Fake It Till We Make It

Chapter 1

Amber

I consider myself to be an incredibly organized person. That is what makes me so good at this job, as a receptionist at one of the most renowned companies in the country. The LTD Corporation isn’t exactly a dream job, but it’s been something that pays the bills for the past ten years of my life. That, in itself, says something.

         This morning, despite my organized persona, I start to wonder if there is a full moon. Multiple proposals came in at once the day before, along with an assortment of contracts and reports that require immediate review before the chairman can sign off on them. My desk is swamped with paper, my mind fuelled by expensive caffeine from the lounge.

         I am laser focused, even while the phone continues to ring and emails keep popping up on the monitor before me. This job is all about balance and priorities. And not getting frazzled when things become a bit overwhelming.

         My mother always taught me that panicking is a waste of time. Though it may feel necessary during certain tragic and extreme moments, most of the time it just delays the inevitable.

         She had been accused many times of being a cold woman because of it. Never by me. I adored her willingness to make the difficult decisions, and it has helped me flourish in my chosen area of expertise.

         I have since been accused of coldness just like her, but I work in a sexist environment. Men are allowed to be calculated, focused. I, of course, am not. I am a woman.

         Water off a duck's back.

         When I finally finish off the files, I feel a rush of relief wash over me. I am satisfied, stacking them in a neat pile before rising from the desk. 

Then I walk by the cubicles of my coworkers, carrying the papers with me to the chairman’s office. I hold them in the crook of my arm, stand up straight and knock twice.

         “Come in.”

         I am the only person who can walk into the chairman's office with virtually no advanced notice. He is a man, of course, so he is allowed to be a hard ass. He never is with me, though. He never has to be – I know how to do my job.

Rustom Williams, or Rust to his closer friends, looks up from his wide, expensive oak desk. The clear blue sky behind him shimmers in the heat, visible and attention-grabbing through the glass windows.

         “I’ve got those files you wanted,” I say firmly, placing them down in front of him.

         Rust nods, not looking at me at all. He takes them into his hands and places them, one by one, side by side, on the wide space in front of him. He barely reads through them before placing his stamp upon all eight of them.

         “Good work as always, Amber,” he says, finishing off the final file with his signature.

         A part of me is always irked when he barely takes a second glance. Another part of me knows that this means he trusts me. I am so hard working and efficient that the damn chairman of the company doesn’t need to double check my work.

         “Thank you, Rust.”

         I gather up the files, bending over the desk as I stack the files together again. Rust never looks at me in any way that is inappropriate, so I never feel self-conscious in front of him. In fact, he’s one of the few men I’ve ever met who hasn’t scanned my body like airport security.

         It fills me with ease to not have to worry about that. Plus, I make a point of wearing blouses that button all the way up to my neck and only dress pants to my job. I don’t need any distractions from what I am there for.

         “Have you ever thought about doing anything else, Amber?”

         I settle the files into the crook of my arm again, my mind having already traveled into the future where I could let my hair down.

         “Sorry?”

         He smiles at me, that half mouth smirk. “You are great at this. It just makes me wonder if you would be suited somewhere else, somewhere more challenging.”

         I give him a nod, trying to act nonchalant. “I’m fine here, Rust. You don’t need to worry.”

         He accepts my response, and I return back to the front desk. It is past my usual lunch break, so I go to my favorite cafe around the corner for some calm and quiet.

         The cafe is small and cute but often busy. It plays easy-going jazz that always soothes the bouncy nerves inside my body. I stand in line, glancing at my watch every now and then, thinking about what more I still have to do with my day.

         As I move up in line, something catches my eye. There is a tall, lean man at the register, wearing a charcoal gray and red plaid suit. It looks expensive, and when he turns around with a coffee in his hand, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

         He moves toward me, his familiar steel blue eyes like spotlights in a dark sea. He catches me looking before I have a chance to look away.

         “Well, well,” he says, stopping next to the line. “What an entirely small world it is indeed.”

         Kaden Williams, with that unmistakably sharp jawline and an effortless rugged exterior that makes women swoon from miles away. It has been a while since I’ve swooned for anyone, and it's almost annoying how easily I start to feel flustered in his presence.

