Laken
The Scribe & Scholar ends up being a low-key bar filled with dark furniture, dark lighting, and over twenty taps of beer. It’s the kind of place where patrons go to unwind after a long day on Wall Street, which pretty much describes most of the clientele. Men in pressed business suits crowd the round booths, slamming shots and nursing dark stout beers. They keep to themselves mostly, quietly chatting with friends, laughing over a joke here and there and loosening their ties. The place is relatively small, and definitely not designed for the overexuberant, drink till you puke crowd. I appreciate the darkness. If I run into anyone I know from NYU with this rock on my hand, I’m fucked.
Now ask me why I haven’t taken it off since he slipped it on my finger.
Go ahead. I’m waiting.
Notice I haven’t answered? The reason is because I have no fucking idea why.
The minute he slipped it on my finger, it was like the band fused with my skin. My mind knows everything is fake, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t like the way it sparkles on my hand—or that I didn’t sit and write Mrs. Niall Mackay twenty-seven times with little hearts around it like I was back in eighth grade and crushing on the cute boy in class.
Keep rolling your eyes. Do you know about the first rule of marketing? If you don’t believe in what you’re selling, the buyer will see right through you. That’s Advertising 101, and it works in all facets of life. Don’t believe me? Look it up.
Yep, eleven thousand dollars per semester to learn how to delude myself. I’m living the dream here, folks.
I sit quietly alone in a booth in the back, while Niall steps outside to call and check on Sophie. I had a moment of panic when he asked if I needed to check on Preston as well, and I stuttered, making up some shit about having just sent a text and he was fine.
Hell. I’m going to hell for that one.
As I glance around the bar, my eye catches a patron who’s nursing a highball at the bar and staring at me like I’m on the menu. Now, I’m not holier-than-thou—as you can see, I’m a prime example that those who live in glass houses cannot cast stones. However, one fake relationship per month is my limit, so deciding to use my newfound status to my advantage, I run my fingers across my face and make a huge production of flashing my ring. Diamonds are like anti-kryptonite to some men, and I’m not shocked when he turns around in a huff.
Drumming my fingers on the table, I’m just about to check my watch again when the door opens and Niall smiles as he makes his way over. Without hesitating, he slides in right beside me as opposed to across from me. Normally, I’d roll my eyes and make some comment about personal space. I mean, tell me you don’t see couples do that same-side sitting shit in restaurants and not want to slap them? Unless your table is so huge that you need FedEx to deliver a salt shaker, scoot the fuck over, and eat like normal human beings.
But for some reason, the simple gesture from him flusters me in a way I’m not used to.
A moment of silence barely passes before a waitress in tiny shorts and a white crop top swings her hips over to our table and winks at Niall. “Hi, I’m Molly. What can I get you, handsome?”
I narrow my eyes at her and lift my left hand, tracing my bottom lip with the pads of my fingers.
Yeah. Hi, bitch. I’m right here. See the ring?
Niall is oblivious to the whole thing, smiling like the village idiot at both of us.
Men.
Raising an eyebrow at me, he motions to the drink menu on the table. “Laken?”
Molly could bring us two glasses of motor oil for all I cared. I was over this the minute she walked over and opened her mouth. It’s the jealous woman in me. We all have her inside us, and if a girl tells you any different, she’s lying.
“Whatever you’re having.”
“We’ll have two pints of Guinness and two shots of Irish whiskey.” Niall holds up two fingers on each hand, because I suppose Molly’s too stupid to comprehend the order without visual cues.
Molly winks again and leans over much farther than necessary to place cardboard coasters on the table in front of him. Once she sufficiently shoves her overinflated tits in Niall’s face, she gives him a syrupy smile. “Be right back with that, sugar.”
Ugh. Wink at him again, and I’ll fix that eye tick for you, honey.
