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And then it clicks. The real reason he’s buttering me up with food, wine, and that damn scruffy charm. “So that’s why you’re here,” I say, letting out a disappointed breath. “Another practical joke, is that it?”
I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. At which point he stands, too, towering over me and the tiny furniture like it belongs in a dollhouse.
“It’s not a joke,” he insists.
I glare at him. “You saw me at the restaurant, rich jerk that you are, and thought, hey, this’ll be fun. Same old asshole—maybe with more muscles and swagger, but an asshole all the same.”
He smiles wide. “So, you noticed my muscles and swagger?” He waggles his brows and, damn it, I didn’t mean to mention that, but they’re right in my face, impossible to ignore.
Argh. I push past him and move toward the door, forcing a polite smile. “Thanks for the meal,Bri. Time to go.”
“Not until you hear me out,Peach Pop.”
“Ugh!” I shove him aside, frustration bubbling over. “Stop calling me that.”
I bolt for the door, but he’s quick for an ogre, stepping in front of me and blocking my path again. “Just listen. You need a job?—”
“Not that goddamned bad,” I snap.
Before I can push him away, he presses a finger to my lips. The touch is electric—a slow burn searing through me, makingmy breath catch as his finger brushes along it just long enough to leave me aching when he finally pulls back.
His voice drops, low and raspy, the heat radiating off him in waves. “As I said, I need a wife. A billboard to the throngs of women stalking me around the clock showing that I’m off the market. And Logan wasn’t bullshitting. I’ve been pinched, grabbed, robbed...” He lifts his wrist, showing me the pale line where a watch once sat.
“You poor billionaire,” I retort, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Lost another Rolex, did we? Too bad. Go cry in your pile of money.”
I spin around, hand on the doorknob, fully prepared to kick him out, when his next words stop me cold. “It was a gift from Jess.”
I freeze, my heart squeezing. He might be a total wad of used toilet paper, but his love for his family? It’s the one thing we actually have in common and hits too close to home.
His voice grumbles in my ear, raw and laced with an emotion that pins me to the spot. “When Mom and Dad died, it was hard. On all of us. Tough on me, but roughest on Jess. Before my second deployment, she saved up everything she could to get me that watch. I’ve only taken it off when I had to. It’s cracked across the face and keeps its own sense of time, but it means more to me than a thousand Rolexes. And now it’s gone.”
I turn slowly, suddenly face-to-face with him. The heat between us feels like lava below my skin, melting me from the inside out.
For a long, drawn-out moment, I just stare at him, caughtbetween the urge to rip him apart for everything he’s done to me and the strange, unwelcome need to actually hear him out.
“Why me?” I whisper.
He swallows, drawing way too much attention to his neck. “I need someone I can trust,” he says, his voice almost vulnerable. “Someone who won’t see dollar signs when they look in my eyes. And considering you once rode your bike an hour and a half out of your way to return a book Angi stole, you’re the first person I thought of.”
“Two hours.” The memory gets me thinking of Angi.
He shakes his head, frustration seeping into his voice. “There are hundreds of millions on the line. Do this, and you can name your price. Anything you want.”
“Anything?” I ask, amused.
He spreads his hands, a hint of resignation in his eyes. “Feel free to screw me over six ways to Sunday.”
“Oh, you’d love that,” I bite back.
He shrugs, smirking. “I’ll take Peach Pop any way I can get her.” Then his expression shifts, more serious. “I mean, Ms. Spenser.”
Our eyes lock, and everything I’ve kept buried rushes to the surface in a messy swirl of sharp, jagged pain. “You don’t get it,” I say, my voice trembling with hurt. “This isn’t just about that nickname. That photo cost me everything.”
“Photo?” The word rolls off his lips, slow and confused. “What photo?”
“What. Photo?” I sneer. “The one that captured me from behind, just enough skin showing to make me look naked. And my face turned just enough for everyone to know it was me. The one that went viral overnight. Ring a bell?”
The look on his face is unreadable. Then, he stammers out, “It was...” He hesitates, like he’s trying to find the right word. “Art,” he finally blurts out, and it’s like a punch to the chest.
