Dirty Favor (The Dirty Suburbs Book 4) Read online

  I blush hard. “Me and Prescott? We’re just friends…Not even friends, really…”

  “Shush,” Sanaya says as she stands and straightens her blazer. “This isn’t the third grade. You don’t need to keep your crush a secret.”

  I open my mouth to defend myself but then a deep, smooth voice calls out from behind me. “What crush and what secret?”

  I spin around to find Prescott approaching. Oh, and does my heart speed up! “Hi!” I say all high-pitched and squeaky as heat courses across my skin. How much of that conversation did he just hear?

  “Hey Boss.” Sanaya sounds casual as she steps up next to me and throws an arm around my shoulder. She scrolls through her phone with her other hand. “Your wifey and I have successfully selected furniture for your living room, dining room and both bathrooms, as well as a dressing table and matching nightstands for the bedroom. Didn’t pick out the bed. You said you wanted to do that yourself?”

  Prescott nods. “Yes, Annaleigh and I will choose the bed together.” He turns and gives me a subtle smile. The muscles at the apex of my thighs tighten up at the idea of Prescott and ‘bed’ and ‘together’.

  Sanaya gives my shoulders a tight squeeze. “Okay, then. I guess my work here is done,” she says as she buttons up her blazer and drapes a scarf around her neck. “Gotta get back to the office. Bailiff’s coming by this afternoon to collect those cease and desist letters in the Anderson file.”

  “Of course,” Prescott says to Sanaya, but his eyes are on me, surveying me in a way that thrills the fuck out of me. When Sanaya is gone, Prescott slips a hand to my lower back and leads me toward the mattress section. I feel tingles dancing in my spine and I have to focus really hard to keep my weak knees from letting out on me. Prescott releases me abruptly, walking over to a king-sized memory-foam bed displayed on the showroom floor. “What do you think about this one?” he asks, his eyes smiling at me.

  I immediately get an image of him in that bed, hovering over me as I lie breathless beneath him on the Egyptian cotton linen. I run my tongue across my dry lips to swipe the inappropriate thought away. “Uh, what do I think?”

  He gives me that fucking heart-stopping lopsided smile of his. “Yes. What do you think?”

  “It’s nice…I guess.” I put my palm on the mattress and press down, more to add credence to my words than to test out the sturdiness of the mattress. It’s his bed. I guess I’m just a bit surprised that he’s asking my opinion.

  “Come on,” he says, extending a hand to me as he pushes the mountain of pillows asides and climbs beneath the comforter.

  “What are you doing?” I say with a nervous laugh as I glance around the store for the employee who will inevitably come over and scold us for tampering with the display.

  He pulls back one corner of the blanket and pats the space next to him. It’s an invitation. “Get in, Annaleigh. We have to test out the bed where we’ll be having all that hot fake-sex.” He bounces a little. “Gotta get something sturdy in case you turn out to be a wild one.” He winks irreverently.

  Embarrassment scorches my cheeks and I feel butterflies flapping madly in my stomach. My mouth opens and closes wordlessly.

  He laughs, his chin tipping up ever so slightly. The sound is confident, hearty and smooth. It resonates all the way to my panties. He may think it's funny, joking about our non-existant, never-gonna-happen sex life but the tremble in my pussy at the thought of being fucked by Prescott is very real.

  “You’re too fucking cute, Annaleigh,” he says as he tosses and turns a bit, still evaluating the firmness of the mattress. “Get in here. Don’t make me come get you.”

  I roll my eyes despite the smile on my face as I climb into the bed next to Prescott. I feel like my heart is going to beat its way right out of my chest. But he’s as cool as a cucumber.

  “Nice, huh?” he says rolling around a little bit more.

  I laugh and roll around, too. “Very nice.”

  Prescott is still smiling when he lies on his side and props his chin on his wrist, looking down into my face.

  “What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

  His eyes sparkle under the harsh fluorescent lights of the furniture store. “You look happy. That’s all.”

  “Oh,” I say, once again feeling the flutter of butterflies in my belly.

  Prescott randomly pulls out his phone and snaps a shot of me.

  “Whoa! What are you doing?” I ask, bolting upright in the bed.

  He smirks. “Taking a picture of you.”

  “Why?” I ask, pulling the covers instinctively over my chest. I suddenly feel completely exposed.

  He furrows his brows at me. “For our house,” he says. “We have to have some candid shots for our mantle.”

  “This whole charade is turning out to be a lot of work, huh?” I say flopping back onto the mattress.

  He laughs. “Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had in forever.”

  I lift an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. “Yeah, right.”

  He holds up his phone again and takes another shot before I have the chance to block my face. “I’m a lawyer, Annaleigh. I litigate all day. This is the first time in a long time that I’ve been able to laugh and enjoy myself while still technically on the clock…When I’m at the office, I look forward to hanging out with you.”

  What a sweet-talker!

