Fake Dating the Unsuspecting Heiress Page 2

  “Morning, Tina.” He gave her a wink, just like he did every morning, and just like every other day, Tina let out a high-pitched giggle befitting a tween girl. She primped her dyed-red hair as he passed, not bothering to hide the leer as she sized him up.

  He was still grinning when he reached his desk. There were some things he’d miss about this place when he opened his own security firm, and Tina was one of them.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Sheriff Rodman’s deep voice bellowed through the nearly empty room.

  The sheriff was not one of those things Cole would miss. In fact, Lucius Rodman was one of the main reasons he couldn’t wait to get out of this office. He loved to serve and protect, but not when it meant working for this egomaniacal, brown-nosing, weasely old—

  “Parker,” the sheriff shouted. He didn’t even glance at Colton as he passed his desk, expecting him to follow at that bark of a command like a puppy.

  Cole met his friend Trent’s eyes across the narrow aisle. Trent was always the first one in the door and one of the last to leave. His smirk was mocking. “Better get going, loser. Don’t want to make the old man wait.”

  Colton let out a huff of laughter. ‘Loser’ was a term of endearment, in a weird sort of way. He and Trent had been in the same high school class, and while they’d been the worst of enemies back in the day, they’d become good friends over the past few years since they’d been working together.

  Colton made a show of leaning back in his chair and kicking up his feet. “Let him wait,” he said with an arrogant sniff that made his buddy laugh.

  “Parker.” His name snapped like a whip from the sheriff’s office.

  Colton sighed.

  “Get going, man,” Trent said. “And when you get back you’d better tell me how your assignment went.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Trent had just as much at stake in him nailing this gig as he did. After all, if that rich girl’s daddy paid what he’d promised, Cole would have his share to open their firm by the end of the month.

  Their pipe dream would actually stand a chance of becoming a reality, and about two years ahead of schedule.

  He held onto that thought as he headed into the sheriff’s private office for what was sure to be another lecture. Sure enough…

  “Parker, who was on patrol last night in the Redhook district?” he snapped before Colton had a chance to close the door.

  He held back a sigh. Of course, this would be about another complaint from Redhook. Technically it was part of the unincorporated town, but everyone knew it was a world unto itself. Redhook encapsulated all the second homes and ski lodges that lined the way up to the world-class ski resort.

  Thanks to the resort, Cyrano had become something of a hotspot with a certain wealthy crowd. During winter, the town had more than its share of celebrities and elite. During the summer, however, the ski town went back to being the sleepy little rural enclave it had always been. Only the townies remained.

  And one particularly shy heiress.

  He pushed aside thoughts of his latest assignment and focused on the sheriff’s tirade. The sheriff had been elected into this position around the same time Colton had returned from the military and enlisted as a deputy.

  It had been hate at first sight for them both. Colton wasn’t sure what he’d done to annoy the brash older man, but Rodman had greeted him with a sneer on his first day, and that had been that.

  For his part, Colton had zero respect for the sheriff. An unfortunate thing to say about one’s superior, but true nonetheless.

  “The Gradys said there weren’t enough patrol cars. I thought I told you to make sure we doubled the number of rounds we were making up there.”

  “I did.” He kept his voice even, as he regarded the sheriff with a heavy-lidded stare. He refused to justify himself or explain for the millionth time that the Gradys were in bed by nine, everyone knew that. How would they even know if the patrol cars were making the rounds in the middle of the night?

  Not to mention, the Gradys had always been the squeaky wheels on the mountain. One of very few families who stayed in Redhook year-round, they were the epitome of entitled elitists who seemed to think that the sheriff’s department was their own personal security detail.

  Worst part was, the sheriff seemed to share this belief. Since it was the big-money residents who contributed to his election campaign, he seemed to think he owed them special treatment, even though they made up the minority of this town even during peak season.

