“I was getting around to it,” he says simply.
I pull his coat closer around me. “But you told Kennedy first.”
Matt tilts his head curiously. “Sure. I work with the guys. I see them all day, every day.”
“Yeah, but we’re . . .”
He steps closer, starting to grin, even as his gaze grows sharper. “We’re what?”
I blow out an irritated breath. “We’re . . . colleagues. Of a sort. Not like you and the guys, but—”
He dips his head and kisses me. Not like he wants to shut me up, not like he’s trying to win an argument, but because he wants to.
I stubbornly keep my lips closed, my stance stiff, but he’s just as stubborn. His lips brush over mine, gently but insistently, his hands slipping inside his jacket to rest on my waist.
Matt’s kiss is all the more compelling for its tenderness, his touch more convincing for its patience. His tongue gently touches the center of my bottom lip, and I relent with a sigh, opening my mouth to his, lifting my arms to wrap around his neck.
His jacket slips off, but neither of us notices. He wraps his arms all the way around me, tilting his head, and I forget all about the autumn chill, Jarod Lanham, even our friends just on the other side of the glass doors.
My eyes fly open. Glass doors . . .
I pull back and whip my head around. Sure enough, all four of our friends are watching us unabashedly. Lara and Kate are grinning outright. Even crusty Kennedy seems amused.
But my eyes lock with Ian’s. The guy’s my best friend, and I know him well enough to know when he’s concerned.
About me?
Or for Matt?
I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to worry. That even though we’re full-on playing with fire, we won’t get burned. Our hearts are damn near inflammable.
I feel Matt’s right hand move and glance down to see him giving our friends the finger. A laugh bubbles out of me, and I’m surprised at how girlish and happy it sounds.
Our friends laugh and take the hint, moving away from the windowed door. Most of them do, anyway. Ian lingers a bit longer, his smile tight until Lara whispers something in his ear that makes him smile for real.
Matt brings my attention back to him, setting a palm to the side of my cheek. “About my lunch with Lanham . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know.” His brow furrows. “I got the feeling he was more interested than he should be in the status of our relationship.”
“And that bothers you?”
He gives a slight smile. “Turns out I might be the jealous type.”
“Even when it’s just a fake girlfriend?” I say, keeping my voice teasing to hide my thrill at the thought of Matt being possessive. Of me.
“Apparently,” he murmurs before taking a deep breath. “I need to ask another favor.”
I smile. “If it’s dinner with your parents again, you better have some more flowers.”
He blows out a breath. “It might be worse. It’s about Lanham. And our . . . arrangement.”
“Okay . . .”
“He’s close to signing,” Matt says, sounding more indifferent than I’d have expected. “I wasn’t sure, because our meeting on Monday seemed more like a battle of wills than anything else. But The Sams called me into their office today and said that he’s narrowed it down to me and a senior director from Schmitt and Sons.”
“Damn,” I mutter. “Schmitt’s the best in the business.”
He gives me a look, and I pat his chest reassuringly. “Besides Wolfe, of course.”
“The Sams are more intent than ever that I don’t mess this up for them, especially after they found out that the Schmitt guys pulled out all the stops with a trip to Newport last weekend.”
“Who’s the broker?” I ask.
“Jeff Goldberg.”
I groan.
Let me put it this way: Jeff Goldberg’s the type of man who will never need my services. He’d never need reputation repair, a fake girlfriend, help burying secrets, legal representation, nothing.
The guy married his childhood sweetheart. Not high school sweetheart. Childhood. They met in first grade. They have five kids, all prep-school darlings. An enormous apartment overlooking Central Park. A freaking Golden Retriever.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Matt says with a laugh. “But you see why my bosses are freaking out.”
“What do you need?”
“The Sams have a place in the Hamptons. Five bedrooms, right on the water. It’s off-season. They invited us to join them, along with Lanham and a guest, for a weekend getaway.”
“Part of your redemption plan?”
“Probably.”
“You think it’ll help?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. It can’t hurt. I’d like to think things are getting better, but I can tell some of my more conservative clients are still jumpy. And The Sams definitely are.”
The agony on his face is real, and I know that the reality of his Vegas shenanigans is hitting him harder than ever. And though some deep instinct tells me I’m likely to regret it, I hear myself agreeing to the trip.
He closes his eyes in relief. “Thank you. You good to leave Friday morning?”
“Sure. Are we taking your car?”
“Yeah, I thought we could get up there first, get settled into our domestic-bliss mode for the weekend. Everyone else is coming later.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see if Kate can stay with Juno.”
Matt shrugs. “Bring her.”
“I can’t bring a dog to your bosses’ place in the Hamptons!”
“Why not? She’ll love the beach. She’s house-trained. And nothing says ‘settled down’ like a dog.”
“True.” The thought of a weekend getaway with Matt and Juno is admittedly appealing. “So, which version of ‘settled down’ are we going for this weekend? Same as we’ve been doing, acting delightfully smitten with each other? Or are we going for broke and selling it hard, dropping lots of ‘we’ as it relates to our future and talking about ring shopping?”
Matt’s wince is subtle. So subtle that if I hadn’t been watching for it, I might have missed it. But I was watching for it.
Given what I know, I was fully expecting words like future and ring shopping to be the thing to send a guy like Matt Cannon running for the hills.
What I’m not expecting is how much his flinch stings.
“Let’s see how it goes,” he says. “I’m guessing some hand-holding and pet names will be enough to convince everyone that I’ve given up my lap-dance ways.”
“Okay.” My tone is agreeable, but his eyes narrow on me slightly.
“You don’t agree?”
“I—” I bite my lip, knowing I need to tread carefully.
The truth is, something feels off. Jarod Lanham seems more interested in Matt and my relationship, as well as my skills as a potential matchmaker, than he does hiring Matt as his broker. Even more perplexing, Matt doesn’t seem to care nearly as much as he should, considering the opinion of people like Jarod is the reason Matt and I started this charade in the first place.
As for me . . . I do care. I care about all of this. A little too much.
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “This whole thing has gotten rather fucked, hasn’t it?”
I laugh, not so much with mirth but with dismay that he seems to be reading my thoughts. “It’ll work out,” I say, smiling to help sell what feels like a lie.
If I can’t get my weird feelings and this strange sense of doom under control, it won’t work out at all.
He looks away without saying anything, and after a too-long silence, I touch his arm. “You want Jarod Lanham as a client, don’t you?”
He hesitates only a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”
“Then let’s play our part and get you your man.” I keep my voice light and start to turn away.
He grabs my wrist. “Sabrina, are you going with me because of the contract?”
“Are you asking me to go because of the contract?” I counter.
The door opens, and Kate’s head pops out. “Guys. I ate all the cheese, and they won’t let me have anything else until you join us. And I’m starving.”
“Be right there,” I say, dragging my gaze away from Matt’s.
I start to pull back, and his fingers tighten for a moment on my wrist before he slowly releases me.