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"Mhmmm," he drawls.
Christ! How can a man so good-looking sound that hot?
Acting a fool, I dare a peek and regret it immediately. His eyes search mine. No, ensnare mine, holding them hostage without a single word. Dunking me in their crystal-blue, oceany depths, a composed dominance lying just beneath the surface, while teetering on a flirtatious edge that may be genuine or all a ruse.
A look I've seen once before...
I spring to my feet, my chair scraping with a harsh grating noise. Whether I draw the attention of nearby customers is news to me. Hell, I don't even know if there are customers anymore. "I-I'm g-gonna go get some..." My words taper off, gone with a whisper as I speed-walk toward the coffee bar.
Water... I need. Water.
The Caffeine Cove's newest barista, Rylee, gives me a strange look. I zoom past her without a glance and disappear through that annoyingly talkative door.
Ten minutes later, I'm back in my seat. Poised, professional, and hydrated as ever.
Fingers folded in his lap, Hayden reclines comfortably, curling his lips in a way that says I'll behave now. With a sigh, I trail a finger down the first page of my notes. Business meeting... this is just a business meeting.
I clear my throat. "No one can find out about us."
He rolls his lips together to stifle a chuckle. "The whole reason of a fake relationship—"
"No one unnecessary, I mean."
He blinks.
Oh my god, must I spoon-feed him everything? It's like geometry class all over again.
"No one we grew up with. Not Mei. My co-workers. My mom..." I squirm in my chair at the thought of my mother, the woman who practically raised Hayden, finding out about all of this.
Not only was she Mr. Kingston's nighttime nanny for years, but she taught—and still teaches—second grade at Riverside Prep on the Upper East Side. A private school Jeremy and I would've never attended alongside wealthy kids like Hayden, if it wasn't for our mother's dedicated involvement in school affairs.
So, while she does accept Hayden as one of her own, given the countless sleepovers he had growing up at our tiny apartment once the Kingston Estate was off the table, that wouldn't make her discovery of this any less mortifying. Her nickname for Hayden was troublemaker, a label that's still appropriate today. There'd be no escaping her questions... She'd make Mei's interrogations sound like small talk.
Steering clear of such a scenario, I add, "And your friends can't know, either."
He frowns. "That's just great, Jules. Makes total sense. You don't think my friends talk? Or that their families and mine aren't part of the same social circles? People talk. There's no avoiding my friends."
"What about my brother, then?"
"That's... going to have to be carefully managed."
I shrug. "If it's a problem, I know it'd be super weird, but I could just come clean to him about it. I'm sure he'd under—"
"No, no." He sits up, all the color draining from his face. "No, that's not a good idea. We'll figure something out. I'll make sure you're out of my apartment when he comes over. Maybe hide your things and..." he mumbles to himself.
My lips dry. "Why would you need to hide my things?"
His brows cinch in confusion. "Obviously, because I can't risk my best friend seeing his sister's toothbrush on my bathroom counter or her shirt in my hamper."
"M-my... What?" I shake my head, grappling for my words. "I'm not living with you."
Amusement flashes in his eyes. When he doesn't respond, my heart lurches.
He can't seriously think I'm going to move in with him. I get that it would make us appear more serious, but I can hardly withstand his flirtatious remarks in public. What in the world would become of me behind closed doors? My mind wanders, lying me beneath Hayden's masterful touch atop a New York City luxurious apartment, no doubt overlooking some glistening view of Central Park at night. In the main bedroom, there's not a curtain in sight. Same goes with the kitchen, even the living room...
My palm smacks onto the table, yanking myself from that ridiculous fantasy. "It's... It's right..." I frantically search through the notebook, my finger dragging across the paper as my words quickly spiral into some chicken-soup mess. "Here!" I yelp, then turn the page to him. I double tap the rule written in bold red ink, like it proves anything at all.
Lips pursing, he reads aloud blandly, "During the duration of the arrangement, the two parties will not cohabitate under the same roof." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Parties...? Cohabitate...? What're you, a lawyer now?"
