Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Yeah, but we’re . . .”
He steps closer, starting to grin, even as his gaze grows sharper. “We’re what?”
I blow out an irritated breath. “We’re . . . colleagues. Of a sort. Not like you and the guys, but—”
He dips his head and kisses me. Not like he wants to shut me up, not like he’s trying to win an argument, but because he wants to.
I stubbornly keep my lips closed, my stance stiff, but he’s just as stubborn. His lips brush over mine, gently but insistently, his hands slipping inside his jacket to rest on my waist.
Matt’s kiss is all the more compelling for its tenderness, his touch more convincing for its patience. His tongue gently touches the center of my bottom lip, and I relent with a sigh, opening my mouth to his, lifting my arms to wrap around his neck.
His jacket slips off, but neither of us notices. He wraps his arms all the way around me, tilting his head, and I forget all about the autumn chill, Jarod Lanham, even our friends just on the other side of the glass doors.
My eyes fly open. Glass doors . . .
I pull back and whip my head around. Sure enough, all four of our friends are watching us unabashedly. Lara and Kate are grinning outright. Even crusty Kennedy seems amused.
But my eyes lock with Ian’s. The guy’s my best friend, and I know him well enough to know when he’s concerned.
About me?
Or for Matt?
I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to worry. That even though we’re full-on playing with fire, we won’t get burned. Our hearts are damn near inflammable.
I feel Matt’s right hand move and glance down to see him giving our friends the finger. A laugh bubbles out of me, and I’m surprised at how girlish and happy it sounds.
Our friends laugh and take the hint, moving away from the windowed door. Most of them do, anyway. Ian lingers a bit longer, his smile tight until Lara whispers something in his ear that makes him smile for real.
Matt brings my attention back to him, setting a palm to the side of my cheek. “About my lunch with Lanham . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know.” His brow furrows. “I got the feeling he was more interested than he should be in the status of our relationship.”
“And that bothers you?”
He gives a slight smile. “Turns out I might be the jealous type.”
“Even when it’s just a fake girlfriend?” I say, keeping my voice teasing to hide my thrill at the thought of Matt being possessive. Of me.
“Apparently,” he murmurs before taking a deep breath. “I need to ask another favor.”
I smile. “If it’s dinner with your parents again, you better have some more flowers.”
He blows out a breath. “It might be worse. It’s about Lanham. And our . . . arrangement.”
“Okay . . .”
“He’s close to signing,” Matt says, sounding more indifferent than I’d have expected. “I wasn’t sure, because our meeting on Monday seemed more like a battle of wills than anything else. But The Sams called me into their office today and said that he’s narrowed it down to me and a senior director from Schmitt and Sons.”
“Damn,” I mutter. “Schmitt’s the best in the business.”
He gives me a look, and I pat his chest reassuringly. “Besides Wolfe, of course.”
“The Sams are more intent than ever that I don’t mess this up for them, especially after they found out that the Schmitt guys pulled out all the stops with a trip to Newport last weekend.”
“Who’s the broker?” I ask.
“Jeff Goldberg.”
I groan.
Let me put it this way: Jeff Goldberg’s the type of man who will never need my services. He’d never need reputation repair, a fake girlfriend, help burying secrets, legal representation, nothing.
The guy married his childhood sweetheart. Not high school sweetheart. Childhood. They met in first grade. They have five kids, all prep-school darlings. An enormous apartment overlooking Central Park. A freaking Golden Retriever.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Matt says with a laugh. “But you see why my bosses are freaking out.”
“What do you need?”
“The Sams have a place in the Hamptons. Five bedrooms, right on the water. It’s off-season. They invited us to join them, along with Lanham and a guest, for a weekend getaway.”
“Part of your redemption plan?”
“Probably.”
“You think it’ll help?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. It can’t hurt. I’d like to think things are getting better, but I can tell some of my more conservative clients are still jumpy. And The Sams definitely are.”
The agony on his face is real, and I know that the reality of his Vegas shenanigans is hitting him harder than ever. And though some deep instinct tells me I’m likely to regret it, I hear myself agreeing to the trip.
He closes his eyes in relief. “Thank you. You good to leave Friday morning?”