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Instead, he’d pissed her off and literally sent her running.
And now he was stuck chasing after her.
He had a feeling this would be a running theme in their relationship—no pun intended. He caught up to her outside the restaurant because she’d stopped and was bent over, resting her palms on her thighs as she took a shuddering breath. “I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t—”
“Shh.”
She jumped as if she was surprised he’d followed her. “Benjamin?”
Apparently, she’d been talking to herself again.
He crouched in front of her and cupped her cheeks, sliding his hands under her soft brown hair. She let
him. Something tender, and almost calming, unfolded in his chest. As if she belonged there, with him, and he was only just realizing it—which was shit. She wasn’t his. Not really.
This was all for pretend.
“Take a deep breath. In. Out.” She did, staring at him the whole time, and that quietness inside him spread even more. “There you go. That’s it. Now, slower this time.” Maggie nodded and took another long inhale. She watched him with wide eyes, lips parted, and the trust in her eyes crashed into his chest, punching the air out of his lungs. “Good. Easy, now.”
When her breathing settled into a more human pattern, mirroring his, she pulled away and swiped her hand across her forehead. He fought the urge to pull her back into his arms, where she belonged, damn it. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m allergic to shellfish. And when it was all there, in front of me, I couldn’t breathe.”
“Oh.” Shit. He was a fucking dumb-ass. He’d been so intent on wooing her with fine wine and fancy meals, and waving his cash around, that he hadn’t even stopped to consider she might not be able to eat what he’d ordered. Then again, he never did. This was just the first woman he cared to get to know better. He wanted to learn more about her—like what not to order if he didn’t want to kill her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t have. I mean, you didn’t ask me, so how could you have?”
Ah, so that was what was bothering her. She didn’t like his take-charge attitude. But that was always how his dates went. He took charge. No one had ever minded, until now. “You wanted to be asked. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Well, yeah.” She blew out a breath, and her hair fluttered. “Of course I did. I’m not some empty-headed bimbo who can’t order for herself what she wants to eat or drink.”
He stared at her, trying to make sense of her actions and words. She was so refreshingly different from the other women he’d dated, who looked to him to do everything, and he liked that about her. Being with her was a partnership. A new kind.
But it also made predicting her actions a lot harder than it should have been. And a hell of a lot more painful when he got it wrong, because he wanted to get it right. Because, damn it, he liked her. A lot. And, stupidly, he wanted her to like him, too.
Like he was back in grade school, or some corny-ass shit like that.
Nodding slowly, he took a deep breath. “Of course you’re not. How stupid of me to treat you the way I did. Can you forgive me?”
She swallowed. “Benjamin…”
“I know,” he said quickly, studying her. She looked a little less pale now. Her red lipstick was as flawlessly applied as before, and she was prettier than a real princess. She fit the part of the socialite so well that he’d forgotten she wasn’t one, and he’d come on too strong. “I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll ask.”
She shook her head. “This…we…you want us to pretend to be in love, but how can we do that if we literally know nothing about each other? What would your mother say if she found out you ordered your fiancée a meal that would kill her?”
Damn it, she had a point. But they could work on that. “So, that’s why you left the restaurant? The lobster? Not because you didn’t want to be my fiancée?”
“No. God, no.” She straightened and gripped her purse tight. “I don’t want to do that, either.”
“Good, because—” He froze, her words finally hitting him. His stomach twisted into a tight, mangled ball, and he shook his head. “Wait, what do you mean? You said you’d go through with it. You promised.”
“That was before. Look, we’re simply not a match. Fake or real, we’d never work. I’ll never be able to sell this.” She gestured between the two of them. “Sure, you’re a good kisser, and you have a great knee, but that wouldn’t be enough to make me love you, let alone marry you, in real life. And anyone who knows me would call me on it.”
“We only need to convince people in my life, really, and—” He cut himself off. She’d said… He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be insulted. “I have a great knee? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she said. “But I don’t like this whole alpha male thing you do. It would drive me insane in less than a week.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. The things this woman said… “What alpha thing do I have going?”
“You take women on dates, and throw your money at them to get them into your bed, and woo them with generic roses. I’m sure it works. I’m sure they all throw themselves at you.” She crossed her arms and stepped back, shaking her head. “But I’m not them, and the waste, and the utter thoughtlessness behind the gestures…it’s all empty. I can’t do it, not even to save my job.”
