“That bad?”
“My last customer wanted to debate the merits of buttercream versus cream cheese frosting for twenty minutes,” Lucy said, then paused as they reached the café entrance, studying Devney’s face. “But judging by your expression, I’m guessing frosting is the least of our problems today.”
They found their usual booth in the back corner, away from the lunch crowd. Lucy waited until they’d ordered. “Spill.”
“Ronan bought me flowers yesterday.”
“Wait, Mr. Spreadsheet himself? Voluntarily purchased flowers?”
“Sunflowers. He remembered what I told him about my grandmother.” She traced the rim of her water glass. “And two nights ago. She looked up, heart pounding. “We made love.”
Lucy sat up straighter. “I knew this was real.”
“It’s complicated. The office is already starting to talk because we were both out sick the same day.”
“But there was a real moment between you, right?” Lucy pressed, her eyes bright. “Not a fake-fiancée moment.”
“Yes. Many moments.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Lucy asked.
The question cut straight to her core.
“I’m in love with him,” she said, the words barely audible.
“Finally,” Lucy breathed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “Took you long enough to admit it.”
“You were right. That day in the bakery. You saw it before I did.”
“I’ve been seeing it for months. Way before this whole fake engagement thing. The way you talk about him, the wayyour face lights up even when you’re complaining about his impossible standards.”
She covered her face with her hands. “This is bad, Lucy. So bad.”
“Why? Because you’re feeling real things for your fake fiancé?” Lucy took Devney’s hands from her face, forcing her to look up. “That seems reasonable to me.”
“He’s my boss,” she said. “Julia from Accounting cornered me in the break room this morning asking if I was ‘feeling better,’ looking like she’d already written the headline.”
Lucy winced. “Subtle.”
“Not remotely. And now I’m expected to act like it’s business as usual, while juggling all these real feelings.”
“The fake engagement was his idea, remember? And now he’s buying you flowers and making love to you. That doesn’t exactly scream emotional detachment.”
A wish stirred to life inside her. “You think so?”
“Men rarely buy flowers for women they’re indifferent to, especially men like him, who probably consider floral arrangements a wasteful allocation of resources.”
Despite herself, she laughed. “That does sound like him.”
“Look.” Lucy’s expression turned serious. “I’m not saying this is simple. The whole boss-employee thing is bound to get messy. But denying how you feel won’t make it any clearer.”
“So, what do I do?”
Lucy shrugged. “Be honest with yourself, at least. And maybe, when this Beauchamp deal is over, be honest with him, too.”
The thought gripped her with terror. “What if I’m reading emotions into an encounter that was just good sex?”
Lucy studied her face. “Is that what you really think happened?”
