I slide off the sofa.
I don't make a conscious decision to do it. Gravity just seems to pull me down. I sit on the floor next to her, abandoning the safety of the high ground.
We are close now. Too close.
I can smell her properly from here. Not just the expensive shampoo provided by the house staff, but her. Vanilla. Rain. Warm skin.
She doesn't pull away. She watches me, her breath hitching slightly.
"You pay attention," I say softly. "To the notebook. To the fries. To the suit."
"It's my job," she whispers. "Details matter."
"Do they?" I ask.
I reach out. My hand moves on its own, bypassing the logic center of my brain. I tuck a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. My fingers brush the sensitive skin of her jawline.
She shivers. The shiver ripples through her.
"Is this just the job, Ivy?" I ask, my voice low. "Because you're very good at it. You're terrifyingly good at it."
She leans into my touch. A fraction of an inch. But it's enough to send a shockwave through my system.
"I don't know," she breathes. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. They are wide, dilated. "The lines are getting blurry, Brooks. I don't know what's the script and what's... us."
"Clause 4," I remind her. It's a weak defense. A crumbling wall. "No touching without an audience."
"There's no audience," she says.
She challenges me. She always challenges me. From the moment she tackled me in that garden, she has been the only person in my life who refuses to let me stay safe.
"No," I agree. "No audience."
I lean in.
The pull is magnetic. It's inevitable. I want to kiss her. I want to taste the wine on her lips. I want to pull her into my lap and ruin the carefully constructed boundaries of this contract. I wantto take the "fake" out of "fake fiancée" and see what happens when things get real.
Her eyelids flutter shut. Her lips part slightly.
I am an inch away. Her breath is warm on my face.
Bzzzzzt.
The sound is loud. Jarring. Violent.
My phone, sitting on the coffee table behind me, vibrates against the wood like an angry hornet.
Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt.
Ivy jerks back. Her eyes snap open, filled with sudden, stark clarity.
I pull my hand away from her face as if I've been burned.
I turn and grab the phone. The screen lights up the dim room.
Assistant
Early morning video call with Tokyo partners. 6 AM. Review the Holloway diligence files.
