Hudson(26)

The tactic doesn’t seem to be working. “But you don’t give gifts like that to women who work for you unless you’re running an entirely different kind of club.”

“You’re overreacting, Alayna.” Though she’s actually quite adorable when she’s this worked up.

“I’m not!” Her expression changes from frustrated to quizzical. “And what do you mean a golden hello? You mean, like a signing bonus?”

“Yes, Alayna.” I’ve toyed with her enough. “That’s my agenda. I would like to hire you.”

“I already work for you and I’m happy where I am.” She’s startled and confused.

But I have her attention.

“Again, I don’t feel that you do work for me. I am not your boss. I own the establishment that you work for. That is all. Is that clear?”

I relax when she nods. This is an important delineation for me. As her boss, I’d have the opportunity to work with her closely. However, I want her to choose that for herself. It has nothing to do with the scam Celia is playing—it’s simply how I desire to interact with Alayna. I want our relationship to be unforced. I want it to develop naturally.

I’m a fairly humorless person, but that notion makes even me want to laugh. How can any of it be natural when every bit of it is a ruse?

Well, not every bit of it. Fuck, I don’t even know anymore myself.

It’s then I realize that now that I’m the owner of the club, Celia has nothing to trap me with. I could walk away from this here and now, couldn’t I? I could spend time with Alayna on my own terms—ask her out on a real date, even.

But the idea is too absurd. I never date. And I know Celia—she won’t give up that easily. Also, I’m not a person to make decisions impulsively.

“This wouldn’t affect your employment at the club.” I lean toward her. “Maybe hire is not the correct term. I’d like to pay you to help me with a problem. I believe you’d be perfect for the job.”

“You win. My curiosity is piqued. What’s the job?”

I have her exactly where I want her. I pause to heighten the suspense. “I need you to break up an engagement.” God, how I’ve mastered the art of drama. It’s pathetic; it really is.

She coughs. “Um, what? Whose?”

Leaning back, I reveal my bombshell. “Mine.”

She gapes and I’m lost again in naughty thoughts about her lips. “Close your mouth, Alayna. Although it’s quite adorable to see you flabbergasted, it’s also very distracting.”

Though she closes her mouth, I can see she’s still aghast. I pass her my wine. She takes a swallow—her taste mixing with mine—and then speaks. “I didn’t realize you were engaged.”

She blushes as she says it and I have to look away. She’s too delectable. I consider abandoning the scheme and focusing on seduction instead. But there’s still a lot of groundwork to lay so I deny myself a little longer, and explain to Alayna Withers the strange relationship that Celia and I have found ourselves in. Though much is omitted, almost none of what I say is a lie. I tell her how our parents are friends, how they want us to marry, how my mother thinks there is no one but Celia for me.

I don’t say that our parents’ belief that we should wed is based on a relationship that Celia and I never had. The Werners and my mother—they’ve partnered Celia and me in their minds ever since that summer ten years before. That’s not an important part of this charade, though, and it’s a time I prefer to not think about. So I leave that out.

I leave too much out. Because she soon says, “I’m missing something.”

I nod. “I suppose you are.” I take my glass back from her and finish it off before clearing up the last detail. It’s another truth—the most important truth of this scheme, and one that I’ve never been ashamed to admit. Until now. “Alayna, if there is anyone in the world who has any power over me, it’s my mother.” And Mirabelle, but that’s neither here nor there for the moment. “My mother knows that I am…” I don’t need to search for the word, but I pause anyway. “…incapable…of love. She worries that I will…end up alone. A marriage with her best friend’s daughter, at least, insures that won’t happen.”

I wish I had more to drink as a new doubt starts creeping in. Am I really incapable of love? Or was it merely an idea planted by a psychiatrist in my teenage years with no basis in reality? I’ve never cared to challenge the notion, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I wonder if I should.

But that challenge could threaten to disrupt everything I know.

So I quickly abandon it, and move on with the setup. I explain that if I were in love with someone else, our parents would be delighted. More than delighted—my mother would have a f**king heart attack. Or she simply wouldn’t believe it. That is the more likely scenario.




At one point, Alayna narrows her eyes and asks, “So I’m supposed to be the floozy you’re in love with?”

This amuses me greatly. There is nothing common or lowly about the woman sitting across from me. “No one would ever mistake you as a floozy, Alayna. Even when you dress like one.” I was particularly naughty with that last line. It was an excuse to think of that corset one more time. Fuck, she was lovely in it.