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She bats her eyelashes.
My cock jolts in my pants like a badly behaved animal on a leash.
“My cheeks still hurt from yesterday. I’m worried my face is going to stick, sooner or later,” I tell her.
People kept stopping by my office all day to congratulate me. Of course, I had to smile each time.
I may have arthritis in my jaw.
Paige laughs, moving her cleavage against the low neckline of her snug green dress.
“That color brings out your eyes,” I say slowly, hoping I finish the sentence with the right word.
Because it’s not her eyes I’m glued to.
“Good one,” she whispers. “But my eyes are up here. You should probably touch me, too. Hand on my knee or something. Don’t go overboard or I’ll break you.”
My face feels like a cooked ham.
I contemplate my next move. Ideally, one that keeps up this charade without mincing my sanity into dog food. I’m still deep in thought when another annoying voice cuts in.
“How’s my favorite couple today?” Reese asks.
“Delightful!” Paige says. “How are you?”
“Hyped up on Mountain Dew,” Reese says.
“That’s more information than you’re supposed to give your boss,” I tell her.
“I wish I was partying all fancy-like. I had to babysit my niece last night and she wouldn’t drift off until midnight. That’s almost as fun, but grape Kool-Aid just isn’t the same as wine, y’know?”
I do know, and I also know it’s far too early for this inanity.
I raise the privacy screen between us, hook an arm around Paige, and pull her closer.
We’re touching, skin grazing in so many places. My body ignites. She stares up at me with a raised brow and full lips I can already feel on mine.
Damn.
“How’s this?” I whisper. “Convincing yet?”
I can’t let her know every seething inch of me already believes she’s mine.
She doesn’t answer, but I feel her body pressing closer, this plush heat my flesh craves like a tan beneath a tropical sun.
Who the fuck am I kidding? We don’t have to fake it so seriously right now when it’s just us.
Reese will believe anything I tell her.
Still, why miss the chance to practice?
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I whisper to her again.
“No, darling.” She smiles and drops her head on my shoulder.
This time, the d-word actually sounds nice rolling off her tongue, and it shouldn’t.
Careful, dumbass. This ends in eighty-nine days. Don’t forget it’s all a show.
We pull up to The Art Institute of Chicago a few minutes later. I get out first and offer a hand to Paige, who takes it.
We’re walking up the stairs when she says, “This is where we met.”
I nod, opening the door for her at the top of the stairs. Why does her voice sound so heavy?
“What are we doing here again?” she asks as we enter the museum.
“Because we’re donors, they include short biographies on Nick and me too, not just Grandma. I have to update my bio to include my fiancée and I thought I’d do it in person. Better chance to give any eager cameras an eyeful on our terms.”
“Oh. Do you think we can walk through the gardens before we leave?” she asks sweetly.
My lips quirk up in a smile I badly want to repress.
“We’ll have to see how much time we have before our next appointment.”
She nods.
We walk to the members-only desk.
“I need to speak to the curator,” I say.
“Of course, Mr. Brandt. I’m going to open the door beside my booth. You can go right through it, and the curator will meet you back there,” the girl behind the counter says.
Paige and I walk behind the door to a set of offices complete with a front desk.
“I didn’t know this room was even here,” Paige says.
“Follow me,” I tell her, sliding my fingers through hers to pull her along.
I’m about to lead her to the front desk to ask for the curator when the door to the back office opens.
“Mr. Brandt, it’s a pleasure. Come on back,” Curator Staci says.
“Thank you, Staci.”
My hand falls to the small of Paige’s back and I lead her into the office. Touching her is getting far too easy.
Staci lingers in the doorway.
“This must be your fiancée.” She holds out her hand. “So nice to meet you!”
“Thank you.” Paige gives it a firm shake.
“Have I seen you here before?” Staci asks, a puzzled look on her face.
“Oh, I come here a lot,” Paige says. “I’ve been a regular ever since college.”
“I thought so.” Staci gives her a once-over and looks at me. “I know you wanted to update your bio, and we’ll take care of that. But this is wonderful timing because I actually received a box of new donations for the Beatrice Nightingale Brandt exhibit today, and I need to know how you want to handle it?” She walks around her desk and motions for us to sit.
