Page 98 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Chapter Ten

R ipley

The Swill is calm when I walk in. I find a table in the back corner, nestled in the shadows, and sit with my back to the wall so I can watch for Georgia to arrive.

I’m early—not only because I was anxious to get this over with but also because establishing oneself early is the best way to take control of a situation.

And God knows that won’t be easy with her.

I’ve contemplated this scenario all last night as well as today while I worked with a couple of athletes at the Arrows training facility.

I’ve gone back and forth about how to approach this meeting.

Do I go with the flow, feel her out, and adjust my game plan?

Or do I come out swinging with my charm and wit and throw her off her game?

One thing is for sure: she won’t make a fool out of me. Again.

“Hey, there.” A woman with a name tag reading Vanessa slides up to the table. “Can I get you something to drink, or are you waiting on someone?”

Vanessa is pretty with big brown eyes and curly blond hair. Her smile is friendly, too.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I say, noticing the wash of disappointment filter across her features. “But I’ll go ahead and order a whiskey neat for me and a lemon drop martini for my … friend.”

Weird.

“Great,” she says. “I’ll be back with your drinks.”

“Thanks, Vanessa.”

She smiles at my use of her name, a personal touch that always goes a long way with people, and heads toward the bar.

My stomach churns with anticipation as I flip my attention to the front of the building. On cue, as if she were poised outside the door waiting for me to look, Georgia steps into the bar. Her eyes find mine almost immediately.

Every man in the establishment’s eyes finds her.

My God.

She moves through the room as if she’s walking on air.

Her hips, wrapped in light denim jeans with strategic holes in the knees, sway sexily with each step.

Her shoulders are bare thanks to a corset-style top that highlights the tops of her round tits.

The ridge of her shoulder is soft and smooth.

If I didn’t know she was a nightmare, I’d make it my mission to get her number.

Get your head together, Brewer.

I clear my throat as she approaches, breathing in her trademark vanilla scent moments before she slides into the booth across from me. Her tits jiggle as she gets situated. Now that I know what they look like without a shirt, it’s hard not to stare.

“Perfect timing,” Vanessa says, placing two drinks on the table.

Georgia looks at me, confused.

“Do you two need anything else?” Vanessa asks.

“No, I’m good,” I say. “Would you like anything else, Georgia?”

She shakes her head, a loose tendril from the pile of hair on top of her head dusting her shoulder.

“Great. I’ll check on you two later,” Vanessa says before scooting away.

Georgia sets her purse on the bench beside her. “I see you ordered for me.”

“I figured a martini was safe.”

“What makes you say that?”

I pull my whiskey toward me. “Well, you had several of them the other night when we were here, so I figured it was safe to say you liked them.” And I finished yours that night just to piss you off.

“ Oh .” She brushes the errant tendril out of her face. “That’s fair, I guess.”

“Did you think I just threw a dart at the menu and got lucky?”

“If anyone could do that, it would be you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

She takes a drink, watching me over the rim of her glass. Her lashes are long and thick, and her skin sparkles under the light hanging above us.

All she’s missing are the wings.

“So … ground rules,” she says, placing her drink on a napkin. “Let’s get this over with.”

I shift in my seat. “Tate pointed out that we might find ourselves in precarious situations that would make sense for people actually dating but would be more than awkward for us.”

“Yeah, that thought has crossed my mind, too.”

She holds my gaze long enough to make me question exactly which thought she’s referring to. But I don’t ask. It doesn’t matter.

“Did you get the revised shooting schedule today?” I ask.

She settles back against the seat. “Yes. Thursday is a getting-to-know-you scenario now. I didn’t see where we were supposed to meet, though.”

“It’s at a restaurant called Ruma downtown. Since the crews are filming, they had to get permits and permissions.”

“Ruma, huh? I’ve heard that place is amazing and also ridiculously expensive. Can’t say I’m mad about getting to try it on Canoodle’s money.” She takes another drink. “They have us scheduled for our first official date on Friday. We’re supposed to let them know our plans on Friday morning.”

“That’s what I read, too.”

“Well, seeing as though we got the same email, that would make sense,” she says.

I narrow my eyes as the frustration I’ve tried so hard to bury rises to the top.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “I’m not getting paid to be nice to you yet.”

