Make Believe Match
Автор
Joanne Rock
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One
Most nights, Jessica Lewis genuinely enjoyed her part-time gig as a server for a catering company. Even though she worked lavish parties as staff and not as a guest, she still soaked up the festive vibe of most shindigs around her hometown of Royal, Texas. It was her way of rubbing elbows, however briefly, with the rich and glamorous. Usually, while she delivered custom-ordered drinks to women dressed in clothes that could only be found on the pages of a fashion magazine or on a Milan runway, Jessica liked to imagine herself sipping a handcrafted cocktail while watching a sunset, a silk gown rustling around her bare legs.
Call her fanciful. But who could blame a woman for making the best of busting her hump to get ahead?
Tonight was not like any other work shift, however. Not with her family’s bad news weighing down her every thought since she’d spotted the bank notice on her mother’s bedroom dresser earlier in the day.
“Your order’s up, Jess.” One of her fellow servers, a senior at a local college who’d worked these kinds of jobs for as long as she had, nudged an elbow against hers to direct her attention toward the end of the bar.
The venue this evening was an elite golfing facility that integrated a technology experience into the game, providing air-conditioned bays for driving and putting. The private luxury suite and attached covered patio had been rented by Royal’s well-known Noble family for the evening. The Nobles were sparing no expense for this pre-wedding party as their clan geared up for the marriage of their son, best-selling author Xavier Noble, to Ariana Ramos, a successful actress and producer with her own lifestyle brand. Neither Xavier nor Ariana—Ex and Ari, to close friends and family—were in attendance tonight, as the soon-to-be newlyweds were based in Los Angeles, but that hadn’t stopped the Noble family from hosting events all over Royal as the big day neared.
Jessica had been following the local society news with interest. She’d even looked forward to working this party to put faces with the names of people she read about in the social columns. But after the blow that came from discovering the truth about her parents’ finances, Jessica couldn’t rouse any interest in the overprivileged crowd milling around the bar while their friends took turns with their golf clubs.
She tipped her face up toward an air-conditioning vent to help chill the sweat on her back, which had more to do with stress than the press of people all around.
“Sure thing,” she murmured on autopilot to her colleague as she glanced at the tray of five drinks, trying to recall who’d ordered what. “I’ll get them in a sec.”
The other server, a hulking dude named Matt who could have doubled as a bouncer should the position have been required, frowned down at her. “You okay?”
She gripped an empty serving tray tighter, remembering the number of digits in the balloon payment amount of her parents’ loan coming due in two months’ time.
She was so far from fine it was ridiculous. Especially when she knew her folks had refinanced their home five years ago to help with her college expenses. Why hadn’t they told her that they’d have to pay a criminal amount of money for that generosity during her undergraduate years? She’d been so proud of herself for working these catering jobs to afford her music therapy grad school degree on her own, but now she wished she’d been putting all of that money toward what her parents owed on their home.
How could she continue her expensive degree program when her folks were struggling financially? Her stomach cramped at the prospect of stalling everything she’d worked so hard for. But the idea of pursuing her own ends while her mom and dad lost their home was far, far more painful.
“I’m fine,” she said brightly, momentarily forgetting what she was even doing as a group of men attired in expensive golf slacks and polos cheered over someone’s shot. “Why do you ask?”
About half the crowd was garbed to play the game, while the other half wore suits or lightweight evening dresses. The evening was laid-back and elegant at the same time, with passed hors d’oeuvres from a top-tier chef and music from a celebrated deejay on the patio level.
Matt slid a tray of his own off the bar and lifted the well-balanced array of glassware over one burly shoulder, a white towel draped over his arm. “Because you said you’d grab those drinks the last time I told you they were ready—almost ten minutes ago.”
“Crap. Thanks, Matt.” Jessica edged around her coworker to get to the bar, racking her brain to remember where this set of beverages belonged. “I need to get moving.”
Because losing this job now, when she needed funds more than ever, would be irresponsible in the extreme.
The sounds of crushed ice being scooped into a glass, a champagne cork popping and the swishing of a cocktail shaker mingled with light laughter and party music, which had gone from light rock to a pop-and-country mix as a few people took to a dance floor on the upper level. But Jessica tried to ignore everything else but getting her job done as she laid aside her empty tray and slid the new drink-laden one onto her carrying hand.
Where did they belong? She knew one of the beverages was something weird and herb-infused. A turmeric cordial. And, recalling that, she remembered the table she’d been remiss in serving. Pasting on her best smile, she served four of the five drinks in short order, all from the same party. None of them seemed to have noticed her tardy delivery, as they were engrossed in a lively discussion of the leaderboard for the golf competitors broadcast on a huge high-definition screen over the patio. Then, turning on her heel away from the group, she wound her way through the crowd, trying to recall who’d ordered the final beverage.
