance between them on the blanket. Get closer to him. Without an audience though, there was no point in acting like a happy couple. They weren’t a couple.

He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “It’s not a big deal. Some days the stress makes the memories painful, but it’s all good. Like I said before, my sister is a costume maker. More specifically, she’s a brilliant cosplay designer. She can bring anything to life. Emily had her design something sexy and themed.” He faltered, dragged in a deep breath, and continued. “Tori did a great job. She and I bumped heads after. I had her work me up a few more designs, I built the site, and it grew from there. I’m not a genius business tycoon; I’m a glorified web designer.”

In the short amount of time they’d been talking, she knew that was an understatement. “Bullshit. You don’t have this kind of success if you’re
just
a web designer.”

“No. But modesty is sexy, right? Chicks dig a humble guy?”

She laughed and shook her head. A sharp breeze tore through the fading light, and she shivered. She forgot how cold it got up here at night, even this time of year.

Brad stood, and before she could ask what he was doing, he sat behind her and pressed close, chest to her back. Heat flooded her at the contact, and not all of it from the outside.

“We don’t have anyone here to put on a show for.” She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. That would put an end to this more quickly than she wanted.

There was a long pause, and for a moment she worried he’d pull away. Finally, he said, “It’s practice. Right? We have to be comfortable around each other.”

She settled more of her weight against him, reached for his arms, and pulled them tight over her shoulders. “
Comfortable
is a wonderful word for it.” In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this serene. It was tempting to stay here all night.

He rested his forehead against her skull, and silence stretched between them. Instead of feeling awkward, it was soothing. Right.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Since you asked a gut-wrenching question, can I return the favor?”

Her spine stiffened, and she had to force herself to relax. “I don’t think it works that way, but yes. Ask away.”

“Where did the money come from?”

Acid churned in her throat, as bitter as the memory, and she swallowed them back. “I robbed a series of banks in the Midwest. They called me the vicious vixen; it was all over the news back then. I got away with millions, and I’m hiding here, because who’s going to steal that much cash and then escape to Utah?”

“You could tell me
topic off limits.
” He didn’t sound upset or hurt. More concerned.

“It’s fine.” She didn’t want to keep this from him. The realization felt odd. It wasn’t as if she owned him anything, but it felt important to be open. “My grandmother passed away a few years ago. She all but raised me and my brother, George. She left us each half of her estate.” Gwen struggled to focus on the analytical details, rather than the emotions associated with the past, but she didn’t succeed. She gulped in a deep breath.

He squeezed her tighter for a moment, and then nestled his chin on her shoulder. “You really don’t have to tell me.”

The ache she always felt thinking about the entire situation still lingered, but it was tempered with a new sense of security. “It’s okay. I dealt with her death a long time ago. I miss her, but”—she focused on breathing, on not reacting—“money changes some people. My brother contested the will almost from day one. Before then, we were close. Friends growing up, always together. I guess he saw those dollar signs and decided it was his chance to make a grab. Or maybe he was always that way, and I never realized it.”

Brad rested his palms over her heart, and a whimper escaped her throat. She could make it through this. “So far, he’s managed to get most of her physical property. The house. Her valuables. He even pawned her wedding ring. He wants the cash portion of my inheritance as well. The way the will is worded, it leaves half of her estate to him and his family, and half to me and my family. He’s got a wife and kids. I don’t. He’s claiming that since family was so important to Grandma, she didn’t mean for me to have the money unless I was married. His proof I’m not planning on it anytime soon is that I can’t maintain a steady relationship and I have that website.”

“So this engagement thing really does benefit both of us.”

“Exactly.” Business transaction. Nothing more. Was that going to become a horrid mantra for her? Already she hated the sound of it. Or she felt stupid that she was falling for this guy, and if she was honest with herself, that was exactly what was happening.

“And it’s not about the money. It’s about the fact he’s looking for loopholes to screw you over.”

Brad understood the things she didn’t say. She nodded. “I would have paid him for Grandma’s stuff, if he let me. Her jewelry, knickknacks, the things she told me stories about when I was little… It all means something. And he’s tossed it to random people, who don’t care about anything but monetary value and the way it looks.”

“I get it.”

Of course he did. And as much as she appreciated that, she didn’t want to be in this place emotionally. “Enough of the downer talk. Now we fuck like bunnies and forget it all.”

“Is that what you want?” He nuzzled the back of her neck with his nose, voice low, and breath warm on her skin.

“No. I want this.” Such a simple statement, but it was a relief to say it out loud. She wasn’t sure how much of
this
she meant. As much of himself as he’d give her.

“Me too.”

Neither of them spoke for what had to be eons. Or several minutes. The sun hid behind the mountains, and the temperature rapidly dropped ten degrees. She tried to stifle a yawn and succeeded the first time, but not the next three in a row.

“Long day?” he asked.

“Wonderful day. But yes. I open the diner at five on weekends, so I’m up at three-thirty, and I’m doing it again tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you home.” He didn’t move.

“So I don’t turn into a pumpkin?”

Disappointment spilled in when he stood and offered her a hand up. “I don’t think you’re really a Cinderella type. I can’t see you sweeping anyone’s floor unless you want to.”

He helped her fold the blanket, and she intertwined his fingers with his, pleased he squeezed back instead of pulling away, as they picked through the leaves and roots and made their way back to the car. “Cinderella didn’t turn into a pumpkin,” she said. “The coach did.”

“I don’t think you’re a stage coach, either.”

They stopped next to his car, and she spun to face him. “This is where you joke about,
though, I wouldn’t mind sliding inside you before the clock strikes twelve.
”

He laughed and brushed his lips over hers. “Home. Come on.”

“Wait.” She tugged him away from the door handle. “I know it’s selfish of me to ask, but do you need to be anywhere tonight or in the morning?”

“No. But I’m not much of a three-in-the-morning person.”

“I’ll let you sleep in.” She was surprised at the pleading in her words, and at the same time that she managed to keep some her desperation from showing. “I just… Maybe I’m not Cinderella, but sometimes it’s nice to find a charming prince. Stay tonight?”

He opened the car door but didn’t let go of her hand yet. “Of course.”

She kissed him. It was quick, but it chased away her lingering gloom. “Thank you.” This was going to hurt when it ended. Right now, she could do nothing except cling to the shared moments.