As much as I want to do this for Jonah and need to do this for my family’s reputation— who doesn’t love a man bending over backward for the woman he’s falling for? —the possibility that Georgia fails to cooperate and this entire production fails becomes apparent.

“You know, if it pains you that badly to pretend to like me, you need to rethink this,” I say, clenching my jaw. “If you walk away now, little time and money has been spent. If you wait and let this blow up in your face, it will be expensive. That’ll make Sutton look even worse.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I fire back.

“Don’t try to talk me out of this. Yes, it will pain me to be nice to you—even if it’s fake. But I signed a contract, didn’t I?”

I shrug. “You signed a contract to be professional about this, but you’re acting like an asshole.”

“Coming from you, that’s rich.”

We sit across from one another, each holding a proverbial white flag under the table. We both know we can’t do this and make our agreement work. Yet neither of us is willing to raise the flag first and surrender.

I fold my hands on the table. “I’m no happier about this than you are, Peaches.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’d rather listen to Gannon talk about stocks and bonds than do this with you,” I say. “If you want me to be honest, I don’t know that you can do this.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” I pin her to the seat. “You’re too busy pretending to be a bad bitch to even allow me to be remotely nice to you. Why is that, Georgia? Are you scared it’ll taint whatever fucked-up version of yourself lives in your head?”

She leans against the table, anger rolling off her in waves. “Fuck you, Ripley.”

“Does the truth hurt?”

“It hurts about as much as your ego will hurt when you realize I’m not melting at your feet when we’re alone, and I sure as hell won’t believe every word that comes out of your mouth.”

I withdraw a bit, studying the guard that just slid across her eyes. I’m unsure if this is a new thing or if I’m only noticing it now. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t have time—or the energy, or the desire—to figure it out.

“I’m approaching this like I would any business contract,” I say, my voice unwavering.

“Same.”

We’re not getting anywhere … I sigh.

“So ground rules?” she asks. “You go first.”

I glance at a table of men in suits by the bar who keep glancing at Georgia. “We shouldn’t date other people until our contract is up. It’s just to maintain the integrity of the job.”

That doesn’t even really make sense, but that’s what I get for thinking on the fly.

“What happens if I fall madly in love with someone mid-shoot?” she asks.

My teeth grind against each other. I know she’s just fucking with me—her lips pressed together in a faux pout give her away. Still, I can’t give in.

“We’ll address it if it happens,” I say. “I want to keep my options open in case I meet the future Mrs. Brewer, too. But even though we’re fake-dating and this is just a job, I think having a real-life significant other could cause problems, and we’re both dedicated to helping our friends succeed.”

“Fine. Deal.” She flashes me a fake-ass smile. “I also have a demand of my own.”

“What is it?”

“I know this is supposed to look as real as possible when we’re filming, but I don’t want anyone to think we’re actually dating in real life.”

“You think I want people to think I’m dating you? Funny.”

Her features sober, and all levity has left the building. She picks up a small amethyst stone hanging from a chain around her neck and toys with it between her fingers.

I can’t help but notice how vulnerable she is at this moment. Her caramel-colored eyes shine with a soft defenselessness that changes everything about her. I’ve only seen her like this once before, which was so long ago that I forgot about it until now.

“I mean it, Ripley. It’s important that no one thinks this is really happening, okay? And if for some reason you’re picking me up and I tell you not to come to my house, you can’t. All right?”

Huh? “Fine, but why?”

My mind races, coming up with a multitude of reasons she wouldn’t want me to come to her house unannounced. Not that I would’ve anyway, but her determination about this single point makes me curious.

She takes a long drink and licks her pink lips. Her glass touches the table with a soft thud.

“I don’t know why I feel awkward talking to you about this because it’s not like I did anything wrong, and you might already know, anyway,” she says.

“I might already know what?”

She sits tall in her seat. “After my parents divorced, my mother dated your father.”

What?

“And, if you do the math, which is what you’re probably doing right now, your father was married to your mother at that time,” she says.

“That motherfucker,” I say in disbelief. “Are you serious? How do you know this?” I shake my head. Why am I shocked that the son of a bitch could surprise me from inside a prison?