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Did the woman who tumbled into my arms at the airport have to be a morning bird?
I know. I know most of the world wakes up before lunch. I know I’m a human oddity.
Still, I can’t play the doting fiancé if I leave Elle to fend for herself on her first day in the office. Nor can I apologize to my aunt for dragging her into this fuss, though I hope she’ll at least like Elle and be willing to work with her.
So here I am.
Slouched in the back seat of the car with my face buried in a bracing cup of hot gunpowder green tea, just inhaling the scent like it’ll loan me the superpowers I’m lacking.
I watch Elle come flitting out into the grey morning light like she’ll bring the sun with her through the Seattle gloom.
She’s vivid enough in a yellow sweater and a knee-length pleated grey skirt with black kitten heels and black knit stockings. Smart, professional, but with her bright flourish in a rainbow-patterned scarf looped around her neck and matching colored clips peppered throughout her hair until it looks like a sunflower field dotted with butterflies.
Have I mentioned how much I hate how this girl makes me go poetic?
She waves at Miss Jacqueline over her shoulder as she strolls, then catches my eye through the car window with a knowing smile before she disappears.
Rick opens the back door for Elle, and she tumbles in—then stops short, blinking at me as she settles on the seat next to me, holding a paper cup of something steaming hot.
“Whoa,” she says, eyes wide. “You look, uh. Not happy. Or awake.”
“Not a morning person,” I grunt into my cup. “Can only fake it for so long.”
“What time do you normally wake up?”
“Noon,” I mumble emphatically.
Elle just giggles when she realizes I mean it.
She reaches out to flick my hair off my brow, brushing aside the one unruly strand that never stays in place, defying every hair product known to science.
It tingles where she touches me.
Hell, it feels familiar.
We’re acting, you jackass dolt. Keep it straight, I remind myself.
“You’re so freaking adorable,” she says brightly—and as Rick slides into the front seat after shutting us in, I catch a muffled snicker that tempts me to hire a new assistant-slash-driver. “If you’re not a morning person, why are you up so early?”
I stare at her sourly over my cup.
She blinks and grins again before she slouches over, bumping her shoulder against mine. “You’re too good to me, fiancé.”
“Give me a number,” I grind out.
“Come again?” She blinks at me.
“How much more do I have to pay you not to be so damned peppy?”
Her smile widens. “How much are you worth again? There’s not enough money in the world, my darling.”
“Try me.”
Elle laughs again.
I don’t want to admit that the verbal jousting somewhat lifts my mood.
I wonder why the grouchier I am, the more pleased she gets.