Wait, why the hell am I being so territorial? Niall and I aren’t a real couple. We’re together for a purpose. That’s it. There’s no “us.” So why does it make me so insane that this chick is hitting on him like there’s a neon Available sign flashing across his forehead? This is nuts. Nothing about today makes sense. My brain is twisting everything, making four and four somehow equal twenty.
Because there’s no possible way that it can equal twenty, right?
After Molly disappears, I try to shake the fog from my head. “Beer and liquor? Be careful. A girl might think you’re trying to get her drunk and take advantage of her.”
Niall looks up, his gaze hooded and electric. “A girl might be right.”
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Not in the “ha-ha, what you said is asinine and ridiculous” way, but more in the “inappropriate giggle during a funeral” way.
I know, way to kill the moment, Laken. Just go right ahead and deflate the ego of the guy both you and Molly are lusting over. Well, cut me some slack. Nervous laughter is kind of my thing.
When I was a junior in high school, Bobby Herron and I were making out behind the gym after school. I was inexperienced and he was a popular football player. Things got hot and heavy, but the minute he put my hand on his cock, I started laughing. I didn’t mean to. I was just fucking nervous as hell. Yeah. The guy every girl wants to be with and I laugh at his dick. Try coming back from that one. Guess how many dates I got after that?
“Come on, Laken. You’re a college girl. You’re telling me you can’t handle your liquor?” Niall’s smile hasn’t faded and he places his hand on my knee and squeezes.
Screw you, Bobby Herron.
I raise my chin in response to his challenge. “I don’t drink much. When I’m not at school or studying, I’m with Preston.”
Before I say anymore, Molly sashays her ass back over to the table with our drinks. I stare holes into her skimpy outfit and wonder what the maximum sentence in New York for justifiable homicide is as she hands Niall his drink and winks, brushing her hand with his. As I open my mouth to warn her if she touches him again, she’s going to pull back a nub, she hands me some fruity pink drink in a martini glass.
I glance up at her and frown. “I didn’t order this.”
Molly swivels around and points to one of the crowded barstools at the front of the bar. “I know. He did.”
My eyes follow her pointed finger and land on the same guy from before. The one at the barstool who obviously has no regard for the sanctity of marriage.
Yes, I know. Hypocrite, party of one, your table is now available. That’s like the toilet calling the outhouse full of shit. I get it.
Glancing over his shoulder, Niall lets out an aggravated groan. “Feckin’ arsehole.” Pressing his lips in a tight line, he furrows his brows and tenses every muscle in his upper body as he pushes the drink back toward Molly. “Send it back. She doesn’t want it.”
Something in my chest expands. Pride? Independence? An acute inability to shut my mouth? “Excuse me? I think I can answer for myself,” I fire back.
“Yes, and as your future husband, so can I. This bar is down the street from Tate & Cane, Laken. How will it look if you accept drinks from other men while wearing my ring?” Placing the drink on Molly’s tray, he dismisses her and hands me my beer while raising his. “To the future Mrs. Mackay.”
He chuckles as if we didn’t just have some sort of minor standoff concerning our fake marriage and my fake rights as his fake wife. I sigh, wondering if achieving my dream this way is even worth it. “Cavanaugh-Mackay,” I mumble as I take a small sip of the thick, dark beer, immediately coughing and spitting it out.
“Are you all right?” he asks, trying and failing miserably not to laugh.
“This tastes like shit!” I blurt out. “What the hell kind of beer is this?”
It does. Ugh. It’s wet and heavy and honestly tastes like a soggy scrap of molded bread. I don’t want to be rude, but holy hell, I’d rather suck on battery acid.
Niall’s eyes crinkle at the corners, his laughter finally getting the best of him. “It’s Guinness, a nice pint of the black stuff. Official drink of Ireland.”
“It’s black, all right.” I wrinkle my nose and push the offending glass away.
Still grinning, he takes a hefty drink from his own glass and smiles. “I thought all college girls were connoisseurs of this stuff?”
