“And if he doesn’t feel the same way?”
“Then at least you’ll know. Secrets ruin things, Bay. If he means something, be honest before it’s too late.”
Later, after Gretchen leaves, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling.
I can’t fall for him, I tell myself.
But my heart already has.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
12
Daniel
The investor meeting drags on for three excruciating hours. Still, for most of it, all I see is a blurred image of numbers on the projection screen and hear voices discussing quarterly projections fading into echoes.
What I can actually see is Bailey’s angry face this morning. Honestly, it was cute seeing that slight pout on her lips and her creased eyebrows, but there was nothing attractive about the truth beneath it. This is serious.
I’m protecting her, I tell myself. But am I?
“Daniel?” Richard Larsson’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Your thoughts on the European expansion?”
I force myself to focus, rattling off the prepared response about market analysis and strategic positioning. The words come automatically, lacking depth to me. When the meeting finally ends, I loosen my tie and check my phone, finding twelve missed calls from Lottie. That’s never a good sign, but I don’t have time for her pestering this morning, so I ignore her. However, she corners me in the hallway before I can escape. “We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“The London investors.” She’s walking fast, heels clicking against marble. “They want an in-person pitch. Tomorrow.”
I stop walking. “Tomorrow? That’s impossible.”
“Forty-eight hours, technically. Cassidy’s article spooks them, and they want reassurance that you’re stable enough to handle their investment.” She turns to face me, arms crossed. “You need to go. And you need to bring Bailey.”
“Lottie—”
“People believe the story when they see you together. The photos from the gala and the Forbes shoot worked. You need her there.”
I hate being managed or feeling like a puppet in my own life, but she’s right, and part of me wants Bailey there anyway, even if I’ve spent the last two days trying to convince myself otherwise.
“Fine. I’ll ask her.”
“Don’t ask. Tell her. She signed up for this, remember?”
“Whatever.”
I find Bailey in her workspace an hour later, hunched over her laptop. She doesn’t look up when I approach. I wipe my palms on my trousers before I even realize they’re damp.
“Investor summit. London. You’re coming.”
Bailey’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. “You mean for the girlfriend act?”
“Bailey—”
“When do we leave?” She still won’t look at me.
“Tomorrow morning. Six AM.”
“Fine.” She closes her laptop slowly. “Is that all, Mr. Williams?”
