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Semishocked that he was so openly specific, I pick up my knife again and nod. “Well, okay then.”
Flynn smirks at me; I can feel the weight of it even as I slice manically through my Golden Delicious, and when I’m done, I can’t help but meet his eyes again. He raises his eyebrows—just as he always does when there’s more to be said and I’m avoiding it.
“I just… I don’t know… I thought maybe it’d be a good idea for me to know where you worked. You know, in case of an emergency.”
“Right.”
I narrow my eyes on his simple answer that lets him off the hook way too easily and up the ante. “Maybe we should have lunch one day. To keep up appearances. I could meet you at your office so I could see a little bit about what you do, and we can go from there.”
“Great,” Flynn agrees, shocking the hell out of me as he sets his coffee mug in the sink and winks. Winks. Flynn Winslow, the most stalwart man on the planet, winking…at me. “How about tomorrow? I would today, but I’ve already got a business lunch with my accountant.”
“T-tomorrow’s great,” I stutter, overwhelmed.
“Good,” he praises me then, stepping forward and placing an unexpected kiss on the apple of my cheek that gives me a full-body chill. “I’ll see you tonight, then. Maybe we’ll get tacos.”
“Tacos? On a Monday?”
“Live dangerously with me, Daisy.” He laughs and reaches out to tuck a few of my curls behind my ear. My skin doesn’t miss the cool sensation of his gold wedding band.
He’s wearing his wedding band? When did he start doing that?
I discreetly tap the ring on my left finger with my thumb, even twirling it around a little. Welp, he probably started wearing it around the same time you started wearing yours…
I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything, though. It’s just to keep up appearances.
All I can do is nod as Flynn steps out the door because I’m left wondering just how fucked I’m going to be emotionally if this is the Flynn that lives behind the taciturn curtain. I already knew the quiet Mr. Mysterious was great. But an emotionally available witty wizard who now wears his wedding band out in public? Well, that’s a horse of an entirely different color.
God, Daisy. Do not fall in love with your contractually bound, marriage-pact husband. Only a fool would do that.
My phone buzzes on the counter beside me, startling me from my cold, hard stare at the door.
Damien: How’s it going in New York, doll?
I sigh. Not great. Not only has my war with Tara escalated to epic proportions—think walking into a shocked office of people because she told them she’d heard I died—but I’m also getting dangerously close to becoming attached to my fake husband. Oh yeah, I’m having a grand ole time. Still, Damien gave me this opportunity despite the burden it put on his office, and I don’t want to make him feel like I’m not grateful.
Me: Well, it’s not exactly as fun as working directly with you every day, but the Greenwich Village penthouse looks incredible.
Tara and me working together is a joke of a concept, and she puts down literally everything I suggest, but thankfully, Thomas Grey showed up while we were there the other day and agreed with my proposed changes, so she’s had to go along with it.
Obviously, that did nothing for my working relationship with Tara other than sully it further, but at least Thomas isn’t walking around thinking I’m a complete moron.
Damien: Tara’s just jealous that Thomas liked your suggestions more than hers. Also, she’s territorial as hell, and sometimes I wonder if she and Thomas are having an affair.
My eyes damn near hit the screen of my phone. Not only did Damien suss out the reason for my ho-hum answer immediately, but the gossip around the villain in my story is juicy enough that Paris Hilton of the early 2000s would slap it across the ass of a pair of terry cloth pants if she could.
Me: You think Tara and Thomas are hooking up??? I thought Thomas was married???
Damien: Tara is too, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t spread her legs in a raunchy little dance at the Christmas party two years ago while eye-fucking my eastern counterpart to high heaven.
Me: Oh, holy hell.
Damien: Which brings me to your next work task. Keep an eye on those two and report anything suspicious to me immediately.
I almost want to laugh.
Me: Keeping you in the gossip loop is not a work task, Dame.
The last thing I am going to do is blow the lid off a secret affair of some sort. Hell to the no. That shit is none of my business.
Besides, nearly deported immigrants clinging to their last chance to work in the country shouldn’t throw stones from glass houses.
