“Besides, I have a better idea,” he goes on.
A better idea than a date with Armani Bellanti? I’m intrigued. Gripping my bag between both hands, I arch a brow and remain silent.
“Give me six months,” he says.
“Six months for…a date? You want to ask me out sometime next year?”
My brain stutters. Where is he going with this?
He moves closer, to the edge of the desk, then leans against it while looking down at me.
Lion, meet mouse.
Fuck.
“No. I’m saying you’reminefor six months.” His dark eyes dare me to argue. “I’ll send a car over to your place later, for your things.”
My brain stutters again in double time. “I’m sorry, what? What do you mean, yours? You want me to move in with you? I don’t…”
I trail off, shaking my head in disbelief. We’ve gone from tiptoeing around each other to racing down the straightaway in the blink of an eye, and I can’t breathe.
“This is the deal,” he says. “You work at an office here, you live in my house, you sleep here, and your every need is taken care of. And I have you.”
Glancing around the room, sure this is a joke, I shake my head and frown. “But…why? What’s your angle?”
The tables have been completely turned on me. I’m supposed to be the one with a play, with a mission, not him. But he’s acting as if this is some kind of a means to an end, and I know that end can’t just be me. We’ve known each other far too long for him to suddenly want a romantic partnership now. And this sounds more…contractual. So what’s the deal?
“No angle. Just a promise.” He tucks his fist beneath my chin and lifts it, so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “In six months, you’ll be in love with me.”
I feel my eyes go wide. I can hardly believe what I’m hearing, and I’m too shocked to respond. Armani just returns to his desk, dropping into his chair casually, like he hasn’t just offered me the most indecent, yet strangely tantalizing proposition I’ve ever received.
My chin still tingles where he touched me. He’s never touched me before, not with his hands on my bare skin. Has he? Christ, I can’t think straight enough to remember. I’ll remember this touch for the rest of my life, though.
It’s like he caressed every part of me with his words, his promise.
I look away from him. I’m actually, literally speechless right now, so instead of responding to his offer, I stand, give him a curt nod of goodbye, and silently exit the office.
Once I get back to my car, I sink against the seat and put a hand to my forehead. My heart is still pounding as I replay the whole scene in my mind over and over again.
What the hell just happened?
2
CANDI
“You’ve beeneye-fucking him for ages. Why the hell would you say no?”
After leaving Bellanti Vineyards, I drove immediately to my best friend Juliana’s ritzy condo in Saint Helena. The thirty-minute drive did little to clear my mind, but the scent of freshly brewed espresso coming from the cups steaming on her nightstand is finally starting to help. That, and the adrenaline is wearing off.
“I didn’t say no,” I point out. “I didn’t say anything! I couldn’t. He took me completely by surprise.” I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the bedframe while Jules perches on the edge of the bed and brushes my hair.
This is just like when we were roommates at college and one of us had to vent, for instance if a professor graded a paper lower than we thought we deserved, or a boy problem needed solving. Jules would fire up her espresso machine—no cafeteria coffee was ever good enough for her, thank you very much—and we’d sit around getting hopped up on caffeine while we hashed things out together. No matter what I’m going through, Juliana has been my closest confidant for years. Although her place now is quite the upgrade from our dorm days. Her bedroom alone is bigger than the entire apartment we shared back then.
“It’s not like you to freeze up,” she scolds.
Her wide-sleeved kimono-style top rustles behind my head as she works my hair into a loose fishtail, her gold bangles clinking. She tugs a bit aggressively at my fine strands, presumably to get the braid as perfect as possible—she’s never been the type to suffer even a single hair out of place, literally.
I wince a little at the pain, but I don’t complain. Jules isn’t exactly the kind of person who has a warm, maternal vibe. She’s more the kicking ass and taking names type, which I’ve always admired about her.
