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"That sounds ominous."
"That was my intention. I'm the nicest one of the bunch." He trained his green eyes on me, and I shivered. A glimpse emerged of the intense CEO who swallowed other companies in a zombie-like haze. "And that's saying something, because I'm not very nice."
I looked out the rearview window, Ty disappearing into the distance. "Oh." My voice came out small. So Lucas Ford was a dick. "Great."
He smiled at me again, and I noticed that he had a dimple. Just one, in his left cheek. "I'll make an exception and be nice to you."
My nerves abated. "I'll make an exception and be nice to you, too."
His dimple deepened as he regarded me. "Blake Maxwell, you have a deal."
Chapter Three
Lucas
"Tell me about yourself." I bit the inside of my cheek, wincing. Everything I said seemed ridiculous to me. For someone who didn't do anxious, my nerves seemed to be carrying the day. It must be all of Blake's blond hair, scrambling my brain.
In my real life, I barely bothered with conversation with the women I slept with. But I had to talk to my fake fiancée. I didn't have a choice if I wanted this to seem real, and it had to. If Serena suspected I was just doing this for my inheritance, I had no doubt she would go running to the trust administrator to contest the terms in an attempt to inherit every cent of our family's billions.
Blake shrugged, her movement breaking my reverie. "There's not much to tell. I've been working for Elena for about a year." She said this quickly, as though she didn't want me thinking about her occupation. "And before that, I was a hostess and a waitress at some local restaurants."
"Which ones?" I asked.
"L'Hereux, Demain." Her pronunciation of the high-end French restaurants was flawless. "I worked at Ministry for a while."
"I like Ministry," I offered.
"It's pretty inside." She smoothed her skirt. "Where's your office?"
"Downtown." I seriously sucked at small talk.
"Where do you live?" Blake asked, undeterred.
I jerked my thumb toward the left. "Newbury Street. I have a penthouse suite at The Stratum."
"That's a beautiful building."
"That's why I bought an apartment there. What about you? Do you live in the city?" I asked.
"I live in Southie. And not the nice part." She gave me an embarrassed smile, and for the first time, she seemed like a mere mortal, not some underwear-model goddess.
"I like Southie—even the not-nice part. My favorite diner's there. MiMi's. On Kneeland Street."
She smiled more fully, flashing those brilliant white teeth. "That's my mom's favorite."
"No way. Does she live down here?" I asked.
"She's actually my roommate." Her face softened. "She likes the roast beef hash, which I just don't get. It disgusts me."
"You're crazy. I like it, too. Your mother has excellent taste."
"I'll relay that to her." Blake picked up a lock of her hair and twirled it while I tried not to stare. "So what about your family? They're local, right?"
"My father lives in the city with my stepmother." I laughed and scrubbed my hand across my face. "It feels silly to call her that. She's thirty-six."
Blake raised her eyebrows slightly. "How old's your dad?"
"Seventy-six."
