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I chose a different elevator from Chris, who hadn’t so much as glanced back my way since getting out of his car. A few people crowded in with me, all carrying something from lattes to briefcases.
Running was an option, wasn’t it? After all, I’d run all the way from Texas to New York practically overnight. Who said I couldn’t run just one more time? Just one last indecent escape?
But the thought tasted sour in my mouth. Yes, I was probably about to head into a face-first dose of embarrassment and awkwardness of the highest order. Wasn’t this exactly the kind of opportunity I needed, though? Wasn’t it a chance to grow a spine, walk through the door, and not give two shits about anything except getting the job done?
Brave thoughts, Belle.
My hands didn’t feel brave while they clenched so tight that my fingernails dug into my palms. My knees didn’t feel brave when they were threatening to turn to jelly at a moment’s notice. I guess it was like they said: bravery was only possible in the presence of fear. I wondered if the heaps of fear I felt curling my insides qualified me to be the world’s bravest woman.
The elevator door opened to Mr. Rose’s floor, and I stepped out. Despite the overwhelming urge to step right back into that elevator and run again, I didn’t.
I put my big girl panties on—except, thanks to Chris Rose, that was a purely figurative expression in this case—and I headed for the meeting.4ChrisDamon sat across from me at the conference table. He was twirling a pen while he studied something on his phone with a stern expression. Stern was a good word for my brother. Grumpy was another nice fit. Even though he was only a couple years my senior, Damon had always been the serious one. He had the same messy hair as me, even if his was closer to black than my dirty blond. The difference was that he tamed his every morning, just like he made sure his wardrobe was up-to-date, pressed, and perfect.
I guessed that was how we differed. Damon was in the business of taming wild things. I preferred to let them run free. Life was more fun that way.
My brother wasn’t a perfectionist, he just secretly enjoyed intimidating people. It was why every poor employee in this building thought he was Lucifer incarnate. Of course, I knew the real Damon, so I wasn’t scared.
Damon set his phone down with a click on the table and steepled his fingers, glaring toward me. “Are you ready for this?”
“Which part? The part where I have to keep my cock sheathed for several months or the part where I have to put up with some failed influencer following me around like a puppy and pretending to be my fiancée?”
“Both.”
I leaned back and threaded my hands behind my head. “I’ll survive.” I waited in silence for a short while as my brother went back to typing something on his phone. When the door opened, I was expecting to meet “Mindy,” the woman we hired to play the part of my fiancée. I didn’t even bother to turn and look at her. The truth was I still didn’t know much about her, except that she wanted to be some sort of online personality—the kind that does videos of themselves giving money to homeless people and acts like they’re doing it out of the goodness of their heart. Other than the few hundred thousand dollars we promised, Damon said her “platform” was why she agreed to this. Tangling herself with me would be good for her brand, or so she believed.
I did a double take when I saw the woman who set her bag down across from me. She smoothed her dress—the one with the pockets—and sat. She glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
Holy shit. What was Belle doing here?
Then it clicked. Wedding planner. She was a fucking wedding planner. And she was flying to New York because she had a meeting with me. To plan my fake wedding. But Damon had made it clear that nobody except me, Damon, and Mindy could know that the engagement was bullshit. From the moment Mindy walked into this room, I was supposed to play the loving fiancé.
This was going to get interesting.
“Hello,” I said.
Belle met my eyes but couldn’t seem to keep looking at me. She focused on some papers she was pulling from her bag, then spent a few seconds dropping the stack against the table to straighten the edges.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I wondered if she was still commando. I knew I probably was still wearing some of her arousal on my cock, and the thought immediately made me hard. I wasn’t technically fake engaged yet…
I slid my foot out of my shoe and did an exploratory prod under the table. My big toe led the charge, seeking out flesh. My brother’s fake jerked up suddenly. He bulged his eyes at me like I’d just started pissing in the flowerpot.
