Duping Cupid (A Valentine's Day Short Story) Read online

  ****

  Sebastian watched Vivi leave her office at a scared rabbit’s pace, his brain buzzing with confusion. What had he said? He always flirted with the clients. None of them ever took him seriously. This woman had called his bluff, but he wouldn’t back down. He’d done this gig before—for Vivi when that superficial moron, Julian, had broken her heart.

  He’d first met Vivi at a New Year’s Eve party a week after her breakup. While everyone else had paired up for the evening to make sure they had lined up their midnight kisses, she remained alone and aloof, which contrasted with her pale pink sequined dress that pretty much screamed, “I’m here!” After years of dating shallow models, Bass found the shiny pink sparrow a puzzle he longed to solve. Filching two champagne flutes from a passing waitress, he approached and engaged her in conversation. To his surprise, his famous name and infamous charm didn’t bowl her over. She was polite, cool, and unimpressed. So he tried harder. Hours passed between them until, finally, sometime after midnight, he managed to get to the heart of her story. When she confessed her fear of looking like a fool at the partners’ dinner, he’d volunteered to be her totally devoted and adoring date.

  That evening turned out better than Vivi’s wildest imagination could have dreamed up. Bass’s good looks and fawning attention had drummed up envy and curiosity, overshadowing the new partner’s celebrity. Drunk with success, Vivi had quit her job and cashed in her 401K to create a new business venture. With Bass’s contacts and additional financial backing, she’d launched Cupid To Go. Neither one of them had ever looked back.

  So why did she think he couldn’t handle this particular job?

  Shaking off annoyance, he took Vivi’s seat behind the desk and turned on the charm. “I’m Sebastian Lawrence,” he told the well-dressed and coiffed woman. “My friends call me Bass.”

  “Not anymore,” the woman sniffed as she perched on the edge of the chair across from him. “It’s too undignified. If you’re going to be my escort, you’ll go by Sebastian at all times.”

  Aha. Vivi’s hesitancy made sense after all. She didn’t worry that he couldn’t handle the gig. She worried he might kill this woman before the winter was over, and the possibility did exist. He should have known better. Well, he’d stepped into the fray when she’d tried to protect him. No way would he abandon her now. “May I ask your name? I’m afraid Vivi was remiss in the introductions.”

  The woman grinned, calling to his mind a barracuda zeroing in on a tasty tidbit for dinner. “Ava Featherstone Bannerman.”

  “Ava.” Thank God he hadn’t lost his acting skills. He took her hand and placed a soft kiss at the base of her palm. Nothing. Not so much as a smile on her frozen face. Recovering quickly, he reached for the standard paperwork. “Once we go over the contracts, we’ll have you happier than you’ve been in years. For the next four and a half months, I will be your devoted slave.”

  She took the stapled packet, folded it, and shoved it into her purse. “Not yet, you’re not. I have to be careful. I can’t afford to look foolish. Not only will I have this reviewed by my attorney, I’ll also be hiring a private detective to thoroughly investigate you. If you have any skeletons in your closet, now’s the time to let me know.”

  He relaxed, easing back in the chair. A woman on a power trip. How unoriginal. “No skeletons. My life’s an open book.”

  “Not too open, I hope,” she remarked. “Your picture isn’t routinely splashed on tabloid covers, is it?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Lawrence?”

  “These days? Real estate. I own several lucrative properties in Manhattan.”

  “Before that?”

  “I was an actor on Our Small Town for eleven years.”

  No reaction. Wow. Normally, women bounced on their toes and shrieked when they realized he’d played the hunky Dr. Morgan Reed on the successful television series. This one just sat there—like a barracuda—cold, deadly, with soulless eyes.

  “What’s your current marital status?”

  And the questions kept on coming. “Divorced. Fifteen years ago.”

  “Why?”

  None of her business. Jeez, did all of Vivi’s clients demand so much personal information? Never having been in the hot seat before today, he had no idea if what she asked was standard.

  “I’m waiting, Mr. Lawrence.”

