Page 5 of My Fake Lover

»That tells me: damn hot!«

»Low!« I scolded playfully and suppressed a laugh. Those were indeed two terms that fit quite well with the encounter in my truck. Damn. Hot.

5

Max

Iwas a man who hated the unforeseen and adhered to the same routines every day. Every. Single. Day. Today was no different.

My driver took me to the underground parking lot, and I took the direct elevator to the twentieth floor. I greeted my assistant Lynn in the entrance area and entered my office, turned on my laptop, and checked my appointments for the day first. I forced myself not to look out onto the street to see if the truck was still parked there as a monument to my lapse of judgment yesterday. What had gotten into me? Like any person, I enjoyed sex, but with someone I didn’t like?

Okay, in essence, I didn’t like many people, myself included. My brother came to mind. My assistant Lynn, even though I didn’t know much about her, except that she had married last year and received a hefty check from me for it. End of the list.

So, what was it about Ivy that made me think about how she would feel under me for the past year? I had a taste of it yesterday, and if it hadn’t been for Gerry showing up, I would have undoubtedly taken her to the extreme. In a food truck. That smelled like fried food and was almost smaller than the interior of a limousine.

»Fuck,« I muttered quietly and stood up. I pressed my palms against the cold glass and searched the street with my eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief. The truck was still there and hadn’t been towed away. Should I have used my connections with the police to prevent Ivy from getting into trouble? No, I shouldn’t get involved in this matter. Somehow I had the feeling that I was the last person she would want help from. Just the way she constantly expressed how arrogant she thought I was. The door of the food truck opened, and Ivy stepped out. A tiny smile crept onto my lips, which I immediately suppressed. She was wearing jeans and a sun-yellow shirt today. She had tamed her brown waves with a thick ponytail and wiped sweat from her brow. It was only now that I noticed how she carried food from inside the truck to the outside and stored it in a kind of cooler. My fingers itched to help her, but what should I say?

Should I help you so you can finally disappear from my side of the street and my thoughts? Oh, and thanks for yesterday and the memories that I couldn’t get out of my head all night. What would have happened if I had a condom with me?

At last, I turned away from the window. She was not my problem. My problem was keeping my company running. My problem was keeping my brother away from the damn drugs. My problem was not a beautiful food truck owner with a much too loose tongue.

I suppressed the nervous flutter building up inside me and finally devoted myself to my work.

6

Ivy

»Table three!« One of the chefs slammed three plates in front of me. I couldn’t quite remember, but I believed his name was Adam. A handsome Latino with a fierce look and dark eyebrows. But it didn’t really matter, as no one addressed each other by name here. This was precisely the place I never wanted to end up. A cold four-star kitchen with stressed-out chefs who considered themselves the greatest and all waiters as their subordinates. I was supposed to be on their side, showing them that we could work together differently.

Phil snapped his fingers in front of my face. »Are you deaf? Table three!« he shouted, turning back to the stove behind him.

»Don’t worry about him, he’s an idiot and has nothing to offer but his hot ass.« I gave Pete a cautious smile. He took one of my plates and nodded to the door leading to the dining room. »Come on, I’ll show you table three.«

»Thank you. That’s really nice of you.«

»I can understand how you feel,« he said, pushing the swinging door open with his back. »We both don’t belong here; it’s just a stop to pay our rent,« he whispered. Here in the dining room, the lighting was dimmed and not as bright and cold as in the kitchen. People spoke softly, candles flickered in golden candleholders on sparkling white tablecloths. The atmosphere was chic and haughty. I missed Betsy, the smell of steamed lobster, and my wonderful guests. All but one. At least that’s what I told myself.

»Et voilà, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy your meal,« Pete said, placing the plate in front of an older lady adorned with golden jewelry like a Christmas tree. I had to grin inwardly as Pete put on his fake French accent and played his role. He was truly a born actor.

I carefully set the two plates of cream soup in front of the other guests. Two gentlemen, about the age of the woman at the table.

»Bon appétit,« I said, and walked back to the kitchen with Pete. The restaurant manager stood like a bouncer at the edge of the room, surveying the whole scene like an eagle. Not a single stain was allowed on the white tablecloths. On my first day a week ago, I had spilled wine and almost got fired.

»No eye contact,« Pete hissed, and I immediately averted my eyes. »He hates it when we stare. Go, go, fly like a bird!« Pete pushed me into the kitchen. Sweltering heat and frantic calls greeted me. It felt like two different worlds. Both not mine.

»Table one!«

I gave Adam my prettiest grin, and he just rolled his eyes and turned away. »Right away.«

I grabbed the two plates, winked at Pete, who was talking to one of the dishwashers, and followed the path outside. I was slowly getting the hang of the table numbering. At least I knew where table one was. It wasn’t difficult, as it was the largest, most ostentatious table in a secluded area on the first floor. I balanced the plates out and climbed the steep steps. A red carpet muffled my steps in the black leather shoes we had to wear. Uniform clothing. White and black. Boring.

My gaze lingered on the soup that menacingly sloshed to the left in one of the plates. Damn, I hoped the manager wasn’t checking on me.

»Please, enjoy your meal!« I placed a plate in front of a pretty blonde in a sinful black dress. As I looked up and was about to set down the second plate, my heart skipped a beat. This couldn’t be happening.

»Do you plan on holding the soup until it’s cold, or will I be served as well?« Arrogant. Haughty. And in his perfectly fitting black shirt, so sexy. Cursed be Max Holmes! Cursed be fate for crossing paths multiple times in a big city like this! And in such a situation!

In my mind, I wore a dress just as stunning as the blonde’s and didn’t give Max Holmes a glance until he longed for me. And in reality? Let’s not talk about it...

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