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“Night.”
Placing the phone down on the coffee table, I crossed to the windows, staring at the city lights, my thoughts churning. Would things have turned out differently if my father had still been here?
3
Ethan
I opened the door to my penthouse. Avery was standing outside, her hand poised to knock.
“Come in,” I murmured. She raised her eyes to mine, and I could see everything reflected in those azure depths. Fear, worry, uncertainty all flashed across her face before she let out a huge sigh and trudged inside.
“Avery?” I asked tentatively. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded slowly. “I guess coming here has made it all real to me. When you first asked me to do this, it sounded like it could be fun, but I wasn’t really thinking about the implications. I hope I can pull it off.”
“Hey, it’s going to be fine,” I reassured her. “Come in, make yourself at home, and we’ll go over everything.” She nodded once again. As we rounded the corner into the main living area of the flat, her downcast face was suddenly transformed into wonder.
“Look at that view,” she breathed reverently, crossing over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that were the main reason I’d purchased this apartment. The whole of the city of London stretched out beneath us as far as the eye could see, glass tower blocks glittering against the darkened sky.
“Oh, Ethan, this is amazing. I could stay here forever and never tire of this view.” She sank onto my sofa, still staring out of the windows with a dazed expression on her face. I smiled to myself.
“Let me get us a drink. Wine? Gin? Hot drink?”
She finally tore her gaze away from the windows and met my eyes. “White wine, please, if you have it.”
I crossed to the sleek grey kitchen area and pulled out a chilled bottle of wine from the fridge. Decanting it into two crystal glasses, I placed them on the coffee table and sat down next to her.
“Tell me your worries,” I said gently, placing a hand on her arm. She jumped at the contact, then laughed self-deprecatingly.
“That, for one. I guess we’ll have to have some kind of physical contact?” She chewed her lip agitatedly. “I’m going to be honest and say you intimidate me and, well—”
“Hey, hey, calm down. We’ll get through this together.” Slowly, so as not to spook her, I placed my hand on her arm once again and let it rest there for a moment. She flinched imperceptibly but made no comment. Instead, she picked up her wine, took a large fortifying gulp, and seemed to come to some decision in her head.
“Right. We can do this. I can do this.” She fiddled with her phone for a moment, then placed it on the table. The mellow sounds of Ray LaMontagne’s “Let It Be Me” started playing through the speaker, the sound slightly tinny.
“Come on,” she said, jumping up and extending a slim hand to me. “Let’s practice dancing. We’re going to be expected to dance, aren’t we?”
I placed my hand in hers, my large palm cradling her much smaller one. She pulled me towards the space in front of the windows. I lightly clasped her waist, and she slid her hands up to rest on my shoulders. We began to move to the music, a little awkwardly at first, but soon found a rhythm. I spun Avery round, bending her backwards into a dip, our faces close together, and she laughed breathlessly, clinging to my forearms.
“Slow down, Ethan!” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparkling beneath her long lashes.
In that moment, I wanted to kiss her.
Fuck.
Where did that thought come from?
I pulled away from her and moved back to the sofa, a sudden need to create distance between us at the forefront of my mind. Now it was my turn to gulp my wine. I swallowed hard and looked up. She was looking at me with a confused, slightly hurt expression. Bloody hell; the last thing I wanted to do was upset her.
“Come here,” I said, patting the sofa beside me and forcing a smile onto my face. “We’ve got a lot to get through this evening. We’ve established that we have great moves on the dance floor; now we need to go over the details of our fake relationship.”
Thankfully, she nodded and sat down. I topped up her wine and made myself a coffee, and we spent the next hour going through details of our “relationship.” We’d decided to keep as close to the truth as possible—we’d tell people we met at work, and we’d been keeping it quiet due to the fact I was Avery’s boss.
When Avery yawned for the third time in the space of a few minutes, I suggested we call it a night.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Ethan, no, it’s fine. I’m a Londoner—I’ve been travelling on my own at night for years. You don’t need to worry about me,” she insisted.
