Simon moves in closer, his lips close to my ear. “No. But that’s something you don’t get to know until later.”
It sends shivers down my spine. Heat gathers in my core at his words.
Until later.
There’s a glimmer of hope that what I unintentionally pulled this man into won’t be just for tonight.
“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into with this?” Simon asks.
The crowd is starting to thin out. No doubt it’s getting late.
“Meet me at my shop tomorrow and we can discuss this. Iron out the details.”
Simon stands, straightening his cuffs. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been dressed impeccably. As someone who makes their living in fashion, it’s more of a turn-on than it should be. But the way Simon fills out his suit?
I’d be crazynotto take notice of him.
“And where is your shop?”
I press up onto my toes, whispering into his ear.
“Why don’t you use that dossier of yours and come find me?”
ChapterSeven
LAYLA
This is not a good idea. Quite possibly the worst one I’ve ever had. Convincing Simon to be my boyfriend to get Brad and Mrs. Bush—and this entire town—off my back during the wedding?
There’s no way we’ll be able to pull this off.
Now that the buzz of the alcohol has worn off, I’m thinking more clearly.
More clearly than I was last night.
I must be going crazy.
The clicking of the sewing machine bounces around the room as I push the material of Gemma’s dress through. It’s one of the only things I can focus on right now.
Sewing has always been able to quiet the noise of whatever is going on with my life. It was what kept me going after I left my ex.
And it was something he never fully supported.
A brisk knock echoes from the back door that leads directly into my workroom from the alley. No doubt it’s Simon, coming to discuss my insane idea from the night before.
“It’s open.”
I pull the skirt out from the machine and cut the thread so I can place it back on the dress form where it’s safe. The last thing I want is anything happening to this work in progress.
The door to my workroom swings open and there he is.
Simon in all his muscly glory.
Tight jeans meld to his thighs. The leather jacket he’s wearing strains against his muscles.
Those biceps? He could probably snap a person like a twig. The thought shouldn’t make my stomach flutter and my thighs clench together, but it does.
Why does he look even more attractive like this?