A lone glass of champagne.
Peering back and forth around the patrons congregating anywhere near her designated serving station, Jessica headed for the stairs to return to the bar on the lower level.
And slammed directly into a wall.
“Oof.” The inelegant sound huffed from her as the air left her chest.
Her hand swiped fast through the air to try and right her tray, but it was too late for the champagne glass already tumbling down...then landing awkwardly in a stranger’s hand.
Because of course the wall she’d run into was a party guest.
A very male, very solid party guest. In a black silk suit that surely cost more than her car.
And, just her luck today, his extremely costly-looking suit now wore the whole glass of spilled champagne. Panicking at her gaffe, she took in the rest of him now. From his light brown hair brushed off his forehead to his green eyes and stubbled jaw, he was handsome everywhere she looked. Striking, even, with a look of mischief in his eyes and a wry smile playing about his lips as he assessed the damage.
And, possibly, her breasts.
But then, she was still plastered to him.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted, backing up fast as her face flamed hot. The eyes of the whole party—the upstairs half of the crowd, at least—were still on them. “I’ve got some napkins.”
Setting her tray aside on the floor against the brass railing that went around the patio deck, Jessica straightened again and reached into the pocket of her black apron to withdraw a wad of paper cocktail napkins. The rest of the partygoers seemed to resume their activities, the attention fading from their head-on crash.
“No need, miss.” A smooth-as-butter baritone—maybe even a bass baritone—answered her, stopping her short as her hand hovered near his chest. “I can manage.”
That timbre.
The musician in her swooned a little at the plush, velvety sound of him, the weight of his voice anchoring the fluttery panic she’d been feeling about running into a guest.
“No. Let me help,” she insisted, needing to render aid when the collision had been all her fault. She’d been distracted ever since she’d arrived on-site. “Quick attention to a stain could be the difference between salvaging a garment or not.”
“In that case, I’d better act promptly.” Impossibly, he smiled at her as he set aside the now-empty champagne glass on a table recently vacated nearby. Then he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket like a hero in a Regency novel.
Who carried handkerchiefs anymore?
This extremely handsome man with a bass-baritone voice that turned her inside out, apparently.
“That’s actually a much better idea,” she agreed, stuffing the cocktail napkins back into her apron before she took the white cotton handkerchief from him to better mop up the worst of the spill. “This won’t dissolve into bits when it gets wet.”
Wrapping the fabric around his lapel, she pressed the suit material gently with the cotton, her knuckles brushing the warmth of his chest beneath his gray button-down.
All the while, her words seemed to circle in the air between them, “getting wet” taking on new and interesting meanings. Making her self-conscious about touching him. Making her skin turn even hotter.
She stilled, feeling awkward all of a sudden.
Perhaps he sensed her sudden embarrassment, because he eased the cloth from her hands. “We wouldn’t want to dissolve into bits prematurely.”
Stepping back, she folded her arms, aware that her body was reacting in all kinds of ways to this man, and not just because of his sex-on-a-stick voice.
“Are you laughing at me?” She couldn’t read his expression, that wry smile still teasing his mouth now and then.
“Not at all.” He mopped at the fabric twice more and then pocketed the handkerchief, looking none the worse for wear. “Just smiling at the irony that the most entertaining part of my evening involved someone who is probably far too busy to accept an apology drink from me.”
His gaze took in her server’s uniform—a white shirt with a dorky black bow tie and a black skirt. Awareness made her skin tingle everywhere his gaze touched.
“You? Apologize?” She wondered if he really thought he was to blame or if he was just being polite. And what was this business about him finding their encounter “entertaining”? She couldn’t help but be intrigued. “It’s me who should be buying you the drink after I practically body-slammed you.”
“Is that what happened?” One light brown eyebrow lifted as he rocked back on his heels. “In that case, I guess I’m fortunate I’m still standing.”
He rubbed a hand along the front of his broad chest, presumably where she’d run into him. Did his body remember the feel of hers as keenly as hers recalled the shape and size of him?
They stood there for a beat too long. Smiling. Sharing something unexpected and unspoken.
A shout from the downstairs bartender—a call for more of a top-shelf vodka—shook her out of the preoccupation.
“I’d better go.” Bending, she retrieved her tray and tucked it under her arm. “Sorry again, Mr....”
“Oliver Price. Just Oliver to you, Ms....”
“Jessica Lewis.” She sounded breathless, but there was no help for it. Maybe he’d write it off as her having a busy shift. “Just Jessica to you, Oliver. And I finish up in less than two hours. I’ll make good on that drink if you’re still here.”
Surprise jolted through her as the words tumbled out before she could think them through. Even more surprising? She had no wish to withdraw the offer even though she didn’t have time for a relationship right now. She’d like to think her suggestion for a drink had been made strictly out of a desire to apologize, but she didn’t think that was all there was to it. Her life was jam-packed between work and school, and she missed the company of a man. What would it hurt to indulge in just this one drink?