         “Kaden,” I say, forcing a friendly smile. “It’s been a while. What brings you to a place like this?”

         His smirk is one-sided, the faint peppering of stubble on his face catching in the morning light. His posture is impeccable, which is something I always remembered about him, even through the years of not speaking.

         He motions toward a booth behind me. “When you get your coffee, meet me in the back.”

         I am not a fan of being subservient to men, so my first response is to tell him to go to hell. But I am curious, so I agree. He moves into the back, and I order my dark roast hazelnut blend.

         He sits in the booth, back straight as an arrow, using a toothpick to stir his coffee. When I sit down, I speak assertively.

         “I can’t stay long. This is my lunch break.”

         Kaden snickers then leans forward onto his palm. His expression is condescending, yet still dangerously handsome.

         “How soon we forget,” he mutters.

         I cock an eyebrow, holding my coffee close in case I need to flee. I lean forward with narrow eyes, not in the mood to be intimidated in the slightest.

         “Do you really think I could forget something like that?” I say in a whisper,

         Kaden erupts into a guffaw, his smile unforgettable. He continues to stir his coffee as he shifts his eyes up to me, a confidence in him that he didn’t seem to have lost over the five years of his absence.

         “I have to meet a colleague here in a few minutes, Amber. But I wanted to ask you, since fate has brought us together once again. How do you feel about a little debt repayment?”

         My knee jerk reaction is once again to tell him off. Instead, I remain still, caught up in those hypnotic blues. It feels almost like old times.

                                                                             Chapter 2

                                             Kaden

The morning had started off in an agitated fashion. My receptionist, especially, was in a foul mood after finding a water leak in her apartment that morning before coming to work. I found myself starting to get a headache before the clock even struck nine.

         I make a point of having a close relationship with my employees. This includes, of course, the receptionist, the janitor, the person who comes in to water the plants, anyone who plays any role on my team. I see people as people, no matter how much status I have garnered or wealth others assume I have cultivated.

         They would assume correctly, of course. I have worked hard to get where I am and without the cushion of nepotism to boot. My grandfather taught me that hard work itself is the only thing you can depend on to pay off, and it lets you gain a little self-respect while you are at it.

         But that doesn’t mean I have control over how people see me. My genetics have blessed me with a handsome face: pointed along the edges of my jawline, a strong nose and razor-sharp cheekbones. This makes me naturally intimidating, which is helpful during business meetings, but not so helpful in personal relationships.

         I am mindful of my presence and demeanor. I have been working in the business world for years and am keenly aware of both my skills and shortcomings. I work hard on my body, just as hard I work on my career. When I smile, I show off pointed teeth, like a predator searching for prey.

         There isn’t much I can do about my appearance. I feel it is important to maintain a clean and neat exterior, but beyond that I am unwilling to change or soften for the comfort of others. This only serves to enhance the overall dominating appearance I give off. It isn’t necessarily intentional as much as unavoidable, but it is what it is. 

So I rest in the knowledge that a person’s first impression of me is out of my control. I’ve learned to harness it for good, knowing I can demand respect and portray assertiveness in a way that few people can ignore.

         I sit in my office this morning, rubbing the bridge of my nose as my receptionist rambles on about her leak. The headache crawls up my spine, slithering and eventually settling into the base of my neck. She hasn’t had an easy life, so it would be abrupt and unkind to tell her to get back to work. I try my best to find some sympathy for her plight, even if the complaining is beginning to fray my nerves.

         “That sounds frustrating, Joan,” I say, gazing down at the documents she placed on my desk earlier. “Give me the name of your maintenance workers in your building, and I will call them promptly.”

         I feel her stop at the front of my desk, hands clasped and wringing. I look up and smile, my attempt at bridging the gap and reassuring her I am a man of my word.

         “You mean that, Kaden?” she says.

         Joan isn’t a young woman, but she is gorgeous without a doubt. I suspect she is the type who had most things in life brought to her by eager suitors and missed the chance to learn how to assert herself otherwise. 

I always feel a special pull for those types, knowing I have enough confidence for anyone. I don’t mind sharing it. Besides, I know that my prowess and good looks intimidate her, which likely gets in the way of her asking for anything from me directly. I nod, then return to the documents.

