The Sweetheart Hoax (5 page)

As for Phil…she sighed wistfully. Phil Williams could talk anyone into just about anything. He was as slick with his tongue as he was with his drawings. Working with him the past three years was like having an apprenticeship in personal negotiations 101. She intended to draw upon his tactics when dealing with patients in the hospital. But he was more than just that silver tongue; he was a man who paid attention. He planted pretty flowers in the urns on the porch and remembered to water them regularly. He always brought her little treats during the day—breakfast from the bakery, dessert from his lunches out, cards and gifts on her birthday and secretary’s day.

She’d been intentionally rude to him in the last week, and as she escorted Sonja out of the building, she felt guilty for that as she spied a cookie on her desk. Damn him. White chocolate macadamia nut—her favorite flavor, and just in time to satisfy her afternoon sugar craving. She picked up the spreadsheet she’d finished and the cookie and took her first bite as she made her way to his office.

Absorbed. That’s how he looked at the drafting table with a pencil in his hand, his brows furrowed in concentration, those long limbs jutting out over the desk as he worked out his ideas. Just once, she thought as she watched him from the doorway, just once she’d like to know what it felt like to have Phil look at her the way he looked at his work, serious, loving, totally enthralled.

She must have sighed because his head whipped up and around. She’d broken the spell between the design and its master. “Interview over?” he asked as if coming out of a fog.

“Yep.” She took a step inside. “Four down, six to go.”

“Anyone satisfy your standards?”

“Not as satisfying as this cookie.” She waved the half-eaten treat in the air. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad to see it didn’t end up in the trash.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “Touché.”

He swirled around to face his desk after his eyes did a quick scan of her dumpy clothes. She’d had to revert back to her ugly wardrobe for the interviews. “Can we call a truce for the remainder of your time here?”

“I’m not mad at you,” she said.

His grin, the sideways lift of his spectacular mouth, had her rooted to the floor. “Liar.”

“Well,” she dropped her eyes and shuffled her feet. “I’m not mad anymore.”

“Good.” His grin bloomed into a full glorious smile showing off his perfect teeth and the crinkles around his eyes. “No more casual Tuesdays?”

“I didn’t think the casual look would send the right message to your future employee.”

He eyed her again, his gaze lingering on her chest. She was used to men staring at her breasts, but not Phil. “I like you in casual clothes. You look more…you, I guess.”

Don’t, she wanted to say. Don’t do this to me again. Don’t suck me in just as I’m trying to make a clean break. But because she would never admit her feelings out loud, she said, “I’ve got the cost report on The Moorings.” She set the papers on his desk and turned to leave.

“Margot?” She spun around at the sound of his voice. “I appreciate you doing the interviews.”

“It’s no trouble,” she lied. It was a huge pain in the butt and had kept her from studying for the NCLEX.

“I’m sure you’ll find the right person, but no one can fill your shoes.”

“My ugly shoes,” she chided.

He ducked his chin and she felt sure if she were standing within reach, he would have patted her head like a child. “Your practical and highly efficient shoes.”

She tried to smile before returning to her desk. At least she knew how she’d be remembered: practical, efficient, and utterly boring.

Chapter 6

Phil had to do it. He had to make plane reservations by midnight and he was down to only one option. And damn Danny for shoving her in his face so that all others paled in comparison.

He’d racked his brain for someone to ask. He’d gone to the country club every day for lunch or dinner or drinks. Nothing. He’d gone to Charleston and club hopped twice and left both times with numbers in his pocket for women he’d never call. He’d even gone so far as to invite an old girlfriend to lunch. She’d walked in sporting a three-karat diamond on her left ring finger and he knew he was screwed.

When he called Margot into his office and asked her to shut the door, he mentally appraised his soon to be ex-receptionist. He had to admit she had a nice build. She was shorter than the women he usually dated, but nicely proportioned with an impressive chest he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to overlook for the past three years. She wore understated makeup that never managed to hide the smattering of freckles across her gumdrop nose.

It was the hair, he could admit after his quick, but honest review, that made her look like she’d just hopped out of an hour long ride in a convertible. Her frizzy blonde curls seemed incapable of
taming,
no matter what clip or contraption she tried to force them into. They hid her most alluring feature, another thing he’d only recently discovered: her wide-set, fawn colored eyes. Her perfectly shaped brown brows made him wonder what color hair she had in other parts of her body.

He gave himself a mental shake as she took a seat in the chair facing his desk. This was Margot, for Christ’s sake.

She crossed her ankles and linked her fingers, a look of suspicion on her face. “What can I do for you?”

“That’s…the perfect opening to this somewhat awkward conversation,” he said. In a tactical move he’d perfected early on in his career, he came around the desk and sat next to her in his other guest chair. “Margot, I’ve got a rather large favor to ask of you.”

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear where it immediately sprang back into her eyes. She blew it away with a breath. “I’m not willing to work beyond our agreed upon termination date. I’ve got a lot of studying to do and with these interviews—”

“I don’t need you to work past next week, but…” He found himself fidgeting in his seat as her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I do need a favor. Not a boss-to-employee favor, but a friend-to-friend favor.”

She seemed ready to bolt from the chair. Her chest heaved up and down and her lips twitched into a grimace. “You want me to be your pretend girlfriend?” she spewed as if he’d implied he wanted her to strip naked and perform a lap dance.

