Holiday Hoax (Windy City Holidates #3)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

IAN

Sweat rolls down my temples as I round the corner of my building and approach the private entrance for my penthouse. I added an extra few miles onto my run this morning to try to burn through all my restless energy from last night. Even with the wind coming off the lake and the chilly temperatures, I still managed to drench myself.

Unfortunately, that restlessness continues to linger even as my muscles ache and my lungs work in overdrive. I lift the bottom of my shirt to wipe the sweat off my brow as I step onto my elevator. The doors close, giving me a distorted image of myself in the reflection.

It’s an apt metaphor for how I’m feeling about my life at the moment. Just like I can clearly see my form, I know what I want. But much like the detail of my face and body, how to achieve my goals is unclear. What exactly am I striving for beyond being installed as CEO for my own family’s company?

I shake my head as I step off the elevator and into my foyer. The sound of Marta puttering around in the kitchen gives me an excuse to shove my worries to the back of my mind. She’s putting together some kind of casserole that will go in the freezer for me. I had never had anything like it the first time she made one for me. My mother always employed private chefs who made elaborate meals for us. She’d probably lose her mind at the thought of me sitting down eating a casserole.

Which honestly just makes it taste better.

“Good morning,” I tell her as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“You stink,” she says with her thick accent as she points a wooden spoon in my direction. “Too much exercise. You should be relaxing on the weekend.”

“Exercise relaxes me.” I lean my hip against the counter and watch her. “What are you making?”

“There’s no name. I just throw stuff together and, poof, magically tastes good.”

I chuckle. “I can’t wait.”

“What are you doing today? Going into work?” Judgement coats her question.

“I’m not actually. I might do a little work from home this afternoon, but I have a dinner tonight to get ready for.”

Her eyes snap up to mine with a hopeful shine. “A date?”

“More of a business dinner, but I will be taking a woman with me.”

“Who is she? How did you meet? What does she do?” She peppers me with the questions in rapid fire.

“Her name is Mia, and she’s my brother-in-law’s younger sister.”

“How much younger?” She hits me with her patented side eye.

“She’s twenty-six.” I smile when Marta’s brows raise. “I know, but she’s very down to earth.”

“And her job?”

“She works at an art gallery. But it’s not a real date. She’s agreed to accompany me to various events for a few months. Just to give the impression that we’re dating.”

“Why you lie?”

“It’s not a lie. A few of the board members feel like I need to show stability outside of my work ethic. Getting a girlfriend is the easiest way to do it.”

“Why not date for real? Find a nice woman and settle down, so I can stop cooking for you.”

“I don’t for a second believe you’ll ever stop cooking for me. And no one interests me.” Except for Mia, which could become a problem if I’m not careful. “And I don’t want to be set up with women that Mom finds.”

Marta snorts in agreement and has apparently squeezed all the information from me that she needs. “Go, you stink up my kitchen.” She shoos me out with her hands before covering the dish with aluminum foil.

I grab a few grapes from the bowl on the counter and pop them in my mouth as I walk back to my bedroom. The bed is already made with militaristic attention to detail thanks to Marta. Pulling my shirt over my head as I enter the bathroom, I make sure to toss it into the correct hamper. The rest of my clothes follow while the shower heats up.

As I open the glass door and step inside, steam escapes in tendrils into the air. I sigh with relief as the heat envelopes me and the spray relaxes my muscles. My mind wanders to thoughts of last night as I go through my wash routine.

I hope I wasn’t too overbearing. The tendency to bulldoze over people is ingrained in me. It’s especially prevalent when I want to help someone I care about. That thought hits me with an intensity I wasn’t prepared for.

I do care for Mia, though. More than I probably should. Every moment I spend around her deepens that feeling.

The thought of her selling feet pics, or worse, just to scrape by every month is killing me. I wonder if I should go to the HOA and pay her fees for the next few years. If I didn’t think she’d hate me for it, I would.

The fact of the matter is that I respect the hell out of her for helping her parents. But not to the point where she’s suffering, especially when I know how easy it would be for Nico and Stella to step in. I get her worries about involving them while Stella is going through her health battles, but living off peanut butter and ramen—yes, I snooped in her cabinets—isn’t sustainable.

I wonder if she’d hate me for ordering groceries for her? Probably. There’s got to be a way I could convince her to let me help her though.

She seemed to acquiesce when I mentioned paying for incidentals. I could make up some story about needing to always have certain foods available and then start spending more time at her apartment. Or I could find ways to get her over here. Marta always makes more than enough for me. At least I’d know she was eating regularly that way.

How to get her here is the question, though. There’s really no reason for either of us to be in each other’s apartments unless one of us is picking up the other. I glance around the white marble walls of my bathroom as if they’ll have the answer to all my problems.

Then it hits me.

She sells art. I have nothing hanging on my walls. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I could invite her over to help me figure out what my apartment is missing to make it feel homier. A bonus is that she’ll get the commission from my purchases.

I could solve at least some of her problems temporarily and maybe find a way to convince her to let me do even more.

The decision to use a car service for our first dinner was a tough one. On the weekends I prefer to drive myself if possible, but I thought it might be nice to sit in the back and chat with Mia on the drive to the restaurant. I want to be able to give her my undivided attention if she has any questions.

Another plus is that I can go up to her door to pick her up instead of sitting in the car outside her lobby. I lift my hand to knock on her door just as it swings open. She blinks in surprise and then aims her megawatt smile in my direction.

My jaw goes slack as I look her over. She’s wearing a cream color cashmere turtleneck sweater tucked into a crimson skirt that hits her at mid-calf. Her nude-colored pumps give her a few extra inches in height, but she’s still quite a bit shorter than me. Her hair is pulled back in an artful bun on the back of her head, but sadly I don’t see the lilac strands I’ve come to love.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. Most of this outfit came from your sister as gifts over the years.” She turns and lifts her shoe to show the red bottoms. “There’s no way I could afford a pair of these bad boys on my own.”