  The Gradys and the others up in the Redhook area were always complaining about needing more eyes on their properties even though there had never in the history of Cyrano been a single instance of burglary in that area.

  But that was just logic talking, and logic rarely appeased these people.

  Of course, people like the Gradys were bound to be Colton’s bread and butter soon enough so he supposed he ought to get used to it.

  But then it would be different. Once he and Trent opened their private security firm, they’d be in charge of picking their clients, and he wouldn’t have some bloated, lazy jerk like Rodman breathing down his neck all day long.

  “I’m on it,” he said when it seemed like Rodman had finally run out of steam.

  He’d already ensured that there were more than enough deputies patrolling the area at all hours of night, but he wasn’t about to argue the point.

  It was his word against one of the rich folks on the hill. There was no point in wasting his breath.

  Rodman wiped at his red face as he dismissed Colton with a mutter he couldn’t quite make out. Probably for the best.

  “What was that about?” Trent asked without turning around. “The Gradys again?”

  “Yup.” He sank back into his seat and rummaged through his bottom drawer for a clean uniform shirt, still wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaner’s. His pants were hanging in his locker, and he was now officially running late thanks to Rodman’s lecture and his botched run-in with the new client.

  Well, maybe not botched. But it hadn’t gone as planned, either.

  He sat up and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. He’d picked up some overtime shifts last night and was paying for it this morning. Maybe that was why he’d been off his game. That had to have been it because there was no other way to explain how he’d managed to fail what should have been an easy encounter.

  Not that he was super cocky or anything, but he’d expected the girl to be a little easier to pin down than that. Girls always gave him their number. But this one?

  She’d looked at him like he was some ax murderer before fleeing into the post office.

  He shook his head, a grudging smile tugging at his lips at the memory.

  “So?” Trent asked. “How’d it go with the girl?”

  Colton leaned back, the shirt forgotten in his lap as he thought about how best to answer. He owed Trent the truth since his future was on the line just as much as his. “It was…interesting.”

  Trent frowned. A former high school quarterback, he still had the dirty-blond All-American good looks that had made him a shoo-in for Homecoming King and Prom King. He still had the easy grin and laidback charm that had half the women in this town crushing on Cyrano’s favorite good guy.

  The other half? They had a crush on Colton.

  “Maybe you should be the one for this job,” he said suddenly.

  “Me?” Trent arched his brows. “You’re the one her dad reached out to.”

  “Yeah, but only because his goons found my ad for private security.” He thought back to the way she’d frozen at his touch, to the way she’d looked so spooked when he’d tried to flirt. “I think you might be a better fit for this one.”

  She’d seemed…scared. Maybe bad boys just weren’t her thing.

  Trent was eyeing him like he’d never seen him before. “You love doing undercover stuff.” He smirked. “And you love girls. I thought this would be right up your alley.”

  Colton
scowled down at the plastic wrap his fingers were mindlessly shredding. “Yeah, I did too.”

  “But?” Trent prompted, his tone laced with anxiety that seemed out of character with his easy nature. Not many people knew that beneath the muscle-head facade, Trent was a pretty serious guy. Reliable, and trustworthy…he had a good head for business, too, which was one of many reasons Colton was glad to have him as a partner. Colton knew everything there was to know about keeping people safe, but he wouldn’t know a spreadsheet from a hole in the ground.

  But it didn’t take a math whiz to know that they needed the huge sum Reginald had promised. And it wasn’t like Alexander Reginald wasn’t good for it. Everyone in the world knew the name Reginald, and they knew what it meant.

  Money, and lots of it.

  Colton’s fingers tapped mindlessly on his keyboard as he logged in to his computer to check his inbox.

  “If you think you can’t handle it, then say the word, man.” Trent was eyeing him closely. “We can’t afford to lose this client.”

  He hadn’t meant to worry his friend. It wasn’t like this was some difficult assignment. He just had to get close to the girl so he could keep an eye on her without her knowing. Seemed the spoiled little rich girl needed a bodyguard but was being a brat about it so a little subterfuge was in order.

