“Trust me, it’s a place you don’t want to get lost in.” I grin and then shove some more chicken in my mouth. Sweet Chipotle gods, you outdid yourself today. Chef’s kiss.
“Apparently. And to answer your question, no, I’m not romantically involved with anyone. Don’t have time.”
“Ooo, workaholic, huh? A man who’s married to his work, always a catch for a single lady.”
“Haven’t found anyone to take me away from my work.” He finishes up his burrito, and if this guy were my bro right now, I’d offer up a high five for the annihilation of his meal. Color me impressed.
“So, you’re saying if you found the right woman . . . or man—”
“Woman,” he says, sipping his beer.
“Just double-checking. Can never be too sure. If you found the right woman, you would come home early?”
“If I found the right woman, I’d be far more interested in fucking her against every surface of my house rather than answering monotonous emails or buying a business partner a drink.”
Well . . . okay.
That’s . . . well, that’s information.
“So, you like fucking. That’s good to know,” I say awkwardly while nodding.
“Do you not enjoy fucking?” he asks, and I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like him. Bold, brash, domineering, but also equipped with a playful side if you can pull it out of him.
“Well, you know . . . since it’s been eighty-four years, I can’t quite draw up any experiences that would remind me what a pleasurable event fucking is.”
He slowly nods but doesn’t say anything after that. Instead, he studies me, and under that strong gaze, I feel naked, as if he’s stripping me down to nothing with every breath I take.
Good God.
“So, is it my turn for a question? I kind of lost track,” I say.
“Sure. Ask away.”
I nod, but my mind goes blank, because all I can think about is the way he’s staring at me with those take-no-prisoners’ eyes. They’re controlling, almost a mindfuck. Steadfast, unwavering, he speaks truth with his gaze, he destroys with his glare. The faint dusting of dark scruff on his jaw makes him exponentially more intimidating, and the way he has one hand casually draped on the table, almost as if he’s claiming this space, throws me off, and I can’t think of a damn thing to ask him.
“Why don’t you ask a question?” I ask, right before I shove a huge forkful of food into my mouth.
“Are you comfortable around me?”
Wasn’t expecting that question, even though I should have, since he seems to say what’s on his mind. There’s no skirting the truth with him.
I finish chewing, swallow, and then say, “I know I shouldn’t feel comfortable around you. You’re everything my mother has warned me about. Alpha workaholic who seems to get everything he wants. Dominant, holds nothing back, intimidating. You don’t scream family man, nor do you have ‘attentive boyfriend’ written across your forehead, but there’s also this air about you that makes you seem trustworthy, and I’m not sure if that’s comforting or terrifying.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He leans forward across the table and eats a chip for the first time. Neither of us have touched them, too engrossed in our conversation. “I’m going to need you to feel comfortable with me, Lottie. I’m going to need your trust.”
“You realize trust is earned, right?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, but I’m going to need you to be open to it. My intentions are pure, although askew, but they’re pure. Going into this meeting, I knew I was going to be asking a lot, but I need to make sure you’re open to it first, before I lay it all out on the table.”
Huh.
Now I’m really intrigued. I mean, I was intrigued before—and of course a free meal—but he almost seems to be showing a slight hint of vulnerability, something I’m not sure a man like Huxley shows very often.
“Are you open to it, Lottie?”
I set my fork down and pat my mouth with my napkin. “I’m unemployed, I live with my mom, and I have nothing going for me at the moment. Pretty sure I’m open to whatever comes my way.”
He nods and then leans even farther forward. “I fucked up big time, and now I’m trying to cover my ass.”
“Ooo, a man who knows when he’s wrong. Be still my heart.”
He doesn’t smirk, but he grows more serious. “This fuckup could cost me my reputation, and not only my reputation, but my brothers’ as well, and everything we’ve built together.”
“What did you do?” I ask, leaning forward too. Going into this dinner, I didn’t think I was going to gobble up some gossip, but I’m here for it.
“Short story is I was trying to land a deal. The guy who I was trying to work with wasn’t biting, and my brothers said it’s because he couldn’t connect with me on a personal level. I ran into him on the street after the meeting. I met his fiancée, and before I knew it, I was telling him I was engaged as well.”
I wince. “Your mouth spoke before your brain could think.”
“Yeah, you could say that. Anyway, he invited me and my fiancée to dinner, and it’s the first in I’ve had with this guy. The problem is, the dinner is Saturday.”
“Well, that really puts you in a spot, doesn’t it?”
“You could say that.” His eyes bore into mine. “That’s where you come in.”
“You want me to go to this dinner with you, and pretend to be your fiancée?”
“Yes, but I also need you to play out the farce until the deal is done.”
“How long will it take for the deal to go through?”
He shrugs. “Could take a week, could take longer.”
I slowly nod, thinking this over. “What would the farce entail? Am I going to be required to play Julia Roberts for you?”
“Julia Roberts?” he asks, confused.
“You know. Pretty Woman. Richard Gere hires Julia Roberts to be at his beck and call for all of his important business meetings. Have you never seen the movie?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Well, basically she moves into his hotel with him and shows up wherever he needs her.”
“You wouldn’t need to move in with me,” he says.
Damn, there goes getting out of Mom and Jeff’s house. Not that I’d actually move in with a complete stranger. I’m not that insane.
“But I’d need you to be available when I need you.”
“I see.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And you think I could just do that given how I’ve no job?”
“I have connections. I could get you a job.”
I hold up my hand to stop him right there. “I don’t need your charity job. I’d prefer to earn my own career.”
“I can respect that.” His jaw tightens. “If I can’t hook you up with a job, what can I give you in return? This would be a business transaction, after all.”
Shelter would be preferred.
Money to pay off my student loans would be amazing, but I’d never ask that.
The reunion is the only thing he can really offer me, but is that enough? That doesn’t really solve much. Just gives me a superficial upper hand. It doesn’t solve my money problem or the need to move out of Mom’s house.
Honestly, what was I thinking, looking for a rich husband? What was the end goal?
The more I think about it, the more I realize there was no end goal. This was . . . hell, this was a distraction.
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“I can go to your reunion, act as though we’re in love, whatever you need.” Desperation slips into his voice.
“I’m not even sure I’m going to that,” I say. “You know, I’m not sure this is really for me. I have student loans I have to pay off, so I don’t think I can be at someone’s beck and call when I should be finding a job.” I lean back in my chair and stare down at the table. “Jesus, what was I even thinking, coming to this meeting? A job, that’s what I need to be doing, finding a job, not worrying about what I look like at a stupid high school reunion.” I look at Huxley, whose brow is pinched together in consternation. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”