  Prescott sits me up, pulling my head against his shoulder and aiming the camera straight at my face. “Say ‘selfie’!” He holds the phone up at an angle and the sound of the shutter fills the air. I giggle helplessly, trying to break free of his near chokehold.

  When he’s satisfied that he has all the photos he needs, he slips his phone back into his pocket and pulls out a small, square jewelry box. He flips it open and a beautiful diamond sits on a white gold band in the velvety folds of the box. “Fuck Prescott…” My fingers graze my lips as I stare, stunned, at the ring.

  He takes it out of the box and sits there awkwardly, looking at it. “I don’t know – am I supposed to get down on one knee and make a whole big speech?” He looks genuinely unsure of how to proceed.

  I laugh. “Give that thing to me!” I take it from his hand and slip it onto my finger. It fits perfectly. “It’s so gorgeous!”

  “It’s a loaner,” he says as I hold it up and watch it glint under the harsh store lights. “The law firm is ‘renting’ it from the jeweler until after the gala.”

  I glance at him. “So, I’ll enjoy every loaned minute of it.”

  He laughs. He’s quiet for a while, then he says, “The dinner with Marquette is in two days. Wear the ring.”

  I nod feeling a knot in the middle of my stomach. “Of course.” I’d almost forgotten that this all has a purpose – all the touches, the gifts, the time spent together. It’s all meant to convince Marquette that Prescott is the best lawyer for him and his business. I suddenly feel disappointment rise into my chest and tears sting the backs of my eyes.

  And it’s almost like Prescott instinctively feels the change in me. "Hey." He grabs my wrist lightly and when he releases his hold, his thumb lingers, stroking small circles along my palm. As much as I want to, I can't ignore the reaction between my thighs…and in my heart. "I'm looking forward to this, Leigh."

  And just like that, the stubborn flame of hope roars back to life inside of me.

  Maybe…Just maybe…

  I hear someone clear their throat from the foot of the bed.

  Ah, crap! I peer over Prescott’s shoulder and meet the apathetic eyes of a listless sales associate.

  “Sir, ma’am. Please step away from the bed. It’s set up for display purposes only.” She continues to drone on monotonously as Prescott and I climb out of the bed. I make a pathetic attempt to straighten out the sheets before I follow Prescott, head hung, to the front of the store.

  “Newly engaged,” Prescott explains with a sheepish smile. “Can’t keep our hands off of each other.” The salesgirl really doesn�
�t seem to care. “My fiancée and I are just gonna go finalize our purchases,” he tells her, waving his wallet around in the air. She gives an uninterested nod as she pulls her cellphone out of her pocket and returns to her own little world without giving us a second glance.

  Chapter 9

  I set the duck cacciatore down in the middle of the dining table, beaming as though I’m the one who actually made the thing. Prescott leans back in his chair and smiles encouragingly at me. I almost want to laugh. He’s the one who labored away all afternoon, trying to figure out the recipe he found on the Food Network website.

  Mr. Marquette talks business with Prescott as his wife prepares his plate. He pauses his conversation to take his first bite. Prescott and I exchange glances and I hold my breath.

  The man chews slowly, taking his time to savor the dish. He closes his eyes and groans low. “My goodness,” he mumbles. “That’s one hell of a cacciatore.”

  I exhale with relief and Prescott tosses me a wink.

  Gemma takes a taste. “So, you said it’s a secret family recipe?” she asks expectantly, hoping that I’ll spill the beans.

  I shrug apologetically. “Sorry, Aunt Elaine would kill me if I shared her secret ingredient.” The truth is, I have no idea what Prescott did to make this duck taste so damn good.

  “That’s a shame.” Disappointment skirts her tone as she dives in for a second scoop.

  Prescott leans toward her, cupping his hand over his mouth and speaking in a whisper. “Two bay leaves and a handful of cloves.”

  I giggle as I slap his shoulder playfully. “Prescott!” He looks at me, shamefaced.

  That’s when Gemma’s eyes fall on my ring. She coos as she grabs my hand. "Oh Annaleigh, you got your ring back from the jeweler's," she gushes, holding my hand up to the light pouring out of the light fixture above the table.

  “Yes, I did. Glad to finally get to show it off.” The thing is freaking beautiful. It glimmers under the light. The engagement may be fake but this diamond is the real deal. There’s no denying that.

  We’re three bottles of wine deep when Gemma turns to me. "So, do tell. How did you two meet?" Her eyes widen with excitement.

  I look to Prescott for help. He doesn’t miss a beat. He grabs my hand and presses his lips to my fingers. Heat swirls through my body, all the way down to my pumps. “Honey Bee and I met when we were kids. She’s my sister’s best friend.”

  Gemma looks like she will swoon right this minute. “You were childhood sweethearts?” she sighs.

  I shrug slightly. “Not really.”

  Prescott leans in. “Let’s just say that it took us a while to realize that we’re good together.”

  Gemma is eating this story up and Marquette looks pleased to see his wife having such a good time. She rests her head on her husband’s shoulder and exhales whimsically. “That’s so romantic.”

