“Yes,” I said slowly, trying to stall for time, “I could imagine how that might not have been exactly...ideal timing.”
Nick nodded curtly, and waited.
Waited for me to fix it somehow. For me to apologize. For me to give up on this bizarre game that we’d been playing, admit defeat, and let him off the hook.
Instead...
His face screwed up in horror. Then twisted in absolute rage.
“Is that...are you smiling right now?!”
I shook my head quickly, dropping my eyes to the bed and letting my long hair spill in between like a shield. He was in no mood to be toyed with right now, I knew that. Even the famous Nick Hunter had reached his limit for the night.
I smirked. You should have seen him. And on top of it all, he smelled like some kind of misfit s’more...
“No, I’m...” I cleared my throat sharply, trying to get it together, still completely unable to meet his eyes, “I’m just trying to figure out the next step—”
A hand broke through my brunette curtain and lifted up my chin. The next thing I knew, I was staring right into a pair of luminescent blue eyes.
He was much closer than I’d thought he was. Perched on the mattress just a few inches away. Dripping caramel sauce and lighter fluid slowly onto my bedspread.
“You are smiling. I can’t believe it.”
I thought he was going to yell, or curse, or scream. I thought he was going to storm from the apartment and possibly fire me. I thought there might even be a chance that he’d pick up my pillow and press it slowly, vengefully over my face.
Instead...he smiled back.
“Abby Wilder...you are really something, you know that?”
I stared back into those twinkling eyes, at a complete loss as to what to do. A part of me was still baffled that, after over two years of spending every second together, Nick Hunter was sitting my apartment for the first time. Another part was terrified that if he caught a stray spark on the way home, there was a good chance he could go up in flames.
And now he was smiling?
Then, before I could even ask the question, he pushed to his feet and headed for the door.
“Wait a second!” I threw off the covers and hurried after him, wrapping my arms protectively around my thin top as I scampered down the hall. He paused in front of the front door, waiting. “I’m not...after tonight, I mean...I’m not fired?”
His eyes lingered a moment on my quivering curls and tiny pajamas, before coming to rest on my face. We stared a moment. Then his lips curved up into a twinkling smile.
“Why would I fire you?” He stepped into the hall and glanced over his shoulder, tossing me a mischievous wink. “You’re the one who has to make this relationship work.”
Chapter 21
FOR THE NEXT MONTH and a half—that’s exactly what I did.
From parties, to gallery openings, to lunch dates, to photo-ops in the snow—the three of us did it all. I was a puppet-master, and they, my willing (and not-so-willing) subjects.
In a lot of ways, it was my finest work. From a PR standpoint it was the dream, and I certainly pulled out all the stops to make it happen.
Strategic leaks to the press, staged strolls through Central Park, carefully coordinated-just-so-they-would-look-not-coordinated outfits. Right down to calling up the paparazzi at the precise moment that Nick showed up at Ella’s apartment with a bouquet of flowers. (Flowers that I had purchased myself at a gas station not two minutes earlier.)
Yes, professionally speaking, it was my finest hour.
And yes, Ella was currently living in her own apartment.
It had been Nick’s one ultimatum. He had been willing to go along with just about everything else. The parties, the forced sobriety, matching her dress to his tie. He gritted his teeth with a smile and powered through it all. But on this, he would not compromise.
The fake relationship stopped at his door. She was not allowed inside. Nor had she ever been invited. It was his sanctuary. A sanctuary that—after spending every day with the little harpy—he most certainly deserved.