She shakes her head. “I’m not a cheater. She was…probably.” Her gaze points toward the floor. “And you’re at a couple’s resort because?”
The way she’s shifting tells me she’s uncomfortable. I’m not heartless, so I don’t press her for details on the breakup. “Solo trip. Sapphire East was full.”
She nods.
I take a deep breath. I figure I might as well commit. Plus, I remember my promise to Kaydence that I have everything under control. “Fine,” I say. “What’s our plan?”
For the next thirty minutes, we discuss our agreement.
“It’s just for appearances, nothing more. Participation in the scheduled items should be minimal, if necessary at all. Here’s your copy of the itinerary. The yellow highlights are the events. Blue highlights are locations. I added the columns, which read left to right: event start times, your arrival time, and attire. On the back are details about our relationship, such as how we met, my favorite color, allergies, dietary restrictions—”
My brows crinkle together when she hands me a stack of papers.
“Sorry, the gift shop doesn’t sell binders.”
“Why do I need to read this? We’re not a real couple.”
She doesn’t seem to like my response. “No. But we need to pass as one. What if people ask you questions about me?”
“I’ll make up an answer?”
“Wrong.” She intertwines her fingers together and rests her hands on her knee. “I’m open to negotiation regarding the details; however, the itinerary stands.”
Leaning back, I drape an arm on the couch backrest, and a corner of my mouth curls. These demands are cute. “I don’t remember you being this bossy in the hotel room.Quitethe opposite.”
We hold each other's gaze. I indulge myself in a memory of her hands pinned above her head against the door, with me trapping her moans with my mouth. When her sight drifts to my lips and back up, I wonder what she’s thinking.
I clear my throat. “I’ll do it if you change one item.” I scan for the section I’m looking for. The weight of her gaze strengthens as I strike through three lines, add my own notes, and hand the papers back. “Here.”
She reads theHow We Metsection out loud. “Basil swiped right, then asked Caroline out on a date.” She scoffs. “I refuse to tell anyone, especially the Blakemans, that Iswipedanything.”
If I’m stuck married to her, I might as well make her grovel a few times. She hates that, I’m sure. “Meeting online is more believable than meeting at some stuffy business conference.”
“Since when?”
“That’s what I want adjusted. Think of it as a proper proposal.”
Exasperation is written all over her face. “Are we seriously debating about a dating app right now?”
“Yes.”
The way she fights holding back an eye roll would be adorable if she wasn’t my target. She fixes her face and plasters on an obviously fake smile. Her dimple usually shows otherwise. “Of course I swiped right; otherwise, we wouldn’t be a couple, now, would we,honey?”
“And I declined three times before accepting out of sheer pity. Luckily for us, you grew on me.” A finger on my chin, I think for a moment. “For our first date, we went to a latte art class at a coffee shop.” I smile. “Because I used to be a barista.”
Her raised brow meets my smug grin. “Anything else?”
“And we made vanilla dirty chai lattes.”
She slams her arms to her lap. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“A little,” I admit. A suppressed laugh escapes my lips. She probably thinks I’m incorrigible. “You aren't?”
“No, because this isn’t a joke. We have lunch with the Blakemans tomorrow. You need to be prepared to play the part of being a Jones. While I figure out how to make up ground with Quilliam the hedgehog.” She shudders in disgust.
I raise both palms into the air. “All right, all right.”
Sitting across from me, she’s reviewing the itinerary line by line, talking to herself and briskly switching between highlighters and pen. Oh, she’s irritated, but I don’t care. I won’t let her get under my skin. I won’t risk my job or my heart ever again.
