“Well, since I’d like you to be comfortable while at my parents’ house, Evelyn should eat whatever Ivy likes to eat.”
She releases a breath, hand over her chest. “Thank goodness, because I was sure about to cry if I had to portray a vegetarian and miss out on scrumptious turkey or ham during Christmas dinner.” She looks down as she scribbles something on the folder, then blinks up at me again. “Your family does have Christmas dinner, right?”
I lean back in my chair, trying to ignore how cute her eyes look when blazed with curiosity. “Yes, of course they do. A rather large feast, in fact. Turkey, ham, and side dishes galore. What’s next?”
She gnaws on her lower lip. “How does she dress? Conservative? Or does she don jeans and T-shirts?”
“What do you prefer to wear? I mean, other than pantsuits and the amazing outfit you wore last night?” My mantra smacks me in the head.Careful with the compliments.
“Oh, you thought my outfit was amazing?”
Among other things. “Why yes. I mean, professionally speaking, it was rather perfect for our business meal.”
The subtle hint of excitement slowly vanishes from her face. “Yes, of course.” She shifts in her seat to sit up taller. “Well, I prefer both conservative and casual, depending on the circumstances. Holly gave me a wardrobe per diem to buy some outfits to match your fiancée’s personality. Speaking of which, can you describe her personality?”
“Ms. Bloom,Evelynshould have your personality. I quite like it.”
“Borderline spitfire?”
“Absolutely.”
We both take part in a mirthful, ha-ha. Then she sets the folder atop my desk.
“There is just one more thing we’ll need to work out before moving on.”
I lean forward, hands on the table, fingertips forming a steeple. “Okay, please enlighten me.”
“My Fake Fiancé Dot Com supplied me with their Rules of Engagement, which are pretty black and white. But, I think it’s best if we adopt our own set of rules.”
“Ah,” I dip my head down, then up. “I see. What sort of rules?”
Her blue eyes, sharp and resolute, settle on mine. “Ones that will keep us grounded, so to speak. Rules that will keep us from…”
“Falling?” I close her sentence with my assumption. “Believe me, Ms. Bloom, I am in no position to allow this arrangement to morph into anything more than that. I’ve got an empire to run and have little time to squeeze in a relationship or a simple fling, for that matter.”
“Wonderful. Shall we go on with the creation of our own set of hard rules?”
I wave my hand. “Proceed.”
She retrieves a sheet of paper from the file folder and reads off of a list she seems to have previously compiled. “No kissing, no touching, no sleeping in the same room, no—”
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bloom. You and I will be pretending to be an engaged, seemingly happy, couple. How are we to pull off regular stuff—like holding hands, an embrace here or there, or whatever it is couples in love do—without touching? Now, the no-kissing along with the sleeping arrangements? I one-hundred percent agree with all of that.”
Ivy sits back in the chair, the sound of her shoe tapping the front of my desk like a constant sonic boom to the room’s silent atmosphere. “Fine. We may partake in the occasional holding of hands, but no kissing—”
“On the lips,” I interject.
“I’m sorry?”
“We won’t be convincing enough if we don’t at least plant a few kisses on each other’s cheeks. Besides, are you not an actress? Play your part. Even if that means smooching with the costar. I mean, you did say this job will help you hone your skills, right?”
More shoe tapping commences. “Okay. Kissing on the cheek permitted. Now, are there any particular rules you’d like to add?”
I sit, swiveling back and forth, the chair slightly squeaking beneath me. Mr. Stuffy comes to mind and I’d give anything to never hear her refer to me as stuffy again. I swallow the hard lump of shame willing to be set free. “I don’t have any rules to add; however, I do have a favor to ask.”
A flicker of uncertainty canvases over her features. “Sure, what is it?”
“I need help with my own wardrobe. You called me stuffy the other day and—”
