No Love Allowed (Dodge Cove Trilogy #1) (7 page)

“You don’t have to worry.” She pouted. Could this girl get any cuter? He shoved away the possible answers to that question. “That was a onetime thing. I was . . .
stressed.”

“All right,” he said. Something in her shut off, like a candle snuffing out. Where had the vibrant girl unfazed by anything gone? As curious as he was, he reminded himself he
wasn’t there for that. So he fished out his phone. “What’s your cell number so I can text you a day before each event?”

His question brought back some of the life into her eyes. “I don’t have one.”

“What?” It truly surprised him. “But everyone has a cell phone.”

“I don’t.” She shrugged again. “Well, I did, but it was on me when I decided to go swimming fully clothed. I don’t have the cash to replace it.”

Unwilling to push further but already making plans, he returned his phone to his front pocket. “Let’s talk compensation. Within reason, of course.”

“Compensation?” She tilted her head as if he had lapsed into a foreign language.

“Yes.” He inched to the edge of the bench he was sitting on. “I’m prepared to pay you for your time.” When she recoiled in horror, he amended, “Didi, besides
probably holding your hand or slinging my arm over your shoulder or a kiss on the cheek, I don’t expect our relationship to go any further than that. Actually that’s another rule. I
will not kiss you unless absolutely necessary.”

“Define absolutely necessary.”

“Most likely in public to prove we’re together. Couples kiss, Didi.”

“Right.” She cleared her throat, then dropped her gaze. “I knew that.” A slight flush colored her cheeks.

“I promise I won’t kiss you other than when necessary unless you initiate it.” He didn’t know where those words had come from. That wasn’t usually an option
he’d verbalized with the others. It had been implied.

She flicked her gaze up. “All right.”

His mouth suddenly went dry as he realized he’d just given her permission to kiss him. And furthermore, she had agreed to the possibility.

“So . . .” He swallowed. “Compensation. I was thinking five hundred dollars per event. . . .”

Her eyebrows came together in a scowl. “I take it back.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t go.”

“But . . .”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “Don’t fling your money at me, Caleb! I’m not that kind of person. Getting to attend the parties would have been more than enough.”

“But what I’m asking of you is considerably harder than just attending parties. And it will take time away from your painting and your job hunting. I guess.”

That deflated some of her anger. “No big deal. It’s just for the summer.”

“It doesn’t feel right that I’m asking you to do this without me giving you something in return.” He considered his options. If she didn’t want money . . .
“There has to be something you want. Come on, you have to help me out here.”

He almost winced at the tiny bit of pathetic that had come out with his last sentence. This was the first time he had ever encountered someone who didn’t want
something—anything—in exchange for—how should he put it? Services rendered? That sounded so bad.

The sweet blush returned, distracting him from himself. “There might be something.”

“What?” His knee bobbed in anticipation as she bit the corner of her lip.

“Will you pose for me?” she asked.

“Pose for you?”

“Yes!” She nodded vigorously. “For a portrait. Please? Please? Please?” She practically bounced off her seat.

Posing for her. Huh. Not so bad. And how could he say no to that kind of excitement? By being his fake girlfriend she was saving him. So why not? This was something he could do for her.
“Sure, I’ll pose for you.”

She clapped, then did the most unexpected thing. She picked up her half-melted sundae and dunked three sticks of fries into the goop and shoved everything into her mouth. As if her eating habits
hadn’t been weird enough, she moaned, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

Exactly five seconds later the reality of his situation sank in. He wondered if having a fake girlfriend with him was really better than going stag and hoping for the best. His brain turned off.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?

MANY WOULD KILL
for an internship at Parker and Associates. In fact, the rest of the interns had already shunned him for the
obvious nepotism involved in his taking the spot from a more worthy candidate—one who had the credentials to match the position, other than sharing the boss’s DNA. Not that he had
complained. He wasn’t there to make friends. Do his time and get out. That was the plan.

