Something Like Hate, page 4
“Hey,” I say, my voice sounding gruff.
When I try to straighten up, I flinch. My head pounds as if little gnomes are tap-dancing inside.
“It’s the wine,” he says, handing me a bottle of water. “Do you have any aspirin in your bag of tricks?”
I shut my eyes, resting my head on the seat and nod lightly.
“Why do you need a notebook?”
“Leave my stuff alone,” I warn him weakly. “The painkillers are in the side pocket.”
“Breath mints, ibuprofen, allergy medicine … you label them?”
“Duh,” I answer. “What if I took the wrong medication? Leave my purse alone.”
“You’re a cross between Mary Poppins and Sport Billy,” he says, handing me two liquid gel pills and water.
“Who’s Sport Billy?” I ask after I swallow the medicine and drink the entire bottle of water.
“You wouldn’t know it. It’s a cartoon from before your time,” he says, taking his seat again.
I sigh and rub my temples, keeping my eyes closed to recover my strength. During the first half of the flight, I lost the ability to see Miller Archer as the asshole who runs the company I work for. A part of me wants to yell at him for putting me in this predicament, and the other wants to snuggle between his strong arms until my headache abates.
Claire, stop fantasizing. You just need to get laid.
Note to self, don’t drink and fly.
“You shouldn’t have let me drink so much,” I mumble under my breath.
It’s all my fault. I should’ve stopped as soon as I felt tipsy. The entire flight went by too fast. One moment we were discussing our weekend agreement over lunch, and the next, I agreed to be his plus one.
“I told you not to switch your liquor. Always stick to the same drink,” he says in the calm voice he’s been using for the past few hours.
He isn’t criticizing. In fact, those deep dark eyes of his seem to hold worry. Since when does he give a shit about others?
Drop the nice guy act, I want to say.
Once the flight attendant announces we can unfasten our seat belts, he stands up, fixing his backpack and fetching my purse.
“I’ll carry this for you,” he says, extending his hand toward me. “Let me help you.”
The guy deserves a standing ovation for his performance as a perfect gentleman. Like seriously, where did he study acting? I wouldn’t believe he’s the same man I’ve worked for the past three years if I didn’t know better. Head pounding, body aching, and heart fluttering, I follow right behind Miller, who’s holding my hand firmly. I ignore how well our hands fit together. I’m definitely not checking out his firm ass. Nope, that’s not why my eyes are focused on his jeans pockets.
“Thank you for flying with us,” the flight attendant says and squeezes my shoulder as her voice lowers, “He’s a keeper, honey. Don’t let him escape.”
Looks can be deceiving, honey.
He’s a great actor.
I turn to look at Miller, Mr. Archer, Milo, or whatever it is people call him, asking myself, why did I agree to be his plus one?
Right, the villa in Tuscany. He did say he’d pay for my vacation—wherever I choose—with my friends.
It has nothing to do with his charming personality or how much I actually enjoyed talking to him.
I suck in a breath when he kisses my hand. My knees weaken and my heart skips a couple of beats. He’s taking this a little too far, isn’t he?
“Thank you, sir,” he says to the pilot. “For delivering my precious cargo safely.”
For a moment, I’m captivated by his grin and loving words. No one ever has called me their precious cargo. My last boyfriend never kissed my hand. In fact, the last time I saw my ex kissing someone, it was one of his colleagues.
Cheating bastard.
I should be careful with Miller. He knows the right words and gestures to make a woman fall.
He’s a player, Claire, be careful.
Pfft, careful with what? I’m immune to the charm of arrogant assholes.
“That was a cheesy line,” I mutter, once we’re walking toward the gate.
He stops and winks at me without saying a word.
“Are you practicing your role before we meet your family?” I ask him.
“What do you think?” he retorts.
I tap my chin a couple of times and scan him from head to toe. “You might want to keep it short and sweet. Women don’t buy laying it on overly thick.”
“So, you don’t like it thick?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
I huff. “Size is irrelevant,” I answer to his double meaning. “No guy can deliver the whole package.”
“Baby, this package is thick and long. If I delivered it to you, you’d enjoy every inch of it,” he says.
My eyes glance at his crotch, and for one second, I crave to touch him. When I look back at him, the desire turns into rage. I want to erase his cocky smile because...he’s making me hot, damn it.
“Are you serious?” I fake a yawn. “I’m not talking about your member. I’m referring to guys being charming and attentive and—”
“Who have you been dating, Ms. Solis?” He frowns and then chuckles. “I’ll use this weekend to set a new standard for your dating pool. After this, you’ll be looking for real men—not stupid twenty-something-year-old boys who have no idea how to treat a woman right.”
“We’ve already gone from fake dating to real dating?”
“Nah, I don’t do serious relationships,” he reminds me.
“Casual, platonic, and just to keep your family off your case,” I remind him. “That’s our deal.”
“We could take it a step further,” he proposes. “You and I both know you’re looking for more during this trip. What is it you told your friends in the lounge? ‘I’m here to have fun and all the sex I haven’t had since Jordan.’”
