Frustration builds in my gut and behind my eyes that I’ve gotten myself into this position, but it’s not like I had much choice. Well, my career was my choice, chasing my dream, wishing I could show my parents that I didn’t fail, that they didn’t crush me, that was all my choice. Maybe if I hadn’t been stubborn, if I’d gone after a useful degree I’d …
What, Christian? You’d what?
Likely be competing for a cubicle desk, still strangled with more loans than I can manage.
And while my dignity might not extend far enough to turn down his money, it does niggle at the back of my mind that taking money from the guy I’m sleeping with is crossing lines.
“We can’t sleep together again.” The words are so fucking hard to get out, I’m worried I’ll choke on them. And not in the good way like I did with his dick.
His disappointment is obvious. “It’s not like I’m paying you for—”
“No, and I know. It’s … well, this is important to you. And I can’t lie, it’s important to me too. I’m a trainwreck most of the time, and I don’t want to fuck this up for you.”
“What? You think a little thing like being clumsy will fuck this up? Not possible. In fact, I invite you to knock over all the cakes you like. Those people need some excitement in their life.”
How do I explain this? “I can’t take money from you and be … I dunno. Going on real dates? Hooking up? I’m not sure what’s going on here, but if we do this, I want to keep those things separate.”
He sets his hands on the bed behind him and leans back into them. “Well, shit.”
“I bet you think I’m being an idiot.”
“No, actually, I see your point.” His eyes travel slowly over me, and I can read on his face how torn he is. “You have no idea how desperately I want to say screw it all and turn this into an all-day sex marathon and not worry about the money or Darcy or my family but …” The conflict on his face tells me that fixing whatever horrible thing his family has done is important. I don’t even know the whole story and it’s already important to me too.
“I wish you’d never offered the money or that I could push back and not take it from you, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need it.” I scrunch up my face. “Sorry. You’re always telling methe truth so I wanna be honest with you as well.” The lump building in my throat makes me mad. Mad at myself for putting all my energy into an unpredictable career. Mad that I’m twenty-fucking-seven and still can’t stand on my own two feet. That I have to take money from a man I think I could really be interested in.
“You don’t need to hate yourself for that, love,” he whispers, reading me perfectly. “Money isn’t everything.”
“Which is easy enough to say when you have it.”
“Ouch.”
I’m about to apologize when he speaks.
“You’re totally right. Thank you.”
I’m not expecting that. “What?”
“I appreciate you reminding me to be humble.”
Yep. I could very, very easily be interested in him. My gaze trails over his long limbs, his tight stomach, those cum gutters that are going to be my undoing, before Émile lifts my chin with two fingers. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop looking at me like that.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Inappropriate.”
“Not at all. But if I’m going to keep my distance, you really shouldn’t be eye-fucking me.”
My laugh is louder than I expected, and I cut it off quickly. “Sorry. I have a hot naked guy in my bed. Checking you out is my default.”
“Well, take a last look.” He stands up, glances at his suit on the side of my bed, then tugs on the sweats I loaned him for the walk from the bathroom to my room last night … right before I promptly stripped him out of them again. They hang loose around his waist, and my gaze stays with him as he crosses my room to steal a T-shirt out of one of my drawers.
“Sure. Help yourself.” I grin.
“You’re my fiancé now. It’d be basically illegal if I didn’t wear your clothes.”
Fiancé. Damn. That’s … scary. Getting engaged wasn’t supposed to hit my to-do list for the next decade at least and here I am getting hitched to a guy I haven’t even known for twenty-four hours.
Sympathy crosses his face and Émile approaches to run his fingers through my hair. “Look, you’re getting into a lot without much knowledge, so this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to put my number in your phone and leave. Once I’m gone, you’re going to search my name and look me up on social media. Look into who my family is, recent marriage and engagement announcements—because yes, we’re going to have to do those things too. It’s going to be a lot of attention, and I want to make sure you’re ready for it.”
“Wait … are you like, famous or something?” I numbly unlock my phone as he hands it over, then he takes it from me and punches his number in.