“Well, yes.” He ran an unsteady hand through his hair and stood up to pace. “I’ve got to go home for my dad’s retirement party and I can’t go alone.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t. Since I quit seeing Kelly, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

Margot stood up and stepped into his path, stopping him mid-stride and forcing him to meet her stare. “You want me to hop on a plane to Illinois and pretend to be your girlfriend and you won’t even tell me why?” She let out an insipid snort. “I don’t think so.”

When she turned to leave, he reached out and lightly grabbed her arm. “Margot, please, hear me out.”

“Are you going to tell me why?” she asked.

“Are you going to make me?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave a snorting snicker.

“Fine!” He raised his hands in surrender and tossed himself back in his desk chair, forcing her to sit across from him yet again. His mouth had gone bone dry. “Some people in my hometown think…there’s some gossip going around about me…” He hung his head in shame and blurted out the truth without looking her in the eye. “I need people there to know I like women.”

In the silent seconds that followed, he held his breath before lifting his head to gauge her reaction to his most embarrassing admission.

“People think you’re gay?” she asked. The way she gaped at him in stunned surprise made him feel worlds better.

He gave a cheerless laugh. “Can you believe it?”

She regarded him for a second and then shrugged. “Kind of.”

“What?”

“I mean
,
if I didn’t have first hand knowledge of your speed dating, I might assume the same.”

“Why?” he asked. “And what do you mean speed dating?”

“Oh, come on.” She sat up, ready to argue. “You bounce from girl to girl faster than cue balls on a pool table.”

“That’s insulting and completely untrue.”

She lifted those mocking brows. “I call them like I see them.”

“Sounds like you need glasses.” He leaned back in his chair and they stared at one another across his desk like a couple of kids on the playground. “So, if you didn’t know any better, why would you think I’m gay?”

She raised a shoulder in tandem with the blush creeping up her neck. “You’re always so…groomed.”

“Groomed? Good grooming means I’m gay?” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Please.”

“And color coordinated.”

He gloried in the hole she dug for herself. He’d never heard such ridiculous excuses. “Yes, matching outfits screams homosexual.”

“I’m not finished,” she chided. “You garden and you know the names of colors beyond the basic color wheel.”

“I’m an architect.”

“Exactly.” She raised her finger in the air. “Not an interior designer.”

“This proves nothing. Any man on the street knows colors.”

She fixed him with a smug smile. “If Danny were in the office, I’d prove you wrong in a heartbeat.”

“How so?”

“I’ll name three colors. If you can describe them,” she twitched her lips, “you’re as good as gay.”

“Bring it on, sister.” He rubbed his hands together and waited. Surely he wouldn’t know her choices. By the way she narrowed her eyes in thought, he knew she’d give him a zinger.

“Bisque,” she offered.

“That’s not even hard,” he rolled his eyes. “And it’s a popular wall color. Light beige.”

“Okay,” she said as she roamed the ceiling for more challenging colors. “Periwinkle.”

“Light purple, but everyone knows that.” He splayed his hands on the desk. “Give me a hard one or this test is obsolete.”

He took in a deep breath and he felt his heart beating faster. This little game had turned ugly and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Puce.”

Phil inhaled sharply.
He knew puce
,
of course he knew puce
. Kind of like putty, mostly like
puke
, a dull, purplish brown. Damn it.

“Ah ha!” she wailed, pointing at his face. “I knew it.” She reached for the phone. “Call Danny and prove me right.”

“This doesn’t prove anything!” He slapped her hand away and shot to his feet. She did the same. “You only gave me one hard one and Danny is hardly a good barometer.” He slapped his hands on his hips. “How do you know puce?”

“It’s the color of the scrubs at the hospital. Nobody looks good in puce.”

“This is stupid,” he shouted. “I’m not gay!”

“Are you homophobic?” she asked.

“No,” he answered quickly, a little too quick judging by the way she frowned at him.

“You are homophobic.
But why?
You know you’re not gay, I know you’re not gay, and pretty much every living, breathing thing on the island knows you’re not gay. So what’s the big deal if some yahoos from home think you’re a dandy?”

He slunk back into his seat and wanted to ignore her question. He wanted to snatch back his asking her to go with him and erase the whole afternoon. But because he couldn’t and because she stood there staring down at him as if he’d lost his mind, he had to answer. “My dad is the original macho man. He’s never understood me or my career or my life. So instead of trying to understand or just accept that we’re different, he’s the kind who makes fun.” He lifted his eyes to find her listening raptly. “I’ve been called more gay slang than you probably even know.”

“Well, that’s…” she sat down in the chair and reached her hand out to rest it atop his, “just plain awful of him.”

“I will admit to intentionally grooming well whenever he’s around just to piss him off.”

“Can’t say that I blame you.”

“Margot,” he settled his hand over hers and sandwiched her pale fingers between his, “if people are talking about me back home, he’s either furious that I’m making an ass of him or too embarrassed to show his face. Either way, if I show up alone…” He sat back in his seat, let out a defeated breath, and hoped beyond hope he’d convinced her to help him out.

“I, I don’t know, Phil.” She pulled her hand away and rubbed her crinkled brow. “I’ve set aside next week for intensive study and you said yourself no one would believe we were together.”

He grimaced. “You really heard that entire conversation?”

“Enough to make me mad.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He’d obviously hurt her feelings and yet she still looked ready to give in to his request. “I never would have said those things if I thought you’d hear.”

“I know that,” she said. “You’re never intentionally mean.”

“You think I’m mean?” he asked. No one had ever described him as mean.

“Insensitive, yes, and occasionally self-absorbed, but not mean.”