Page 19 of Escorting the CEO
I was about to depart for the safety of my office when the sound of heels echoed down the hallway. “Rhodes? Is that you?” A voice called.
Turns out, youcouldmake a bad day worse.
My stepmother was heading our way.
FAKING IT
RORY
Heels clickeddown the stone corridor, and Rhodes froze next to me. Philips the butler looked as calm as ever, but maybe he was part robot. For my part, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. My body knew that danger was approaching.
A tall, gorgeous woman with auburn hair rounded the corner, and I recognized her from the pictures I’d seen on the internet. It was Miranda Barrington, impeccably and somewhat unreasonably dressed in trousers, a silky button-down shirt, and sky-high heels. She wore minimal makeup, all the better to show off her high cheekbones, unnaturally smooth neck, and fiercely groomed eyebrows.
“Well, well, well,” she said, a bit jaunty, as she reached our little group. “IthoughtI saw a guest arrive. Who’s this?”
Miranda’s penetrating gaze roved over me, head to toe, until it locked onto my ring finger. That diamond was hard to miss! She turned to Rhodes, a flash of anger on her face. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
For a moment, Rhodes looked as though he might laugh. Instead, he coughed. “Miranda, this is my fiancé”—I prayed he didn’t forget my name—“Rory Harris. Rory, this is my stepmother, Miranda Barrington.”
“Mrs. Barrington,” she corrected him. “And you must be joking. There’s no way that you’re engaged. You haven’t been in a relationship since I’ve known you.”
“I can assure that I am, in fact, engaged,” Rhodes challenged her. “And my personal life hasn’t ever been any of your business. But it’s true—I’m getting married. To Rory. So you might as well say hello.”
Miranda scowled, then held out her hand for mine.
I took it, hoping I was allowed to shakeherhand.
“I don’t believe any of this.” Her grip was firm, and she moved closer, all the better to inspect me. “You’re very young. How old are you, Miss Harris?”
“Twenty-two.” My voice wobbled a little, and I cursed myself.
She arched an eyebrow. “Rhodes’s thirty. You’re a child.”
“She’s the same age my mother was when she married my father,” Rhodes asserted. “We’re the same age apart—eight years.”
Miranda’s nostrils flared.
“Where are you from?” she demanded, not taking her gaze from me.
“New York.” I decidedly left out the unfashionably upstate, falling-down-farm part.
I felt exposed as Miranda’s eyes raked over me once again, and I thanked both God and Elena that I was wearing Chanel and had been waxed and primped within an inch of my life.
Rhodes came to the rescue, sliding in beside me and wrapping his big arm around me protectively. “We met in the city a few months ago. For me, it was love at first sight.”
I gaped up at him, then quickly remembered myself: I had a role to play. My experience on the sexy app came rushing back—when I was onscreen, I played a part, giving the audience what they wanted.
I snuggled against Rhodes. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. “It was love at first sight for me, too,” I cooed. “I mean,lookat him. Can you blame me?”
Miranda’s nostrils flared again.
“Well, if you’ll excuse us, Miranda. Philips was just bringing Rory to her room. She’s had a long day,” Rhodes said. “So if that’s all for now?—”
“Hold on. Did you just sayherroom?” Miranda looked between us, eyebrow raising. “Why on earth does she have her own room?”
Panic rose inside me, but I blurted out, “Thank you for saying that! Rhodes issoproper. He was insisting that we have separate rooms until the wedding,”—at the mention of the wedding, Miranda visibly blanched—“but I told him that was silly and old-fashioned. I can’t stay away from him for that long!”
I gazed up at him flirtatiously, laughing a little, while I was dying inside and hoping I wasn’t laying it on too thick.
