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Except maybe, for the next six months, it is.
She stands and turns to go. “Amelia,” I order. “Take a cab home. It’s late.”
She smiles, soft and tired. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”
Then she’s gone, and leaving me to wonder if I’ve just made the best or worst decision of my life.
8
AMELIA
In the dream, I’m in Cole’s office. I hand him something boring and work related, and then he’s kissing me, guiding me back onto his desk.
I need you to focus on your work, Cole says, kissing my neck, sliding his hand up my skirt.I can give you everything you want, if you just focus on your work.
I twist and gasp, but it feels so good, and it’sCole, and he’s making me helpless.
You seem distracted, Cole says. He’s stern, pinning me to his desk, and I twist against his cock, desperate.
He cradles my face in one hand, and his face is flickering back and forth between tender and smug.
Suddenly we’re back in the diner, and his lips are sliding over mine.
Would it help you focus if I fucked you?He whispers.Right here in front of everyone?
I groan, about to sayYes, please, help me, fuck me, please, when the waitress walks by and starts slamming dishes together.
The slamming dishes make a buzzing sound. Kind of like a doorbell.
I frown, trying to make the sound go away, but it doesn’t. It just buzzes again, louder, more insistent, until I begrudgingly open my eyes.
It’s Saturday morning. Well, almost afternoon. I’m in my own bed, alone. And someone is buzzing my doorbell.
I cradle my head. I think I drank too much at Maddy’s party last night. That must be why I had such bizarre dreams. It’s one thing to have an insanely hot sex dream about my boss. It’s another thing entirely to dream we’re gettingengaged.
The doorbell’s still ringing. I stumble out of bed, pull a sweatshirt over my pajamas, and hit the intercom button by the door that will let me talk to whoever’s ringing my door.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Mr. Ashford sent me, ma’am. To pick you up.”
I blink.
I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow and move you into my place.Cole’s words come back to me, along with everything else about last night.
I drop my forehead against the wall.
It wasn’t a dream.
I mean, the sex was a dream.
But the rest of it...I’m really moving in with Cole for six months. I’m really going to pretend to be engaged.
And I haven’t showered. Or packed. Or cleaned all the food out of my fridge so it doesn’t mold over.
I lean into the intercom. “Could you come back in an hour?” I ask. “Or...five?”
“Of course,” the driver says.