         “Just leave the number on my desk. I’ve got a meeting in an hour, but I will get to it then.”

         “Thank you so much, Kaden,” she says in a small voice.

         I nod, rubbing between my eyes as she closes the door behind her. I sigh, thinking that I need to get out of the office before the actual meeting. I could at least stretch my legs, breathe some fresh air. An hour is plenty of time to get my mind settled.

         I take my blazer and slide it on, making sure I look presentable in the mirror. Departing the office, I remind Joan again to leave the number on my desk. I step outside into the cool spring air, taking a fortifying breath.

         I walk to a nearby cafe that has a calming serenity to it. I let my mind slow down as I purchase my coffee, then turn to spot something that is nothing less than extraordinary.

         The entire mood of my morning changes. My headache is instantly forgotten as I spot Amber Coleman, a young woman I had aided financially five years ago. She is strikingly beautiful, just as she was back then. When I move towards her, she is lost in thought and does not see me right away.

         When recognition finally clicks in, her hazel eyes are startled. They glisten with a mixture of wariness and eagerness as she regards me. Though it has been years, I can read her expression to tell that finding me here is not an entirely painful experience. 

It’s the same way I feel about running into her. It is as if no time has passed, like she is still as comfortable to be around as a dear friend. I ask her to sit in the booth with me.

         I never had the chance to say goodbye all those years ago. It had been a business deal, no doubt about that. But through our interactions, something had sprouted in me. Something that I have yet been able to replicate or tamp down in her painful absence.

         She sits down opposite me, reluctantly clutching her coffee cup close. When I remind her about the debt, she pulls even further inward.

         “I only make enough money for rent, my mother’s medications and such. There’s no way I could pay you back all that now,” she says uneasily.

         I wave my hand in the air, scoffing. “Money isn’t what I’m here for,” I say, resting my eyes on hers. “I’m thinking about something that will be mutually beneficial to both of us. What do you say?”

         Amber has her dark brown hair straightened, sitting on her shoulders as neat as a mannequin wig. Her blouse is buttoned all the way up, looking stylish and rounding out her immaculate breasts like the clothing was painted on. Her good looks are just as intimidating as mine in their own way, that penetrating stare able to bring any man or woman to their knees. Something I know first hand.

         Maybe this is what I like so much about her. Hardly anyone is able to make me nervous. Over years of applying mindful habits, I have built up a confidence that I have been told radiates like the sun. 

And Amber isn’t very different from me. She is always composed, sitting up straight, a vision of dignity and proactiveness. Even now, when I hear the tinge of nervousness in her voice, she never lets too much out. It’s subtle and contained in her regal persona.

         Her hands come from her coffee cup to rest gently against the table. The cafe around us has an easy din about it, but it starts to fade as she looks at me straight on. My heart picks up the pace in my chest, a bird wanting to be free.

         “I will have to see what your proposal is first, Kaden,” she says, her glistening lips curling into a grin. “I wouldn’t be a very smart woman if I said yes too quickly, would I?”

         I chuckle, unable to hold it in. I feel like I am glowing, a sensation that isn’t surprising when Amber is around. But the lack of it through the years of our disconnect makes me subsequently mournful. I haven’t exactly excelled in my dating life in the past five years. I can’t help wondering what might have been if we had never been separated.

         This is what I’ve been searching for, this feeling that was lost to me before. Amber reminds me that there is more to feeling alive than running a billion dollar company. A simple gaze from her, one that isn’t afraid to look deeper behind my well-kept aesthetics, tells me to try more, to reach higher than ever before.

         At this moment, I feel a dull, dropping sensation in my chest. It makes me think about my mother, for the first time in a very long time. It is the same feeling I had when she passed away, that feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. It is a painfully human sensation that I have run from for too long in my need for control.

         I blink slowly then lean forward on the table. Amber doesn’t move away, even when our hands nearly graze one another. She is listening still, ready and capable. 

There’s a fearless glint in her eyes that tells me she’s ready for whatever comes next, and it makes my heart race as if her excitement for life is contagious.