Taking another bite of buttery, chocolaty goodness, buys myself an extra minute to think. Honestly? I’m curious. Not to mention the opportunity to check out the gallery and meet the owner is pretty freaking tempting—almost too tempting—to pass up.
Plus, there’s a tiny part of me, a part I’ve been trying real hard to ignore, that wants to see this new side of Rowan. Where he lives. What his life is like. Who he is now. Is he really still the same boy I used to know, like he said?
“Fine,” I say, brushing crumbs from my fingers. “I’ll do it. But, as we’ve previously discussed, I have a few more conditions.”
When his face lights up, it’s like watching the sun break through clouds of hope. “Name them.”
“Separate bedrooms. Non-negotiable.”
“Done.”
“You pay for everything—flights, food, whatever.”
“Obviously.”
“And I want final approval on the NDA before I sign anything.”
He nods. “Absolutely.”
“And if at any point I say treehouse, you back off. No questions asked?”
“Alreadyagreed to that one,” he says softly. “But the answer is still yes.”
His eyes drift down, and I realize my robe has shifted, showing off a good amount of cleavage.
Quickly adjusting the collar, I try to play it cool even as a flush creeps across my chest and up my neck. “One more thing. We need a plan for… after. When this… fake relationship inevitably ends, how are we going to stage the break up?”
“We can figure that out when the time comes,” he says, his eyes now firmly fixed on my face. “But I was thinking something along the lines of ‘mutual decision’ and ‘still great friends.’ Nothing too over the top.”
“And you really think people will buy that?” I ask skeptically.
“People will buy whatever we’re selling if we sell it right.” He flashes me his movie-star grin—the same one that’s all but combusted millions of panties to ash worldwide. “That’s the beauty of Hollywood.”
I can’t quite fight the smile tugging at my lips. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“Great,” he says, looking genuinely pleased. “I’ll have my assistant book the flights.”
The reality of what I’ve just agreed to hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m going to L.A. With Rowan Cole. My former best friend. To pretend to be his girlfriend.
What the actual fuck are you doing, Izzy?
“I should go.” He stands up and stretches. When the simple move causes his shirt to stretch taut across his chest and abs, my mouth goes dry. “I’ve got a few calls to make.”
“Right,” I nod, tearing my eyes away as I take a big gulp of my coffee. “Thanks for... staying.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes soften. “And for what it’s worth? It was nice being here for you. Felt like old times.”
His words cause a weird tightening in my belly, and I have to glance away again.
“Well, I’m a big girl now,” I grumble. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” When he reaches the front door, he pauses, looking over his shoulder. “But sometimes it’s nice to let someone else do it for a change.”
Before I can form a response, he’s gone.
All I can do, for I don’t know how long, is sit and stare at my half-eaten breakfast. What the hell have I just agreed to? Three days in L.A. with the man who’s ripped my heart out more than once? The same man who, despite everything he’s put me through, still makes my heart stutter and my pussy clench?
Even as a tiny spark of excitement pings to life, an inherent feeling of trepidation tells me there’s no way this could end well.
