“Just my eyes, nothing else?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.
“If you’re reaching for compliments, you’re not going to find them here.”
“Jeez,” I say. “What happened to the pleasant guy I had Chipotle with? Or the fella who came over to my house and wooed my mother?”
“He’s an act, just like I put on for my business partners.”
“Wow.” I clap for him. “Well done. You really fooled me into thinking you were a genuinely nice guy.”
“I am nice, I just don’t need the pleasantries when I’m working. I like to get straight to the point.”
“I see.” I smile at him and say, “If you want this to work for you, I’m going to need some pleasantries. I understand this is business, but you don’t need to be a dick. Technically, we’re partners in this endeavor, despite this all being your idea. So instead of tossing out commands, let’s try something a little different, eh? Maybe a little please and thank you?”
He glances at his watch and then back at me. “We don’t have time for your nonsensical way of conducting a meeting. And we’ve wasted time just talking about it. Be quiet, and just listen to the backstory. Retain it. Add, if need be, but we don’t need this . . . fluff.”
Aw, look at this little ray of sunshine I’ve contractually attached myself to. Lucky me.
“Now, our backstory. Focus and listen up, because Ellie, Dave’s fiancée, is from Georgia.”
Groaning, I lean my head back against the headrest. “You’re such a freaking moron . . . you know that?”
When he doesn’t say anything in reply, I like to believe that he’s silently agreeing with me.
“Before I forget . . .” Huxley reaches over me to the glove compartment and pulls out a small box. He hands it to me. “Here, wear it.”
Isn’t he romantic?
I open the velvet box, revealing the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen. It’s in a nest of more diamonds, and the diamond-encrusted band is in a beautiful rose gold.
Mouth agape, I pick it up and examine it more closely. “What on earth is this?”
“An engagement ring,” he says casually.
“Uh, this isn’t an engagement ring, this is an ice rink for a family of five.” I look up at him. “What the hell, Huxley? You expect me to wear this?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that—yes. No reasoning behind it?” I ask.
“Do you need reasoning?”
“Huxley, have you looked at this thing?” I hold it up, and I swear, it weighs at least a pound.
“Yes, I picked it out. Of course I’ve looked at it. I’ve studied it very closely to make sure there were no imperfections.”
“And you think this is an appropriate ring?”
He shifts his body and looks at me. “You’re fake engaged to a billionaire, Lottie. That ring is very much appropriate for what settles in my bank account; anything less would be a joke and unbelievable. Now put it on your goddamn finger and don’t take it off.”
Stunned by the edge in his voice, I set the box down and slip the ring on my finger. “Wow, wouldn’t have guessed this would be the immaculate proposal I’d get one day. Just ‘put it on your goddamn finger and don’t take it off.’ So romantic.”
He goes to open his car door, and I follow suit, but he says, “Don’t get out.”
“Don’t get out?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, don’t get out.”
“So . . . you want me to stay in the car the whole night? That defeats the purpose of the last hour.”
He drags his hand over his face. “Stay in the car so I can get the goddamn door for you.”
Oh.
Inwardly, I chuckle as he leaves, tension set in his shoulders. I want to call out a “sir, yes, sir” to him, but his door is already shut and he’s rounding the car. Something rabid crawled up his ass today.
When he whips open my car door, he offers his hand to me and demands, “Hold my hand.”
“You could say please.” His eyes murderously narrow in on me. Eep. “Or not.” I take his hand, and he helps me out of the car. I adjust my green dress, loving the fit of it, and he shuts the door behind me.
Together, we walk up to a grandiose stone house where vines climb the entire fa?ade. When we drove through the gate, I almost felt as though we were transported into the English countryside, with the wispy, overhanging trees and stone wall that lines the gravel driveway. Very Secret Gardenesque.
“What do you think is the upkeep on those vines?”
“Please don’t ask questions like that,” Huxley says. “Makes you sound uncultured.”
“Have you forgotten how you found me? I was panning the streets for a rich husband. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, Hux.”
He glances down at me. “I’d hardly say you’re the bottom of the barrel.”
I clutch my chest. “Oh, a compliment. I shall cherish it throughout the night as I attempt to play your heart-eyed, pregnant fiancée.”
He leads me to the front of the house and rings the doorbell. He clutches my hand tightly, as if he’s afraid I’m going to run away. Trust me, I’ve thought about it. Many times, on the drive over here, I considered pulling the old “tuck and roll right out of the moving car,” but two things prevented me from performing such an action-hero move: one, I was worried about road rash, and two, the iron-clad contract I signed that holds me accountable. Basically, if I don’t follow through, I’ll lose everything, and so will my mom, Kelsey, and my unborn children, still chilling in my lady bits.
But I do wonder—is he nervous?
He doesn’t look as though he is. Then again, I don’t think he knows how to show emotion. He’s so stoic, completely different than the man I met on the sidewalk, and the man I had dinner with. Who is the real Huxley Cane? A part of me wants to believe this emotionless man holding my hand is all an act to protect what rests underneath that puffed and proud chest of his.
The doors unlock and a wave of nerves hits me like a tidal wave as the door opens, revealing two people who are the prime picture of wealthy suburban life. Dave stands there with his arm wrapped around Ellie’s shoulders, and she has her hand pressed against his chest.
Smiling. In love.
All dewy-like, with their perfect skin and teeth.
Ready to be published in Home and Country magazine.
Who opens the door like that, like there’s a photo opportunity on the other side? They look positively perfect.
Dave is incredibly handsome. He has that whole “blond hair, blue eyes, nerdy finance guy” vibe going for him, while Ellie is basically the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen. Highlighted blonde hair that’s curled in perfect waves, framing her face. Her makeup makes her glow, and her sweet little red capris with white flowy top just give her this angelic vibe that I’m totally digging.
“Welcome to our home,” Dave says with a huge smile. “We’re so glad you could make it.”
This is going to be an incredibly long night. I can feel it already.
Dinner in Pleasantville—pretty sure this isn’t the place to lie back, pat your belly, and say, “Boy, I couldn’t stuff another taco in my face.” And then quickly grab the last taco before it’s taken back into the kitchen.
I’m so used to eating dinner with Jeff with his napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt and Mom, who likes to give us the rundown on the latest celebrity gossip—which she claims she doesn’t pay attention to—that I’m not sure I’m going to remember my manners, like elbows off the table, small talk that doesn’t revolve around a surprise mole that was found on one’s back, or what kind of chicken bone was tossed over the fence by our grotesque neighbors.
“Thank you so much for having us,” Huxley says in a pleasant voice that nearly startles me out of my designer sandals. “This is Lottie. Lottie, this is Dave and Ellie.”