  Prescott isn’t done laying it on thick, though. He squeezes my hand. “I’m so grateful for the day I walked into my sister’s living room and found my Lemon Drop dancing for the cat. That’s the day I realized that the most amazing woman I know was right in front of me all along.”

  Marquette chuckles heartily. “That sounds like an interesting story. I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

  “Oh god. Please don’t tell that story,” I cover my blushing cheeks with my hands.

  Gemma swats me on the shoulder. “Okay, now I have to hear the story!” she laughs.

  Prescott leans back in his chair, grinning smugly. “My sister Evangeline has this sick, old, grumpy cat named Tickles, ironically. Anyway, she was out of town and asked my Cuddle Bear to go over and give Tickles his medication. So, Love Dumpling is at my sister’s place, giving the cat his pills and watering the plants and having the time of her life, twerking to an old school rap song.”

  Mr. Marquette lifts an eyebrow. “Twerking?” The old man holds both hands out in front of him and starts juddering in his seat while humming a Miley Cyrus tune. The entire table shakes as his protruding stomach thumps against the table and the silverware clatters loudly.

  Oh god…

  “Honey, stop that!” Gemma says grabbing him by the wrist and forcing back a laugh. She turns toward the table apologetically. “He learned that from his twelve-year-old granddaughter.”

  Prescott looks amused. Now, he’s twerking in his seat, too.

  What is happening?!

  I can’t help it. I’m laughing so hard my insides hurt. Tears pour down Gemma’s face as she cackles. I’m shocked by how much fun this is, by the fact that I’m actually having a good time, enjoying these people’s company. Maybe this evening wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “Go back to your story,” Gemma tells Prescott as she wipes her eyes with a napkin.

  “Okay, okay,” he takes a breath, trying to rein in his laughter. “So, I walk into the room and she’s twerking her heart out, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m standing there, watching her.”

  Marquette furrows his forehead and interrupts the story. “What were you doing at your sister’s house if she was out of town?”

  “This is the good part…” I say under my breath.

  Marquette gives me a curious glance before turning his eyes to Prescott.

  “Okay...” Prescott says giving me a pointed look. “I’ll admit it. I was bunking at my sister’s house because the night before, my girlfriend at the time had kicked me out of our place and changed the locks.”

  Gemma cringes visibly. Marquette’s eyebrows hike up.

  But Prescott just reaches over and holds my hand. His eyes sparkle at me. And for some reason, it doesn't feel like just an act meant to convince Marquette of our never-ending love.

  It feels intimate. Personal. Real.

  Especially when he kisses me on the temple and says, “I’m grateful that my ex dumped me like a flaming sack of shit. If she hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here, madly in love with the prettiest girl in town.”

  Chapter 10

  Three hours later, our guests have left and Prescott and I have cleaned up the kitchen. I wipe down the dining table as I watch him put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. It’s been an enjoyable evening spent in the company of good-humored people, but it’s over now and it’s time for me to step back into reality again.

  “I’m gonna get going.” I hang the dishtowel on the hook by the stove and smooth my palms down the front of my pencil skirt.

  Prescott pivots toward me, his big hands gripping my shoulders. “Wait, Leigh!”

  My breathing hitches at the sudden contact and the longing shining in his eyes. It seems that the abruptness of his reaction has taken him by surprise, too.

  He releases me and steps back. “Stay.” His voice is low and heavy. His eyes are hooded.

  My insides feel active and edgy. I imagine him touching me in the way I’ve been fantasizing about over the past few weeks – scratch that – the last few years.

  He cracks a wide smile and the pulsing lust in the room instantly dissipates. “Stay and watch a movie with me.” And now I feel silly for thinking that he wanted something more intimate from me tonight. I remind myself that, in his eyes, this is all just a business transaction. Nothing more to it.

  I try to match his smile despite the tsunami of disappointment crashing in the pit of my stomach. “Netflix and chill?”

  He nods with a crooked grin. “Netflix and chill.”

  I make my way into the living room with a bottle of red wine and two glasses while Prescott rummages through the cabinets for snacks. I sink into the couch and take in my surroundings. I feel a slight pitter-patter in my chest as I glance around at the framed photos of Prescott and me lining the walls and decorating the mantle. He’s done such a convincing job of making it seem like I really am a part of his life. Hell – he’s convinced me even though I’m on the inside of this big farce.

  Within minutes, he places a bowl of popcorn on my lap and flicks on the electric fireplace. He sinks int
o the seat next to me before pulling a throw blanket over my shoulders.

  He logs on to Netflix and gets comfortable as the movie’s opening score fills the room. I turn my eyes to the screen and try to focus on the opening credits but all I can think of is how close he is and how good he smells. All the facts he shared with the Marquettes about us tonight were true. He did walk in on me twerking for the cat. He did get kicked out by his former girlfriend…But then, he said that he was wildly in love with me. And I really wish that part were true, too.

  But, it isn’t. Obviously.