“I told you, college girl, not party girl, Niall. I have to keep my head on straight. One wrong move can affect a lot of people, not to mention my future.”
He puts his glass down and gives me an inquisitive look. “Well, you can’t say shite like that and not follow it up.”
“What is this, twenty questions?”
“Why, do you have some deep, dark secrets you’re trying to hide?”
You have no idea.
I shrug and try to feign innocence. “What do you want to know?”
He studies me before speaking again. “Two truths, one lie.”
Oh shit. I can feel my face fall, positive that I’m busted. “What?”
He motions to the whiskey. “Two truths, one lie. It’s a drinking game my friends and I used to play all the time back in Dublin. I’ll give you three statements, and you tell me which one is the lie. If you guess correctly, I have to down a shot.”
Okay, seems harmless enough. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
He holds up a finger and smirks. “But if you’re wrong, you have to slam one.” Leaning in close, he brushes a stray hair off my cheek. “And just so you know, I play to win, Laken. You should know this about me.”
“Is that a threat?”
He winks and pushes my shot forward. “It’s a warning. Now, see, I’m gentleman, so I’ll go first.” Sitting back against the cushion of the booth, he pretends to think hard, the lines in his forehead deepening. “This is the first real date I’ve had in eight years, I love my job, and I absolutely fuck on the first date.”
“Gentleman, huh? Is that why I’m the one with a drink in my hand instead you?”
Niall wags a finger at me and takes another sip of his beer. “You’re stalling.”
“Well, while that’s probably the most ballsy last statement I’ve ever heard, you’re a guy, so it’s probably true. That leaves me with the other two.” I run my nail along the rim of the shot glass and squint an eye at him. “Let’s see, you’re good looking, outgoing, funny, and American women swoon over accents, plus you work for one of the most prestigious marketing firms in New York. I’m going with door number one. You’ve had lots of dates.”
Like taking candy from a baby.
Never taking his eyes off me, he pushes my shot of whiskey in front of me. “Drink.”
“What? I got it wrong? No way.”
“Do you always take shite at face value, Laken? Somehow you don’t strike me as that gullible.”
No way am I answering that. Grabbing the shot off the table, I take a slow sip. “So, which one did I get wrong?”
“Are you going to shoot that, or do I need to get you a nipple for it?”
Nipple? Holy hell.
My head snaps up and with one glance, my breathing becomes erratic and my thoughts go haywire. His penetrating stare is almost more than I can take, so I slam the shot, burn be damned and consequences be damned.
And apparently, the lining of my throat be damned, because fuck me, Irish whiskey is no joke. What the hell is in that shit? Liquid fire?
Niall watches me with curious eyes, ignoring my hacking coughs and gasps for breath. “I’m not usually a trusting person, Laken. I honestly don’t see a need for dating when I can just get a good fuck or blow job for a hell of a lot less hassle.”
“Well, that’s straight and to the point.”
“You’re not a fan of sex?” A vague smile plays at one corner of his mouth.
“Oh, I’m a fan,” I admit, holding his stare. “I just think if you flirt with born-again virgin territory enough, there’s a point where you start moving more toward fair-weather fan than die-hard.”
“Now that’s a shame,” he says, raking a stare down the front of my dress. “Because one night with me, and I think your position would change.” Raising his eyes, the gold flecks in his eyes glitter. “Repeatedly.”
Shit, did someone turn up the heat in this place? Suddenly I can’t breathe. Focus, Laken! Hell, focus on anything except the thought of him bending you over the—
“Tell me about your family,” I blurt out. Oh, well, that’ll do it. Nothing limps a dick quicker than making a guy think about his mom.
But Niall just smiles. “They’re still in Ireland. My father owns his own pub. I grew up in that musty old place, but it was home. My mother is a photographer too. She’d take me out on her adventures, she called them, to experience life. She always argued that I’d learn more in one afternoon observing people through a lens with her than a week in school. She was right.”
