Fake For You

Chapter 1

Portia

            The ticking of the clock as it approaches 5 p.m. and the setting of the sun are both very welcome signs. “Thank you for your patronage, may your romance bloom,” I say, handing over the last of the bouquets for the day.

         It’s been a long one. My feet are throbbing, my hands need some lotion and my jaw aches from smiling at the near-constant string of customers – all trademark complaints of a popular New York florist.

         Wiping the newly formed beads of sweat from my forehead, I stride over to Molly, my best friend, roommate and coworker. I am ready to tell her how glad I am to be leaving for the day and ask what her dinner plans are.

         She starts telling me something, but her voice trails off. Not because she’s stopped talking but because I’ve stopped listening, distracted by the message tone on my cell that goes off loudly. 

Ms. Silva: You have a non-VIP task tonight. The client has asked you to sabotage her ex-boyfriend’s date and make sure it will be horrible. She offers $5000 in exchange for your service. Date begins at 9 p.m. at the Hard Rock Hotel.

No rest for the wicked, it seems. I’ll be going from this job straight to the next at D’fraus. Would I prefer to be going home to a bubble bath and take-out? Sure. But I’m one of the most requested and highest paid so-called “fixers” in D’Fraus, Inc., so this is rarely the case most evenings.

Turning down work is not something that comes naturally to me. In fact, it’s almost unthinkable. I’m in the position I’m in at D’Fraus because of my results, work ethic and reputation for getting the job done, and I’m proud of it. Hard work always wins out.

“The Agency?” Molly asks.

“Uh-huh,” I reply, taking in the details of the job. She’s used to this and as my best friend, she always supports me in my work. Whether that work is here at Romance in Blooms or in my evening profession which I’ve been doing for three years now.

Moving from California to New York with the help of my mom after college, while exciting, was also nerve-racking. Meeting a Canadian in the same position as me and becoming friends and then roommates was a gift, one that I’m grateful for every day. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

We shut up shop for the day and make our way home, where I shower, change and grab something to eat. I am glad to put my feet up for an hour or so before Molly drops me off at the destination I’ve been given.

“Not a bad gig,” she says as we both eye the impressive building.

“Not bad at all,” I reply, stunned. I’ve seen plenty of hotels in this job, but this has to be the most lavish.  It’s no wonder the client has offered such a good price for tonight’s services – not something that could be turned down no matter how long a day it’s been at the store.

         Besides, I’m used to it now. Being a fixer became an unexpected part of my life when I learned my family owes a debt to a corrupt mayor back in my parent’s home country. The debt itself is not fair, more like extortion than anything. But still, we had to secure some significant extra funds, which prompted me to take this job and start saving. 

Without them, my grandmother’s home will be reclaimed, leaving people I care about homeless. That’s not something I’m going to let happen – even if I have to work every hour of the day. I’ve nearly earned enough to pay off the debt and save her home, though the deadline is drawing close.

         “Better get to it then,” I say before stepping out of the car. “Thanks, sweetie. Catch you later.”

         “Stay safe!” she calls before I close the door and walk up to the hotel.

         I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass of the door before it’s opened for me by a tall, immaculately dressed doorman.

“Good evening, Miss,” he says as I thank him and step through.

It’s times like this I hardly recognize myself. Gone is the girl that wears jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. Instead, there’s a 27 year old woman in a figure-hugging black dress and killer heels. The auburn wig covering my shoulder-length brown hair seals the deal. Portia the florist is retired for the night. Now there’s only Eva – seductress, deceiver, fixer.

         As instructed, I take the elevator up to the rooftop bar. It takes only a few moments to slip into character, ready for when the doors ping open at the top to step out and do what I’m being paid for. A sliver of nervousness snakes through me, but it’s not a deterrent. More like a feeling of anticipation that I always use to my advantage in these situations.

         Scanning the area when I emerge, I see a man sitting with a blonde-haired woman in the area of the bar that was mentioned in the brief, this being his favorite spot apparently. But I’m confused. The agency said the target was an overweight, balding guy and not the specimen I’m looking at right now.

         Though he’s sitting, I can tell he’s tall and nothing like the way he was described to me in the brief. Before my eyes, like something from the cover of a magazine, is a muscular, rugged man in his thirties. Even from here, his sex appeal hits me like a freight train.

         Surely, it can’t be. The only thing about this man that matches the description is that he is white.

         In danger of slipping out of my role as femme fatale and into that of slack-jawed soccer mom at a male strip show, I attempt to pull myself together, knowing that I can’t miss out on getting paid so well for such an easy job. Somehow, either I or the agency has gotten the information about the client wrong. It’s never happened before, but there’s a first time for everything.

         Mustering up the darker side of me, I get ready to put Eva into action. She’s dangerous, focused and about to make life hell for someone who is least expecting it. Then she’s going to leave, go home, take off the dress, makeup, and wig, and become Portia again. Just a richer version of the woman that left the florist after a hard day’s work making dreams come true with her beautiful floral creations.

         I take a deep breath and get ready to do what it is I’m here for. Confidently, I stride over to the almost illegally handsome man at the table. I’ve got a job to do. He’s the target, and I never miss.

