His black T-shirt and jeans do nothing to conceal his muscular build or the power shimmering beneath the surface.
Nor does the signature blank look on his face or the coolness in his expressionless eyes.
“Remi’s shagging,” he announces coolly, easily.
He nods at Cecily and spares a glance in my direction. But it can’t actually be called that. It’s a tenth of a glance.
A mere inch of a glance.
“Ugh. That pig.” Cecily shakes her head. “We’re crossing Remi off the potential candidates list.”
“We can add Creigh instead!” Ava grins, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. When he gives her a look, she goes on, “Anni needs a fake boyfriend to convince her family not to arrange her with some evil mafia chap. Bran is our number one candidate because he’s like the best. You are, too, Creigh, but your lack of words can be a deal breaker for some.”
“Yeah, not him.” I force a smile and rub my foot against my calf. “That just leaves Bran. I’ll go beg him on my knees.”
Something flashes through Creighton’s eyes. Not sure what it is, but it’s raw enough to send a chill down my spine—like his text two days ago.
For the first time ever, I, Annika Volkov, found no words to type back. Not even an emoji or a GIF. I was stunned into silence.
Partly because I knew not to push when someone set clear boundaries and partly because I’m starting to think Creighton is nothing like the façade he shows to the outside world.
And while that intrigued me, it terrified me to the core as well, and I have enough self-preservation instinct to stay away from muddy situations the moment I sense them.
That feeling is repeating again, and it tunes out all the noise around us as if we’re trapped in a bubble.
“We’ll help,” Ava says. “Bran is like my bestie.”
“Everyone is your bestie,” Cecily points out.
“And you’re at the top and you love me.” She blows her kisses to which Cecily shakes her head again.
“Why not me?”
We all pause at Creighton’s calmly spoken words. He’s staring at me.
Dead on.
With those darkening heterochromia eyes and that stone-cold face.
I’ve never been under his scrutiny to this point of suffocating intensity.
The way he looks at me now is different.
He used to regard me with annoyance, blankness, or pure indifference.
There’s certainly no indifference now. It’s interest, but not the good type. Hell, it might as well be the dangerous type.
“Do you want it to be you?” Cecily asks slowly, almost carefully.
“Why not me?” he repeats, still staring at me, drilling holes in my face.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested.” I’m surprised I sound collected, considering the war raging inside me.
“What if I am?”
I almost choke on my own drool. What is wrong with him tonight? He obviously did his best to scare me away, but now he wants to be my fake boyfriend?
“No,” I speak with more determination. “Bran is a better fit.”