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Chapter Twenty-Eight
I could get used to this. Regular sex. Or, more specifically, regular sex with someone who cares that I orgasm more often than he does. I’m pretty sure it fuels my creativity because the ideas are coming even faster than I can sew them up.
Or I’m a nymphomaniac with the ability to make justifications to fit my narrative. Hard to say.
Either way, I could get used to this.
And it’s not just that the sex is good. It’s more than that.
This fake relationship is feeling really, really, real.
I fiddle with the arrangement of flowers Warren sent the other day. They still look as lush as they did when they arrived, which makes me smile. As if they’ve been sprinkled with a little bit of magic. Or maybe the governor can just afford super fresh flowers.
“Don’t worry, boss,” Miller says, strolling out of my kitchen with a cup of coffee. “Someone was on time today. That someone wasn’t you, but it’s okay.”
I jump, nearly dropping my cutting shears on my foot. “Miller!” I snap. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s like ten o’clock in the morning and you just scared the beetlejuice out of me!”
“Teacher in-service day.” He shrugs. “No school. Also, it’s bejesus. I scared the bejesus out of you, not the beetlejuice.”
“Ugh, whatever.”
“Anyway, big news, and I knew you’d want to hear it.”
“Well, you can’t share it with me if I’m dead, so next time try to not give me a heart attack.”
“Pfft, you’re lucky I’m here. Estelle called and she wants to stop in today. I told her that you’d be delighted to see her.”
“Who is Estelle?”
“Mrs McGinn.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with Mrs McGinn?” I raise my brows, not quite believing him. Why I doubt him, I don’t know. The kid can charm anyone.
“She insisted, less than five minutes into our call.”
“Five minutes?” What the hell? This teenager has more… wait. “Today? Miller! This is not good news! I don’t have anything ready for her yet!” I spread my fingers wide like a startled cat and start glancing around the room as if that’s going to help anything.
“What am I, new?” he replies, not impressed by my freakout. “I explained that, of course. She’s dropping off her mother’s wedding dress so you can take a look at it before the consultation with Gabby. That’s on the twelfth, by the way.”
I assume Gabby is Mrs McGinn’s daughter. But I’m not going to ask out loud because I don’t want to admit I never quite got her name and have been thinking of her as ‘Mrs McGinn’s daughter’ for the better part of a week.
Freaking social bumblebee Miller.
“Okay, fine.” I exhale, mentally pulling myself together. “What time? And in the future, Miller, I would not classify springing things on me as ‘good news.’”
“Two p.m. And that’s not the good news. The good news is my teacher is really impressed with the progress report you wrote.”
Wait, what? What teacher? What progress report? I really hope I’m not hallucinating because I don’t have the time.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, giving him my second-best glare. I’ve been working on my glare repertoire and I think they’ve gotten a lot more effective.
“The progress report you wrote for the internship I’m doing for you,” Miller says, without missing a beat. “My teacher said my portfolio is the best he’s ever seen and he can’t wait to talk to you and get a full review of my progress this semester.”
I stare. Then I cross my arms. “What internship?”
“This one, obviously.”
“I never hired you for an internship.”
“Well, according to my school, you did, sooo…”
“What is even happening right now?” I’m talking to myself but Miller answers anyway.
“Don’t even worry about it.” He shrugs, waving a dismissive hand. “I forged your signature months ago. That’s how good of an intern I am. It’s all taken care of.”
I stare at Miller for a long moment. This is some next-level crazy. Or maybe not crazy, exactly. It is diabolically genius, though. Because seriously. Who just decides they have an internship? And not only that, but they get someone to play along without even knowing it?
That someone being me.
Humph.
Also though…
This is the kind of audacity I need.
“You’ve been secretly interning this entire time?” I finally sputter.
Miller laughs. “It wasn’t a secret, my teacher knew.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how secrets work. If there are three people, and two of the people know the thing and one of the people does not, it’s a secret.”
“One of the people,” he mutters. “Good thing this wasn’t a grammar internship.”
I glare at him. My best glare.
Miller sighs. “You can’t fire me from a free internship. I’ll fail high school. Just say nice things about me when she calls.” Then he hands me a printout. “I’ve prepared a few talking points.”
