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Elsa sighs. “In my office, please.”
I follow Elsa into her corner office, where Central Park beckons me from those floor-to-ceiling windows. The memory of her body against mine makes me weak in the knees. I’ll never look at a park bench the same way again.
Before I close the door behind me, I spot a handful of Elsa’s employees tiptoeing toward us from their desks, their cellphones poised. When they see me watching them, they freeze in their tracks.
“Come on now, you don’t really want to catch us going at it, do you?”
Snickers follow, and Elsa’s harried assistant—Monique, I think her name is—shepherds her colleagues back to their seats.
“Wow. Everyone is so interested in our little office meeting. You’d think we were running off to have hot, noisy sex in here.”
When Elsa doesn’t respond, I turn up the volume. “This is a place of business, Elsa!” I yell out the door. “You can do whatever you want with me when we get home.”
Elsa fumes. It appears my blushing bride-to-be has turned bright red with rage. “We’re not having sex in my office, and you know it.”
“But we could be, right?”
“But we’re not.”
“Not yet.”
“Tanner, what are you doing here? What the hell is all this?” She gestures to the carpet outside the door, which is covered in glitter, popped balloons, and what I suspect are little puddles of puppy pee.
I’ll send a cleaning crew to deal with that later.
I close the door behind us and take the seat in front of Elsa’s desk. She walks around me and takes her place in her high-back executive chair, the one designed to make anyone sitting across from her look small.
“The board of directors asked for a circus, didn’t they?” I ask in my most innocent tone. “Well, I’ve come here to give them a circus.”
“All anyone asked you to do was stir up a little gossip: a romantic date at a high-profile restaurant, a goodnight kiss, a shared taxi that may or may not be taking us back to the same bedroom. But this? This is way too much.”
“Oh, I think it’s just the right amount.” I get up and walk to the window with the view of the park. “Remember our little rendezvous in the forest?”
Elsa shifts in her seat, and I know she’s been thinking about it, too.
“People come from all over the world to go Central Park: to take a carriage ride, rent a rowboat, watch a bride have her photo shoot. It’s a very romantic place.”
“You and I did none of those things. We groped each other on a park bench while a reporter took pictures.”
“You make it sound so perfunctory.”
I move behind her chair and sweep her hair away from her shoulders. She tenses, and I run my fingertips down her neck, settling my palms on her shoulders to rub all that tension away. Her blouse is loose enough that when I look down, I can see just a hint of cleavage and lace.
“The way I remember it, we were overcome with lust. Passion. Desire. We were so swept up in the moment, we didn’t even notice we were being watched.”
“But we did notice we were being watched. We came there specifically to be watched.”
“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy it?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Her words are noncommittal, but she’s very responsive to my touch. She tilts her head to one side and lets me slide her bra strap off her shoulder to get a better grip. It’s all I can do not to lift her up on the desk and have my way with her.
“That’s why the reporter believed us—at least enough to write an article about it. But if we want to continue convincing people that we’re for real, we have to make them think we’re falling in love. Lingerie is about more than sex; it’s about romance.”
“That’s what we tell ourselves, anyway,” she mutters.
I hate to hear her sounding so jaded. I wish I could tell her that I really am sorry about the fight. That it felt good to plan a romantic surprise for her, even if it did start out as a publicity stunt.
But I know she won’t believe me. Not right now.
