“Pretending,” Oliver finishes before crushing his lips to mine.
We kiss, and oh God do we kiss. His warm mouth presses to mine before we both open to each other and our tongues meet. The heat of his body is against mine as we clutch at each other. I ache for him to touch me, to erase all the emotions that have been smothering me. When he’s near, it’s easier to breathe. It’s as though his laughter and smile give me the ability to keep going.
“Oliver,” I say softly before his tongue pushes back into my mouth.
He moans, pulling me tighter, and then we’re moving. I feel my legs hit the bed before he guides me back and follows me down.
We kiss more, breathing each other in, and my hands are moving to the hem of his shirt, lifting it. I want to feel his skin against mine.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he says before resuming the kiss.
I feel beautiful with him.
His hands move against my side, sliding up higher, and I arch, wanting him to keep going. His mouth leaves mine to move down my throat. Just as he reaches the valley between my breasts, a loud banging on my door halts us.
“Maren! Your Heaven-sent Father has arrived,” Mark Dixon, my boss, says from the other side of the door.
Oliver lifts his head, staring at me with questions. “Our reverend, my boss.”
His head drops to my chest. “If that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.”
“We’ll be out in a second!” I call to Mark.
“Your boss is a minister?”
I turn back to Oliver and give him the lowdown, but the abridged version. “I wanted you to meet my bosses before the event since you’re supposed to already know them,” I explain. “I . . . forgot about that part since you know, he doesn’t know that you’re not the Oliver I was marrying a few days ago.”
Oliver gets up, extending his hand to me. I rise, fixing my rumpled dress as Oliver turns his back to the door and straightens his own clothing. Once we’re both presentable, I open the door, and Mark grins at me with one brow raised. “And what exactly were the bride and groom doing in here?”
“Zip it,” I warn.
He laughs, elbowing Jackson. “I think we interrupted.”
Jackson looks at my face. “I think so.”
“Just get in here and don’t be jerks, please. It’s been a hard week, and I’d like you to meet Oliver.”
They both chuckle. “I’m sure something is hard,” Mark can’t seem to help himself.
When they walk in, they come to a stop. “Umm, who is this?”
I clear my throat. “Jackson Cole, Mark Dixon, meet Oliver, my fiancé. Kind of.”
The two of them glance at each other and then back to me. Jackson gets ahold of himself first. “I’m confused, where is Oliver?”
Glad they’re so smart. “I have no idea. The last time I talked to him, he dumped me.”
“When? Why?”
Jackson speaks next. “I’ll kill him.”
“Calm down. It’s fine because . . .” Because I’m falling for my new fake fiancé who is named Oliver. “. . . it just is.”
Mark’s eyes narrow. “How is it fine? I never liked him. He has shifty eyes. Never trust a man with shifty eyes. That’s what I always say.”
“When the hell do you say that?” Jackson asks.
“All the time. Catherine is right, you don’t listen.”
I sigh heavily, gaining both men’s attention. “Back to why you’re both here. I would like you to meet my new fiancé.”
“Wait, what? How in the span of two weeks did you get dumped and engaged again?”
“If you would let me speak, I can explain,” I say with exasperation. Some days I love my bosses, today not so much.
I walk over to Oliver and grip his arm. “This is Oliver Parkerson. We have been friends since we were in college, and . . . well, he’s helping me. Also, he’s signed all the necessary paperwork for the company.”
“Okay, but helping you how?” Jackson asks.
I sigh and then launch into the entire story. By the end, they both look gleefully amused by my antics.
“You just went out and found someone else to marry?” Mark asks with a brow raised. “I’m not sure if I’m impressed or worried.”
“And you said you wouldn’t be good in the field,” Jackson says with a laugh. “You might just be as good as anyone else on our team.”
“Charlie would be impressed,” Mark says. “So, you want us to go along with this?”
I nod. “I need you to keep up the work part of it. Obviously, you’d know Oliver and he’d know you.”
Jackson laughs. “Glad you were at least thinking there. Well, new Oliver, I’m Jackson and this is Mark. Let’s get you caught up on us so you can survive this.”
The three guys start to talk, and not even five minutes later, you’d think they were best friends. I’m convinced there isn’t a person alive who wouldn’t love Oliver. It’s remarkable.
“Basically, when we start to talk about work things, you nod, smile, or laugh. It helps if you keep a beer in your hand in case you need to avoid answering a question,” Jackson explains.
“No problem, I’ve been having to do this all week with family.”
Mark shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “I want it to be on record that I think this is stupid.”
“Yes, yes,” I say with a groan. “Everyone does.”
Oliver speaks up in my defense. “I thought it was stupid too until I met her father. I see it now, why Maren would want to do this for him. He’s a great guy, and his time is fading away. I think this whole thing has given him peace.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I step to him, needing to hug him, thank him, hold him because he’s done something I can never repay. “You understand it?” I ask.
“I do.”
“Hey, that’s what you say tomorrow,” Mark cuts in.
“Yeah, we’ll save it for the vows tomorrow.”
Oliver pulls me to his side and kisses my temple. “Tomorrow.”
Thirteen
OLIVER
“So, today is the big day,” Grayson says with a grin.
“Shut up.”
“You’re really going to do this?”
I shake my head because, at this point, what else is there to say? Yes, I’m doing this. Why? Because I’m an idiot. Am I sure? No, I’m not fucking sure, but I said I would, so I’m going to. Over and over, my siblings have pestered me, asking the same shit. Except for Stella. No, my beautiful sister hasn’t asked me anything, she just walked over to me, kissed my cheek, and then patted it.
I swear she does stuff like that just to drive me crazy.
“You know, I wish I could say I wouldn’t,” Gray muses as he kicks his heels onto the ottoman. “I think that, as much as we claim we would walk away, none of us would. Women are smart creatures.”
I turn away, hoping it will stop him from talking, but of course, it doesn’t.
“They know how to appeal to our hero complexes, and Lord knows you have the biggest one of all of us.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, pouring myself another glass of whiskey. At least whiskey doesn’t talk, it just makes me feel good.
“You were always the first one to run to help Stella—or any girl, really. If they were hurt, you wanted to soothe them. If they cried, you dried their eyes. If they needed something, you’d find a way.”