Once he punched the button for the fortieth floor and the elevator doors closed, he sent up a brief prayer for strength. He wasn’t particularly religious, but after the hijacking of his
summer and potential loss of his gap year, he felt the need for divine intervention. God only knew what hideously boring task he would be given today.

In exchange for the morning off, he had to work until the office closed for the night. Michael, his father’s assistant, took great plea sure in giving him the news. If Caleb hadn’t
known better he’d have thought his father’s assistant enjoyed torturing him more than his father did.

At the distinctive
ding
and opening of doors, he was met by said uptight assistant, who wore the most pretentious wire-framed glasses known to man. At least he could appreciate the
man’s impeccable suit, daring to mix thin pinstripes with a checkered shirt. Nathan would have been proud.

“You’re late,” Michael sniped, his eyebrow arching. Caleb wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the man plucked.

“Lay off, Mike,” he said, using the nickname he knew the guy absolutely hated. The way the assistant’s entire body clenched was hilarious. “There was an accident on Main.
Took forever to get around it.”

“He wants to see you,” came the clipped reply.

Caleb didn’t need to ask who Michael meant. He veered left from the elegantly appointed reception area, with the firm’s name emblazoned in bronze letters along the wall behind the
receptionist, and headed straight for the largest corner office. The door was open, so he didn’t bother knocking as he went in.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Where have you been?” JJ asked without looking up from the file at his desk. He spun a Montblanc pen in his left hand.

“Business lunch,” Caleb said, the humor of the idea tickling the back of his throat. He barely suppressed a laugh when his father glanced up in surprise. The pen in his hand dropped
and rolled across the page he had been reading. That had gotten his attention.

“Business lunch?” The incredulity in his tone was obvious, yet no real emotion colored the ice in his eyes.

A long pause followed the question.

Feeling generous, he decided to give the old man a break by saying, “I was securing a date for the events you’ve asked me to attend.”

That got him an eyebrow raise so similar to his own that Caleb vowed never to lift his eyebrow again. Matched with a cold gaze, it was disconcerting. “I’m surprised there’s
still someone in Dodge Cove you haven’t dated.”

It didn’t surprise him that his father knew this. He might not be pre sent in his son’s life, but JJ made it a point to stay connected.

Biting back a sigh, Caleb said, “I’m outsourcing the job.”

A blank stare was the response to his attempt at a joke. What? Had he actually expected his father, the ice king of DoCo, to crack up? Not in this century.

“Don’t bore me with the details.” JJ picked up the pen once more. “So long as you are there it doesn’t matter to me who you bring.” Then he pointed at a large
stack of folders. “Make ten copies each and pass them out to everyone involved in the case. Michael has the list.”

Before Caleb could open his mouth to confirm the instructions, JJ had already gone back to his reading and pen twirling. Biting down on the sarcasm that would surely get him into trouble, he
slid his hands beneath the heavy stack and stalked out.

When he exited the office, Michael slapped the list on top of the stack, then gestured at three more boxes filled with files with a head tilt.

“Those too,” he said, not bothering to hide a smirk.

Caleb groaned. At ten copies apiece, that was a lot of dead trees.
Law must be one of the least environmentally friendly professions
, he thought.

As he dropped the folders onto one of the boxes, Michael handed him another list.

“What’s this?” he asked, scanning yet another piece of paper.

“Dinner, obviously.” Michael sniffed as if he had just been asked a stupid question. “When you’re done making copies, you’re running out for those. Make sure to
check the gluten-free options. Last time you forgot.”

He exaggerated the eye roll he gave the assistant. “That was one sandwich.”

“Yeah,
my
sandwich.”

“Oops?” He had switched out the gluten-free option for something else. How could he have known Michael was allergic to gluten? He thought the guy was just being uppity. Yet he
couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty for sending the man home with a severe case of diarrhea and vomiting.

“Just get it right this time.”

He gave Michael a mocking salute, then rolled the dolly full of case files to the copy room. In his head he reminded himself to collate. The first time he had made copies no one had told him he
had to combine the files in proper order. Oh, the nasty stares and bracing mutters he had gotten from the entire firm then.

