“I’ll help.” I look up and arch my brow at the adulterer.
“No, William,” Gisele whines again.
Is she ever gonna grow out of that whining shit?
“It’s the least I can do. Your meal was incredible, Mrs. Foster. I don’t remember the last time I ate so well.”
Picking up my plate, I roll my eyes and head into the kitchen. As I pass him, I whisper, “Layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t ya think?”
He doesn’t answer me, not until we’re both in the kitchen. Luckily, Mom and Dad have one of those kitchens that is separate from the rest of the house. There’s a swinging door into the dining room and everything. I set my plate down on the counter and am about to turn to gather up more dishes when I feel a big, warm body at my back. His hand reaches around me and settles on my full stomach.
“I know how this looks, but it’s not what you think, JoJo.”
I hate how he says my name. As far as I’m concerned, I’m either Jo or, if it’s absolutely necessary, Josephine. But when I told this asshole my name was Jo, he immediately doubled it up. The sad part? I liked it––from him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s not what I think?” Now, I’m pissed. “So, you’re not a fucking cheating bastard?”
“Look….” He lets go of me, and I feel the loss. He leans his hip on Mom’s counter, which draws my attention to his lower half. Because of course it does. “I’m not supposed to tell you or anyone this, but Gisele and I—”He points to himself then in the direction of the living room where we assume Gisele is sitting, but who knows because the woman is probably in her old bedroom tearing down her boy band posters in case William wants to see it.Phew. Breathe, Jo. “—we’re not really together. This is just a ploy to show the firm we’re both settling down. We both want to make partner next year.”
I stare up at him because, damn, he’s tall. “So, if I went up to my sister and asked her if this is all fake, she’d tell me it is?”
He chuckles. “Doubtful. She doesn’t want your parents to find out. Hell, she’s even thinking we should move in together.”
I roll my eyes. This guy is clueless. Men should really read romance novels. They’d be able to clue in on what’s happening in their love lives if they did. “You do know that means you’re in a relationship with my sister, right?”
“No. We’re not.”
“Have you two kissed?” I shiver at the thought.
“Well, yes. Once. In front of the partners at a cocktail party.”
“Uh-huh. Anywhere else?”
He looks at me then up at the ceiling. “Just a peck here and there. Mostly on the cheek.”
“Hand holding?”
“In front of—”
“The partners. Right.” I pause for a second. I need to ask. “Have you fucked her?”
He looks affronted. “No. Jesus, JoJo.”
I’m sure I could ask him other things, like do they go on double dates with friends at work who are not partners, do they eat lunch together every day, and has he bought her flowers and had them delivered to work? Any or all of those things have doomed him into a relationship with my sister, even if she’s the one who orchestrated it all.
And I’ve no doubt she orchestrated it all because, if I know anything, I know my sister. Sure, she’s smart and successful, but deep down she’s a mercenary.
“Tell me something, William.”
“Billy.” He steps closer, and I wish he wouldn’t. “You, sweet JoJo, call me Billy.” He touches the crew neck of my shirt, pushing it down just enough for him to see I’m braless. His finger touching me makes me shiver.
“Billy, are you as successful as my sister says?”
He nods as his eyes roam down my body.
“Would you say you were rich?”
His eyes dart up to mine. “I’m comfortable. Why are you asking?”
“Were you a collegiate athlete?”
