The unspoken and I wouldn’t have signed lands heavy between us.
“I’m not going to lie about where we met,” she says firmly. “I’ll let them believe we’ve been dating, but I won’t lie about me or my life. We met at the coffee shop, and if that embarrasses you, then tough. shit.”
Despite myself, my lips twitch. She’s angry and absolutely unyielding—and damn if it isn’t hot. A woman standing her ground, refusing to let me bulldoze her, refusing to shrink. I should be pissed. Instead, I can’t stop noticing the fire in her eyes. And she’s right. She has nothing to be ashamed of. So why the hell should I be?
“You have a point,” I concede, trying to sound cool even as my pulse is hammering. “We need to stick to the truth as much as possible, otherwise it’ll get too complicated.”
Her eyes go wide, incredulous. “That’s what you got out of that?”
“No, it’s just?—”
“Forget it,” she cuts me off. “Here’s what we tell them—we met at the coffee shop. Three months ago, you saw that I was sad and asked if I was okay. I told you my cat was sick, and you asked if I needed to talk. So, we met after I got off work—on one of my days off from the hospital. I told you how scared I was that my cat wouldn’t make it, and you were supportive. You asked me out again, and the rest is history.”
If my brothers won’t buy that I’d ask my barista out, they definitely won’t buy me noticing she was sad. But the kicker? She’s not making this up. The thing is, I did notice she was off a few months ago. But I never asked about it. I was too damn self-absorbed to do for her what she once did for me.
I really am an asshole.
“Yeah,” I say, though it comes out distracted, like I’m scrambling to justify why I never asked if she was okay back then. “That works.”
Her eyes narrow. “Does it really?”
I hesitate, then force myself to sound blasé, “My mom and sister will buy it. If my brothers don’t, that’s their problem.” Then, because asking about cats is safer than admitting I’m a coward... “Do you have a cat?”
Her jaw ticks. “Of course I have a cat.”
“And was she really sick?”
“Yes. She nearly died, but she’s back to her same grumpy, hell-raising ways.” We’re quiet for nearly a minute. I keep trying to figure out where this all went wrong, when she asks, her voice less brittle and challenging, “Do you have any pets?”
I bark out a laugh. “I can barely take care of myself, let alone keep another living creature alive.”
The silence between us charges the air, prickling my skin. And I know it’s my fault, and it only makes me more anxious. If she can’t fake liking me, my family will see right through us.
Practicality kicks in.
“Look, I know we signed a contract,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral, reasonable, “but if you want out, I’ll get you the first flight out, but it will have to be tomorrow. I overheard the airport manager tell someone else the flights for tonight are full.”
Her chin lifts. “No,” she says firmly. “We made a deal, and I want to see Hollybrook.” Then her voice softens. “I’ll do my best to pretend I’m into you.”
The words are meant to reassure me, but instead they cut my ego like a knife. I can’t remember the last time I was into a woman who didn’t like me back. Middle school? Maybe this is what I deserve, a kick to my ego. But the sting is sharp—and stupid, because I shouldn’t be into her at all.
For several minutes, the only sound is the steady beat of the windshield wipers, brushing away the lightly falling snow. I feel shitty. How did we start off so great and arrive at her probably wanting to leave within fifteen minutes?
You’re what happened. You acted like an asshole.
I have to fix this, but I’m not sure how.
I glance over at her, and she’s looking out the windows now, but the tension of her face has softened. She’s not glaring at the glass like it wronged her. Her mouth is parted, and her eyes are round with awe.
This is why she’s here. She’s not doing this as a favor to me. She hardly knows me. Sure, I could tell myself that she’s here because I’m generously reimbursing the salary she’s losing by being here, but her expression right now is why she’s really here, and I’m ruining it for her.
My anger bleeds out of me, and something else settles in: responsibility. We have a contract. And while I might be feeling attracted to her, acting on it would be crossing the line. The boundary’s there for a reason, and I need to respect it. And her.
The thing is, I do respect her. I respect the hell out of her. As shitty as her life sounds, she’s one of the most positive, upbeat people I know. Why should it matter where she works?
“Can we start over?” I ask hesitantly.
She stiffens, then lets out a grudging, “Sure.”
