"She is under the impression that I have finally 'settled down.' She thinks I live in a warm, domestic home and not a glass cage, and if she sees this place looking like a showroom for a bachelor pad, she will stay in New York until she finds me a wife. She needs me to have one before she dies."
I let out a short, surprised laugh, and I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. "The great Scott Smith is afraid of a little old lady?"
He turns to me, his eyes narrowing, and he steps into my space until I can smell the faint scent of whiskey on his skin. "She isn't just a lady. And she wants to see a life here that I don't have."
He looks at the apartment, then back at me, and I see a lightbulb go off in his head that makes me want to turn around and bolt for the elevator.
"Stay." he says. It isn't a request.
"Excuse me?"
"Help me finish this. Help me make this place look like a human being lives here. We will go out to buy plants, move the furniture, hide the whiskey-I don't care. Just make it look... warm." He takes a step closer, and his voice drops to that husky register that makes my stomach do that traitorous little flip again. "And then, you're going to help me with the second part of the lie."
I grip my purse tightly. "Which is?"
"She expects to meet the woman I've been 'settled' with. Stay the night to help me fix this mess, play the part of my girlfriend for the weekend, and I'll triple your annual bonus. I'll pay it tonight."
I look at the disastrous bookshelf, then at the man who just hours ago was making my blood boil in the office, and I think about my bank account. Sure I had a lot of money from this job, but I wanted to take a three month vacation traveling around the world in first class so having some extra money wouldn't hurt.
Plus it was just a show right?
His grandmother no longer lived in New York.
Last I heard, she had cancer with only two years to live.
She spent it traveling from one place to another before eventually settling in California.
"Triple?" I ask quietly.
"Triple," he confirms, "Do we have a deal, Minnie Mouse?"
******
Scott is such a good kisser.
Unlike my ex-boyfriend, who often tugged on my lips like he wanted to rip them off.
His grandmother makes a face at us, and I really cannot tell if it's out of disgust or if she's happy about this.
He looks at me so softly-and for the three years I have known him, he has never been soft with anyone. In fact, his expression is usually either blank or icy cold.
With me, there's the occasional pout when I am unable to get something he wants.
I blush and pull back, tucking my hair behind my ear. It should be part of the acting, but it feels so real because I'm feeling butterflies that shouldn't be there.
"I don't see a ring on her finger, though," Lady Jessica says in an observant tone, picking up some food with her fork.
"Well, I have to wait for your verdict before I take such a bold step," he says with a boyish grin.
She huffs. "You always do whatever you want, Scott. I don't think you care about my verdict."
"Of course I do."
"Or you are just not serious with her."
"Grandmother," he says in a warning tone.
"Can you excuse us, Claire?" she asks, turning to look at me. I give a polite smile and stand from the table, walking into the kitchen.
My heart is pounding at a rate of a thousand miles per hour, and my lips are tingling deliciously from the number of times he has kissed me.
"It's just work. Nothing serious," I mutter to myself, but I feel needy as hell. I can't wait to get back home.
I lean over the counter, my mind momentarily wandering to when I used to date Owen.
The relationship was bound to end because, first of all, I had a boss who needed me at his beck and call. Most times, I hardly ever had time to hang out with him or go on dates.
Then the sex was terrible because Owen was a man. And not in the sense that I would rather fuck a woman-I mean, he only cared about finishing, about his own pleasure and not mine. And to be honest, he barely knew how to make a woman feel good.
So I ended up having to sort myself out.
Six months into our relationship, he lost his job and apartment and started living in mine. I didn't care that much about being the sole provider, but it did start to get annoying that he was comfortable not working and not even bothering to look for a new one.
He also became insecure and tried controlling my life, talking about how I was treating him like trash because things got bad for him.
I stayed.
Well, because I kept trying to understand his frustration.
Until I showed up to work one day with a black eye poorly concealed by makeup, and Scott-who needed his overworked personal servant to be in top condition all the time-pried into my life without my permission, and off to jail Owen went.
I had been angry at first, but now-seven months later-I'm grateful.
Something hard presses into me and warm hands wrap around me from behind, crawling up my shirt. I turn to face him and he captures my lips with his.
I pull away immediately. "She's not here."
He says nothing but kisses me again.
"You know, I'm starting to think you're just obsessed with me," I tease, hoping his pride would make him stop because I don't like how I feel about this.
"Hm," he smiles. "You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"
Before I can reply, his mouth is on mine again. I gasp as his tongue slips inside my mouth. I'm melting into him, my hands suddenly tugging at his hair because my lack of self-control decides to take over.