  His fingers stopped their tapping and he froze with one hand over the keyboard. Guilt was unexpected and unwanted. He’d assumed she was a spoiled brat, but the girl he’d met today…? He gave his head a shake. He hadn’t gotten the spoiled, entitled vibe, though she’d been standoffish, for sure. But why?

  He felt a cynical smile tugging at his lips. Maybe she’d taken one whiff and smelled blue collar all over him.

  “Colton?” Trent prompted.

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t handle it,” Colton said. “I was just thinking this chick might like you better.”

  Trent let out a sharp laugh as he held a hand over his chest. “Are my ears deceiving me? Did the great Colton Parker just admit out loud that the ladies like me more?”

  Colton smirked. “Never.”

  This was an ongoing rivalry that dated back to sophomore year of high school when Cindy Lewis had dumped Trent to go out with Colton. With the exception of Cindy, they tended to attract very different kinds of women. The girls who went after Trent were looking for Prince Charming—someone safe and reliable who’d bring them roses and make them feel like a princess.

  The women who fell for Colton? They were looking for fun. A night out with the town’s bad boy, a good story to tell their gal pals or a quick jolt of ego-boosting confidence. He had a certain reputation in town that may or may not have been warranted, and even the tourists seemed to pick up on it.

  Trent was Prince Charming, and he was the bad boy. That was the way it always had been and always would be. The deputy’s badge had only made Colton more appealing to a certain crowd. He was the safe bad boy—just dangerous enough for a good time, but not so scary that they feared being alone with him.

  “You said ‘but,’” Trent reminded him. “What were you going to say after ‘but?’”

  Colton let out an exasperated sigh. See? Worrywart. Try telling that to all the ladies who thought Trent was too cool for school. Underneath the smiling Ken-doll image, he fussed more than Colton’s grandmother.

  Colton forced a lazy grin to put his friend at ease. “But nothing, pretty boy. I’ll handle it.”

  “You sure?” Trent leaned forward. “I can take over if you want.”

  “Nah, I got this.”

  His inbox showed up on the screen as Trent turned back to his work, seemingly appeased. There it was, in the midst of a ton of spam. Subject: My Daughter.

  Colton sighed as he clicked on it. His daughter. His precious, beloved, spoiled brat of a daughter.

  Even as he thought it, another pang of guilt gave him pause. She really hadn’t seemed like a spoiled brat when he’d talked to her. Not that she’d done much talking back. Even so, he considered himself a pretty good judge of character, and what he’d seen in Addison hadn’t been a spoiled princess.

  More like a basket case. An awkward, clumsy, insanely shy basket case.

  He bit back a groan.

  Even worse.

  Decades of dealing with the ski bunnies who came through town in their Range Rovers and designer clothes had made him a pro at dealing with pretty women with too much time on their hands and more money than they knew what to do with.

  But a shy, sheltered princess who wore frumpy clothes and who spoke in a whisper?

  This would require a new game plan.

  He let out a long exhale as he read the billionaire tycoon’s terse message requesting daily updates.

  Daily? Seriously? Whatever, for the amount this guy was paying, he’d check in hourly if need be. He hit ‘reply’ but then stopped. He didn’t have much to say. He kept it just as brief as Reginald had. He’d made contact, he had eyes on her at all times—all of which was true. Some of his buddies had agreed to help him keep tabs while he was at his day job. Trent would help once he got off duty, of course, and every free second he had, Colton planned to be at her side.

  He hit send and leaned back in his seat.

  It was time to regroup. Re-strategize. He glanced over at Trent who was frowning at his screen as he hunted and pecked his way through a report.

  It was time to take a cue from Trent and play the Mr. Nice Guy card.

  He could do that.

  Right?

  Yeah, he could totally do that.

