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She sniffs and heads into the lounge. “Change first. That’s my condition. Then I’llconsidertalking to you about the rest.”
“Whatever. I’ll be right back. Don’t bother making yourself at home.”
She rolls her eyes at me and I head upstairs, leaving the new check on the counter for her to see when she’s ready. I try to remind myself not to get too excited.
This shit is an anti-celebration. Somehow, I’m payingmoremoney to torture myself with a fake engagement to a woman I can’t stand.
Regardless, I can’t afford to take any chances when we’re this close. I have one job tonight and it’s persuading the goddess of war invading my house that this is her best option.
Not hard, in theory, but she’s one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.
Sheknowsit’s money she can’t afford to lose, but if I even breathe wrong, she’ll walk away out of sheer spite.
I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me.
Frankly, I’ve never come across anyone like her, and it annoys me to no end.
She even brought the check back, though I can’t fathom why.
Is she stupid? Trying to make herself look good?
Hell, part of me half expected her to cash it and run, but here she is.
And here I am, adding more to her sugar bowl, sweetening the deal with money and terrible puns I’ll pay dearly for later on.
Soon, I exit the shower with a hard-on I can’t stand, hating that I give a damn what she thinks about anything.
Rifling through my closet, I choose slacks and a shirt, then do a quick spritz of cologne. It’s something fresh that smells like walking out of a white marble estate on a Kauai beach.
If I’m out to wow her, there’s no sense in half measures.
By the time I head back down, I’m hoping I smell imposing enough to convince her she can trust me.
She glances up at me from where she’s slumped across the sofa. The slightest frown touches her brows as she inhales slowly.
“Huh. So you can smell like a million bucks. Who knew?” she says as I join her.
Ignoring her bullshit, I pick up my phone and use the app to start the fireplace. “Was that a backhanded compliment? I’m sincerely touched, Miss Winkley.”
As I hold my hands over my heart like I’ve been shot, she laughs. It’s high and bright and too damn real.
She huddles in her worn hoodie, sticking her thumbs through holes that almost certainly weren’t part of the original design. More strands slip from her bun, and she sighs and pulls it loose, running her fingers through the knots. I get the faintest whiff of fruity shampoo.
“Do I smell good enough for you to talk to me now or what?” I need to steer this conversation back on track.
“Sure, I guess. Sorry.” The faintest flush stains her cheekbones. “That was childish of me.”
“I won’t disagree.” I lean back against the cushions and look at her, the way she’s curled up like she wants to be as small as possible. “I also won’t deny I didn’t smell fresh.”
“Or look great,” she says with a tiny smile.
“Don’t push your luck, lady.”
She glances away and those walls creep up again.
Fuck this.
I need to be charming, not push her away. No matter how unbelievably hard she makes it.
