Miss Belief: A Fake Relationship Romance (The Miss Series Book 3)
Miss Belief: Chapter 3

Typically, Reid’s post-breakup lunch consisted of a double cheeseburger, side of fries, and a large Coca-Cola. Every single day.

Which is why today I instead got him a chicken Caesar salad and a bottle of water.

That was the meal the old Reid had eaten for lunch—I knew because I’d researched every detail of his life during my borderline stalking of him over the last year. And since I was about to officially stage an intervention, I was going full in. Starting with the damn salad.

I was still angry about the information Fred had given me this morning. What in the hell had Reid been thinking to be drunk at work? Worse, to be drunk at work as a director of security in a country with strict penalties against public drunkenness. It was beyond stupid. He could lose his clearance and his job. I might be tolerant of heartbroken, mopey, and even dickish Reid. But stupid Reid? Nope.

I’d reached my limit. I wouldn’t sit back and watch him piss away his career on a cheating ex-fiancée who had never deserved him to begin with.

As I raised my free hand to knock on his door, a lump the size of a golf ball formed in my throat. Although I often spoke my mind, I certainly didn’t go out of my way to make someone feel bad. But my intentions didn’t always line up with my behavior. Sigh. Let’s hope this time could be different.

When he answered my knock with a “come in,” I entered with lunch in hand. Reid glanced up from his computer, pausing a moment in his phone conversation to focus his deep blue eyes on me.

My stomach clenched with his attention.

Here at Delmont Security, he was responsible for commercial security. This consisted of designing security systems for high-end hotels and businesses. Since he’d been out of the billable role for the last year while filling in for the HR director, he was starting fresh with a number of new business pitches. From the sound of his conversation, he was finishing up a successful sales call now.

My eyes were drawn to the cityscape of Dubai, visible from his office window. I remember being in awe when I’d first arrived. The grandeur in the desert was a sight to see with all of the incredibly tall buildings and wealth on display.

Shifting my gaze, I focused on the corner of Reid’s desk where a giant, framed picture of his fiancée used to sit.

I wondered what he’d done with the photo. Was it in his desk drawer for him to pine over every time he opened it? Broken into little pieces from throwing it against the wall, or had he simply tossed it in the bin for someone to wonder what had inspired such an action? There was no guessing between the many possible outcomes if it had been me. Option two for the win.

He hung up the phone before glancing at the contents of his lunch tray. Sitting back in his chair, he appeared mildly amused. “I suppose getting me a salad instead of a burger is tied to your earlier statement today about removing my head from my ass.”

“Yup. It’s step one for ass removal.”

There was a hint of a smile around his lips when I took a seat across from his desk in the visitor’s chair.

“And what, pray tell, has brought this newfound interest in where my head is located?”

Blunt but tactful, Teagan. You can do this.

“I know you’re going through a breakup, and I care about you—” More than he would ever know.

He leaned forward, forearms on his desk, scowl firmly in place. “Cut the feeling-sorry-for-me crap and spit it out, Teagan.”

My temper spiked. “Fine, first your reaction right there is that of a jerk. I don’t feel sorry for you. I know you’re dealing with a breakup and coping the best way you can, but you can’t keep acting the way you have. I’m trying to be fucking delicate here.”

A chuckle broke from his lips. “Fucking delicate like a Mack truck.”

I cracked a smile. “Yeah, well…”

He let out a long sigh before running a hand over his face. “I realize I’ve been off lately.”

“You were drunk last night. In the office.”

His eyes went wide while his face took on an unmistakable blush. “Why would you say that?”

“Fred in Tech Support said you forgot your password, and when you couldn’t follow instructions over the phone, he came up here to your office. He could smell the alcohol on you, Reid. And he came by this morning to talk to me because he doesn’t want it to be someone else next time, someone who might go to HR instead.”

“Terrific,” he muttered.

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on his desk. “You’re going through a rough time. I get it. And I thought seeing you mopey was bad, but seeing you cold and indifferent is worse.”

“I realize I haven’t been easy to work for these last few weeks.”

“Dirty-sock-and-Mento-smelling Andy in Accounting was more fun.”

“Jesus. I was striving for comfortably numb.”

“You overshot into near asshole territory. And self-medicating with alcohol could cost you your career.”

I didn’t miss the way his face blanched.

“You’re right. It could. I need to replace Fred and apologize.”

“You can if you want. Either way, I don’t believe he’ll say anything. But the heavy drinking needs to stop. I know you’re my boss, but you’re also my friend.” Or at least friendly. “I had my first hangover in forever this morning, so I can’t imagine how miserable it would be to come into the office with one on a daily basis.”

