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Chapter 3
Rory flopped down on her mattress and pulled a pillow over her tired eyes. She’d gotten the contract job done, but she’d had to work to concentrate. Thoughts of Grant kept slithering into her mind, as they’d been doing since they’d made their agreement two nights ago.
The whole “be my girlfriend” proposal had been far less of a surprise than the revelation of his pedigree. If someone had told her months ago that Grant Taylor, technophobe, nutrition-police owner of the Mousehole, was actually Grant Taylor, heir to the Intellix Corporation, she’d have laughed until she cried.
But there had been no mistaking the wariness in his tone when he’d told her the truth, or the undercurrent of things left unspoken. Though he might have had a life of privilege, no one was exempt from the pain of rejection—especially by one’s family.
It was the polar opposite of her own home life and her parents’ unending support of whatever path she and her sisters chose. When her sister Aria had suggested in high school that she might want to become a circus acrobat, Eleanor Prescott had signed her up for gymnastics. When Rory had shown an early interest in computers, Gordon Prescott had checked out a bunch of “introduction to coding” books at the library and read them with her in place of bedtime stories.
Of course, Callie had been such an exemplary oldest child—brilliant student, perfectionist, successful overachiever following in their father’s footsteps—that Rory was pretty sure she and Aria could have done anything except land in prison to make their parents happy and proud.
Poor Grant.
Okay,not“poor Grant.” He’d made his choice. He was doing what he wanted to do. She wasn’t going to get all squishy just because he’d confided in her. He’d had to tell her the truth so they could pull off this fake relationship successfully. Maybe that was the reason he’d asked her—his parents would probably approve of him dating a computer geek.
Faint tension threaded her chest. She pressed the pillow harder against her eyes. It didn’t really matterwhyGrant had asked her and not, say, Madeline Fox. The important thing was that she was getting a place to stay, and she’d have plenty of time to get organized and ready for her move back to San Jose.
A banging sound ricocheted through the room. She pulled her head out from beneath the pillow. Who the hell was knocking at the crack of dawn?
“Go away!”
The knock came louder, like a battering ram. Probably the manager coming to evict her. Maybe even the police.Bang. Knock. Bang.What was he using, a sledgehammer?
With a groan, she shoved off the mattress and stumbled to the door, pushing her hair away from her face.
“What?”Snarling, she yanked open the door, lifting a hand to block the sharp bite of the sun.
A large male figure darkened her doorstep, his face cast in shadows and the sun glowing behind him like an aura or a nimbus or whatever those holy things were.
“You said you have to be out of here by noon.”
The familiar deep voice penetrated Rory’s fatigued brain. She squinted, making out Grant’s green eyes glittering through the shadows.
“What the…what time is it?”
“Nine.”
“Nine? Why are you here so early?”
“Because moving usually takes a few hours.” He bent to pick up a stack of empty cardboard boxes and pushed past her.
Still muddled, Rory stepped aside. Grant strode into the apartment and set the boxes down. Hands on hips, he swept his gaze over the room with its mattress on the floor, strewn clothing, and crumpled bags of chips and fast-food.
“Where’s your stuff?” he asked.
Rory closed the door. “My stuff?”
“Yourstuff.” He extended a hand to the mattress. “Furniture, books, pictures.Stuff.”
“This is my stuff.” She dragged her hands through her tangled hair. “Look, you don’t have to…”
He stalked into the kitchen and yanked open the cupboards to reveal a half-eaten jar of peanut butter and a bag of pork rinds. “Did you move everything to your mother’s? Or put it in storage?”
“No. This is all I have.” Impatience flicked through her. “I just have to pack up my computer.”
She jabbed her thumb at the shiny, huge computer that presided against the wall.
Grant frowned. “You’ve been living here for two years, and this is all you have?”
