A lot more.
Mr. McNeal chuckles and lifts his wine glass. “You two look good together. So, wedding plans?”
Eva doesn’t miss a beat. “I think I would love to have a destination wedding. Esteban is from Puerto Rico, and I’ve always imagined getting married on the beach there.”
Mrs. McNeal lights up. “Oh, that sounds wonderful. Sunsets, sand, and love. Doesn’t get more romantic than that.”
“Exactly,” Eva says, reaching for my hand and lacing her fingers with mine. Her thumb brushes against my knuckles, and I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it.
I glance at her and smile, and for a moment, I almost forget we’re pretending.
Almost.
But this is the job. This is what we came to do. So I lean into it.
“Puerto Rico is beautiful,” I say. “My whole family lives there—grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles. It’s like a second home. Getting married there would mean a lot.”
I feel her fingers tighten slightly around mine, and I squeeze back, just enough to play the part.
Because that’s all this is.
Right?
Chapter Thirteen
Eva
I’ve been smiling so much tonight, my cheeks actually hurt.
This dinner, which I thought would feel awkward or stiff, has been surprisingly fun. I’ve spent most of the evening watching Esteban and Noah charm the McNeals with their pitch, and honestly, it’s been something to witness. They’re smooth, polished, professional, and just so damn convincing.
I’ve seen glimpses of this side of my brother before, but never Esteban’s. He’s confident, quick on his feet, and totally in his element. And, God help me, he looksincredible.
The sleeves of his light green button-up are rolled neatly at the forearms, drawing my attention to the tan skin and the veins that snake down his arms.Whyare veins suddenly sexy? Like, medically, what is wrong with me? Every time he shifts or lifts his glass, those damn veins flex, and all I can think about is licking them.
His beard is trimmed to perfection, and every time he looks at me with that playful glint in his eyes, it gets harder toremember that we’re just pretending. Because the way he’s watching me doesn’t feel fake. Not even a little bit.
And then there’s the way he leans in when he talks to me, low and warm, his cologne curling through the air and wrapping around me like it knows all my weaknesses. I’m starting to think this man was engineered in a lab to destroy me. He smells so damn good, looks like every sin I’ve ever wanted to commit, and sits next to me like he belongs there.
I try to keep reminding myself that this is all pretend. But my brain is no match for my hormones right now.
Because honestly, I want to kiss him. Like,reallykiss him. Push him back against this fancy velvet chair and make out like we’re in some teenage rom-com with no sense of public decency.
Who am I?
I feel like a possessed woman. Like someone hijacked my body and replaced it with a thirst trap in heels. And it’s not just that he looks good, he’s charming, relaxed, warm in a way that feels... easy. Familiar. Safe. Dangerous. It’s ridiculous.
I offered myself up for this. Volunteered. And now here I am, fighting off dirty daydreams in the middle of a business dinner, wondering if I’ve made the worst mistake of my life. Because here’s the kicker—I don’t even know if the attraction is real from his part.
What if he’s justreallygood at this? What if the way he leans in, the way he looks at me like I’m the only woman in the room, is all part of the act?
God, I hope not. Because if it’s not real, I am completely, utterly screwed.
Across the table, Noah keeps stealing glances our way. He’s trying hard to play it cool, but I know my brother. Hisjaw ticks every time Esteban touches my hand or gets a little too close. He hasn’t said a word, but the protective big brother energy radiates off him like a low hum.
I’m trying to stay focused on the conversation, but every now and then, my gaze drifts back to Esteban. And every single time, he’s already looking at me.
I swear he doesn’t even blink.
