“You help me with my business, and I help you with yours.” His gaze is drilling through me, and suddenly we’re alone, and he’s taken a step forward, skimming on the edge of my personal space. That place that, if he steps into it, I’ll be able to smell his fresh and sharp mint shampoo that clouded the bathroom this morning with every inhale. “What do you say, Lore? I need you to buffer with that endless charm and wit, and you need a visibility boost. It’s a win-win.”
“I’m pretty sure you have enough charm and wit to spare.” Weak argument, but what he’s suggesting freaks me out. Because, as much as I want it, there’s something scary in someone suddenly saying your dreams are just within reach. Especially after years of being told to wait, stay safe, keep saving, don’t give up your security. Now, all of a sudden, someone’s extending a hand and asking me to take a leap of faith, trust him in a way I’ve never trusted anyone before, not even myself.
“I also have a reputation.” Michael sighs with a sad kind of resignation. “That’s my fault, and I own up to it, but having a girl like you vouch for me? That would go a long way.”
My next question is mostly driven by the pure need to let off steam by poking fun at him, the grin twitching at the corner of my lips, matching my playful intentions. But also, because I want to know what he thinks is so special that, from all the girls in the world, I’m the one who can shine a positive light on him. “A girl like what, Mikey?”
His eyes dart to the crowd I hadn’t noticed gathering around us, and he clears his throat, that endearing blush making another appearance, all his freckles popping out. “Are you going to make me beg in front of all these people?”
“Maybe.” I flash him a grin, then pat his chest reassuringly. “You’ve got yourself a deal, stud.”
“You really are a rockstar, Lore. The first event is in eight days, cocktail attire.” Then he turns to the crowd and winks. “Nice meeting you all.” He swerves and walks out, doing that cute little hat trick from the morning, then he stops at the door, looking back at me with a broad smile and that glint of troublemaker in his eyes. “And Lore?” He hooks his thumbs into his suspenders, which should be unappealing on an Urkle level, but damn if that cocky bastard isn’t about the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. “You’re as far away from a Plain Jane as I’ve ever come across.” And there he goes, purposefully shaking that ass.Damn, that ass.
Hattie comes to stand beside me, fanning herself in an attempt to cool down the flush of her dark skin. “That was hot. He is totally into you.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, accepting my fate as Michael’s arm candy for the next eight weeks or so. “It’s mutual, but never going to happen.”
“Why not?” Hattie asks with a pout, seeming to find it within herself to be offended by the idea that I won’t sleep with Michael.
“Because I’m living for free in the apartment he owns.”
“He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would attach strings to that arrangement.” Hattie looks in the direction Michael walked off to. “Despite the money, the charm, the looks, those eyes… Damn Lauren, those eyes! I’d do him on that merit alone.” I raise an eyebrow, indicating she should get to the point because I have work to do. “What I’m saying is that, for all of his bad-boy reputation, Michael Edwards seems like one of the good ones.”
“He does.” And I don’t want to do anything that might prove that assumption wrong. I’ve been let down enough times by men I trusted. The last thing I’m going to let happen is a scenario where Michael gets the opportunity to prove that he’s just one more disappointment.
Chapter Four
Michael
It’s been a long,shitty day.
I can usually handle disastrous recording sessions like the one I had today, but the timing of it, right after I left Garderobe headquarters, it was all a bit too much for my nerves, and I am strung out like a wire.
My meeting with Joanna didnotgo as planned. Amara had closed an exclusive with a competing magazine behind my back, probably as retribution for my turning down her advances, and I found myself in a compromising position where the best thing I had to offer in exchange for Joanna letting Trista off the hook was myself.
A sweet deal for Garderobe, considering I’ve always refused personal interviews but somehow still end up on most of those eligible bachelor lists year after year. For me? Not so much. It’s a guaranteed viral article, and the last thing I need is some nosy corporate ladder climber digging too much into my past and splashing my decade-old heartache all over the internet.
I’ve been dying to tell Lauren, have her take the edge off my nerves with a few jabs about my already over-inflated ego, which is why I ventured to her floor after the meeting. But it didn’t seem like the right time when I happened upon the ambush her co-workers set up for her. Witnessing that unfold was enough to lighten some of the heaviness weighing down on my chest, though. And the deal I offered? Totally spontaneous, but boy, am I glad I did because knowing she’s onboard made my day more bearable, kept me going until the evening.
So, opening the door, the scent of something good cooking as I hear drawers being pulled open then shut, knowing it’s Lauren I’m going to find standing in the kitchen when I walk in, it all has me breathing a sigh of relief.
“Honey, I’m home!”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “In the kitchen, Cupcake.”
“Oooh, Cupcake, I like that.” I grin and bend down to peck her cheek, my hand lingering on the curve of her hip a bit longer than necessary. “Everything smells amazing, Lore.”
The oven is on with what I suspect to be roast chicken, and Lauren is mixing spices into a pot of mashed potatoes.
She shoots a glance at my hand, then returns her gaze to the pot. “You either follow through or back off,Cupcake.”
My cheeks flare, and I break into a sheepish smile. “Kinda torn, I admit.”
“Your place or mine?” She indicates the study with her chin, then points it to the bedroom up in the gallery, reminding me of all the reasons why my hand still being on her is a bad idea.
“Right.” I take a reluctant step back. “I’ll go wash up for dinner.”
“Ten minutes,” Lauren informs dryly, eyes intent on the potatoes, though I’m pretty sure they’re thoroughly mixed at this point.