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“This is beautiful,” she said, accepting the glass of wine and walking over to the bay windows which looked out over the Schuylkill River.
“Thank you,” Blake said, stepping up beside her with his own glass. “I purchased it three years ago. It was already renovated, so I cannot take the credit.”
“They did a great job. And you have good taste,” Bella praised, turning to him. “I’d love a home like this.”
He ran his knuckles over her cheekbones. “You’re nervous.”
Damn him.
Yes, she was. Very. Not because of their chemistry, although it was overwhelming. She was trying to calm her nerves to summon the confidence to ask him if he would be open to her proposal.
She felt extremely vulnerable.
Unlike the other men she might have to pursue, this felt different. Bella didn’t care if they said no or rejected her. She didn’t care if they weren’t interested.
She did care what Blake thought.
She wasn’t sure if it was right for either of them, but if he told her to get the fuck out of here, it would sting.
A lot.
Cain had walked away from her, choosing a career and another woman over her, so why on earth would Blake Dufort want to spend two years with her?
Money.
She was hoping his predicament with InkWell might trump his family wealth, and the offer she would put to him would be appealing.
That and their...physical interest in one another.
Because wouldn’t it be nice to spend two years with someone in a fake marriage that you actually wanted to fuck?
Still, she had been hoping to eat first and drink maybe three more glasses before jumping in.
“Do you always have to say what’s on your mind?” Bella questioned.
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t like gray. I’m more of a black-and-white person. But when it comes to you, Bella Montgomery, I find myself in a kaleidoscope.”
Oh.
“I can’t think of a more abstract statement for someone so black and white,” Bella remarked while sipping her wine. Then taking a second sip.
He laughed.
“Let’s eat,” Blake stated, guiding her to the dining table where it had been set beautifully.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
“I...no.” He smiled. “I had it done for us. My chef slash housekeeper cooked. I was working.”
Of course he was.
Did she think he had slaved for hours in the kitchen instead of earning his millions at the office? Or losing them because of K-Books?
She hated that her family’s company was impacting him as much as Knox had shared with her. He didn’t have actual data, but apparently he’d done some number crunching and told her InkWell had to be hurting.
Badly.
How the hell was she going to broach the subject? It wasn’t like she was a businesswoman and knew anything about the bookselling business. Or any business.
