He nods.
I take a deep breath. Either he’s going to laugh at me outright at which point I’ll be free to leave, or he’ll agree. As crazy as that sounds. But he’s the one who keeps pushing for an answer. Here goes nothing. “Alright. There is something I’d really like to do. How does three hundred and forty-five thousand dollars sound?” I hold my breath.
“Right. Done,” he says quickly.
Too quickly. It makes me feel dirty. But to be fair, I’m the one helping him out, right? That amount is everything I’ll need to get started with a little breathing room to spare. And he didn’t even blink when he agreed.
The situation, which already feels out of control, just veered off the tracks and over a cliff. Wow. Wait a minute, just how rich is he, anyway?
“Let me sum up. You’re saying you need me to help you for three days and you’re going to pay me three hundred forty-five thousand dollars?” I pretend to mull it over. But who am I kidding? I’m broke as hell, and the money is going to come in really handy.
“I’m good for it if that’s what you’re worried about. Promise,” he says it matter-of-factly, like we are discussing the tip on a pizza delivery instead of hundreds of thousands of dollars.
I blink at him. “Holy shit. Seriously, how rich are you? Like, on a scale from Batman to Scrooge McDuck?”
That comment brings out the dimple out again. It’s going to be a long weekend.
He shrugs. “I don’t know how much money those guys had, but I’ve always been more of a Richie Rich fan.”
“Fine,” I say. Honestly, I’d be crazy not to agree to this deal, no matter how crazy it sounds. And I know that the longer I argue, the longer this awkward conversation will last. If anything, I’m even more in a hurry to get out now. I have a lot to process.
Despite it all, I still have to get to work. With any luck I can still keep everybody from finding out about this weird side deal. How hard can it be? “Okay, I’ll do it. But I’m keeping this shirt.”
“What?” he objects. He opens his mouth in surprise, like losing his super comfortable old college tee hurt him more than the money. I lift an eyebrow at him, daring him to argue, but he doesn’t. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it. “So the rules are, no more sex. Or it’ll feel weird. And none of my friends or coworkers can ever know about this.”
“Why does that matter? What do you care if they know?” he argues defensively.
“Because it’s not real, that’s why. And if you don’t like it, then you can find another fake fiancé.”
“Fine.”
“And I want to keep my job.” I keep going because I’m on a roll. And because I’m already starting to feel uneasy about the money. I know damn sure that when it comes time to pay up, there are no guarantees.
My current job is the one chance I have to dig myself out of debt unless Richie Rich here comes through. “Now get out of here so I can change and go to work.”
“You work in the clothes you wore to the bar last night?” he asks.
“Pastry chef. I get to wear a big white coat. And underneath I can wear whatever the hell I want. Any other questions?”
“Okay, fine. I’ll leave you to it.” He turns off the shower and lets himself out of the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I finish getting ready and whisk myself out of the bathroom, then out of the bedroom, and then out into the main suite in hopes of sneaking out. Again.
Of course, the girl from the couch, Jellybean’s sister, meets me the moment I step out of the bedroom. Fortunately, she presses a warm mug into my hand.
“I made you coffee,” she says, communicating somehow in the innocent gesture that accepting the cup is mandatory and not voluntary. It’s a strong move, both aggressive and presumptuous. I like it, but only because it involves coffee.
How does she know I even like coffee? But she’s right, I do. And furthermore, I both need and want a cup of coffee right now. I peek down at the liquid it has cream. Bless you, Jellybean’s sister.
If it has sugar too, then I’m home free and can walk out the door already caffeinated. Only one way to find out. I take a sip. “It’s delicious, thank you,” I say in a snippier tone than I mean to.
Judging by the expression on her face, my bitter tone only brings a newfound respect. Odd. Who are these people?
“So, what do you do for a living?” she asks me.
“I’m a chef,” I answer, making a move for the door.
“Oh,” she says. I can’t help but notice that her face breaks into a joyous rapture. “Sous?”
“Pastry,” I say and watch her expression change from rapture to confusion to suspicion.
“Where’s your shop?” she asks. “Rome? Paris? London?” She scrunches up her face into a grimace. “It isn’t a chain, is it?”
Screw this. I clutch my victory tee shirt closer, grasp the coffee cup firmly, and put my hand on the door handle. “I’m late for work. Thanks for the coffee.”
I let the door shut behind me and finally take a deep breath. Oh, Kaylee, what the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?
Chapter Nine
Chase
As soon as Kaylee walks out, the room feels empty, even though I’m filled with mixed emotions. She’s so frustrating. And irritating. She’s also beautiful and fun and after some negotiating, she agreed to come to my rescue.
I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of happy that I need her as a fake fiancé. It gives me an excuse to see her again. I can’t stop thinking about last night.
But I can’t believe she was sneaking out. And if her reaction to a deal to help me out is any indication, she