With a quick nod, she darted down the stairs before he could answer. She didn’t want to know if he’d find an excuse to let her down easy. She simply wanted to make the offer because it was the right thing to do to apologize for spilling champagne all over someone.
Not because Oliver Price had a melted-chocolate bass baritone she could have listened to all night long. The fact that all her feminine senses were dancing didn’t have a damned thing to do with it.
Besides, the possibility of a nightcap with a hot stranger at least helped her think about something besides the doomsday news in that bank notice on her mom’s dresser. Although nothing would make her forget about what she needed to do tomorrow.
Because instead of paying her next semester’s tuition for grad school, Jessica would be diverting every cent she had to help her parents save the family home. Her dream of her degree—and the music therapy certification that came with it—would have to wait.
Oliver Price followed the woman with his eyes all evening long.
Elbows resting on the rail of the patio overlooking an outdoor bar and firepit, he shook the last ice cubes in a glass that had been a Scotch on the rocks half an hour ago. He easily spotted Jessica Lewis in the crowd below as she sidled around a lighted fountain in the courtyard to deliver drinks to guests with a smile, her hips swaying subtly in a fitted black skirt. And damned if he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her legs as she leaned forward to rest a brightly colored drink in front of a young woman seated with a rancher Oliver recognized from the Texas Cattleman’s Club.
Jessica shared a laugh with the couple for a moment, her smile wide as she whisked away empty glasses and laid fresh napkins beneath the new beverages. With her thick dark hair pulled into a ponytail that bounced on one shoulder, Oliver could see her profile clearly, her expression kind and interested as she spoke with the couple. And even though there were at least twenty people he knew whom he hadn’t spoken to yet at this party, he couldn’t tear himself away from watching her. The band still played on the lower level, a fizzy pop song attracting a crowd on the small outdoor dance floor. The scent of toasted marshmallows drifted up from the s’mores station below, a handful of fire tables lit so that guests could roast their own dessert concoctions from the comfort of patio furniture.
But none of that distracted him from watching Jessica. Even when he’d been engaged in party small talk with friends earlier in the evening, he found his attention veering back to the curvy waitress with eyes that shifted between blue and green, the color of a summer sea.
Just thinking of a set of irises that way—a summer freaking sea?—told him how unwise his reactions seemed when it came to the sexy server. Getting worked up and distracted over someone had never been his style. As CEO of Nexus, a global marketing firm he’d established with partner Nikolai Williams, Oliver preferred brief, functional liaisons that allowed him to concentrate on his work first and foremost. He traveled between international offices frequently, and he wasn’t in any position for a serious relationship. Normally, he sought companionship from like-minded ladies who were in similar positions—career focused and solely interested in an occasional good time.
So to have his head turned so thoroughly by any woman was more than just out of character—it was also a bad idea. Because he’d felt her rapid heartbeat when her body had been pressed to his. Seen her cheeks pinken with awareness. And nothing about the way she’d reacted to him suggested she shared his views about purely recreational, no-strings sex.
No. His gut told him Jessica was the sort of woman who waited to indulge herself until after the third date. Or quite possibly until the chemistry was too irresistible to ignore. And since when did that pique his curiosity so much? Or make him want to be the one to remind her how compelling a sizzling-hot attraction could be?
Cursing himself for thoughts he had no business thinking, he pivoted away from the railing, telling himself he ought to leave the party. He’d remained longer than he’d planned, not just because he wanted to support the Noble family since he was good friends with Tripp Noble—the best man for Ex and Ari’s wedding—but also because he’d been seriously considering that drink with Jessica.
But it was a bad idea.
Setting his empty glass aside on a nearby catering tray, he headed to the stairs and descended to the lower level. He lifted his wrist to check the vintage Heuer Monza timepiece he wore. It’d been over an hour and a half since he’d run into Jessica, and she’d said she’d be done with her shift in less than two hours. He had a flight to the New York office early tomorrow, so he should thank his hosts now and call it a night.
Ten minutes later, he’d thanked Xavier Noble’s parents for the evening and was on his way out of the venue. He gave the fountain and courtyard a wide berth, remembering that Jessica had served a couple of the tables downstairs as well as a small section on the upper level.
Now that he’d made up his mind to do the right thing and put her out of his head, he was determined to see it through. Right until he got waylaid by a whippet-thin blonde who stepped into his path in a swirly pale purple silk.
“If it isn’t Oliver Price.” Anabeth Ackerman pivoted on a pair of sky-high lavender-colored heels to face him, the floor-length ribbons of a huge shoulder bow on her short cocktail dress fluttering against her skin as she came to a halt.
