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“Did something happen?”
Leo jumped at the sound of Amelia’s voice. She’d popped into existence near his elbow and was currently frowning at him like she could read every shameful secret written right there on his face.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and shook his head. “No. Everything’s fine, except for the fact that you chickened out.”
A groan slipped through her lips, and Amelia slumped against her stool. “I know. Pathetic.”
“Good thing you’ve got a master flirt to learn from.” He painted a grin on his lips, but his heart wasn’t in it. Desperate, he scrambled to find some way out of this. Maybe he could cook up a family emergency, and skip the retreat altogether?
No. Fred wouldn’t buy it. He’d already committed, and Fred knew he wasn’t close with his family.
Amelia saw right through him, of course. She straightened, frowning, and asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sorry to drag you into this,” he said.
She snorted, then gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not. It’s obvious I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to find a boyfriend.”
She’d find one. Leo knew it. She’d find a guy who had a steady job and a big heart, and she’d probably marry him within a year. Because once she cracked open her shell even the tiniest bit, it wouldn’t take long for someone to realize how special she was.
But that man wouldn’t be Leo. It couldn’t be.
“We’d better get started,” he heard himself say. Extending his hand toward her, he popped a brow. “You get a date with Ben the Barista by the time the retreat is over, and we’ll be square. That’s got to be worth four days as my fake fiancée, right?”
Amelia’s teeth sank into her lower lip as she considered his expression, then his outstretched hand. She slipped her palm against his and pumped once, a witchy smile curling her lips. “I guess we’re about to find out. You’ve got a deal, St. James.”
Now, all Leo had to do was keep his attraction for Amelia buttoned up and hidden away. He’d keep his job, she’d get a date, and they’d go their separate ways.
In one week’s time, all of this would be behind them, and they could both move on.
SEVEN
Amelia stretchedher lower back and glanced out the window. Her spine crackled and popped as she moved it, and she knew she’d been sitting too long. The angle of the sun’s rays told her it was midafternoon, which meant she’d been working for nearly seven hours straight.
If she was going to be busy with Leo’s work retreat from Wednesday afternoon to Sunday morning, she had to get three of her clients’ projects finished before then. She’d made progress, but Monday was quickly slipping away from her. She only had tomorrow and a few hours Wednesday morning to get all her work done before the madness began.
Last night at The Shed had been…illuminating. She felt less embarrassed by her lack of flirtation skills than she’d expected. Leo had a way of making her feel at ease, even when she’d completely failed her task to go up to Ben and strike up a conversation. He didn’t seem to be worried about her ability to get a date at all, and his confidence was reassuring.
It wasn’t that she was insecure, exactly. Amelia felt good about herself. She was smart, capable, and it wasn’t like she was an ogre. Amelia had no problems with the way her face and body looked. Although—
She pulled out her tablet and added a section to her curriculum: Clothes and Makeup. Her wardrobe was full of tees and tanks, a nice top or two, jeans, denim shorts, and athleisure wear. She didn’t exactly scream sexy and available, but Leo would be able to tell her how to update her look for maximum enticement.
That done, she hummed to herself as she made a late lunch, her mind occupied with a thorny problem with a certain client’s data set. The small business wanted to figure out how to boost their repeat customer orders, but they hadn’t been able to analyze any of their data because the back end of their online website was a mess. She’d spent four hours manually cleaning the data today, but she still couldn’t figure out the best way of displaying it so that—
A knock rattled her front door. Padding over to it on sock-clad feet, she glanced through the peephole before pulling it open.
“Hi, Mrs. Gordon.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, dear,” the white-haired woman on her doorstep said. She was stooped over and leaning heavily on her cane, her wide brown eyes remorseful. “I know you’re busy.”
“Not at all! What’s up?”
The old woman lived next door in an apartment that was filled top to bottom with knickknacks. She was spunky yet kind, and Amelia loved having her as a neighbor. Mrs. Gordon sighed. “I forgot to buy Her Majesty’s wet food last time I was at the store, and with the elevator out of order and my old legs struggling to make it up three flights of stairs…”
“I’ll go to the store for you!” Amelia smiled. “No problem. It’s the grain-free stuff in the vacuum packs, right?”
“That’s right. Here. Get as much as that can buy.” She pushed a few bills into Amelia’s hands and curled her fingers over the crinkled money. “And next time my grandson is in town, I’ll have him take you out to dinner as thanks.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Amelia said as she slid her feet into the nearest shoes, laughing awkwardly. Mrs. Gordon’s grandson was nine years younger than her and more interested in skipping his college classes to go to his fraternity’s keggers than dating a thirty-one-year-old data analyst who preferred Saturday nights spent with spreadsheets over shots.
