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“Very funny.”

It only takes a few moments of gently working the shampoo through her hair for Maeve to melt into it. She makes small sounds of appreciation as she relaxes deeper into the tub and lets me massage her scalp and work the soap through the strands of her hair.

God, her hair really is gorgeous. She can’t fail to stand out in a crowd with that color. How did this woman ever think she wasn’t a catch? I’m sure my brother is partly to blame for that toxic mindset. But I think Maeve’s hair is beautiful—and I’d also love to get some of it wrapped around my fist so I can tug on it, tilt her head back, and hold her in place while I kiss her thoroughly.

It’s far too easy to imagine this as a completely different scenario. One where I’m not just pretending to be engaged to her. One where we’re not at my parents’ house, and she’s not sick, and I can bend down and kiss her soft lips, then scatter more kisses down her neck…

Down, boy, I think as my cock gives an interested twitch. This isn’t the time. But even so, I can’t fully shut off my imagination.

Maeve looks half asleep by the time I rinse out her hair. “You know, I can skip the meeting with Silver Start,” I tell her. “Cancel it entirely. Whatever you need. If you’re not feeling well⁠—”

“What?” She opens her eyes. “No, no, I’m fine. I can do this. I’m sure this is just a twenty-four-hour bug. I’ll be able to handle the meeting.”

I frown. “All right. If you’re certain.”

I don’t give a damn about her making the meeting. In fact, fuck the meeting entirely. I’m worried about her, and I don’t want her stressed or pushing herself.

But I can’t tell her that. I’m already walking a dangerous line. So I just keep my mouth shut and focus on taking care of her hair.

29

MAEVE

If I think too much about what’s happening, I know I’ll completely freak out.

Luckily, I think I’m still just sick enough that I can’t think properly. My head still feels heavy and groggy, and I’m struggling not to fall asleep again.

But seriously, if you’d told me just last month—or even last week—that I would be soaking in a tub while my gorgeous, billionaire, emotionally unavailable boss washed my hair, I’d have told you that you were in need of therapy.

Ford just held my hair back while I threw up, and now he’s helping me bathe. I’m half-wondering if this is all a fever-induced hallucination.

Still, I really did need this bath. And the scalp massage is doing wonders for my headache. I still feel kind of gross and sick, but throwing up really did help settle my stomach. I think after this bath, if I just sleep for the rest of the day, I’ll be fine tomorrow.

I look around at this beautiful bathroom with its marble surfaces and gold fixtures. The whole house is stunning. “What was it like, growing up here?” I ask.

“Most of it was really great. My parents wanted to make sure we were happy and well taken care of, and that meant we usually were. If there was a sport we wanted to try or a place we wanted to visit or a toy we wanted, then sure, why not? We were kids—they wanted us to actually enjoy childhood.”

“It sounds lovely.” And the complete opposite of my childhood.

“It usually was. But sometimes it created problems. My dad thinks that being happy means material success, which is why he didn’t like it when I struck out on my own. He worried I wouldn’t make it. And I think he thought it was… disloyal.”

I suppose that makes sense. “Is that why you two are… I mean, Lydia talked a bit about it. She really admires you and looks up to you for building your business from nothing. She wants to strike out on her own too, with her art.”

“I’m glad to hear it. If that’s what will make her happy, she deserves to pursue it.”

“But your father won’t be happy about that either.”

Ford sighs and rinses off his hands in the bath water, then leans against the side of the tub. “Dad thinks we need to be responsible. But he didn’t really set us up to understand responsibility. He’s disappointed in Liam for not making a success of anything and just partying constantly, when he and my mom are the ones who spoiled Liam rotten in the first place. He doesn’t want Lydia to do art because he thinks it’s not lucrative or stable, but they’re the ones who indulged her every whim as a kid and made sure she always had something to fall back on.”

“That makes it even more impressive that you went out and made something of yourself,” I tell him. “You’re not just coasting on your parents’ money.”

Like Liam.

“I want to be like that,” I add before I can stop myself. “I want to achieve something meaningful, build something that matters, be accomplished in my own right.”

Ford smiles at me with genuine warmth. “I have complete faith you’ll succeed, Spitfire.”

“Your family’s been very kind to me, welcoming me into their home. I know they’re not perfect, obviously, but I just wanted to say—thank you, I guess. They’ve been wonderful. And I know with Liam here it must be awkward, but… they’re not making a big deal of it.”