She does as I say, and I can see her cataloging all the empty tables around us. There are only a few occupied, and no one is glancing our way. She lets out a deep breath and visibly relaxes.
“There’s hardly anyone here. How is that possible? This place always seems packed when I drive by.”
“We missed the lunch rush. I would never put you in an uncomfortable position like that. I’m your…” I pause, not knowing what to say. Bodyguard? Fake boyfriend? Neither of those feels accurate.
“Boyfriend,” she supplies with a Cheshire cat smile.
“Fake boyfriend,” I correct. I like the idea of being her boyfriend too damn much.
The light in her eyes dims, but she holds that bright smile. She’s not fooling me, though. She doesn’t like this being fake any more than I do. I’m in big trouble with this one. I’ve never crossed a line with a client before, but I can feel myself crossing all sorts of lines.
Our food is brought out quickly, and we both eat in silence. Charity eats slowly, one flake of her sea bass at a time. She looks like she has the problems of the whole world on her mind.
“What’s wrong?”
She looks up from her plate and shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I growl, hating that she would even try.
She sets her fork down and wipes her lips daintily with her napkin. “Nothing really. I’m just trying to wrap my head around it all. My dad. Dima Sokolov, a stalker… it’s a lot.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “I know, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to keep you safe. We’ll figure it out.”
I don’t tell her my suspicions about Dima being behind the stalking. Not yet anyway.
“Plus, there is all this fake boyfriend stuff. What will our friends think?” She lets out a gusty sigh. “It’s just…”
“A lot,” I finish for her. I squeeze her hand.
She just nods, looking overwhelmed.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” I say the words but hate them. I want to follow through with this despite how terrible an idea it is.
Panic fills her eyes, and she grips my hand tighter. “I feel safe with you. Don’t leave me alone.”
“I just meant that we don’t have to pretend to be together. I’ll still keep you safe, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her grip relaxes. “Okay. But I want to be together, not just you as my bodyguard. I mean, fake together.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Seemingly happy with that, she picks up her fork and starts actually eating. Charity doesn’t release my hand as she eats, and I hate to admit how good her delicate fingers feel in mine.
Did I mention how fucked I am?
CHAPTERTWELVE
Charity
Friday night comesand goes without any drama from Dima. I expected him to show up at my doorstep at any moment and demand that I put on his dress and go with him to whatever event he had planned. It gives me hope that whatever Jasper said worked and that he’s really going to back off. Though I’ve learned not to pin my happiness on hope because that rarely works out the way I’ve wanted it to.
I take another look at my reflection in the mirror and press a hand to my stomach at the butterflies taking flight. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’m just going to the club to hang out with Darlene and Colt. So what if Jasper is coming with me…
Giggles bubble up and I can hardly hold them back. Yeah, so what if my pretend boyfriend is taking me to a sex club where my best friend and his best friend will be there to witness the train wreck that is my fake relationship. Why is it a train wreck you ask? Well, the answer is simple… every day that has passed by since we started the arrangement has just brought us closer. Touches are a little more natural and a lot less practiced. Not to mention the fact that my heart leaps in my chest and my core melts every time the man rests his hand on my lower back or when his lips press casually to my cheek in front of my team.
Every casual touch is enough to send me reeling. Darlene might put two and two together when it comes to our arrangement, even without me telling her. She did send me to Jasper for protection, after all, but my reactions to him are anything but fake. I know for a fact she’s going to see that for what it is and the metaphorical cat will be out of the bag.
“You about ready?” Jasper asks through my bedroom door. He doesn’t sound hurried, only curious. That’s another thing about him that I adore. He never rushes me. He lets me set the pace for everything. Even now when we are going to be late if we don’t hurry up, he’s letting me take my time as if we have all the time in the world.