  “She found someone else.” An understatement, but all the information this barracuda deserved to know. In truth, his ex-wife had left him for a woman, a blow from which his ego had never fully recovered.

  “Any children?”

  “No.” He’d wanted them, but his ex, Jenna, an actress in her own right, refused to consider ruining her figure or sacrificing her chaotic lifestyle for a child. After the divorce, he’d realized her stubborn refusal to start a family had actually helped them avoid additional tragedy. The one good thing to come out of the whole ugly mess.

  “And what’s your connection to that Maxwell woman?”

  “Vivi? We’re friends. For almost ten years now.”

  “Nothing more?” She quirked a penciled brow. “Have you ever slept together?”

  “No!” The denial came out fast, not because the idea was abhorrent, but because…well, because they were friends. Both scarred from romantic entanglements, they’d never considered ruining their relationship with sex.

  “I didn’t really think so,” she replied airily. “A big girl like that. No wonder she’s single.”

  Now, wait a minute. Anger welled up inside him. He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she never gave him the chance.

  “Shame, too. She has such a pretty face...” Frowning, she glanced down at her flawless French manicure.

  “She’s also funny, generous, and the best damn friend I’ve ever had. And I think she’s beautiful inside and out. You know nothing about Vivi, what she’s been through, and how special she really is.”

  Her focus snapped back to him, that barracuda smile fixed in place. “And you love her.”

  “Of course I do,” he said. “She’s my friend.” Craning his neck, he looked past the woman and out toward the lobby to make sure Vivi hadn’t returned from her trip to the ladies room. She might pretend not to care when some skinny know-it-all commented on how pretty she’d be if she only lost a little weight, but Bass knew how much those well-meaning insults belittled her. Silly, really, since, in his eyes, she was pretty much perfect, size-wise and in every other way.

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’m actually jealous. You love her, despite her weight. If I ballooned up like her, my husband would have ditched me faster.”

  Thank God, Vivi still hadn’t returned.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize you’re in love with her until now,” Ava announced.

  “There’s nothing to realize. We’re friends.”

  Under the barracuda’s intense scrutiny, he squirmed. Did he love Vivi? As more than a friend? He liked her. A lot. Just thinking about her warmed his insides faster than a shot of iced vodka. For eight years now, they’d been the best of friends. How many nights had they spent, snuggled together on his couch, watching television and munching popcorn? Like an old married couple. At least three times a week, he popped in to her office to take her to lunch. Like a loving husband would. Whenever he had good news to share, Vivi heard it first and celebrated with him. Like a wife. They had a stronger relationship than most married couples he knew. Except for sex.

  For God’s sake, they’d never even kissed. Not a real kiss with passion and promise. How could he be in love with someone he’d never kissed, much less slept with?

  “You should tell her.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Her eyes narrowed, enhancing her disbelief and his discomfort. “Even if there was, Vivi’s not interested in love. With me or anyone else. Her last guy did a real number on her.”

  “She’s Cupid, for God’s sake. Of course she’s still int
erested in love. Besides, I’ve got eyes, you know. She loves you, too. Your so-called friend just needs someone to sweep her off her feet. Don’t you want to be that someone? Or would you prefer her to find somebody else?”

  He sat up. What somebody else? The guy in the apartment down the hall from her with the pet monitor lizard he dressed up in doggie sweaters and walked on a leash? Or the dentist she thought had nice eyes but a creepy smile? Jeez, she deserved better than both those losers.

  “If you really love her—and I know you do—you’re going to have fight her demons for her.”

  Despite his doubts, a spark lit inside him. “How?”

  “Give me the next four months. Together, you and I will dupe Cupid into realizing how she feels about you. By the time I’m through, I’ll have the two of you all sewn up in a happily-ever-after quilt.”

  Who said he wanted to be all sewn up? With Vivi or anyone? His main concern was that she didn’t wind up with some loser like that Julian bonehead. She deserved a man who appreciated her, who understood how perfect she was, someone who wouldn’t try to change her.

  Someone...

  …like him. No. Not like him. Him. He loved her. No one else would ever love her the way he did.

  How had that happened? And why hadn’t he realized how much she meant to him until now?

