He lets out a quiet, relieved breath, ignoring my dig.
“Barrett, my agent, is spinning this as two people in love. A real love-at-first-sight kind of thing.”
I huff. He shrugs.
“Yeah, I think it’s dumb too. But the organization won’t. You just have to pretend to like me in public for a few weeks. And keep the truth between us…and the two on the phone. That’s it. Once everything is signed, you can go back to regretting me all over again.”
My teeth find my lip, scraping over it as I consider what he’s saying. It’s not a terrible idea. I could use it to look like less of an asshole to my clients and even my parents.
What’s the harm in a little white lie?
“Fine,” I rush out. “But no kissing or anything like that. Our couple vibe is ‘are they siblings, or are they dating.’ You get me? Close enough but not too close. Because our physical proximity is what got us into this shit in the first place. So, keep your hands to yourself, QB. I’m not even risking falling into hate sex at this point.”
“Done. Trust me, Wild Card. The last thing on my mind is your pussy.”
ten
“Is she or isn’t she a brotherfucker.”
eleanor
We’ve been in the back of the car for what feels like an hour because Crew and I are entrenched in silence as we drive to his penthouse. Apparently, the hotel room I thought was a five-star honeymoon suite was his actual house.
It seems wrong to go back to the scene of the crime, but alas, here I am.
My phone is still vibrating, more messages flooding in. I know my sister and Millie are having a field day. He was such a dick. And they ate it up. Because if the charming, cocky guy is my kryptonite, the asshole dickhead is my 3:00 a.m. “you up” destiny. So says my sketchy hookup record.
I sneak my cell from my purse, looking up discreetly to make sure he’s not looking at me before I open the message thread.
Samantha: Hundred bucks says she folds in the first week and does the dirty with him.
Mills: Oh, that’s a guarantee. There’s no bet there.
Samantha: A week is generous now that I think about it…
Mills: I give her two days, tops. If there’s anything we know about Elsinore it’s that there’s no if you’re a bird, I’m a bird shit—she’s an if you’re a turd, I’m a pooper scooper kind of girl. And Crew Matthews is definitely a little shit.
My fingers type so fast I have to correct three typos before I hit Send.
Me: The ways in which you are both DEAD wrong. Neither of us is remotely interested in even sitting next to each other at this point. He’s not even that hot in person. Forget about the fact that his personality cancels out any interest I had from before.
Samantha: Mmmkay…
Samantha: *GIF of an old lady on a stripper pole
Mills: ha ha that’s going to be your pussy in a week feeling dusty and thirsty ya’ whore. No way you share a space with that piece of meat and not cave. I have no faith in your willpower.
Samantha: Zero.
My mouth falls open as I laugh, drawing Crew’s attention next to me. So, I give him a mildly dirty look, making him look away as I go back to my conversation.
Me: I have self-control.
Samantha: Funny. Earlier it was—He’s not even that hot in person. His personality sucks. Now it’s—I have self-control…which is it, Elle?
Mills: Ha ha ha. Caught.
Me: Shut up. I’ll bet both of you I can last the whole month without even touching him. Whoever wins gets a thousand bucks.
Samantha: Done. But you might get fired. So you’re not good for the money.
Oh nice. Jerk.
Mills: I want your new sparkly boots WHEN I WIN.
I gasp. The gravity of this bet deserved the gasp. Again, Crew’s eyes meet mine as I glance up before huffing a “What?” at him so as to not even remotely let on that we’re talking about him.
I splurged on those boots. After she and I had watched Urban Cowboy for the millionth time and then happened upon them at an upscale thrift store in San Francisco. I negotiated for over an hour and threatened to cut the leash of some woman’s dog and set it free in the Bay because she tried to butt in and offer more.
Those Betsey Johnson rhinestone cowgirl boots are my fucking precious, and I’m their Gollum.
Me: Now you know you’re going to lose, Mills. I would go to jail for those boots. I almost did. That Pomeranian was about to be a free doggie.
Samantha: Perfect, then wagering…I don’t know…admitting to Mom, to her face, that you accused her fucking the whole cul-de-sac, shouldn’t be a problem.
My eyes almost pop out of my head.
Me: You terrible whore of a sister. Karma’s giving you a yeast infection for that treachery. You know I would rather chew glass than let our saint of a mother know what a menace she raised.
Me: You know what? You’re both on. If Crew Matthews touches me…
My forehead wrinkles as I specify, unfortunately thinking of all the parts on him he could touch me with.
Me: …If his giant cock touches my holy grail then I will become the worst shoeless daughter in history.
Samantha: Fingers count too.
Mills: And his mouth.
“Oh my god.” I inhale sharply before waving off his curious face.
Me: If any part of his body sexually touches my body, I lose.
Samantha: Mills…friends too?
Mills: Yep…his friends count.
Me: Not the Tweedles. How could you? You fucking hate me.
Me: Then you know what…I hate you dirty cockblockers too and I hope you both get syphilis.
I can hear their scream-laughs in my mind. Because that’s exactly what they did the minute they read that. And it’s making me smile until I look up directly into Crew’s face, who narrows his eyes.
“What’s so funny?”
Nothing you ever get to know. My head draws back, my eyes looking him up and down, searching for my words carefully.
“None of your business.”
It’s not inventive, but it gets to the point.
“You were talking about me, weren’t you?”
He looks amused as he reaches for my phone. But I snatch it away.
“Are you crazy? Don’t try to take my phone. Also, no. You weren’t even mentioned.”
Crew bites his lip, tilting his head as he stares at me. So, I shrug, really trying to sell my bullshit, but I can feel it the minute he decides to call my bluff.
I squeal, jumping in my seat as my phone is snatched from my hands.
“Give it back,” I yell, but Crew laughs, nabbing my chin and holding my face in place.
“Dickkkk move,” I grind out, making a hundred weird crazy expressions, trying to fuck up the facial recognition.
But it works faster than legs spread for tattooed guys.
“You’re so rude,” I rush out, trying to unlock my seat belt. But I can’t see what I’m doing because he’s holding me away with his palm outstretched on my face.
“Who’s Patty with the Fatty?” he levels. “And New Year’s Chris… Thick Fingers Steve… Why do you have so many guys in your phone?”
I smack his arm with one hand, trying to undo the belt with my other as I yell.
“You really are a walking red flag. This is an invasion of my privacy, you asshat.”