Last year, I'd been forced to wear a pair of pinching size nines for so long that I'd been working up the courage to ask the unfailingly sour Mary if her brother was, in fact, still among the living. Luckily, Maurice had come through, the opposite of clockwork, right before the Halloween to Christmas switchover.
However, the silky gown Agnes picked out for me fit perfectly. Standing in the hotel room's mirror, I admired the way the dress hugged my curves without pointing a neon sign at them—like, say, a cleavage-and-booty-cheeks-exposing crystal bikini that weighed a metric ton.
No, it wasn't one of the yoga pants and tank top ensembles I favored during my off-hours, but the dress looked exactly like what someone Cole Benton was dating should wear: stately and subtly sexy—but not too sexy.
Speaking of too sexy…
Many hours, one hotel room reassignment, and a long, much-needed nap had passed since what I'd labeled theKiss Incident.Yet, a wave of embarrassment washed over me again at the thought of my fake fiancé.
Just like it had done every time I thought about Cole Benton.
I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened before dance class with him—what shouldn’t have happened. I still had no idea why I'd taken him up on his challenge instead of backing way.
But I was sure of one thing: Asking Agnes to put me up in one of The Benton’s empty hotel rooms until a suitable apartment could be found for me was probably the smartest thing I’d done since I'd agreed to play the part of Cole Benton's fiancée.
Forcibly tamping down my Kiss Incident memory cringe, I concentrated on putting my way-too-old curly weave into an updo that would match the elegance of the expensive-looking dress.
But a loud, banging knock sounded on the door just as I got a hybrid bun/beehive secured with several combs and, like, all the hairpins that ever hair-pinned.
“Sunny, it’s Cole Benton,”the heavy knocker said on the other side of the door before I could ask who it was.His voice was its usualice wouldn't melt in my mouthmonotone.
My heart thudded in my chest as I picked up my phone from the shiny aughts-era laminated wood dresser and checked the time. It was only 6:20.
“Oh, there must have been some kind of miscommunication,"I called back. "I’m still getting dressed, and I told Agnes to tell you I’d just meet you in the lobby at seven. So…”I let the sentence trail off, hoping he’d get the hint and, you know, go away and give me the forty minutes I still had left to get ready.
He did not go away.
A few cold beats ticked by. Then,"Open the door, Sunny. We need to talk about you moving into an economy room without my permission."
Something weird was happening in my tummy—a strange mix of fear, defiance, and something else. Something else I refused to name. But it reminded me of that kiss.
“There’s nothing to talk about,”I insisted with more bravado than I felt."I’m staying here until Agnes finds me a new apartment. End of conversation. I’ve made my decision.”
Silence. Then, “Don’t make me go down to the front desk and get a key card for your room. It will be worse if you do.”
Was hethreateningme? Like, actually threatening me for not leaving myself vulnerable inside his honey-thirst-trap of a penthouse?
Whatright did he have to intimidate me? Or act like I had to do everything he said?
I decided to open the door. Not because he told me to, but so I could give him a piece of my mind.
But before I could tell him off, Cole rushed through the doorway. Like a bull with shampoo-commercial-level blond and ash hair.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded as the heavy door swung shut behind him.
This wasn't the Ice King who'd smugly dropped me off this morning. He towered over me—his breathing ragged, his expression enraged. He looked the opposite of the cold billionaire CEO who never let on how he felt.
I blinked, a little taken aback. But then I remembered,Wait a minute, I'm the one who should be enraged.
"Agnes said no one would be using this block of rooms for a while because it was on the schedule for updating,"I explained—way more calmly than he looked, I might add."And I figured, why not?"
"Why not?"he repeated, his voice jagged steel."Why not?"
"Yes, why not?"I insisted, holding out both arms."This is just pretend. You are not my boss, and I don't have to do anything you say?—"
"This is a tactic!" He pointed at the ground, his chiseled features twisted with anger. "You're doing this on purpose. Driving me crazy.Torturing mejust to prove you can bring the CEO who fired you to his knees."
"What?No! How is your worldview so warped you can't see it's not always about tactics with people?"