  A flurry in the lobby heralded Vivi’s return to her office. “So,” she said with a forced smile. “Are we all set here?”

  Bass shot a meaningful glance at Ava. “Yeah, I think we are.”

  Ava nodded. “Most definitely.”

  “Great,” Viv exclaimed, but her expression flattened.

  “Sebastian,” Ava said as she slipped extra large sunglasses over her eyes, “I know a charming bistro in the West Forties where many of the gossips meet. They should help start a buzz about us.”

  “Well, then, I guess I’ll be taking Ava to lunch to get this ball rolling.”

  Vivi blinked, a wounded deer caught in the sniper’s scope, and conscience bit Bass with sharp fangs. He’d come here to take her to lunch. Their usual Monday afternoon respite. Concern for her feelings rode high, and he placed a hand on her sweater sleeve. Could she really love him, too? “You all right with this?”

  “Of course,” she replied, her smile a little too bright, her eyes a bit too shiny. “Go. Don’t come back until the buzz between the two of you is loud enough to make the six o’clock news.”

  “Just remember, friends,” Ava purred, hooking her arm inside his. “All’s fair in love and war.”

  Chapter 2

  Alone in her office, Vivi shoved several manila folders into their respective slots, and slammed her file drawer shut. Her head pounded, probably from Ava’s perfume, which still cloaked the air fifteen minutes after she and Bass had disappeared.

  So much for him taking her to lunch. One look at Ava Bannerman, and she became Vivi Who. Behold, the power of double-D boobs cantilevered on a two-by-four.

  “All’s fair in love and war,” she mimicked in a high-pitched nasal twang.

  She’d always thought Bass had enough depth to see past a woman’s façade to the soul inside. Now, she’d have to reconsider that assumption. The way he was looking at that skeleton in designer clothes when she’d walked in from the ladies room…like Ava had become the answer to all his prayers.

  She shook her head. How could that be? Ava Featherstone Bannerman was all shell, no substance. But, boy howdy, Bass had lunged at the chance to become her escort for Park Avenue’s winter season. Apparently, testosterone clouded every man’s judgment—even a man who should know better. A selfish woman like Ava would chew him up and spit him out on the sidewalk. And guess who’d be there to scrape him up and make him whole again?

  The phone on her desk rang, and she leaned over her chair to grab the receiver without checking the Caller ID. “Cupid To Go.”

  “Hey, Vivi,” a cheery voice sang out. “It’s Lindsay.”

  Great. Lindsay was married to her brother, Alan, a dry, joyless chemical engineer. She faked a smile and forced a happy tone. “Hey, Linds. What’s up?”

  “I hate to bother you at work, but I want to get an accurate headcount for Thursday before I start the food shopping.”

  Vivi sank into her leather chair and leaned her head against the raised, cushioned back. “Thursday?”

  “Thanksgiving?”

  She sat bolt upright. Crap. She’d totally forgotten about that looming train wreck. Every year, her brother and his wife hosted the holiday for the Maxwell family, as well as Lindsay’s parents and assorted in-laws. Eighteen people crammed into their two thousand square foot house. Not that Vivi could offer anything more spacious. The biggest problem was that Lindsay was a lousy cook. Like instant-mashed-potatoes-with-powdered-butter and dry-as-desert-sand-turkey lousy. Inside her mouth, her taste buds cringed in dreaded anticipation.

  “Vivi?” Lindsay prompted. “You’re coming, right?”

  “Right,” she replied.

  “Well, gee, don’t sound so enthused.”

  Oops. Time for a little backpedaling. “Sorry. I’m preoccupied. You caught me in the middle of something.” If technology ever came out with standard videophones, she was totally screwed. Until then, though, she’d lie to her family if it avoided jibes about her lack of focus, her less than stellar fashion sense, or her other multitudes of flaws. “What should I bring this year?” A real dinner maybe? Or a warehouse store-sized bottle of antacids?

  “Maybe a dessert?”

