He kept his gaze forward. "There's no difference between the two.”
"I see." I thought for a moment. "Is there some sort of catalyst to when you get in a mood to avoid people that I should be aware of or sensitive to?"
He shot me a glance that told me he wasn't about to talk about his feelings or behaviors. I sighed and turned my attention out the window.
"Are you having second thoughts?" he asked.
"Actually, I think you're the one having second thoughts. Maybe your attitude tonight was self-sabotage to get you out of this crazy plan you came up with in the first place. Are you too chicken to call it off so you act like this, hoping I will?"
His fingers flexed and then gripped the steering wheel. "I'm not having second thoughts." I expected him to say more, but he didn't.
We entered a gated community, and after winding around a little bit, he pulled into the driveway of a one-story home. The community looked affluent, but the house itself looked modest considering James’s wealth. It occurred to me that he had nice things but not flashy things. He didn't flaunt his wealth. His car, his home, even his watch, were expensive but purchased for their durability and function, not to show off. It was a contrast to Dean, who threw his money around like he was saying, “Here. Look at me. I'm rich.”
James remained quiet as we got out of the car. He got my bag from the backseat and led me up to the front door. He unlocked it, opening it, going inside, and holding it open while I entered the foyer.
Like everything else about him, the home exuded money without being obnoxious about it.
"I'll show you to your room."
As I followed him down the hallway, I began to second-guess this business marriage. Was the entire year going to be like this? If so, could I live with that?
He led me to a guest bedroom. It was lovely, decorated in white and soft-dove colors. It had all the requisite needs, a queen-size bed, side table, and dresser.
"Anything that you think you'll need, let me know and I can get it for you. There's a Jack and Jill bathroom, and on the other side is another bedroom, but if you'd like me to convert it into an office or some other space, let me know."
"This looks fine. It’s certainly better than my last place." I spoke with amusement to lighten the mood, but my words fell like a lead balloon. He responded with a curt nod.
"You have full access to the rest of the house, of course."
He set my bag on the bed and then moved back toward the door. "Is there anything else you need tonight?"
I shook my head. "No. I think I'm good for the night."
He gave another curt nod. "I'll let you alone so you can unpack and get settled."
He’d just made it out into the hall when my nerves couldn't take it anymore. "If you want out of this deal, just tell me. I'd rather you ended it now than continue on like this out of some feeling of obligation."
He stopped but he didn't turn, and I wondered if maybe he was going to ignore me. Finally, he said, "I don't want out of the deal."
"Then what's going on? I understand that this is a fake relationship, but the fact that you can't stand to be around me makes me wonder how we’re going to fool anyone."
His jaw tightened, and slowly, he turned his head to look at me. His eyes blazed with something I couldn't comprehend. "You think I can't stand you?"
I threw up my arms in exasperation. "What else am I supposed to think? You ignored me the whole night. You hardly looked at me and can barely say two words. Even now, you can't seem to get away from me fast enough."
He stepped back into the room, the energy radiating off him in intense waves. It was confusing because only seconds ago, he was so inside himself that it was almost like he was a black hole.
"It's not because I can't stand you."
God, the guy was exasperating. "Then what is it?"
"Fuck," he said under his breath.
I didn't like his attitude. He was acting like I was being unreasonable. "This whole thing was your idea, James. No one is going to believe I'm the love of your life if you can't even look at me. If you can't stand to be near me. I know I'm not supermodel material or any man's fantasy, but it seems to me—"
He growled. "That’s the fucking problem, Reyna."
I studied him, trying to understand his meaning.