Page 70 of On The Edge

The condo is a stately great room, with a chef’s kitchen on one side, a living space on another, and then a hallway leading to the back with the bedrooms and office. There is a balcony that runs the length of the wall complete with a workout section, a hot tub, and a television and patio furniture.

I stand in the middle of it, taking it all in, as Cruz makes an effort to disappear and give me the space we haven’t had over the past week or so. This is home. That’s clear.

“THIS is the only place I can protect you, Madds,” he whispers. “It may not be what you want. Hell, you’re no doubt sick of me, but this is the environment I can control and protect you from the wolves.” He wants to protect me, which seems like a major step forward from indifference.

And strangely, I feel a modicum of peace. I may be completely out of my depth, but for the first time since this whole thing started, I don’t feel so . . . desolate.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Maddix

“So this is all pretend. All of it.” Tessa’s eyes are wide, her face in shock, as she looks at me through the computer screen.

I nod and breathe a little easier now that I’ve confided in someone.

“I sure as fuck hope your boss is paying you a crap ton of money to one, put up with some spoiled playboy who’s no doubt probably fighting this every step of the way, and two, for having to deal with all of these absolutely shallow headlines and horrible comments people are posting about you.”

“Gee, way to make a girl feel better.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. It’s definitely been an adventure of sorts.” I chuckle and then sigh. “But honestly, Cruz is pretty chill.”

“Who wouldn’t be for a cool billion, right?” she asks.

“Yep,” I murmur and glance around the condo where he’s everywhere in theory but nowhere physically. He left yesterday to head to Spain for forty-eight hours. Some family something or other he needed to attend before we hit the road for the next race on the circuit.

It’s weird without him here. You’d think I’d be sick of him after being stuck at the hip for almost two weeks, that I’d be reveling in the solitude I typically crave, but I find myself waiting for him to make a smart-ass comment about anything. Or to have him walk in and ask what movie we’re watching at night.

“Yep. Right,” she says, her eyes narrowing at me. “And you’re putting up with all of this bullshit for . . .”

“A raise and a promotion.”

“And for him,” she says.

“Well, yes. It’s for him. We’re doing all of this to prove to the board that he can be a trustworthy spokesperson and partner they don’t need to worry about.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Tess? If you’re trying to make a point, just get to the point.”

A slow smile crawls onto her lips at the same time a soft breeze comes in through the open windows. “You like him, don’t you?”

I fidget at the question. There are so many facets to the man. He’s arrogant, cynical, sarcastic, and brash, but he’s also thoughtful. Allowing me to sleep on his shoulder but hiding the fact, bringing me here to his home rather than leaving me in a hotel. Do I like him? “Yeah. Sure. He’s . . . Cruz.”

She bursts into laughter. “As I said, you like him, like him.”

I chuckle nervously. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re playing pretend.”

“And sometimes pretend becomes reality,” she counters. “Unless of course that reality—like a horizontal one perhaps—has already happened.”

I roll my eyes and blow out a dramatic sigh, hoping the flushing of my cheeks isn’t noticeable. “Whatever.”

“You’re in a pressure cooker turned on the highest setting. The whole world looking in at you, pushing you together, creating a bubble around the two of you that only you understand. It’s a far from normal situation—like far, far from normal—so it’s no wonder if you like him since you’ve been pushed together.”

“Tess, it’s not like that.”

“So you haven’t slept with him then?”