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One part of my anatomy is anything but happy about it.
She picks up the check with one hand and taps it on her fingertips. “You’re paying me very well, so...I guess I can’t complain. I’ll pack my stuff.”
“It’s a lot to ask, no matter what the hell I’m paying. Truth be told, my family deeply appreciates this, Paige, and so do I.”
There.
With that out of my mouth, I’m done playing Nice Guy for the night.
She returns a buttery smile. “I just want your grandma to get her dream hotel. It’s not fair the way Winthrope judges you and Nick so harshly either. You guys work as hard as anyone else at Brandt Ideas. Harder, I suppose.” She stands. “That’s why you’re the Warden, keeping everybody else in line.”
I grin. She said “you.”
She mentioned Nick, too, but the compliment was directed at me.
I like that, and I shouldn’t.
But I do.
I wish I could say the same about the Warden crap. Who knew I’d actually miss the juvenile doodles on my morning coffee?
Paige stands and pushes the chair under the table.
“Ward—” Her voice is soft and she doesn’t finish the sentence.
“What?”
“Do you not have a car here?”
I shake my head. “No, Reese drove us here earlier. My ride’s back in Chicago, and even if I might seem like the kind of jagoff who’d collect fifty cars, I’m a practical man.”
She nods. “Oh.”
“What’s wrong?” I cock my head, leveling a glare.
She stares at the floor. “Do you think Reese could just take us to your car?”
From everything Reese has said, they like each other. They’re friends. What’s going on?
“Of course,” I say, waiting for more.
She doesn’t say anything, though, and keeps her eyes on her feet.
“Want to tell me why?”
She looks up and sways a little. “It’s just—weird. I’m trying to get used to this and it’s happening so fast.”
“You don’t want Reese around while we’re moving your stuff in,” I say, answering my own question.
She nods again.
“You know she’ll pick us both up in the morning, right?”
“That somehow seems better. No late-night walk of shame with you.” Paige blasts me with her smile again.
I laugh.
Her face gets red, flushed, taunting me with visions of what she’d look like under me.
“You never struck me as a prude,” I grind out, fighting back a smile.
“Oh, I’m definitely no prude.”
“I should know. You practically tried to seduce me the first night I saved your ass,” I say before I can stop the words.
“God. We’re never going to get past that, are we?” She scowls.
“Why would we? I love how red your face gets every time I mention it. When people ask for our story, I might just tell the truth about how we met.” Except maybe in the story I’ll do what I wish I had—kissed her like a summer storm and joined her in bed.
“Don’t you dare!” She gasps, her brows pulling together.
“The truth is usually easier to remember than a lie. I was at the art gallery, and a drunk girl—”
“Hey, remember when you said you knew it was only one glass of wine? Because I can’t drink like a sailor?”
“Fine—a girl who can’t handle her alcohol almost knocked me down trying to escape an overgrown worm, so I took her home and tucked her in with her twisted ankle...not knowing I’d see her in the office the next week. Sounds like a fairy tale.”
She crosses her arms.
“When you help a woman, you’re not supposed to mention it again. Try being a gentleman,” she warns.
I shrug.
“When that woman happens to be wearing my ring, the rules are different,” I whisper, something scorching my throat.
Her arms fall limp to her sides, but she marches up to me and kicks me in the shin. I barely feel it.
I look down, about to ask what the hell, but I don’t get the words out.
“I’m wearing your ring, so the rules are different, all right. How do you like them now?”
About as well as I like wondering what bear trap I’ve stepped in by getting fake-engaged to this very real wildcat.
Swiftly, I lean down and kiss her on the cheek, then straighten up immediately.
Wide emerald eyes stare up at me, her lips hanging open in a murderously kissable O it hurts not to claim.
“You’re wearing my ring, so I can do that, too,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’m clearly enjoying the new rules as well as you.”
“It’s going to be a long ninety days,” she whines.
“Dear girl, you have no idea,” I say.
13
Don’t Force It (Paige)
Standing in his kitchen, drawing handcuffs on a disposable coffee cup, I watch Ward round the corner. “Paige? Are you ready? It’s time to get going.”
“I’m in here!” I call.
He walks toward me in dark pants and a crisp white shirt with his blazer hanging over his arm. His stance, his shadow, that halo of a beard begging me to imagine what it’d feel like on my skin...