“Were you spying on me?” I shriek.
“Babe, you weren’t exactly quiet.” He flashes a playful, sexy smirk. “Are you always so vocal?”
My cheeks heat up at the thought of having sex with him. Thankfully, I spot my friends walking toward us.
“Finally, I thought we’d be stuck on that plane forever,” Madeline says, walking toward us. “You, lucky bitch. Next time, I’m getting the first-class ticket.”
“Maybe on our next vacation,” I say, as a way to lead into my change of plans while Miller fetches the bags.
“We’re planning the next one already?” Courtney’s eyes shine, but her shoulders slump immediately. “I can’t afford another trip. Not until next year.”
“Miller here is paying for a trip to wherever we want,” I say.
I recount to them the plan Miller and I have agreed on for the weekend. They don’t interrupt until the end when Madeline says, “You can’t lie for shit.”
“I told you,” I give Miller an apologetic look. “You are on your own, Mr. Archer.”
“You don’t have to lie. Just follow my lead. I promise to pay for this vacation too,” he says, adding more incentives to the table.
“You can do it,” Courtney assures me. “It’s just a couple of days and a free vacation. What could go wrong?”
Seven
Claire
When I agreed to this plan, he promised to switch all of us to the hotel where the wedding is taking place. Unfortunately, the hotel was fully booked. We ended up dropping Courtney and Madeline off and then heading to his final destination.
“Sorry, sir, there are no suites available,” the concierge apologizes. “However, your room is ready.”
“This isn’t what we agreed to,” I say.
Miller clears his throat and says, “Ready or not, here she comes.”
I don’t have time to ask what he’s talking about as I hear someone calling him out.
“Milo, sweetheart, you’ve finally arrived,” a middle-aged woman with light brown hair and green eyes calls after him. Right next to her is a tall blonde who might be around my age, maybe younger.
His sister?
“Mom,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me toward him.
His mother stops right in front of us, taking me in from head to toe.
“Mom, meet Claire,” he introduces me, kissing my temple.
“Hi, Milo,” the young woman greets him with a sexy voice while batting her eyelashes.
Definitely not his sister—at least I hope to God she’s not.
“You remember Stacey?” his mother asks.
“Of course,” he says absently and turns to look at me. “Claire, meet my mother and Stacey, one of my sister’s friends.”
Message received, she’s one of the three women expecting to score a date with Miller Archer.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand toward his mom. “Between you and me, I can’t wait to try your famous BBQ ribs. Every time we go out to dinner or he cooks for me, he talks about them. ‘No one makes them like my mom,’ he says.”
His mom smiles, and her eyes crinkle as if I just gave her the best news in the entire world.
“I’m Crystal Archer,” she says, enveloping me into a big hug. “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Claire. Miller’s said so much about you. We have to invite you to dinner soon.”
“Just tell me when and I’ll be there, Mrs. Archer.”
“Please, call me Crystal.”
“We have reservations for tonight,” she tells Miller. “Make sure to meet us here by seven.”
“See you, Mom,” he says, ignoring Stacey. “Come on, Claire Bear, you need to rest for a couple of hours.”
“Are you okay, dear?” she asks, worry apparent in her voice.
“The food on the plane didn’t agree with her,” he says, casually taking the card keys from the front desk.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like me to call the doctor, sweetheart?”
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine after a nap,” I respond tentatively.
The salty air is a big change from the freezing cold of Denver. For the first time in months, if not years, I don’t care about the humidity transforming my hair into a frizzy mess. It’s not a big deal if I have an ocean view, tacos, and margaritas right by my side.
So what if I have to spend a couple of days pretending that I’m dating Ryan Reynold’s doppelgänger while enduring his hypnotizing charm?
Thankfully, the spell breaks when I realize we have only one king-size bed.
“Didn’t you request two queens?” I ask when we enter the hotel room.
So, I sound a little bratty, but that’s the only way I can mask the lust that arises just from imagining what we could do in that bed…or around the room.
Keep those thoughts away, Solis!
He’s your boss.
He’s your boss.
“You heard the man,” he says, setting the bags in the closet and opening the balcony doors. “They were booked solid.”
“Well then, you’re taking the couch,” I say when I look at the king-size bed.
He gives me an amused glance. “I don’t fit on the couch.”
“You said this was a suite.”
He glares at me as he speaks over the phone. “Yes, It’s Miller Archer from room 1225. We booked a suite.”
He looks around and then at the bed. “Yes, I realize the room has a balcony and a view. This isn’t a suite. More points on my account?” He sighs. “That’s not enough.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and thanks the guy on the phone.
“What happened?”
“As they said, they don’t have any other rooms available,” he laments, looking at the bed. “It’s big enough to fit the two of us though.”
“You promised me a separate room.” I use my firmest voice.
“We’ll ask for extra pillows and put a barrier between us,” he suggests.
“I’m serious, Miller. If we’re keeping this room, you’re sleeping on the floor.”
“We can share the king-size bed,” he insists. “You’re just a little tiny thing.”
“A little thing?” I squint my eyes at him. “Five foot four is considered average height for women. And you’re only a foot taller than me.”