“She sounds like an amazing woman.”
“She’s the reason for my love of photography as well as my distrust of corporate America. Don’t get me wrong, the Tates and the Canes are good people at heart. I really like Noah and Olivia. I’m a pretty good judge of character, I think, but when you add in lawyers, middle management, accountants, shareholders, and board members, then politics and greed tend to overshadow everything. People lie to get ahead.”
People lie to get ahead.
People lie to get ahead.
People lie to get ahead.
The phrase repeats in my head like a broken record. A shudder tears through me and I fight a wave of guilt. “Maybe they do it for reasons they wish they could explain.”
Niall pins me with a hardened stare. “Have you ever had your life turned upside down because of lies and greed?”
“Well, no…”
“Sophie’s mom came from money. A lot of money. Her parents wanted her to marry some rich, corporate guy like them, but instead, she found herself in my bed. We were careless kids and when she got pregnant, her parents gave her an ultimatum. Either she gave the baby up for adoption and walked away from me, or they disowned her. Jenna had a huge inheritance coming to her.” He shrugs, his eyes blanking with a sadness that squeezes my heart. “Apparently, I wasn’t worth risking it.”
“She walked away? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Alcohol gives me courage. “Then how did you end up with Sophie?”
He smiles wistfully. “Her parents were very prominent people. It didn’t fit in with their public image to have their daughter step foot in an abortion clinic, so they hid her away until Sophie was born. I couldn’t allow my child to go into the system, Laken. I knew I’d do it alone if I had to.”
“She just handed her own child over?”
He nods. “I signed over all my rights to any money for me or Sophie in exchange for full custody. She hasn’t laid eyes on her since. It’s hard making ends meet sometimes, but I wouldn’t change a thing if I could. That little girl is my world, and Sophie is better off without them.”
“I can see that.”
We sit in silence for a minute. As I twist my fingers in my lap, he reaches over and nudges me. “I’m sorry, I totally killed the vibe here. Let’s get back on track. Your turn.”
Somehow it seems in poor taste to go back to the game after that, but I decide to humor him. “My favorite movie of all time is My Best Friend’s Wedding, I’ve never been in love, and I’ve never gotten drunk in my life.”
“I thought you’d make this hard on me,” he says, cracking a smile again. “Definitely, the last one is the lie. You’ve already told me you’re a rom com movie junkie, and I’m guessing with your piss-poor poker face during drinking games, you’ve been drunk at least once.”
The warmth of the shot starts to work its magic as the room hazes. “Drink.”
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You mean there’s actually a rom com you don’t like?”
I stare at him, refusing to speak until he picks up the glass and tosses it back.
“You’re kidding me. You’ve never been in love? What about Preston’s dad?”
I freeze. I don’t mean for Preston’s name to come up and I have no idea how I’m going to get around this. Finally, I decide vagueness is my best bet at throwing him off. “Love is for idealists and dreamers. I barely knew him.”
Not a lie. Winston Hammerle is as elusive as Bigfoot. I’m not sure he even exists or if he’s been created as a front so his wife can bulldoze her way into the right social circles.
Niall cocks his head to the side and studies me. “That’s a little jaded, don’t you think?”
“Says the man who had to buy his own daughter.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe a woman like you has never had men fighting over her.”
“No big deal. So, I’ve never been in love. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like I had great role models in that department. The only thing my mom ever loved were roadies and flashing her saggy boobs to aging rock stars.”
“So, Preston’s never met his father?”
“A few times.” I cross my fingers under the table and stretch the truth until it almost snaps. “But he could take him or leave him most of the time. Preston’s a little eccentric and doesn’t fit with his ideals of what a son should be.”
Niall’s eyebrows lift. “He’s wealthy too?”
Oh shit.
“You could say that.”
He thinks for a minute, his fingers tightening around the glass. “You know you can sue him for child support. Don’t accept this on your own, Laken. You and that little boy deserve more.”
