I take another deep breath and place my hand in his. We shake twice, our eyes locked in a stare.
“I’ll give you one thing, Graves. This is by far the strangest thing I’ve ever done to secure a paycheck.”
He chuckles. “And this is the strangest thing I’ve ever paid someone for.”
I slip my hand from his with a quirk of my lip. “While there are some details I’ll need to know for this to work, your past conquests, paid or otherwise, are not on the list.”
The hour Cheryl and Tom gave us to freshen up passes while we trade stories back and forth and decide on some basic staples of our ‘relationship.’ We stick to the things we’re sure to be asked about, but even that is a lot to cover in so little time. Noah suggests keeping to the truth as much as possible: we met at work, and after a night out with friends couldn’t stay away from each other. I roll my eyes at the predictability and how Cheryl seems just the type to eat it up.
I pop my head out of the bathroom as I fasten the back to my earring. “How long have we been together?”
Noah is rolling the sleeves of a light chambray shirt. “A year?”
My stomach drops. Twelve months is longer than any real relationship I’ve ever been in—even Axel only lasted ten miserable months. He continues as I grab the other earring.
“It seems long enough to be reasonable, without being so long they start to question what’s next.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. What’s next? What’s next for people who are actually dating is marriage or kids, or some other semi-permanent thing like buying real estate.What the fuck have I gotten myself into?Yesterday I didn’t even want to think about sleeping with Noah because of the boundaries I felt it would cross and now I’m faking a relationship and facing the potential of discussing a hypotheticalmarriage?Shaking my head against the impending spiral, I reach for my chapstick as I answer.
“The logic is sound. Alright. A year it is. What happens if they ask about your move to Portland? Surely that’s come up before?”
“Shit. It has. Uh, long distance? Maybe we met when I came up on a visit to Flourish’s Portland office?”
“Sounds about as credible as the rest of it. And it might help cover any minor inconsistencies.”
I exit the bathroom with the light green cardigan I haven’t decided on wearing yet clutched in one hand, smoothing the white dress I packed with the other.
“Damn, I should have asked Gayle about an iron. I don’t know if the Barkers will appreciate my wrinkled poor getting all over their stuff. Not to mention we’re swingin’ right out the gate with these tattoos.” I point my toes and twist them against the carpet, showcasing the bright blocky ink running the length of my leg.
“You look lovely,” Noah says, and I jerk my head up to make a face.
“It’s just the two of us. No need for compliments.”
“Now I’m not allowed to compliment you?”
I narrow my eyes. “I suppose you’ve done it before, but how do I know it wasn’t a ploy to butter me up so I’d go along with your harebrained plan?”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “If I remember correctly, this was just as much your harebrained idea. I offered to come clean.” Chuckling, he turns and a wave of shame washes over me, my cheeks warming with it.
Thiswasmy idea. Or, letting it get this far was. He openly admitted to wanting to clear the air. He probably only agreed to it so I wouldn’t look like a weirdo for suggesting we actually follow through.
Until this moment, stepping back through the terrace doors, I thought lunch was a word with a simple definition: a midday meal somewhere between breakfast and dinner. However, standing here with Noah’s hand on the small of my back and Tom and Cheryl beckoning us over, I realize I do not share the same definition with our hosts.
The table is laid out with enough food to feed a dozen starving teenage boys over the course of Super Bowl Weekend. Salads, sandwiches, and desserts are piled high, the entire spread embellished with fresh flowers in crystal vases.
“Welcome back, you two,” Tom roars, raising his glass of wine.
Noah and I exchange a look, a final silent agreement to stick to our plan, before he ushers me towards one of the empty chairs. Cheryl waves and a slender woman with mousy brown hair approaches, a bottle of wine in her hand and a napkin folded over her arm. She stands by as Noah pulls my chair out andI settle into it. He sinks into his own, grabbing the ivory cloth napkin from the place setting and spreading it on his lap.
“Thank you both so much for the wonderful accommodations. The guest house is a dream,” he says, as the mousy girl fills his wine glass.
“Yes,” I agree, flashing a delighted smile. “A dream, indeed.”More like a nightmare.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Cheryl says with a wave of her hand.
Nothing? To keep from laughing at how wrong she is, I smile and grip the wine glass, bringing the chilled beverage up for a sip. I wouldn’t call sleeping in close quarters with the man they think is my boyfriend, but who’s really just my employer who felt pressured to fake date me to save a project that could be making both of our careers,nothing.
“And it gives Cheryl an excuse to feed someone other than myself,” Tom chuckles, patting his round belly. “She’s been itching for an opportunity to host since our youngest packed up and started at Berkley.”
