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She twirls the pen between her fingers. “Did Margaret have any leads?”
“Not really.”
“We can’t keep this up forever.” She taps the pen on one of the lists. “I want to see this plan through. And I can’t do that if I’m following you around the city.”
Dammit, we’re not planning our return trip yet and she’s already fighting for excuses to stay here. I can feel the success of our fake engagement hanging in the balance. I can’t make it work if she’s up here, and I’m in New York City. I need her with me.
“You’re doing more than following me,” I point out. Although bringing sex into this conversation probably isn’t a good idea, I add, “There are some naked perks to the arrangement.”
“Even the promise of daily orgasms isn’t a reason to keep this”—she waves her hand in the air over the table—“going forever. Not when I have a chance to focus on turning my dream for that old barn into a reality.”
“You have my full support for Kayla’s Home for Dogs in Need of a Queen-Size Bed.”
“Thank you.” She smiles at me, but the look in her brown eyes screams You still don’t get it. “But I can’t make this happen while I’m pretending to be your fiancée.”
Then stop pretending.
Kayla belongs with me. As friends, as lovers, as husband and wife—hell, I don’t know. I just know that when this blackmail mess ends, I don’t want her to slip away back to the country.
“Is it really so bad?” I ask. “Pretending?”
“Only when it starts to feel real,” she says softly. “Breaking the rules is fun, but …”
“You want to stick to the one about the end date?”
“I think …” Her voice trails off as if she’s not sure how to put her thoughts into words. “What will it say about me if I let myself fade into your shadow?”
“I won’t let you,” I say firmly.
“I know it won’t be the same. You’ll give me free reign to wear crazy cat sweaters to galas if I want. Still, you have to admit that you cast a pretty big shadow. You’re Gavin Black, renowned software engineer and freaking model. I’m a divorcee who plans to spend the rest of my life surrounded by rescue dogs and cats. I would trade all the parties and fancy dresses for the chance to give an old, lonely dog his own room with a giant king-size bed and plenty of space to run.”
“I don’t want you to disappear into my shadow.” This conversation has shifted off course. I still haven’t asked her about Mr. Mistake.
“There’s a chance that I might need to hide in yours, though,” I continue. “If Alexandra convinces a real journalist, not some morning show host looking for salacious gossip, but a reporter hell bent on discovering the past I buried all those years ago, I might need you to take me in too. For some reason, Alexandra—or whoever the hell she is—she’s like a dog with a bone.” The three K-9s resting on their dog beds turn their heads and look at me at the mention of the b-word. “I have a feeling she’s not in this for the money. Or if she is, she doesn’t want my money.”
“You think someone’s paying her to humiliate you?”
“Maybe.” I meet her gaze across the table lined with plans for her dream project. “I hate to ask you this, but did you ever tell Jason about me?”
“No,” she says quickly, her eyes widening.
“You were in love with him,” I point out.
“Yes, but you were always my best friend.”
“I know, Kayla. But if you did tell him, after a bottle of wine one night, or by accident, there’s a chance he’s using it for revenge.”
“I never said a word.” She sets down her pen and holds out her hand. I place mine in hers.
“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” she adds.
“Okay.” I give her hand a squeeze and then pull mine free. “I’m sorry I had to ask.”
Kayla picks up her pen and returns to her lists. “Trying to justify hitting Mr. Mistake in public?”
“Oh, I had a reason.” I fold my arms in front of my chest and lean back in the chair. “Just not one that Margaret accepts as justified for causing a scene in public. She wasn’t buying the connection to Alexandra either. She had her PI look into him. It’s another dead end.”
“You’re scared.” It’s not an accusation. She’s simply stating a fact.