He cocked his head to the side, flashing me his killer boyish grin, reminiscent of the Reid of the past. “Why were you drunk on a random Sunday night?”

“I blame Sex in the Driveway.”

What was great about Reid was the way he always took my crazy in stride. As if it amused him to hear what might come out of my mouth. It had been awhile since he’d engaged in conversation with me.

“Mm, I may need more details, if I’m allowed to ask.”

“The drink’s name is Sex in the Driveway, it’s like Sex on the Beach, but with vodka, peach schnapps, and blue curacao instead of the cranberry juice. I call it sweet, but deadly. Anyhow two pitchers of cocktails during Chloe’s last night here, and I had a wicked hangover.”

“Chloe went back to LA?”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear it. I know you guys were close.”

This. This was the guy I missed. “There he is.”

He didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t aware of what I was talking about. “I’m sorry. I understand how it feels to lose your best friend. Hell, Aiden would be kicking my ass if he were here.”

“Apology accepted. And I’m sorry for what you’ve been going through.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He picked up a card from his desk. “Any chance you can fast-forward through this wedding I have to go to in two weeks where I’ll see the ex?”

“I’m fresh out of that particular superpower. But, wait, I thought the wedding wasn’t until this summer. Or is it a different one?”

What could I say? I was nosey and had learned of the impending “see-the-ex wedding” through Chloe.

“It’s a different wedding between my college friend and Vanessa’s cousin that was originally scheduled for next year. They had to move it up because of a surprise pregnancy. Now it’s a beach wedding at a resort in Turks and Caicos under the guise of suddenly desiring a destination venue instead. But lucky me, I’ll have another wedding to go to in June where I’ll see the ex too.” He paused before expelling a frustrated breath. “So give it to me straight—how will it go?”

“Well, if your intention is to go to the wedding and look as though you’ve been absolutely miserable and clearly aren’t over your ex, then mission accomplished.”

His jaw locked. “And if that’s not what I want?”

“You need to stop drinking. Stop moping. Get your mind off of her and at least appear to have moved on. We can come up with a plan.”

His brow quirked. “We?”

“I thought I’d offer my assistance, but if I’m being too oversteppy, then I’ll back off.”

“It might be nice to have someone who keeps me from being a mopey almost asshole. Aside from ditching the cheeseburgers, what else needs to be part of my plan to at least appear I’m over my ex?”

“Get some sleep, go to the gym, and get a haircut.”

He ran his hands over his silky locks making me wish my hands were touching him instead. Maybe I should re-evaluate my suggestion for him to get a haircut. He was adorable as it was.

“So what you’re telling me is I’ve turned into an overweight, shaggy, sleepy alcoholic.”

“Self-deprecation will not solve the issue. You simply need to start taking better care of yourself. You’re—” Incredibly hot, too adorable for words, battery-operated-friend worthy. “You’re still a nice-looking guy.”

He let out a deep chuckle. “Don’t worry. Just because I’m holding on to your compliment like the last crumb of my self-esteem doesn’t mean I’m weird about it.”

We both grinned at his humor.

“Glad to hear it.”

His grin faded, and he heaved a heavy sigh. “This wedding is a disaster waiting to happen. Everyone there will be hoping we’ll reconcile.”

As much as it pained me to ask, I had to know. “Do you want to get back together?”

“No.”

He didn’t elaborate, but his resolute answer was a relief. Nevertheless, I absolutely hated the idea of him attending a wedding alone with everyone plotting to get him and his ex back together.

“Maybe you should take another woman with you as your date for the weekend.” I tamped down on my jealousy as I made the suggestion.

“Yeah, like who?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe someone you previously dated? It would certainly send a message if you brought an ex-girlfriend to a destination wedding.”

“I’ve never had another girlfriend.”

My eyes went wide. “Never?” Reid was thirty-two years old, about to turn thirty-three on September tenth—because yeah, I’d been obsessed with him long enough to have learned that sort of detail. But I certainly hadn’t thought his fiancée was the only woman he’d ever dated.

His face flushed. “I dated other people, you know, in between the breakups, but it wasn’t ever serious with anyone else. Definitely not anyone I could call up out of the blue and invite to a destination wedding two weeks away.”

In between the breakups. The words bounced in my brain. How many times had he and his fiancée broken up and gotten back together? Sounded as if it was their pattern. No wonder people might believe they’d reconcile yet again.

“Any chance you can skip the wedding altogether?”

“I’m a groomsman, and frankly speaking, pride won’t let me bow out, so no. But your suggestion of taking a date could work if…” His face lit up with whatever idea he had.

“If what?”

His expression lit up. “If you’ll go with me.”