I’m not dumb enough to assume that fake-dating Alexis will lead to any of the real benefits of having a girlfriend. We’ll kiss and touch in public, but we probably won’t spend a lot of time together in private. And when we do, it’ll be all business.
It’s just as well. I don’t need the distraction of a real relationship. And neither does Alexis, I’m sure.
A tentative female voice answers me. “Hello? Colt? I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”
Blinking, I work to place the voice. And then it hits me. “Alexis? Sorry, no, this is fine. You’re fine. I just woke up, that’s all.”
“Oh. Sorry. Do you need to go? I can call back …”
I scrub a hand over my face, hating how stilted we suddenly are with each other. Our conversation was pretty easy last night at the party. She melted in my arms when I kissed her, leaned comfortably against me while we schmoozed together, and my dream … well, the only thing hard was me. Still am.
Oh my fucking god. I need to shut up the voice in my head and talk.
“No, no. This is fine. What’s up? What do you need?” God, I sound like I’m barking questions at her like an interrogator. What the fuck is my problem? I’m better than this. I handle people, they don’t handle me. And while Alexis and I might be entering into some kind of public romantic relationship/private business relationship, I initiated it. I sweet talked her into it. I don’t need to be a bumbling fool or an arrogant asshole.
Closing my eyes, I force myself to take a deep breath and use my best assistant voice. I’m a problem solver. That’s my job. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. I’m awake now. I can talk. Did you want to work out the details now? I can meet you somewhere in about an hour, sooner if you’re close by.” I check the time on the bedside clock. “I have meetings all afternoon, though, so I can’t stick around for too long.”
“Oh, right.” She still has that hesitant, stilted quality to her voice, despite my best attempts at being my favorite combination of soothing and competent. It works like a charm when my sister-in-law Gabby starts to spiral. Of course, her preferred method of calming down has nothing to do with me, and I don’t want to think about what her and my brother get up to behind closed doors that gives her that dreamy look afterward.
My instincts are screaming at me to say something else, do something else to make her feel better. But since I have no real idea what the problem is, I force myself to wait for her to tell me.
She takes a deep breath, the sound of her inhale carrying over the phone. “We need to be engaged. Maybe actually get married too.”
Blink. Blink blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
She exhales loudly. “I just got off the phone with my agent. You were right about them taking pictures of us. I haven’t looked yet, but apparently there’s one of us, and I’m quote, ‘practically dry-humping some man.’ Delores said she could spin it best if we were really serious. Like wedding bells serious. I assured her we were, so …”
“So … now I need to add ring shopping to my to-do list.”
“Uhh, yeah. I mean, I can get my own ring. Or I can pick one out and send you the link if you insist on getting it. I don’t care either way.” She’s babbling, and I tune her out for a second so I can rearrange what’s happening in my head, already reaching for my tablet to start adding things to my actual to-do list. This is … not how I’d planned on this working. I’d figured I was in control of the situation. I was driving this crazy-train—because let’s be real, this is pretty crazy, especially now that an engagement and possibly an actual wedding is involved—but somehow she’s managed to flip a switch and change what track we’re on.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I interrupt. She releases an audible sigh of relief, whether from my agreement or stopping her babbling, I’m not sure. My dick twitches, confusing that sigh with the sexy one from my dream, but I ignore it. “I’ll get the ring, but if you want to send me ideas of what to get and your ring size, that would be good. If we’re going to be engaged, should we do a public proposal? Or did you tell your agent that we’re already engaged.”
“Oh, uh …” She’s hesitating, and I don’t know what to make of it. “I’m not sure. I can check with her and get back to you.”
“That’s … yeah, that’s a good idea.” It doesn’t escape my notice that she didn’t clarify exactly what she told her agent, but letting her agent have a say in the narrative we’re putting out is for the best. I might have a pretty good idea of what’s what in the industry and how things play with the media given my tenure with Jonathan. But I haven’t been carefully crafting Alexis’s image and career in order to make her marketable. Her agent will know whether it’s best to announce our engagement as a fait accompli or whether we should stage it as a public performance. It could really go either way. And even if she said we were already engaged, re-proposing in front of a crowd isn’t exactly the most outlandish thing anyone’s ever done in show business.
“Okay.” She sounds more relaxed, more like the girl I spoke to last night. “I’ll let you know what she says. And Colt?” Her voice sounds more unsure again when she says my name.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” The words are quiet, heavy with … something. Relief? Gratitude? Lust? All of the above?
I’d be relieved and grateful if lust were
