Chapter IX Stray Cat （Lena）
IX
Stray Cat
(Lena)
I’ve never felt so out of place anywhere in my life.
Brady lives in a two-floor penthouse suite that looks over half the city, which shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does.
Yes, the place is nice.
I mean, bonkers, off-the-wall fancy with sleek marble, natural wood finishes, and these artsy light fixtures that look like they’re straight out of a museum.
The kind of place where a girl might relax in a classy red dress and sip champagne as she lords over Puget Sound through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls masquerading as windows. Or at least lord over it vicariously through Brady.
But the place isn’t sterile like so many luxury caves on Instagram. Somehow, he’s made the place feel homey.
Expensive, yes, but homey, nonetheless. The overstuffed furniture doesn’t hurt to sit on, and the tasteful wall art with abstract nature scenes and Japanese-inspired calm don’t make my brain panic, trying to decipher what it is.
My mind is racing for another reason: I have no clue what I’m doing here.
Except deep down, I do, because my dumb ass just signed a contract. My willingness to lie to total strangers—that’s why I’m standing in this man’s elegant condo, listening to his assistant talk.
His assistant.
Luis looks like he’s around Brady’s age, handsome and relatable, like he knows how to have a good time and when to get down to business. No accent, but I hear him curse in Spanish under his breath a few times.
I know the feeling.
Pretty sure he wants to be here for scheming up illusions about as much as I do.
At least he doesn’t have as much riding on it.
“Camera ready?” Brady asks once Luis fills me in on the assignment, which is pretty simple today.
A basic introduction.
Smile, act like we’re in love, and he’ll take a video to document it in 4K that will probably show every blemish I’ve had since I was fifteen. Then Brady will make an official post announcing our engagement.
Official.
God.
Again, not a shocker. I literally signed up for this.
My stomach still dives like a hawk with a broken wing.
Engagement. As in, we’re going to be engaged.
Obviously, we know it’s fake, but nobody else does, and we’d better keep it that way.
It’s like having a wish I never made granted. This fast track into the kind of fame I’ve happily avoided until now.
That little taste of notoriety I had with Harry Jay was more than enough to leave me queasy.
Not that this will be like that. That’s what I keep telling myself.
My arrangement with Brady isn’t sleezy. No one’s being duped or tricked into anything against their will.
“All set. Lighting might be better outside,” Luis announces after checking the camera. He waves us out to the balcony.
Of course, Brady has a balcony bigger than some Seattle apartments, spacious seating area and fire pit included.
Pinch me. I need to stop gawking.
As we step through the double doors, the wind slaps my cheek, stirring my hair. But the sun feels lovely on my skin. This is one of those dreamy summer days that makes up for months of slate grey skies and constant rain.
Oh, and the view.
No wonder Luis wanted us outside. I actually recognize the scenery from looking at a few old Insta posts on Brady’s account, but seeing it in person is something else.
Behind us, the whole bay churns with ships, cargo and ferries mingling with sailboats under the gentle watch of the distant mountains.
“We’ll keep it simple, Sass. Straight to the point,” Brady assures me with a gentle hand on the small of my back.
“If you say so. I have no experience with cameras in my face.”
As long as I don’t barf over the railings . . . and how bad would it be if I do?
“Oh, hell. Hang on, I almost forgot.” Brady smacks his forehead.
I turn to him as he stands, staring in disbelief as he pulls a small box from his pocket, kneels, pops it open, and offers me the unspeakable.
A giant sparkling stone attached to a shadow of gold. Large and square and bursting with diamonds.
Holy shit!
Every bit of me should hate how gaudy it is, but instead I feel adrenaline.
“Lena.” He smiles like the cocky madman he is as he looks into my eyes—definitely not the expression I ever imagined on a man confronting me with a ring.
My lungs stall before he says those four fatal words.
“Lena, will you marry me?”
So fricking weird.
I have to resist the urge to laugh brokenly in his face. The worst part is, I don’t know why.
I just feel the metric ton of emotion dropping me on my face, squeezing my life out.
My very first marriage proposal—the only one—and of course it’s a total fraud.
We’re just doing this to pull one over, and he had to turn it into a more depraved joke than it already is.
That slight gurgle in my stomach since I woke up this morning intensifies into a cramp.
But there’s no way I can crack. Not when I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of this man.
“. . . Real gold, huh? I’m impressed.” I genuinely am as the pretty ring catches the light, breaking the light like glitter dust.
“Would I give my fiancée anything less than the best?” He gets up to sit next to me again. “So, will you?”
God, why? Why is there a boulder in my throat?
As he holds it out for me—guess no one ever walked him through a proposal before, like how you’re supposed to slide it onto the woman’s finger—I lean forward and whisper, “If you have my check, I’m yours.”
“Of course.” He grins and pats his pocket. “Now put it on so we can see how it fits.”
Fantasy ended.
After fumbling around, I slide it on my ring finger.
A little too easily, almost. It’s a hair too big, but it’s nothing a quick resizing won’t fix, and it’ll work for this cringe video.
“Are we ready?” Luis asks behind the camera, frowning at our little sideshow.
Absolutely not.
But Brady turns to him and nods. “Start rolling when she says okay. Ready, Lena?”
Not for a hundred years.
But my ego could never survive panic-running now, so I just beam back this flimsy smile.
“Yep. Let’s make a few suckers,” I manage.
“Great!” Luis adjusts his camera. “Live in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
Am I ready now?
Not even a little bit.
But just before Luis gives us a thumbs-up, I tack that smile on until it hurts my cheeks. I hope my face doesn’t look too much like a Halloween mask.