Chapter 2

Willem 

     “Gimme strength,” I whisper under my breath as the entitled woman seated opposite me turns to look for a server to be rude to while requesting another drink. I must’ve sat through hundreds of board meetings that made me question what I’d done wrong in a previous life, but this tops every single one of them.

     She turns back to me, her perfectly lipsticked, dark-red mouth just getting started on the next tirade of demands and desires when it comes to what she’s looking for from a man. All I’ve heard so far is how marriage is the only thing she’s looking for at this point in her life. She certainly isn’t shy about the caliber of man she feels she deserves.

Well, dream on, girl, because this fish ain’t for hooking.

     This is truly the blind date from hell. I know I’m frowning as she carries on with her shameless and, quite frankly, needy assertions. Apart from a killer body, there’s nothing that she has going for her. A dreary personality, a non-existent sense of humor, and a big mouth that she seems to like running. I hate her dark lipstick against her pale white skin. If there was a prize for a major turn-off, she’d be a winner, for sure.

     I’m glad when my phone buzzes, and I glance down to see who it is. As expected, it’s a text from my mother. Even that beats sitting here, listening to this woman. She doesn’t even stop talking as I open the message and read it.

     My anger flares when I see the contents. As usual, she’s inquiring after the date, wondering about the latest woman she’s chosen for me. Because this is her idea. Nothing about this situation is chosen by me. I’ve lost track of the number of dates she’s forced me into.

     I know where I get my tenaciousness from. My parents and grandparents are determined that I should settle down – wife, children, the lot. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when they asked me to agree to be married within a year.

     But if that’s what I have to do to get them off my case, then I’ll do it. That doesn't mean I’ll settle for anything, though. The thought of being tied to a woman like this is enough to put me off of commitment for life.

     Ideally, the perfect match would be someone without a sense of attraction or attachment. An arrangement of sorts that would provide the piece of paper I need and an end to the constant meddling and complaints from my family. 

     I turn the phone over, ignoring my mother, and get back to the job at hand – getting this goddamn woman off my case. “You see, Ms. –”

What’s her name again?

I massage my temples. “Sorry, what was your name again?”

She looks back at me. “Twyla. Twyla Mills. Are we going to –?”

“No,” I interrupt. “I’m afraid, Ms. Mills, this evening is over. You can –” I’m stunned now, as I’m the one who is interrupted by a beautiful Black woman with the most alluring scent. She suddenly places herself in my lap, her arm snaking around my neck.

What the hell!

“I’ve been waiting in our hotel room, honey,” she purrs. “I had no idea you were hooking up with random women off the street.”

Feeling bad for her for the first time since meeting her, I look across at Twyla. Her face is now crimson with obvious embarrassment

“What’s the point in this, Willem? Wasn’t I the only woman you were seeing tonight?”

Well, as far as I’m concerned, she was and that was enough for me!

The woman on my lap gasps and then bites at her lower lip. “Wait, you’re not Aiden Thompson?” she mutters to me, quietly so Twyla won’t hear.

My lips twitch, but I can’t risk smiling. Whoever this delectable-smelling woman is, she’s saved my neck tonight. I draw her closer and whisper into her ear, taking my chance to inhale her scent further.

“Keep up the charade, drive her away, and you’ll get your big bucks,” I say, my lips almost brushing the soft skin of her ear lobe.

“I’m expensive, and I’m sure you can’t afford my fee,” she quips. Something about her words and her confident, almost searing, attitude rouses me.

“You’re pretty confident. I’ll double the offer of whichever asshole hired you. Now, cooperate with me.” Taking her by the chin, I bring my mouth to hers, claiming her soft, warm lips with mine. But she doesn’t react, totally taken by surprise at my actions.

Two can play that game, sweetheart.

Twyla whimpers like a spoiled brat before getting up from the table and leaving in tears. I should feel bad for her, but I don’t. Sometimes, you’ve just got to do what it takes to get what you want.

The woman on my lap tries to move, but an unexpected surge of desire makes me deepen the kiss, exploring her mouth. It’s like I’m on autopilot, and have no control over my actions, suddenly captivated by this woman.

Oh, God.

Finally, I’m brought back to my senses. I pull back, noticing the enlarged pupils of her eyes as she sits there breathless. Scrambling to recover yet visibly flustered, she glares at me before getting to her feet. She slams a business card down, the glasses shaking as her hand meets the table.

Damn, this woman is feisty.

“If you’re a man of your word, that kiss just cost you ten grand. Here’s my card. Contact me when you’re ready to make the transfer. That is, if you’re not just some lowlife taking advantage of women.”

I have to admit, her words and her manner sting as much as they draw me in. Before I can get my thoughts in order, however, she strides out of the bar. I can’t stop watching her until she disappears.

Biting at my lip where I can still taste her, I scan the card she’s left. But it’s not what I expected, embellished with a delicate floral design highlighting the business name: Romance in Blooms.

Raising a brow, I wonder what’s going on. I assumed she was some sort of undercover worker, but it says here she’s a florist.

Portia, huh? What a dangerous woman.