  Without glancing away from his screen, Trent called over to him. “Dude, if you don’t go take a shower soon I’m gonna douse you with Febreeze.”

  Colton let out a snort of amusement as he got to his feet and headed to the locker room. He could totally figure out a way to get close to this chick without scaring her away. He’d take a different tact and try to be her friend.

  He knew how to be friends with a woman.

  Right?

  He paused when he hit the locker room and did a mental tally of how many female friends he had—not including his sister, of course.

  None came to mind. He was more of a love ’em and leave ’em kind than a ‘let’s stay friends’ sort. But it couldn’t be all that difficult.

  Trent made friends with women all the time. Heck, Trent was even best buds with his ex-girlfriends. If he could do it, so could Colton.

  He felt a little more certain of this assignment as he headed into the shower.

  Friends. He could totally do this.

  3

  “Colton Parker,” Vanessa said over the phone.

  “Correct,” Addison said.

  It was the third time Vanessa had repeated the name, and Addison wasn’t sure what to make of her tone. She sounded…stunned.

  Funny, because that was Addison’s response too after her run-in earlier that day. She could understand someone being stunned by Colton, but not Vanessa. Not only had Vanessa not been in close proximity to the hottie, but she also wasn’t the type to get flustered by guys.

  Vanessa was alarmingly self-confident when it came to guys. Addison would have been happy with a quarter of that sort of ease around men.

  “Colton Parker,” Vanessa said again.

  “Yes. Colton Parker.” Addison toyed with the edge of her cardigan as she waited for more. Anything, really. “Do you know him?”

  “Do I know him?” Vanessa said.

  Addison sighed. “Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

  “Sorry,” Vanessa said quickly. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just…Colton Parker?”

  Addison groaned. “You are killing me here, Vanessa.”

  “It’s just—”

  “I swear, if you say his name one more time,” she started.

  Vanessa laughed. “I’m in shock, that’s all. I can’t believe he hit on you.”

  Addison frowned, grateful that they hadn’t chosen to have a videocall. She’d been shocked that a guy lik
e him would hit on a woman like her too, but she hadn’t expected her friend to actually admit that it was ludicrous aloud.

  “Don’t take it like that!” Vanessa shouted.

  Addison wrapped her arms around herself. “Like what?”

  “Like…that.” Vanessa huffed. “I know you, Addie. You are totally taking that the wrong way. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “I meant, I couldn’t believe it because Colton Parker is a notorious player. He hits on women, yes, but the only time he asks for their number is if…well…”

  Addison held her breath as she waited for her friend to continue.

  “Let’s just say, he tends to go for the low-hanging fruit.”

  Addison blinked at the phone. “What does that mean?”

  She could practically see her friend’s shrug even from three-thousand miles away. “Just that…you’re not really his type.”

  She nodded even though her friend couldn’t see her. Of course she wasn’t his type. Anyone with eyes could have seen that. He probably dated supermodels or yoga instructors or—

  “You’re way too good for him.”

  Addison snorted. “Uh huh.”

  “No, I mean it. I was a couple years behind him in school, but that guy was bad news. Probably still is.”

  “You’re basing your judgement of this guy on how he acted in high school? That hardly seems fair.”

  Vanessa laughed. “I’ve seen him since he’s back in Cyrano, Addie. I promise you, he hasn’t changed much. He might not be skipping classes or sneaking into the girls’ locker room, but he’s still a player and everyone knows it.”

  “Oh.” Addison nodded. Some logical part of her brain felt a little more at ease for having an explanation for that bizarre run-in. If a guy was notorious for asking girls out, then it stood to reason that he’d asked her out solely based on the fact that she was female and under the age of seventy. That was understandable.

  She ignored the disappointment, squelching it like a bug under her shoe. What? Had she really thought she was special? That somehow he’d seen past the ugly sweater and the no-makeup plain face, and messy hair, and the shy demeanor and was blown away by the woman underneath?