  Uh-huh. If this holiday ran like the last ten, Lindsay had asked everyone to bring a dessert. At the end of Thursday’s atrocious meal, her sister-in-law would lay out a dozen different pies, cakes, cookie assortments, and even a box of Dunkin’ Donuts. Of course, the guests would rush to cram the sweets into their mouths in the hope of ridding themselves of the bad taste lingering from the dinner. Still, there had to be a better way.

  “I hate to think of all the work you’ll be doing for us. Are you sure I can’t bring a side dish to help you out?” Vivi suggested, using up the last stores of her tact for the day.

  “No, thanks. That’s sweet, but just bring the dessert. And could you make it something without chocolate for Matthew? Maybe a vanilla cake?”

  “Sure.” Vanilla. For crying out loud. Her ten-year-old nephew, Matthew, was well on his way to becoming as dull as his father.

  “And if Bass can bring a few bottles of wine, that’d be great.”

  Right. Bass. More good news. She inhaled a few deep breaths. No sense in dodging the truth. “Umm…I don’t think Bass can make it this year.”

  “Don’t tell me you two broke up.”

  Vivi sighed and struggled to keep her eyes from rolling inside their sockets. “Of course not. You have to be dating to ‘break up.’”

  “Oh, please. You and Bass can call it whatever you want, but, in essence, you’ve been dating for years. So, why isn’t he coming?”

  “He has to work.” Vague, but true.

  “Since when?”

  “Since now, I guess.” Another sigh escaped her lips, and she tried to cover up with a quick series of coughs.

  “Are you sure you two didn’t have a fight or something? Your voice sounds funny.”

  So much for her subterfuge. “I told you, I’m in the middle of something here. In fact, I should probably get back to work. See you Thursday.”

  “Three o’clock,” she said.

  “Got it,” she replied and sank into her chair again, dropping the receiver into the cradle with a growl. Good God, she was so not ready to face the holidays with her noisy, nosy family. And without Bass? Lindsay had already started the cross-examination. When Mom, who worked in the D.A.’s office, and attorney sister, Kate, realized she was flying solo this year, the grilling would be fierce.

  How could Bass abandon her like this?

  Not that she didn’t appreciate his help with Ava Bannerman.

  Face it, Vivi, you were in an awkward position until he showed up. />
  Ava Bannerman was more than a difficult client. She was a make-or-break client. Bass had done her a huge favor. None of her regular agents would have been willing to sign up for a four-to-five month commitment, not as long as they had auditions and cast calls and mid-terms coming up. And if Bass had refused to get involved when Ava had so obviously wanted him…

  She shivered. She didn’t want to think about the consequences.

  The entrance door opened, and Sarah breezed in. “I’m back.” She stowed her purse in her lower desk drawer and stepped to the threshold of Vivi’s office. “Uh-oh. What’d I miss?”

  “Huh?” Vivi jerked up her head and shrugged. “Oh. Nothing.”

  Sarah didn’t buy her nonchalance. “Bull. You never stare at your desk blotter unless something’s wrong. Was it that woman? She looked like trouble.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” she admitted. Note to self: stop staring at your desk blotter. “But Bass showed up and took care of her.”

  “How?”

  She looked up from the desk blotter. Again. Cripes. Maybe her note to self should be delivered via sledgehammer. “Huh?”

  Sarah folded her arms over her chest and peered over her glasses. “How did Bass take care of her?”

  “He’s going to be her escort for the winter season.”

  “The whole season?” She let out a whoosh. “Wow. How much is that gonna cost her? I mean, I knew that rock on her hand was pretty pricey, but that’s a huge expense. Or did you cut her a deal on the rate?”

  “I don’t even know,” she admitted. “I let Bass take care of all the details.” She gave her receptionist a brief rundown of the transaction, omitting her confusion and hurt at Bass’s eager volunteering to take on Ava Featherstone Bannerman.

  Sarah’s eyes, already magnified by her bifocals, widened to owl-size. “Are you sick or something?”

  Yeah, heartsick maybe. Or afraid that she had just lost her best friend. Not for the winter season, but forever.

  “He can handle it,” she said aloud, more for her own benefit than Sarah’s.