“Only a foot?”
I point my finger and say, “Do not derail the conversation with dirty innuendo.”
He raises his hands, as if he’s surrendering, and shrugs his shoulders. “I wouldn’t dare. Why don’t you do me a favor? Put that finger down and let’s talk about this.”
“You’re already out of favors, Miller Archer,” I warn him, taking a step back. “And keep your tall, manly body away from me.”
“Because I’m hot.”
“No, because I like to have my own space,” I say. “Why did I let you talk me into doing this?”
“Because deep down you’re a nice person.”
“Hey, I am a nice person.”
“Yeah, sure, with everyone but me.”
“Treat others the way you want to be treated, Mr. Archer. I’m not going to be friends with the emperor of doom.”
He eyes my luggage and asks, “Any chance you brought a couple of dresses that would work for the rehearsal dinner and wedding?”
I laugh hysterically. “You’re precious, Archer.”
“That’s a no,” he says matter-of-factly. “There are a few boutiques downtown.”
He grabs his phone and starts tapping the screen madly. “A Christian Dior, Prada, and some other stores. We should go and get you some outfits.”
“Before you fulfill your Pretty Woman fantasy,” I say, going to my luggage and unpacking my swimming suit and wrap. “I’m going to take a shower and get ready to enjoy my vacation. I plan on celebrating my birthday with a nice suntan.”
“Wait, it’s your birthday?”
“Yes, Tuesday is my birthday.”
“Aren’t you going back to work on Monday?”
“Nope, I’m staying until Thursday. See you in the lobby at seven,” I say with a snarky tone and close the bathroom door.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Relax and have fun,” I say from the other side of the door as I turn on the shower and get undressed. “Focus on the palm trees, Coronas, and the sound of the ocean hitting the shore.”
Eight
Miller
Palm trees, Coronas, and the ocean she said. I can only focus on her barely covered curves lying next to me. Was that body always under those baggy clothes she wears? Toned legs, wide hips, slim waist, and a perfect chest. I bet I could fit those perky boobs in the palm of my hand.
“Would you like something to eat, sir?” A waiter approaches us.
A cold shower. The heat is making me want to run my hands over Claire’s soft skin. Trace her curves with my lips.
I turn casually to ask her if she wants something when I realize she’s rubbing sunscreen on top of her well-endowed chest. If only I could pull the thin fabric down to see her nipples.
“Sir?” the guy asks again.
“Clarice?” I ask with disdain, feigning repulsion.
“I’m all good, Hannibal,” she answers and hands me the sunscreen. “Would you mind rubbing some on my back? I promise to return the favor.”
How am I supposed to spend the night with her without acting upon my fantasies?
I squeeze a generous amount and begin rubbing it into her back, diverting my thoughts to work in order to avoid getting harder than I already am. But the thought of work takes me back to Claire. This magnificent creature who, in just a few hours, has increasingly been getting under my skin—and I want her under me before the night ends.
“We need to go shopping for your dresses.”
“I’ll make it work with what I brought. I can’t afford to buy a fancy dress,” she says.
“Believable, remember? We have to pretend you came ready for the big day and not that I convinced you to do me a favor.”
“Tuscany convinced me, not you,” she clarifies, taking the sunscreen away from me and squeezing some into her hand.
“Turn around,” she orders with a sultry voice. “It’s your turn, Mr. Archer.”
I give her my back and moan as she caresses me with her soft hands.
“Huh, I didn’t picture you as a guy with tattoos.”
“No, you pictured me old, wrinkly, with too many moles, like the emperor in Star Wars.” I laugh.
“No, I didn’t picture you at all, Miller Archer.”
“The dresses,” I say with a gruff voice while counting backward from a hundred to one.
Stay down, boy. But my dick is having trouble obeying. We’re both salivating at the thought of those soft hands wrapped around it.
She works for you.
She works for you.
“Do it for Tuscany, Claire Bear.”
“You have a real thing for Julia Roberts,” Claire says.
“There you are, Milo.” I hear my sister’s voice before I spot her.
“That’s Lola,” I mumble, watching my little sister approaching us.
“Have you ever told them you hate your nickname?”
“Nope, and let’s keep it that way,” I plead.
“You know my brother Thomas hates being called Tom, and he lets us know when we do. I still call him Tom-Tom to taunt him.” She gives me a mischievous smile.
Poor Tom-Tom. Little sisters can be annoying, and I can see Claire using the nickname more often than her brother would care for.
“Mom said you’d be in your room,” she says, giving me a big hug and then turning to Claire. “Hi, I’m Lola.”
“Claire,” she introduces herself. She stands up and hugs my sister. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“You too,” she says, returning Claire’s hug. “I wish he’d introduced us before. This is such a surprise.”
“What’s up, Lola?”
“I just wanted to introduce myself before dinner. It’s going to be…busy.”
“Who else is coming?”
“Dad’s family,” she says, and with that, I’m already expecting the worst. “Are you going to be okay?”
“As long as I don’t have to act like a bouncer, it’s all good.”
