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"I'm okay, thank you," I respond.
"Get her a bottle of water, a chamomile tea and a croissant, please, Hannah. And close the door behind you."
"I don't need anything," I argue, almost out of habit. Truth is, I'm both parched and hungry. I'd drunken all of the tea Matthias had brought me last night in the few hours I'd been there. When I woke up, there was a bottle of orange juice left on the nightstand and I'd downed all, as well. It's like, once I'd actually started to drink, my brain remembered what it was like to be hydrated and demanded more.
"Sit down." He points to the leather couch as he strides over to his desk, grabbing one of the folders.
I sit, only because I have a feeling that I'm going to have to pick my battles with him. And this isn't one I really care about winning.
The office door opens, and a head pokes through. Matthias waves for him to come in and gestures to me.
The man smiles and places a tray with a bottle of cold water, a teapot, and a plate with three pastries on them in front of me. "Can I get anything else for you, Ms. Masters?"
I shake my head. Which is a mistake. It instantly feels like my brain has crashed against the side of my skull. I grab my head and grimace.
"I hate when you do that," Matthias says as he walks over and joins me on the couch.
"Do what?"
"This." He adopts a wince. Then he reaches over and pours a cup of tea for me. "Drink this."
I scowl. "You're really fucking bossy. I can pour my own tea."
"Literally no one has ever called me bossy before," he says, looking offended.
The expression combined with his words makes me let out a laugh that surprises us both. "Sorry. I just have never heard anyone ever say anything so ridiculous before."
"It's okay. It's been a while since I last heard you laugh. Anyway, I wasn't being bossy." I give him a look. "I wasn'tjustbeing bossy. You need the tea for these." He pulls a little orange bottle out of his suit pocket and holds it out to me.
My meds from the doctor.
I take one, with a silent prayer that they're going to kick in, fast. I tuck the bottle into my pocket just as there's a knock on the door.
"Come in," Matthias calls out. "That's Paula. Don't be scared. She's a PR rep. She's supposed to be mean."
I find out over the next half an hour that Paula is anything but mean; if anything, she deserves a medal for having to put out all of Matthias's fires.
It takes Matthias a few minutes to convince her that he isn't playing a prank with her. Frankly, I didn't blame her. He can't be serious if his life depends on it, which, considering how serious Paula is about her job, it does. If I received a dollar for every time she says,"Mr. Baxter, I don't have to remind you how serious this is,"I wouldn't have to worry about working ever again.
But finally, after rigorous intervention and confirmation from me, she believes that he and I have voluntarily entered into an agreement, and we spend the next twenty minutes talking about how we're going to make this all work. It starts with a schedule for announcing our engagement. There are going to be a lot of questions. The least of which is going to be about why Matthias, notorious playboy, is now engaged to his brother's ex-ex-fiancée.
The answer we agree on is that we started seeing each other a little after I moved here. As old friends, it hadn't taken us long to realize we had feelings for each other. My problem is what will we do if Patrick decides to talk to the media about his relationship with me.
But when I bring it up, Matthias just fixes his eyes dead ahead and says, "I'll take care of Pat."
He doesn't invite any questions.
Based on the plan we agree on, in the next two weeks, Matthias and I will make some public outings, soft launching our relationship. And in maybe two weeks, we will leak the news of our engagement.
It all sounds very clinical.
Just the way I want it.
It helps me remember that this is just about business, about doing each other a favor.
At one point, though, while we talk about when we should actually get married, I go a little quiet. Matthias must notice because he reaches over and squeezes my hand and gives me a little smile. "Okay?" he asks.
Not really. But I will be. At least the thought of marrying him doesn't fill me with the dread that I've been pushing down since I met Patrick.