Ugh. Preston does. I deserve everything coming to me.
“If you want, I know some lawyers at Tate & Cane. I can make some calls for you—”
“No!” I take a quick sip of the disgusting beer and shake my head while coughing and sputtering again. “I mean, that’s okay. I do just fine on my own. I’m a private person, Niall. I’d like to keep it that way.”
He regards me with a curious gaze, but his features relax and he seems to let the issue go. “So, what’s so bad about My Best Friend’s Wedding to have made it on your cinematic shite list? Do you have issues with weddings or are you just anti-Julia Roberts?”
“You’ve never seen the movie, have you?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“It’s a pseudo rom com.” I stare down at my clenched hands, feeling as if I’m telling some sort of warped autobiography. “You know, the type that pulls the rug out from under you at the last minute? Those types are supposed to end all happy and make you believe in the stupid power of karma and love, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, there’s this scene on a boat, the day before the guy Julia Roberts loves is supposed to marry someone else. It’s the perfect setup for her to tell him not to do it because she loves him and you know he loves her. I mean, he even sings The Way You Look Tonight to her. How many clues does she need, right? If a guy sings that song to you, there’s no way you can refuse.”
“Good to know.” Niall frowned. “Let me guess, she doesn’t tell him?”
“Fuck no,” I blurt out with an impatient huff. “He even begs her—opens the door wide and tells her that if she loves him, to scream that shit out loud for once in her miserable life.”
“Well, it’s a rom com. Don’t they end up together anyway?”
“No. That’s why it’s the shittiest rom com ever made. That douchebag marries the stick in the mud and she loses everything.” I slice a hand through the air. “Game over.”
He drapes a hand across my thigh. “Well, considering you have a ring on your finger right now, things don’t seem to be working out too badly for you.”
A smooth talker…my will to stay platonic…and my dignity walk into a bar…
There’s no punchline here. All three walked in and only one is walking out. Any guesses on which one makes it home?
“Shots!” I call out to wherever the hell Molly disappeared to. “More shots!”
As if summoned by the word, Molly suddenly appears—you guessed it—right by Niall’s side with one hand on her hip and the other draped over his shoulder. If looks could kill, the bitch would be in a box with a concrete slab on top of her botoxed face.
“How many?” she asks, tossing a smile Niall’s way.
“Four,” I answer before he does, and Molly shoots me a look as if she just drank a pail of piss before swinging her overinflated ass back to the bar.
He blinks at me. “Four?”
I drum my fingers on the table, trying not to flinch at the thought of downing one, let alone two more of those vile drinks. “Scared?”
“Laken, I backpacked across Europe and lived in New York City with a few dollars in my pocket and a camera.” He chuckles and sits back, draping his arms across the back of the booth. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
Men are so easily distracted it isn’t funny. Invading his personal space, I close the distance between us and press my lips against his ear, unable to hold back a smirk. “Well, Mr. Mackay, I suggest you put your drink where your mouth is and prove it.”
Before I can pull away, he grabs ahold of my wrist and shifts so that our mouths are inches apart. “Play your cards right, and I’ll put it somewhere else.”
This just got interesting.
“Do you always blatantly ask for sex?”
“Aye.” His gaze drops to my lips, and I shudder. “Only from women whose middle name is Paige.”
I’m so fucked.
When did I lose the upper hand, and why am I dying for him to just lean in and kiss me senseless? If I just brush forward, our lips will touch. Then the ball will be in his court, right? Hell no. This is not the time to lose focus and let sexual infatuation cloud my judgment. Niall Mackay holds my future in his hand, and I can’t let some stupid attraction get in the way.
I pull away. “I think you’re drunk.”
“I think you’re changing the subject, Miss Cavanaugh.” Reaching for the shots Molly put on the table during our staredown, Niall places shot glass in front of me and raises his own in the air, giving me a wolfish wink. “To what comes later.”
Yeah. I’m definitely fucked.