“Did you like what he said?” Samantha asks carefully. She’s not quite in professional mode, but almost.
Chewing slowly, I confess, “I did. But we didn’t . . . do anything. Or not anything sexy. We didn’t even touch during the fake sex. But we talked after, and he was different than I thought. He puts a lot of pressure on himself . . . and he called me pretty.” I shouldn’t have told her that part, but it blurted out before I could squash it down.
“Shit. I told you not to fall for his act, Luna, and you went and fell anyway with the slightest compliment from a man who gives them out like a shady masseuse gives out hand jobs.” Samantha shakes her head, frowning in disappointment.
“It wasn’t like that,” I argue.
“It wasn’t?” she questions. “Are you sure?”
I drop my eyes to the rapidly disappearing candies in my hand and then toss the last few back in one go. “I didn’t fall for him. I just maybe-sorta-kinda don’t hate him as much as I did. And there was no hand job involved—for either of us.”
“Luna, he’s no less of an asshole than he was before. He’s pulling a fake marriage charade for a business deal and he fake fucked you to really sell it. Who cares if he’s slightly human deep beneath all that?”
Maybe I do.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them aloud. Mostly because I’m not sure whether I believe them or not.
Carter was different than I thought, but he also assumed I’d continue the farce until Elena agreed to the deal, which was not what we discussed. And there’s a definite sense of ‘poor, pitiful prince’ to his worries about impressing his family.
But there was something surprisingly sexy in the way he looked at me sometimes . . . in his hand squeezing my thigh . . . and in waking up in the cage of his arms with him pressed to my back. Or maybe I’m horny and the mere proximity of a man is sending me into a stupor?
Beep-beep-beep.
“Saved by the bell,” I sigh gratefully as I realize the alarm means it’s time to work again. “Forty-five minutes and we’ll reconvene.”
“Of course,” Samantha huffs. “This isn’t finished.”
Despite claiming that, she does return to her spot on the couch and drops her eyes to her notes as she grabs a pink highlighter. “Note to self, get Luna a new toy so she doesn’t hop on Carter’s dick and get her heart broken in the process.”
“Samantha!”
She shrugs, not embarrassed in the slightest to be talking about letting your fingers do the walking. I eat two more Raisinets before I sit down to work on Alphena some more.
I’m on page twenty-three now after several sleepless nights of work. Not sleepless because I couldn’t actually go to sleep but because every time I did, Carter was waiting in my dreams. Only the sex wasn’t fake. It was very, very real, and I’d wake up hot and liquid, so burying myself in work was preferable to burying my fingers in myself.
As I focus on Alphena, I can’t help but ask myself WWAD? What would Alphena do with this whole situation? Would she take the fake marriage in stride and continue helping someone in need or protect herself and walk away before it all blows up in her face? Maybe she’d fuck him for fun, her heart clad behind some Alpha-bitch armor?
Or maybe take the biggest risk of all and see if there could be anything real with Carter?
I honestly don’t know.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
CARTER
There was a time that being invited to my father’s office felt like a privilege. I was eager to learn or to show off. But somewhere along the way, it morphed into a summons to my doom. Dramatic, but it’s one of the few things that makes me grit my teeth instantly because there’s no winning in Dad’s office.
It’s his domain, his den, his realm of complete authority. And while he means well, without the balance my mother provides, I always feel as though I’m being called to the principal’s office after sending my underwear up the flagpole. Not that I did that. That was my brother Cole. But we all learned from that disaster exactly how fast the vein in Dad’s forehead can pump.
I tilt my head left and right, popping my neck, and prepare to enter his inner sanctum. From her desk, his secretary smiles blandly. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
“Mm, three. You’re good to go.”
I appreciate her comment and give her a small smile to let her know. The assessment lets me know that I’m not walking into an ambush.
I open the door and realize I asked the wrong question, or not the follow-up I should’ve . . . is he alone?
My dad is sitting behind his desk, which is one of those old-school, oversized, dark walnut numbers, in a tufted, dark green leather chair. He’s the epitome of a powerful CEO, practically ready for a Forbes photographer at any moment, and exactly what I expected. However, sitting across from him is my brother, Cameron, whose eyes are stone-hard as they meet mine.
Damn, what’s his issue? You’d think he’d be a little grateful that I took care of Grace on the fly when he was out doing God knows what. I’ll never resent Grace for needing me anytime or for anything, but Cameron? Another issue altogether. We give each other shit freely and easily, competing against each other while simultaneously being willing to kill for one another.
Shutting the door behind me, I take my time striding to the other chair in front of the desk, reading their faces. “Hey, Dad, Cameron.”
“Have a seat.” Dad holds out a hand like I don’t know where I’m supposed to sit, like we haven’t had a hundred meetings with the three of us in this triangle of a power dynamic.
Appearances are key, so I lean back in the chair, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. Outwardly, I’m unconcerned, chill as a Choco Taco in a January blizzard. “What’s up?”
Dad’s eyes flick to Cameron and then back to me. They’ve been talking about me, that much is clear.
“Dad wants us to work together on my venture capital deal,” Cameron says flatly, obviously not on board with that plan in the slightest.
“The restaurant one?” Now I’m the one looking between my brother and dad. “Why?”
This is where Dad steps in. “It’s a big investment that needs close monitoring. I thought having two Harringtons involved would make that more manageable.”
I lean over to Cameron, talking as though Dad can’t hear us. It’s a trick we’ve done since we were kids that lets us say things out loud that we would never say directly to Dad. “Does he think you can’t handle it? Your plan was spot-on.”
Cameron leans in too, the trademark Harrington grin on his face. “You read my plan?”
I lift a wry brow in answer. He knows I obsessively scoured the damn thing after the meeting. He would’ve done the same thing if I dropped a surprise investment opportunity with zero notice. Actually, maybe I should do that with Elena’s deal? That’d show them I can bring value to the table.
His grin grows with my lack of admission.
“I’m good, though I’d never turn down some help. But I think this one is about you, man.” He jerks his head toward Dad.