His gut plummeted at the sight of her. Anabeth worked for a competing marketing company out of Dallas, so he hoped he wouldn’t see her tonight even though she knew the Nobles. They’d had a brief relationship a year ago, but she’d been an anomaly in his dating history—a woman who’d signed on for a good time at first, but after a couple of dates, she’d done a one-eighty, suggesting they take things to the “next level.” She hadn’t been pleased when he’d declined, and he had the impression that men didn’t say no to her often. Maybe never.
She’d ratcheted up the pressure on him by posting photo after photo of them together on social media, giving the world the impression they were a couple even after they weren’t. Oliver’s mother—hell, his whole family—had clocked it all, believing Oliver was finally ready to settle down. His mom in particular had been hurt to learn the truth.
“Hello, Anabeth.” He forced his features into an expression of polite acknowledgment before giving a nod toward the exit. “I was just on my way out.”
Her pale eyebrows lifted briefly in unison; then her fuchsia-painted mouth swelled into a pout.
“You can’t possibly leave now, Oliver.” She clamped a claiming hand on the arm of his jacket, her floral scent making his nostrils twitch. “I’ve just arrived.”
Her elaborately painted nails decorated with sparkly gems hooked into him like claws, her platinum blond curls ducking toward him as if to impart a secret. Or plant a kiss on his cheek?
In the split second that he contemplated the unwelcome possibility, he spied Jessica Lewis. She was just shrugging into a faded jean jacket as she headed toward the exit he’d been trying to reach, her dark ponytail bobbing behind her like a lifeline he couldn’t quite grab.
“Jessica, wait,” he called to her now, not thinking through the ramifications so much as acting on the only potential out he could see for himself from the nightmare conversation that would be sure to come otherwise with Anabeth. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could speak to the woman without letting some of his anger at her antics show through.
Pausing in the middle of sliding an arm into one sleeve of her jacket, Jessica’s sea-colored eyes darted between him and his companion. “Yes?” she asked tentatively.
Beside him, Anabeth’s talons retracted a fraction.
Seizing the chance for freedom, Oliver withdrew his arm from her grasp as he held up a finger indicating for Jessica to give him a moment. He then turned back to the woman next to him. “Please excuse me, Anabeth. I don’t want to keep my date waiting.”
“Her?” Anabeth asked in a tone he didn’t appreciate one bit when directed toward Jessica.
But he couldn’t spare a moment to defend the server if he wanted to reach Jessica in time to thank her. Already, she was punching her fist the rest of the way through her jacket sleeve and marching away from him.
Oliver quickened his stride into the corridor leading to the parking area in front of the building, the night breeze stronger on this side of the structure. Ahead of him, Jessica’s ponytail flapped against her neck, and he could see a few stray pieces wrapping around her cheek as he caught up with her.
“Seriously?” she asked him as he matched his step to hers.
The lights were brighter out front, old-fashioned streetlamps lining the sidewalk as valets ran to fetch vehicles for other guests beginning to depart. Oliver had already messaged his car service, so he knew his ride would be at the north end of the walkway, out of the congestion.
For now, however, he simply followed where she went in order to accompany her.
“What?” he asked, unsure what she meant. “I hope you don’t mind that I flagged you down. I thought I’d walk you out.”
Up close to her again, he noticed things he hadn’t catalogued about her before. A smattering of pale freckles over her nose. The tiny silver earrings she wore in the shape of musical notes. Well, technically one was a G clef. He thought the other might be an eighth note, but it had been a long time since he’d read any music.
She stopped near one of the streetlamps to step in front of him and fold her arms. A hint of challenge in her eyes, though a smile quirked the corner of her full lips.
“You wanted to walk me out?” she repeated playfully. “Or you needed any excuse to spring you free from the blonde ready to wrap around you like a boa constrictor?”
He threw his head back and laughed.
“I rest my case, Mr. Oliver Price.” Her gaze fell to his lapel, the mischief fading from her voice as she plucked a windblown strand of dark hair from her cheek. “Sorry again for my clumsiness earlier. I really would have bought you that apology drink, but I noticed you winding down your evening a while ago.”
In the parking area nearby, a departing Ferrari honked its horn at an antique Cadillac backing out of a space. The sounds of valets shouting to one another and waiting guests talking and laughing seemed far away from their end of the lot.
Recalling the way he’d attempted to leave early to avoid the temptation of the very woman beside him now, he couldn’t help but feel that more time with her was inevitable. As if the night had conspired to put them together again.
“No further apology necessary,” he assured her, remembering how many times his gaze had sought her out tonight. How he hadn’t been able to look away. “But what do you say we get that drink anyhow? Just for fun?”
For a long moment, the look she gave him was inscrutable. Her eyes tracked his, as if searching for some answer there that he hadn’t offered her in words. But finally, with one delectable nibble at her lower lip, she nodded.
“I’d like that, Oliver. Very much.”
