Cocky Fiance(2)

By: T.L. Smith & Melissa Jane


He sent me an invitation!

To his wedding!

Is he mad?

Roman was my first love. I’d given the asshole everything. He was my first kiss. My first love. And then, one day after four years of what I thought was a stable relationship—solid enough to be talking white weddings and picket fences—I found him kissing my best friend in our newly renovated kitchen. That best friend just happened to be Rebekah no-moral-compass Johnson.

Tall.

Leggy.

Blonde.

Gigantic boobs.

Everything I wasn’t.

After many tears, fantasized bloodshed... and more tears, I had accepted that you can’t help who you fall in love with, and we had let bygones be bygones. And now the pair were getting hitched.

Fuckers.

Not that I cared... much. The sex was blah. Too self-absorbed in his own pleasure.

“Invitation?” I raised my brows in deliberate shock. “I’m sorry, I never received it. But that’s fine, I don’t need to co—”

“I’ll have Bek send you another.”

... Awesome.

“But you’ve gotta bring your new man,” he said with an almost disbelieving smile.

Why didn’t he believe my lie?

Did he think I’d pine for him forever?

Maybe it had been longer than was necessary. But just to wipe the smug look off his face, I agreed.

“He’d love to come,” I said, wearing my widest smile.

“Well, I guess that’s settled then. Are you still living with your parents?” Roman asked, determined to bring me down a peg or two.

Asshole.

“No... I moved out. Recently.”

As if on cue, my handbag began to noisily vibrate. His annoyed gaze dropped to the interference.

“Sorry,” I said, feigning an apology. “I have to get this. It’s probably my fiancé.”

Damn it! Stop digging your hole even deeper.

Fumbling around the debris in my bag, I retrieved my cell, locked eyes with the unwavering Roman and held the cell to my ear.

“Britta speaking...” I cleared my throat, but it only added to the awkwardness.

There was a pause. “I know it’s you and you know it’s me, so why are you introducing yourself?”

My face flushed and paled at the same time hearing the familiar husky voice that always had me both a little fearful and wet between the legs.

My boss.

I know, cliché.

But there was more to it. Way, way more.

“So... Sorry,” I stumbled, flustered. “I was caught off guard.”

“The delivery wasn’t complete. I’ll need you to contact the supplier before five and confirm the rest is coming.”

Roman raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

“Close of business, Brit,” he enforced.

Roman was now tilting his head to the side, curious over the stiffness of the conversation.

“Okay, babe, I got it,” I said, putting on some flirt.

“Babe?” my boss chimed.

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment and self-loathing. I had no idea how I was going to wiggle out of this one. “Gotta go and make that call. See you tonight,” I continued. And then I said the worst thing that could possibly come out of my mouth. “Love you.”

“What the fu—”

I ended the call before I dug my grave any deeper.

There was one awkward as fuck conversation headed my way.





THE AC CHILLED MY FLUSHED face as I walked into my work office.

“What happened to you?” Sara, the receptionist asked, raising her annoying perfectly arched brow.

“Why?” It sounded more like a bark, giving the poor girl a fright.

“Oh... no reason.” She quickly diverted her eyes and busied herself, refolding the same letters. Sara cleared her throat when I began to walk away. “Your brother is in there. He’s been waiting for you.”

Biting my tongue, I pushed open the door to my office. There, prowling through my paperwork and absently clicking his pen, was my brother.

“Slate,” I greeted, smiling. He turned, also smiling, but that quickly faded when he saw me.

“Britta, what happened to you?”

“Wha— why does...” I closed the door catching sight of my reflection in the mirror which hung on the back. “Jesus!” I gasped. “What happened...” Frantically, my hands smoothed my frizzy and tangled locks and quickly moved to the smear of lipstick. That rotten bastard, Roman, had swooped in for a kiss when I tried to say my polite goodbyes, aiming to plant some on my lips before I turned just in time. Unfortunately, his dirty, still sexy mouth still caught some of me.

“Did you go home last night?” he asked, somewhat amused.

I met his eyes in the mirror. “Yes, of course. Why would you ask that?”

“Other than you actually being dressed properly, it looks like you’ve done a walk of shame, at...” he lengthened his arm from his jacket and looked at his watch, “... oh, ten-fifteen.”