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I scramble for paper towels and kneel to sop up the mess.
I can’t believe he told my parents. They live back in Texas and don’t use social media. I thought they’d never know about Cole and me.
I don’t want to lie to them. But explaining that I’m faking an engagement with a man for financial gain would disappoint them even more.
“I wanted to offer to pay for the wedding,” Howard continues. “Imagine my surprise, when they ask, ‘What wedding?’”
I can imagine all right.
“Cole and I wanted to tell them in person,” I lie. “And with them living so far away, we haven’t had a chance to yet.”
That sounds plausible, right?
I finish mopping up the spill and drop the sodden paper towels in the garbage.
“The company has access to a private jet,” Howard reminds me.
“I didn’t want Cole to use it for a personal trip. Global warming and all.” I gather up the pieces of the mug, avoiding Howard’s gaze.
“Miss Maguire. Let’s cut the crap, shall we?”
I watch him warily.
“You’re not in love with my son. This is some ploy to help him win the board vote next month. I don’t know what he’s paying you to play along...” he smirks, “but whatever it is, I’ll pay double.”
“How dare you,” I hiss. I’m shaking with anger now. Anger and fear that he’s figured us out. I drop the shattered pieces of coffee mug in the trash. “I’ll have you know Cole and I are visiting my parents this weekend. And tell me. Do you really thinkCole Ashfordwould waste his time tramping through the mud on a small Texas farm if he wasn’t in love?”
“No...” Howard admits reluctantly.
I purse my lips. “I’ve never met a man so determined to root against his own son’s happiness.”
And then I storm out of the room, and straight toward Cole’s office.
I need to explain why we’re going to Texas.
I stepinto Cole’s office and close the door behind me. I lean against it, hesitant to bring up the latest twist in our story. This is the man who lost it when I tried to steal his cab. I have no idea how he’ll react when he finds out I’ve effectively stolen his weekend and approximately $300 in airfare.
“Amelia,” he greets me. His voice is stern, but his eyes are warm. And that combination does funny things to my stomach.
I bite my lip. “So, here’s the thing—”
“You’re bleeding,” he says, concerned.
“What?” I look down at my hand, where, sure enough, a bit of blood is welling up along the side of my finger. “Oh. It’s nothing. I dropped a mug.”
But he’s already coming out from around that massive desk. The next thing I know, he’s gently inspecting my injured finger, brow furrowed.
“You’re probably right,” Cole allows. “But we should clean and bandage it.”
We. Notyou.
I clear my throat. “Sure. In a second. But right now, I need to talk to you about something important.”
He releases my hand and heads back to his desk. He opens a drawer and starts rummaging in it, dropping junk on top of his desk as he keeps looking.
“The thing is, I ran into your dad into the kitchen,” I say.
He slams the drawer shut.