Learning his lesson, he had come up with a system. Once he finished the first set and had the second in the machine, he began collating. And staple. Staple. Staple. Lawyers liked their files
stapled.

Being alone in the copy room wasn’t so bad. He actually found the process quite Zen, the
whir
of the copy machine soothing. He might also be becoming addicted to the smell of
toner.

His phone rang midway through. He fished it out and put Nathan on speaker so his hands were kept free. He could multitask with the best of them, but he still needed most of his focus on the job
or mistakes would be made. Last thing he wanted was the word
unacceptable
coming out of his father’s mouth.

“Yeah?” he said, turning back to the machine as it spit out the next completed file.

“Busy?” Nathan asked back.

The unmistakable
whoosh
of wind from the other end gave him pause. “You’re driving.”

“I’m using hands-free.”

“Still,” he insisted. “I’d feel better if you parked before you start talking to me.” He ignored the answering grumble and slapped his palm over the stapler,
locking the pieces of paper together. Then he slipped them into a waiting folder. Five sets done. Five more to go. He rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out.

“What was that?” Nathan finally asked. No more wind whooshing from his end of the line.

“I’m in the copy room.”

“Michael messing with you again?”

“I’m tempted to switch out his order again when I go on the dinner run to night.”

A chuckle preceded the admonition. “Take pity on the guy. He has your father for a boss, after all.”

The logic in Nathan’s words hit him where it hurt. “Stop messing with my fun.”

“Remember, it’s just for the summer. Then it’s Europe, baby!”

He held on to the thought with white knuckles. He could already smell the London air. Taste the French macarons. Hear Italian being spoken. He breathed in the warm air mixed with the scent of
toner in the copy room. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“So?” Nathan stretched out the question. Caleb understood from the salacious curiosity in his voice where this was headed. “Did she say yes?”

FEELING GOOD ABOUT
her outfit choice that bright Sunday morning, Didi gave the overall look one last mirror check as the short
beeps of a car horn signaled Caleb’s arrival. Having chosen to keep her hair down, she flipped the strands over her shoulder and did a quick smile test in case any red lipstick clung to her
front teeth. The last thing she wanted was to run out of the house and greet Caleb with a red smear in her mouth. Not attractive at all.

Satisfied and excited to show him what she had come up with for their first event together as a fake couple, she grabbed the cute watermelon clutch she had found at a Goodwill for a dollar from
the dresser. Opening it, she placed her house keys, the lipstick she’d used—borrowed from Mom—and a twenty, just in case.

At the third honk, she flitted to the front door with a huge smile and a bounce in her step.

In seconds she was out the front door and locking it behind her. When she turned around her breath caught.

Leaning against the passenger door of his car with his hands in his pockets was Caleb, in an impeccable white linen suit with a butter-yellow shirt opened at the collar. Without product, his
hair fell in natural waves—like a dark, wind-tousled halo. He took her breath away, and they both matched: wearing white as if they had discussed it.

Hand to her chest, she checked to see if her heart still worked. Definitely a skip in the beats. She caught herself thinking how lucky she was to have such a mouthwatering fake boyfriend. Oh,
this summer had just gotten better . . . until she noticed the scowl that settled on his features.

What the hell was she wearing?

It took all of Caleb’s willpower not to smack his forehead. He’d known he shouldn’t have trusted her with picking out what to wear for the garden party. A white dress, sure,
but she had fucking handprints in places there shouldn’t have been. All the blood in his head traveled elsewhere as he pushed away from the car and charged her.

“Caleb?” She took several steps toward him, then stopped once he reached her. “What’s wrong?”

“What the hell are you wearing?” he almost roared.

As if she hadn’t heard the heat in his tone, she examined the tight thing she called a dress. It had spaghetti straps and an asymmetric hemline that cut so high up one thigh . . . he was
no longer thinking with the proper body parts. She had paired it with red canvas flats and a damn watermelon clutch. He breathed out long and hard.