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I spent the next few hours unpacking, FaceTiming Liv so she could see my room, and trying to get my bearings. My thoughts and feelings were all so confusing. I was here to work. I was a professional. But when I was near Paz, I transformed into a hormonal teenage girl who wanted nothing more than to tease and annoy my crush.
I made my way downstairs, hoping to talk strategy and reestablish myself as a cool, competent professional.
But that went out the window when I stepped foot inside the kitchen. There was a wok on the large professional-grade stove, and he was throwing chopped up vegetables into it. Classical music played from what was probably a very expensive sound system, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.
A totally normal thing, right? Sleeves certainly did get in the way at times. But then he was chopping, and his forearms were flexing and covered with dark hair. It was the exact kind of detail I’d never get out of my mind.
“Hungry?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the zucchini he was cutting into uniform chunks.
“Can I help?”
He tipped his chin. “Plates are in the cabinet next to the fridge. I don’t have a table, but we can eat at the island. There’s wine if you’d like some.”
Iwouldlike some, more than some actually, but rather than overindulging, I needed to settle my nerves and get to work.
Generally, I took pride in my ability to read people. To understand what made them tick. I had double majored in criminology and psychology in college, and the learning continued beyond that because so much of my police training had been related to predicting behavior and responses.
But standing in his home, I felt like maybe I had read Pascal Gagnon all wrong.
Was he the suited-up city playboy? A guy who made millions playing with other people’s money and livelihoods and banged everything that moved?
Or was he an anxious hermit who lived in a massive family home alone with his piano? A man so consumed by grief that he welcomed a stranger into his home in pursuit of answers surrounding his father’s death?
Maybe he was both.
Was I losing my touch?
Was it because he was hot? More than hot, really. Especially standing in front of a gleaming stove wearing that damn flannel that hugged his thick chest and biceps in all the right ways.
He clearly splurged on expensive haircuts, and his hair was styled with the perfect amount of product. Yet it was wild, like he had been pulling at it subconsciously. And his nails were short and ragged, like he’d never outgrown the habit of biting them when he was anxious.
What other secrets was he hiding in this empty house?
Because he worked really hard at being an asshole. Likely to conceal, I gathered now that I’d gotten a peek into his life, an abundance of vulnerability and hurt beneath the shiny, hardened exterior.
I set the plates next to the stove and the forks and napkins on the island. Then I filled two water glasses. When I’d completed those tasks, I tried to be helpful by wiping down counters and putting things in the dishwasher.
He was quiet. Not unfriendly, just quiet. I was grateful for it. If either of us spoke, we’d probably only insult each other. And if this was going to work, we would have to move beyond our differences.
Finally, he set two plates of stir-fry down, sending a sweet, spicy aroma wafting my way.
“This smells amazing,” I said, attempting what I hoped was a friendly smile.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure what you’d like. I picked up a ton of groceries. Help yourself.”
We chatted about the house as we ate. The conversation was a bit awkward, but nothing about this situation was straightforward.
“I was hoping we could talk about our plan.”
He nodded. “I agree. My siblings insisted on this fake relationship arrangement, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes for your investigation to be successful.”
“Great. I’ve been working on my cover story and background as well.” I explained Liv’s idea for me to pose as a writer so I could conduct interviews and ask questions without arousing suspicion.
“We can really sell this,” he said quietly, smiling. “And people will probably be happy to talk to you all about the town and the timber industry.” He shook his head, chewing a piece of chicken. “Wow. That’s a really good idea.”
I was taken aback by his easy agreement and approval. Perhaps this could work. We were on the same team. I’d have to keep reminding myself of that fact.
“Can you tell me about her books? If we’re going to sell the dating thing, I should know the details. I’ll text my siblings later and let them know so they don’t get caught off guard. Tomorrow morning, we can head to the diner.”
