Page 24 of Making It While Faking It
“Now I’m all hot and bothered,” Summer remarks as she excessively fans herself with her fingers. She scoots her chair back. “Ben’s going to get lucky tonight.”
Chuckles mingle with the sound of wood sliding against marble as my guests progress through the stages of rising from their seats. Usually, we would keep company until the wee hours of the morning. But nobody expected Achilles to show up, not even Caroline. His appearance took all of us so high that now we’re all crashing. Also, that red wine was not only delicious but quick.
Caroline is the first to excuse herself from the table. I think she’s on her way to find Achilles and explain why I have four friends in his penthouse. I walk the others to the elevator, smiling sheepishly as they share their plans for the upcoming week, desperately trying to forget the feel and taste of my tongue entangling with Achilles’s and his lips on my lips. Bronx and Shanique are flying to Miami tomorrow. Shanique will visit her music-producer boyfriend named Hector, and Bronx is making a guest appearance on a reality show. Summer and Ben are taking a drive up to Vermont. They plan to work on baby number one. And Claire has a date with a man whose name she’s not ready to reveal.
“What about you, Treasure?” Shanique asks. “Fucking the day away with that sexy fiancé of yours?”
I stop myself from scoffing. Instead, I maintain an expert poker face when I say, “Dinner with the fam.”
There’s a collection of gasps, then they all playfully bow their heads in prayer and say, “Amen.”
I chuckle. They’re all aware of the sort of drama that’s sure to arise when the Groves get together.
Cravingthe moment I can try out my new bed, which looks extraordinarily comfortable, I walk slowly to the dining room to clear the table. When I make it back, my jaw drops as I lock eyes with Achilles. Then my eyes track down to the plates he’s holding, one in each hand.
The way he’s frowning is a telltale sign that he’s not in a good mood. And I think I know why.
“Okay,” I say with a deflated sigh. “I’m sorry for inviting guests without telling you first. Caroline said you wanted me to make myself at home.” I end with a conciliatory shrug. I mean, my get-together with friends should be no big deal. It’s not like he came home to me in the throes of a full-fledged party.
He still doesn’t say anything, and the grumpy look on his face doesn’t change either. “And I’ll clean up,” I say, raising my eyebrows at the plates he’s holding.
“This table and these chairs are not to be used.” His voice is merely a whisper, but it’s strong and forceful.
I jerk my head back as a defiant wave of energy surges through me. “But I don’t understand. It’s a table. These are chairs,” I say, gripping the top of the chair I’m standing behind. “They’re made for people to sit on, and they’re positioned around a dinner table. We eat food at a dinner table.” What did I just say? I don’t think what I said made any sense.Oh, my spinning head and gurgling stomach.
Achilles points to his right and says, “Use the dining room on the east side of the kitchen.”
I shift my attention to the table that I actually spent a few minutes admiring when I first saw it. It has strips of solid wood and silver metal made to resemble the branches of sunbursts. It’s a very quality piece of furniture, even if it’s a little too masculine for my tastes, and it’s clear to see that it’s expensive too.
“But why do you even have a table like this if you don’t want to use it properly? I mean, are you so hell-bent on being a miserable prick?”
He looks confused by what I just said. I’m certainly confused by what I just said. It’s a large leap from asking about his table to calling him a prick. I mean, my aunt Heartly has artifacts and furniture all over her house that she doesn’t want anyone to touch. I’ve never called her a prick because of it. But Achilles is not Heart. No… he’s something else to me, and that something else that I cannot name at the moment is why I’m so infuriated by him telling me to steer clear of his precious dining room set.
“Just do as I ask,” he says with a strangely even voice. “And the cleaners will arrive shortly.”
A wave of dizziness passes through my head, and when I blink, my eyelids almost get stuck closed. The truth is, I simply don’t have the energy to argue with someone who plays it the way he does. He actually reminds me of Max. They have a lot in common. No wonder they hate each other. It’s as if Achilles is no longer in the room as my thoughts begin to wander. Frankly, all I want to do right now is go to bed.
“This table is specially made,” he continues. I detect a little desperation in his voice. It’s as if he wants me to understand why he’s being so fussy about his table.
“Specially made for what?” I ask in a biting tone. “To sit in front of the window? To catch light and degrade over time until one day you’ll have to replace it again? Why have it if you’re not going to enjoy it?” Because you’re such a joyless person, I want to scream. My heart is beating like crazy and my body shaking. I’ve whipped myself up into a frenzy.
After a moment of glaring at me as if he heard everything I just said in gibberish, his ruffled eyebrows even out. If I’m not mistaken, I think I saw his eyes dip down to my chest. The movement occurred so fast that I can’t confirm it. “And the lighting,” he says in an unperturbed voice. “Don’t change it.”
Wow. He’s such a jerk. “I didn’t touch your lighting. And sorry for believing that you wanted me to make myself at home in your overpriced penthouse. I forgot that hospitality isn’t your style.”
He says nothing, only grimaces, which is also a Max kind of response in the face of frantic energy. My tactic is all wrong, and I’m still too exhausted to correct it. And he stands tall, his wide muscular chest as stalwart as a steel wall stares back at me. I should storm away from him, but my feet are firmly planted against the marble. Storming off is never my style. I always like to end a disagreement with some sort of reconciliation.
Achilles’s lips twitch like he wants to say something but is thinking better about it. The doorbell rings, and he looks up and calls for Lara, who answers back that she’s ready to clean. Of course he would summon the cleaning crew. I’m pretty sure the cleaning job I did in the kitchen isn’t up to his standards.
I’m done. I can no longer engage in this moment. I spin on my heels and let my feet carry me away from Achilles Lord. Fuming, I storm off, visualizing my suitcase. It’s in my closet. I handed it off to the bellman upon arrival, and at the conclusion of my guided tour with Caroline, I found my suitcase sitting empty in my closet. I’m still not sure how I feel about people I’ve never seen or spoken to touching my things. That’s another problem with this damn penthouse—it’s too high-end. I should sneak out of this place in the middle of the night. I’d go to my apartment, which is preferably closer to the ground. Maybe, when I finally shake my stress cold, I’ll call Alex Shaw, invite him to a hotel suite, and let him fuck Achilles out of my system.
Oh no, is Achilles in my system?
My sigh originates deep from my gut as I finish climbing the stairway and plod to the sanctuary of a bedroom that Achilles has prepared for me.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
Alex Shaw is off limits. Sleeping with him, trusting him to keep our involvement secret, is a big risk. Plus, Lynx will kill me if he finds out I’m screwing around with one of his players.
