Page 64 of A Perfect Fit

I walk inside, shutting the door after me and taking a seat at the chair in front of his desk. His office is minimalistic. Save for a potted plant in the corner and an abstract painting on the wall, there’s no other decor, as if he hasn’t put much effort in decorating it.

“I … wanted to thank you for your help on Friday night,” I say.

He studies me carefully. “How much of it do you remember?”

“Most of it,” I admit. “Oliver acting like an ass and you punching him, you taking me home, me drunk and lying to Ivy that you were my boyfriend, me throwing up and you holding back my hair, you tidying up the mess on my floor …”

Jackson’s silent for a moment. “You forgot the part where you were pretending to be a penguin and starfish.”

I freeze, feeling my cheeks flush with heat. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I had a front-row seat to that show.”

I’m officially never drinking again.

“Okay, maybe that did happen, but let me finish my speech first,” I grumble. “I was actually having a moment here and trying to show some appreciation.”

Jackson chuckles and leans back in his seat. “All right, please continue. I’m all ears.”

“As I was saying, I wanted to thank you for doing all that,” I say. “I know there was all this random fabric on my apartment floor, but you didn’t have to feel obligated to tidy it up and buy a new shelf for me. And I can probably clean your apartment floor if you want to be even. Fair warning: I’m not the most organized person, so I might end up making more of a mess, but⁠—”

“Isabelle.” Jackson cuts my rambling off. The way he says my name is enough to shut me up.

Amusement swirls in his brown eyes. But there’s something else—a tenderness and warmth that’s as comforting as a nice cup of tea on a cold day.

“I didn’t tidy the stuff on your apartment floor because I want or expect you to do the same for me.”

“I know,” I mumble.

This is embarrassing. I’m not usually like this around Jackson—or anyone for that matter. He must think I’m some rambling mess.

“Although you’re still welcome to come over to my apartment and tidy the floor if you want to,” he adds. “I won’t say no.”

“I’ll think about it,” I joke.

Jackson’s eyes search my face. “There’s another reason why you’re here, right?”

I sigh. “Yep. Which brings me to part two of my speech.” I fidget with my necklace.

Just say it, Isabelle.

“Ivy told my mom that we were dating, and when my mom called me to confirm, I might or might not have lied and said Ivy was right,” I say in one breath.

My heart starts beating rapidly again as I peer at Jackson’s face, half expecting him to be pissed. But he doesn’t look the slightest bit annoyed. If anything, he looks like he’s trying to suppress the mirth tainting his face.

Taking that as a good sign, I continue, “After that, my mom said she wanted to meet you. I made a few lame excuses, but they didn’t work. I know it’s not part of our deal, but I was wondering⁠—”

“I’ll do it.”

I jerk my head back. “You’ll do what?” I slowly repeat, reeling from my rambling.

“I’ll meet your parents as your boyfriend.” Jackson says those words as though it’s nothing but a walk in the park. “Fake boyfriend, that is.”

I should be feeling entirely relieved, but conflicted feelings—both feeling at ease and guilt—hug my chest instead.

“Really?” I ask, my voice small.

“Really.”