“She does have exquisite taste.” I take her jacket and hold it open for her to slide her arms in. “Did you get rid of the purple hair?”

“No.” She turns and buttons her coat up. “I just tucked those pieces under in case you didn’t want them to be out on display.”

“I love them. Please don’t feel the need to be anyone but yourself while you’re with me.”

“Thank you.” She slides her hand inside my elbow after she locks her door. “Knowing that puts me at ease, but I’ll keep my freak flag hidden until I get a better feel for people we’ll be around.”

Despite my best efforts, my mind fixates on the freak flag part of her statement. A desperate curiosity builds inside me as to what exactly her freak is, surely not just her hair. It’s none of my business, though. We’re not going there.

Our driver opens the car door for us as soon as we exit the building. She slides in first, her unique amber and vanilla scent floating in the air behind her. She looks out into the rainy, gray evening as the car takes off into traffic.

“Autumn in Chicago is my favorite time of year,” she says quietly. “The way the leaves turn bright red and brilliant yellow contrasts so beautifully against the gray skies and steel and glass buildings.”

“It is pretty.” I lean over to look out her window and try to see the world through her eyes. “Probably the best time of year to run, at least for me.”

“You run?”

I nod. “About five miles every day. How about you?”

“Only if something is chasing me. Even then, I might weigh my chances in a fight. I’m pretty tough being the youngest of four.”

I chuckle as she gives me a wry grin. “No worries for tonight. As long as you’re with me, I’ll protect you.”

“Or at least give me a piggyback ride.”

“Absolutely.” I straighten back up in my seat and stretch my arm across the backrest. “Do you have any questions about tonight?”

“Not really. Are there any topics you want to avoid?”

“No. As far as any questions about us, I figure we can stick as close to the truth as possible. That we’ve known each other through family connections for a while and have recently begun dating.”

“Perfect. I can do that.”

The lobby is packed as we enter the restaurant. We’re the last of our party to arrive, which is what I had hoped for. To my surprise Mia slips her hand in mine as the host leads us through the front dining room back to the chef’s table in a private room. He takes her coat and my jacket, hanging them on a coat tree in the corner.

“Ian, good to see you.” Marc Jacobi, one of the newer board members, stands and extends his hand.

“Marc.” I shake his hand. “Savannah,” I say as I give his wife a nod of greeting. “This is my girlfriend, Mia Mattia.”

She exchanges greetings with both them and Albert Douglas, another board member. Her experience in sales becomes obvious immediately as she eases them effortlessly into light conversation. I watch in awe as she charms Albert, who is generally considered the toughest nut to crack, into a conversation about football of all things. Apparently, she grew up with one of the Bears players.

She pays polite attention as the conversation swings to business but quietly starts a side conversation with Savannah. Mia makes sure to touch me at appropriate times, her hand squeezing my arm as she laughs at something or letting me take her hand in between courses. I don’t think it’s all in my mind to believe that we’re really pulling this off.

Before dessert is served, I make sure to swing the conversation to Mia’s art gallery and the show I recently went to. I make sure to mention how beautiful the art was and give some of the tidbits I learned from my date about the artist. The date whose name and face I can’t even remember because all I see is Mia.

When I reach out and grab her hand as we stand to leave the restaurant, she looks up at me with a smile. For a second this feels real. An overwhelming desire to pull her close and press a kiss to her lips, to feel them against mine, rushes through me. The cold wind whipping off the lake hits me with a welcome dose of reality, though. The warmth and flirtation at dinner was a ruse; we’re just two friends helping each other out in an unconventional way.

The car ride is quiet on the way back to her apartment. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, more like decompression from the high stakes dinner. I can’t stop myself from sneaking glances her way, though, as she lets her hair down.

Her eyes meet mine in the flashing light of streetlights passing by. “Thank you for bringing up my job at the gallery. I think Savannah might actually stop by next week.”

“Of course. Us doing this isn’t just about me.”

She nods with a soft smile. “Still it was nice of you to bring it up. I think it felt more natural that way.”

“Speaking of art, I did want to ask you if you’d come by my apartment sometime to help me decorate. My space is pretty bland, and it’s about time I add some interest to the walls.”

“Sure.” Her eyes light up. “When are you thinking?”

“When is your next day off?”

“I’m off on Mondays when the gallery is closed.”

“Monday, then?”

“This coming Monday?” She seems surprised.

“If you already have plans, I understand. It can be next week or whenever you’re free.”

“No plans, I’m just surprised at how quickly you want to get started.”

“Once I set my mind to something, I don’t waste time.”

“Focused. I like that.”

The driver stops at the door to her building. I open the door and stand so she can get out onto the sidewalk. She lets me help her out but stops me when I lean into the car to tell the driver I’ll be right back.

“You don’t have to walk me up.”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“If it were a real date, yes.” She smiles teasingly. “It’s not like you’re going to give me a goodnight kiss.”

But looking at her berry-colored lips, it’s all I can think about again. “True,” I concede with a nod as I walk her up to the door. “But at least let me open this for you.”

“I can do that.” She wraps her arm around my waist in a brief hug. “Good night, Ian.”

“Good night, Mia. I had more fun with you than I can remember having with anyone else in a long time.” I return her hug and then pull the door open.

I watch her walk past the security desk and to the bank of elevators. It’s not until the doors slide closed in front of her that I walk away. The drive back to my apartment is spent reminding myself over and over of all the reasons I shouldn’t pursue something real with her. Maybe the repetition will help erase the delusion.