Page 53 of Making It While Faking It
I delete my last reply and type instead:
Okay. Sleep tight, Mr. Lord.
Seconds tick by, and then those seconds turn into minutes. He’s done texting for the night. Twisting my mouth thoughtfully, I wonder if I played it too cool. Maybe I should’ve sent the more enthusiastic reply.
Disappointed, I get ready to put my phone back on the nightstand until it rings. I swallow a gasp. It’s Achilles, and I answer it before my device can ring twice.
“Hello?” I say, my heart thumping like crazy. “I mean”—I touch the warmth flushing across the side of my face—“hi.”
“You sleep tight too,” he says in a sultry bedroom voice that makes me want him even more.
I swallow and taste my desire. “Okay, I will.” I sound strained.
“And you’re a magnificent kisser, TG. May I have more of you when I see you on Monday? Well… all of you. I want all of you.”
I’m nearly choking on my deepened breaths. It takes longer than it should for me to breathlessly say, “Yes. Yes, you may have all of me.”
It’s Friday,and I’ve dressed, made coffee and a fried egg with a quick salsa, and then Danny drove me to the restaurant. I’ve been preoccupied—so many thoughts of Achilles. Thankfully, my thoughts are my own, and no one else can see or hear them. Without shame, I let myself indulge in everything I relish about Achilles Lord. He has six-pack abs that are visible through his shirts. I will enjoy sliding my fingers up and down the ridges of his abs sooner rather than later. His rich cologne has become a serious aphrodisiac. One sniff, and my cells sizzle. And his eyes on me… oh God, his eyes on me. For so long, I have been confused by what I felt when he looked at me in that special way of his. But now I’ll admit that Achilles Lord has never repelled me. On the contrary, the way he stared merely enticed me.
My morning meeting with Lolly moves along swimmingly. While most of our staff bustle about, preparing for tonight’s big party, I take Lolly on the same tour of my restaurant that my capable future husband took me on. She’s into all the proposed fixes and is excited about the possibility of saving a lot of money. For instance, we already have an inventory system in place. But Lolly admits that the count is off because we don’t have an easy way for staff to log used or damaged goods. Then I tell her about smart shelves, a storage system that Achilles suggested. He said that LTI uses them in all of their warehouses. When an item is taken out of a slot on the shelf, the shelf will send the new count to a software system. We make the decision to order and install smart shelves on the spot.
Then Lolly and I go back to her office to crunch the numbers on what we pay versus what we’ll spend on my fancy new expansions, the party hall, and the lounge. Four hours later, three things are clear to us. Achilles was right yet again. We need to either absorb the new spaces into the main restaurant or sell or rent the spaces to another business. Achilles actually suggested renting to a business that complements my restaurant. He gave me a number of good ideas and said he’ll be able to help me with finding and managing a renter. No wonder I was so hot for him when we made it to my office.
“Wow,” Lolly says, tapping her finger on a small corner of her desk that’s free of papers. “I think you’ve said the name Achilles a hundred times.”
I drop my eyes to laugh bashfully. “No, I didn’t.”
“And you’re blushing, Treas.” She sounds so surprised. “You never blush over a boy.”
I can’t object even though I want to object. “Well… he’s been a lot of help rather than hurt.”
“Yeah,” she says, sounding sympathetic. “Not like Simon Linney, who turned out to be a real cad.”
I snort a chuckle. “Cad?”
She laughs. “I thought I’d make him sound more British.”
I’m wavering between smiling and frowning thoughtfully as I recall his fake accent. Even Lolly doesn’t know that he’s a fake. I almost feel like it’s my job to inform her of the truth. But then, that will make me a hypocrite because my association with Achilles is just as fake.
As usual,there are not enough hours in the day. I jump from one task to the next, putting out fires, finally looking Princess Vanessa Downing in her spoiled eyes and saying no, we will not set up confetti to drop from the ceiling at 10:03 p.m., especially since her party starts in less than an hour. No, we will not add an extra strip of blue lights along the red carpet because it’ll look cool with the orange and red lights that we’ve already added that she did not pay for. And no, no, no, I will not make Nya scramble to add caviar with a freshly made truffle chip to the appetizer menu. Of course, she didn’t want to pay extra for that request either.
But I played my part by sauntering through the event, greeting her guests while wearing a stunning powder-blue off-the-shoulder silk cocktail dress. So many of the princess’s guests wanted to take photos with me. I was reminded of what Ingrid once said, something that I disregarded and attributed to her kissing my ass. People do that, kiss the boss’s ass. She said that the celebrities want their parties at Treasures because of me. I’m the draw because I’m a Grove.
I guess I’ve always known that to a certain degree, but tonight, reflected in Vanessa’s attention-starved friends’ eyes, I saw it. And I’m not sure I liked it, especially since all I wanted was to be in the kitchen with Nya, who actually made that truffle chip for Vanessa. She thought that using tuna tartar instead of caviar would incur no extra cost. But again, Vanessa hadn’t paid for the tuna, so yet again, I lost money on that damn birthday party.
It’s late when I arrive at the penthouse, and Achilles hasn’t called like he promised. Yes, I’m disappointed and actually surprised that he hasn’t. I take Achilles to be a man of his word.
I would call him instead, but my feet hurt and I’m sticky, tired of smiling and pretending to be a Disney Princess heiress for a bunch of people I’ve never met. Heck, I even learned that I’m a better actress than I thought! If I had made a conscious effort to learn my lines better and get into the role of Raylene Preen, I might have done a better job bringing her to life. Because tonight, my acting was flawless.
I sit in a warm bath and fight the urge to fall asleep. When I’ve sat long enough in the silken water, I moisturize and enter my comfortable bed. Then when I’m settled between the sheets, like a spark flickering in my head, I consider calling Achilles.
But what would I say to him?
You were supposed to call me, but you didn’t. Is that your way of reminding me that I am not a real option for you?
“Maybe it’s for the best,” I whisper and then squeeze my eyes shut as I shake my head against the pillow.
Eyelids heavy while tears burn the backs of my eyes, I stare at the dimmed light fixture above my bed. I’m so confused by what’s happening between me and Achilles. I don’t want to be a fool again. Because after the smoke cleared, that’s exactly what finding Simon and Cherry screwing made me feel like—a fool.
