Boyfriend for Hire(9)
“Probably a good plan, especially since it’ll be a long day with the wedding and reception and all.”
Elle’s a good girl. I like that about her. It’s refreshing. She’s probably never stepped out of her comfort zone, or hell, even disobeyed a traffic signal in her entire life. And even though her ex is here treating her like shit, she’s composed enough not to get shit-faced. It’s classy, and I like that about her.
I signal the bartender and ask for another glass of champagne for her, and a tonic water with lime for me.
“What about you?” She tilts her head to the glass of tonic water the bartender sets in front of me. “Not a big drinker either?”
“Something like that.” I don’t tell her that I have a self-imposed one-drink maximum when I’m working. But being with Elle doesn’t feel like working. Not even a little bit. And some small part of me knows that’s dangerous.
Being here with Elle, mingling with the wedding guests, laughing, sharing a cocktail—it all feels completely natural. I don’t have to fake having a good time when I’m with her. It’s so rare for me to completely forget that I’m working. In fact, I don’t think it’s ever happened before.
It probably makes me sound like a pussy, but there’s something satisfying about a woman enjoying me, my company—without me having to pretend to be something I’m not. It makes me feel appreciated and charming. And the way she’s looking at me now, like I’m her knight in fucking shining armor after I saved her from her ex? Subconsciously, I like that a hell of a lot.
Part of me wishes we’d met under normal circumstances. Like at a bar, or a coffee shop, or a bookstore.
I imagine us bumping into each other and striking up a conversation. Within minutes, Elle would be laughing, her cheeks flushing pink. We’d exchange numbers, and I’d ask her out to dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a real date, one that doesn’t involve a pre-set payment amount.
But of course, that’s just a fantasy, because as soon as she found out what I did for a living, Elle’s pretty little face would fall, and that would be the end of that. No one wants a boyfriend who sleeps with other women for a living.
Stupid, Nic.
It’s dangerous to even fantasize about things like that. Elle won’t ever be my girlfriend. I’m here to do a job, save her from her dipshit ex, collect my paycheck, and go the fuck home. Alone. End of story.
She enjoys her glass of bubbly, and when she’s through, we mingle with a few of her relatives. Her ex takes off after a while, and she visibly relaxes once he’s gone.
By the end of the night, Elle and I are leaning on the railing of the restaurant balcony overlooking a small man-made lake. It’s a little corny—obviously a ploy to make the place seem more romantic—but between the moonlight and the slight breeze moving through her hair, even I have to admit that it’s working.
“I had a great time tonight, Nic,” Elle says, running her fingers over the black wrought iron. “When Christine told me she had a friend from college she wanted me to meet, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I definitely wasn’t expecting someone like you.”
That makes two of us.
I smile and place my hand gently over hers. “I feel the same way.”
Elle slowly brings her eyes to mine, the look in them a familiar one. Engaged and serious, but soft and inviting. She’s giving me the look. The one that means she wants to kiss me.
A soft gust of wind blows her hair into her face, and I instinctively brush it away, tucking her coppery tresses behind her ear. Just as I’m about to lean in, my lips parted in anticipation, I stop myself.
What the fuck am I doing?
Sighing inside, I pull away and mutter something about the moon being beautiful tonight. The look on Elle’s face is one of confusion mixed with disappointment, but she forces a small smile and nods.
It’s a rule. My number-one rule, actually. I don’t kiss on the mouth. Not on dates with clients.
This job won’t last forever, and at some point, I’ll have a serious girlfriend—hell, maybe even a wife. I won’t be able to erase what I’ve done to make ends meet in this profession. But I do want to save something for the woman I end up with. Something special that hasn’t been tainted by this job, and if a kiss is all that I can salvage, then so be it.
Although tainted isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe what I imagine a kiss with Elle would be like.
“It’s getting late,” I say, watching the other guests trickle out of the restaurant below us. “Big day tomorrow. Can’t have you staying up too late tonight.”
Elle doesn’t meet my gaze as she nods, then loops her arm through mine.
As I walk her to my car, she’s quiet, probably still confused about why I stopped that kiss. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a little confused and disappointed myself. This job isn’t going the way I expected.
Twenty minutes later, I drop Elle off at her place. In the car, I asked her to walk me through the plan for tomorrow, and the air between us finally settled again.
By the time she climbed out of my car, we were both smiling and laughing, our connection having returned to easy and comfortable. This is exactly where the night needs to end if tomorrow is going to go well.
? ? ?
At home, I kick off my shoes and hang my dress clothes in the closet. The tux Case bought for me a couple years ago has been tossed onto my bed in a garment bag. He must have dropped it off while I was out. It’s industry standard to have formal wear on hand, and he makes sure all of us guys look good. Hell, that’s what we’re paid for.