Do it all over again.
Throw myself back into that confusing, sexy, psychological mess all over again.
“Nash says he’ll try to convince Archer to drop in,” I said, trying to keep my voice normal.“And then he sent some other things I can’t repeat.”
Zoey giggled.“I bet he did.Just tell me—is the sex amazing?”
My eyes fluttered shut.I could answer this one honestly, even if it came from data I’d collected four years ago.“Absolutely fucking life changing.”
Zoey and I chatted awhile longer—about where Nash lived, what she should wear, what his office was like—until I needed to get ready to pick up Mia.I assessed my closet, still unorganized, but now in an even bigger mess on the floor instead of tucked behind the doors, and sighed.
“What am I doing?”I asked the mess.
My summer clothing pile had no guidance, but my deep-seated anxieties were clearer than ever.
I was living my dream life—beautiful clothes, amazing restaurants, a gorgeous man who looked at me like I hung the moon.But I was just an actor playing the heroine.My character was Clara-in-love-with-Nash, but the problem was that the actor was wondering where reality began and the façade ended.
And somehow, having everything I'd ever wanted right here in front of me stung worse than never getting it at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NASH
Click.
Click.
Click click.
I frowned at the amber sconces.I’d adjusted the lighting in the living room no fewer than ten times.I couldn’t get it just right.Having Clara and her best friend over for dinner was a big deal.No, it was an enormous deal.We were bringing Zoey into our ruse, a woman who’d known the ins and outs of Clara for far longer than I had.I wanted to make a good impression.
Strictly for the arrangement, of course.
My frown deepened.I was tired of thinking about Clara.I’d stupidly thought that three days of space would help silence the obsessive thoughts about those kisses, her lips, the little sounds she’d made as I pulled her into me and pushed my tongue into her mouth…
But no.I only wanted more.
And now I’d get more.
Yet that somehow didn’t satisfy me, because I wanted the capital-M More.I wanted to fuck her.I wanted to consume her.I wanted to finish what we started four years ago and—
God damnit, Nash.You aren’t supposed to be thinking about this shit.
I knew better.I knew why getting close to people was dangerous.I had room for Archer, because we might as well be conjoined twins.And my mom.Hell, that was it.Small circles were safe circles, because whenever more relationships entered the chat, shit always went south.Always.
I learned not to trust most relationships from day one.My own father had lied about everything—his name, his life, his intentions—and then vanished when shit got real.His lies became the blueprint.
Growing up, I watched my mom get burned by men who promised her the world and delivered nothing.Then Archer and I started making money, and suddenly we had plenty of "friends."The kind who needed loans they'd never repay, who had investment opportunities that were really just schemes.
Romantic relationships were the worst.Women who swore they didn't care about the money, right up until they did.Women who pretended to want me while strategically positioning themselves for a ring, a payout, or a story to sell.I got good at spotting the lies, but it didn't make them hurt less.It just made me tired.
Every relationship felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop.Waiting to discover what they were really after, what they'd been hiding, how long they'd been lying.
The name of the game now was contractual, short-term arrangements or bust.At least then everyone knew the score from the start.
I resumed arranging the finer details of my grand entry hall, trying to see the place from their eyes.I knew they’d love it.But would it come off as sterile?The place needed more greenery, which I knew Clara would agree with.Maybe she could recommend an action plan.Maybe we could go to a greenhouse together and pick out the perfect plants.Maybe she could just…
Jesus, Nash.
