Black Ties and White Lies(9)

For a moment, Margo looks sad. It hadn’t ever occurred to me she may still have some lingering feelings toward my dickwad brother. That’ll have to change. I make no move to comfort her. I stay firmly in place standing above her, a respectable few feet between us before I do something that’ll have HR breathing down my neck.

“If we do this, we need rules, or terms, or I don’t know the fancy word I’m supposed to use, but we need something. For me to even consider it, I need to know we’re on the exact same page.”

“Tell me your terms, Margo.”





On the outside, I hope I at least appear put together. With Beck no longer in my personal space, the spicy scent of his expensive cologne overtaking my senses, I’m attempting, yet horribly failing, to think straight. I’m at least attempting to appear normal. On the inside, I’m freaking the fuck out.

The only thing in my mind is a constant replay of Beck’s words. The mental image of me bent over this table, wondering what it’d feel like to have him take me from behind. These are absolutely thoughts I shouldn’t be having—especially about my new boss who is also my ex’s hotter older brother. I’m apparently about to partake in a fake fiancée charade with him; plus, I’m now having dirty thoughts about the two of us and this table. It all equates to a terrible idea.

“I don’t want to be embarrassed again, Beck,” I say, my voice lowered as I try my best to keep it steady. The last thing I need is for my voice to give away the effect his words have on me. “Everyone looked at me like I was pitiful when it came out that Car—”

I almost slip up and say the forbidden name, but quickly correct myself—“your brother had cheated on me for years. If people are going to think we’re engaged, you can’t be seen with other women. I refuse to ever be embarrassed like that again—even if it’s fake between us.”

There’s not a hint of deceit in his eyes when he says, “I wouldn’t do that to you, Margo. No one will be seen with me but you.”

My stomach unexplainably flutters from his words. It’s tragic. Carter messed me up so much that I think it’s romantic when my possible, soon-to-be, fake fiancé promises not to be seen with another when we’re fake engaged.

Men. They really can do a number on you and not even give a shit that they did so.

“I know that you have uh…needs,” I start, fumbling with my words. I’ve now committed to this train wreck of a topic though, so I keep trekking even though I feel my cheeks begin to flush. Without even meaning to, my eyes flick down to the crotch of his suit pants, furthering the redness coating my cheeks. “So, I understand that you’ll have to have those met with someone, but if we do this, I just don’t want that to be public. I don’t want anyone else to know of you, ya know, getting those needs met. I promise to do the same for any of my, you know…needs.” I never thought the word needs could cause me to blush in embarrassment, yet here I am, red as a tomato.

Beck’s nostrils flare. The angry look in his eyes has my gaze darting away from him in fear. Suddenly, two strong fingers are grabbing me by the chin and forcing my head to look up. His fingertips dig into my cheeks as his face hardens in anger. “Let another man even think about taking care of you when you’re my fiancée and they're as good as dead.” His voice is seething. I have no idea where all of that anger came from, but it does something to my insides.

My lips part and close again as I think of what to say to him in response. He keeps a strong grip on my jaw, his eyes narrowed as he watches my reaction carefully.

“Margo,” Beck says through clenched teeth. There’s a muscle in his jaw ticking away. Our closeness is the only reason I’m able to see it. I wonder if it always feathers like that, or if it only does when he’s filled with rage.

I’ll have to find out.

“Tell me you understand,” he demands, his voice tense.

“Understand what?” I ask, my brain feeling like mush. Being this close to him has me at a loss for words. It’s the scent of him, feeling the heat radiating off his body, really it’s the overwhelming presence he exudes.

Ever so lightly, his thumb brushes over my cheekbone before he rips his hand away. His arms cross his chest in a defensive position. The movement has the fabric around his biceps bunching, the tailored suit almost too tailored to his bulging biceps. “If you agree to this, there will be no one else in your life, Margo. For the year, or however long it takes to get the point across, you’re mine.”

I’m still half wondering if I’m having some sort of bad reaction to the wine we had last night. Or maybe I’m having some sort of fever dream? There has to be an explanation for what’s happening right now. This can’t be real life. Beckham Sinclair can’t be asking me to be his fake fiancée. He can’t really be forcing me into being exclusive—even if fake—with him. I’m living in an alternate reality. Hearing Beck say “you’re mine” wasn’t real…

But it was. It is. This is all very, very real.

This is every woman’s dream, and I’m just waiting to find out what the catch is.

I straighten my body in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “If I agree to that then you have to agree to it, too. It’s not fair for you to expect me to not be with anyone else if you’re going to be with other women.”