“Something about . . .”
“I said we have a very short timeline in which to achieve our aims.”
“Yeah, three months.” I remember that tidbit from before. “Also, not my aims. Yours.” My stomach flips. This has got to be the craziest idea in the history of crazy ideas. And worse, I said yes to it.
“Well?” he demands.
“Yes, Oliver. I’ll move into your hotel. But just so we’re straight, only because you’re holding the threat of deportation like a cartoon anvil of calamity over my head.”
Sticking with the analogy, I’m Wile E. Coyote, wedged in a canyon where Mitch and Oliver are my rock and my hard place.
“Not just into the hotel, but my suite.”
“What?” This time, my stomach swoops ... not unpleasantly. “No.” I shake my head.No way.
“It’s a large suite. There’s space for us both, and if it helps, the bedrooms are at opposite ends.”
Another tummy swoop at the mention of beds. I glance out the window, afraid my face might betray me, because what in the fish cakes is wrong with me? Have I developed some kind of manipulation kink?
“You know, only assholes make their driver stand out in the rain.”
“He has an umbrella,” Oliver retorts tersely, barely sparing a glance for his driver. “He’s there because you didn’t want to go somewhere else to discuss this, while insisting on privacy.”
“I didn’t think you’d make him stand out in the rain!” Why am I surprised? I need to remember this is who Oliver is.
“The sooner we have this discussion—”
“Fine!” I snap. “I’ll move into the hotel but not your suite.” But he’s already frowning. “It’s not like anyone will find out.”
“That’s not a chance I’m willing to take. For the next three months, we need to look like a couple madly in love.”
“No one’s going to believe that. Not after I was about to marry someone else—they’ll say you’re my rebound.”
“Then you’ll just have to convince them otherwise.”
“Me? Why do I have to convince them?”
“Because you’re the one with the resistance.”
“I’m not having sex with you.” The words seem to burst from nowhere.
“Sex isn’t crucial to our agreement.”Way to pour a bucket of cold water over my irresistibility.“The person you most need to convince won’t be aware of your recent troubles. I very much doubt he reads the gutter press. The story, as far as he’s concerned, is we’re in love, living together, and looking for a more permanent home than a hotel. Ours is a whirlwind romance.”
“You put thedindelusionalif you think anyone will buy that.”
Better he putsdin delusional than thedanywhere near me.
“I have every confidence in your abilities.”
I don’t know why, when life just keeps taking chunks out of my ass. But there are fifty thousand reasons to keep me here. Bella will have her surgery. The oldies who are likely never to be adopted will have meds for their arthritis, plus a little more comfort. There might even be money for the traumatized puppers like Mouse to access behavioral therapy.
Your scruples versus the animals.
Your care for and of them.
Stay or go, Eve. Help the animals or go back to Connecticut.
Blackmail is his slap, and that fifty thousand the caress of his velvet glove.