I’m not expecting it when Brady wraps his arm around me, though, swift and easy. It’s too natural, like we’ve done this a thousand times before and we’re totally not two strangers faking the most meaningful relationship of our lives.
“Hey, party people,” he says casually, like he’s catching up with an old-school friend. Like he knows his followers personally—and they have a right to know about his life. But I guess that’s why he rocks this media thing. “As you know by now, I’ve got a secret.”
He looks down at me with a breathtaking smile, and . . .
Am I still breathing?
There’s a decent chance I’m not.
All I’m thinking about is the way he kissed me dizzy last time.
Until now, I’ve been repressing the memory, but there’s no squashing this.
“Today, I’m announcing I’ve found the love of my life—and she’s everything,” he growls reverently.
Holy hell.
Weirdly, my smile doesn’t feel so forced anymore.
So, not only am I not breathing, but I’m blushing, the heat turning my cheeks into frying pans.
This man has hijacked my pulse.
“She’s smart, she’s gorgeous, and she’s just as passionate about animals as I am.
Honestly, she only has one flaw—she’s camera shy.
Good thing you’ve still got me.” He takes my hand, squeezing my palm, holding the ring up to sparkle for the camera.
“Ladies, you’ll be happy, even if I know a few of you might be disappointed. I’m officially off limits.”
He doesn’t fake the enthusiasm in his voice.
For Brady Pruitt, this is the dream. The only rich man in Seattle who wants to run away from women.
Luckily, no one will be chasing me anymore.
I wave, but the movement feels awkward as hell. Sixty seconds in, and I’m already blowing it.
No one will buy that I’m madly in love with this guy.
No one will even buy that I was born anatomically human.
I look like I’ve forgotten how my limbs work.
“Say a few words, Lena?” he urges.
His fingers fold tighter around mine.
I want to drop thirty floors into screaming traffic.
Brady makes this look so easy, but it’s actually worse than talking down one of those rude clients who blames you for their cat shedding a claw sheath after fighting them back into their carrier.
“Hi, I’m—I’m not very good at this. But I just wanted to say I’m thrilled to be the next Mrs. Pruitt. Brady, he’s—he’s incredible, really. Amazing and famous and so intelligent. He could work on his people skills—”
I stop cold as Brady stares me down.
“But we’re in it together! I’m coaching him all the time. Honestly, he’s so good it’s a little overwhelming, but . . . I wouldn’t trade this for anything. You’re looking at the luckiest lady ever, Seattle. Thank you and good night.”
There. Hack job complete.
“We’re both lucky. It’s a hard chase, finding your soulmate, but when I met you, Sass, I knew.”
Oh boy.
He’s using that nickname in public—and he makes it sound affectionate.
But it’s his eyes that take me down.
Brady’s gaze drips with so much honest gratitude I’d choke if I wasn’t riveted in place. He’s too good at this show, and it’s quietly killing me.
“Get used to that pretty face, folks. You’ll be seeing a lot more of her in my videos soon,” he says.
A lot more.
I blink. Maybe he’s expecting me to nod along and agree, but I feel like a deer caught in the headlights.
What is he planning?
There’s no time to wonder when he turns my face to his, gently slides one finger under my chin, and kisses me breathless.
Just like before, it starts off searing and only gets hotter. Like sliding into a hot tub, the heat soothing and blanking my brain.
I don’t know how he manages when we’re both standing still. My eyes flutter closed, and I bring my hand to his wrist.
Just touching him. Fingers on skin.
A million of my worries against his wall of muscle.
Mouth against mouth.
Tongue against—
Oh God, his tongue.
It explores my mouth like he knows it belongs there.
Searching, claiming, teasing me to mush.
Every frenzied brushstroke sends more fire to my belly.
My head tilts back. I sure as hell hope it looks like I’m lost in his kiss, because it’s not fake. It’s the realest thing I’ve felt since the camera started rolling.
Terrifyingly true.
Tingles race up and down my spine, and I’m boneless in a matter of seconds, my breath stalled in my lungs.
Good thing, too, because the world-ending way Brady kisses leaves zero room for breath.
Soft lips, demanding.
Rough fingers pinching my skin, gentle but intense.
Catastrophically romantic.
How, I don’t know.
But somehow, I know he’s playing me for optics. He knows this is exactly what people love, selling a princess dream come true.
Perfect couple.
Perfectly happy.
Perfectly in love.
“All right, that’s a wrap,” Luis calls, looking up from the camera.
Brady breaks away.
He’s wearing this whisper of a smile like there’s a secret I’m not in on. All I can see are his lips.
Bladed. Lush. Deeply sensual.
Is this what it feels like when you’re losing your mind?
“You did it. Still feeling okay?” he asks.
There’s no way I can answer that question in a way that doesn’t make me sound psycho.
“Yep. Easy peasy,” I lie.
“You were amazing, woman.” He releases my chin like he’s only just realized he’s still holding it.
I step away.
Seriously, I need distance, space to catch my breath. But if he notices and thinks there’s a problem, he doesn’t look like it.
Maybe he feels the need for a breather too.
It can’t be easy mustering up that much passion to power-kiss a woman he’d never touch without this goofy arrangement.
Really, it makes sense that he kissed me and played it up for the cameras. We were making an engagement announcement.
The kissing was kinda mandatory to sell the big lie.
The trouble is, nothing about kissing Brady Pruitt feels fake.
Yes, I’m well aware that’s all in my head and it shouldn’t be.
I can’t let this man make me forget this isn’t real, not even for a few seconds. He’s mastered the black art of kissing, and I’d better find a defense fast, before he leads my heart to the slaughterhouse.
He reaches past me to take a folder from Luis and then holds it out to me. “It’s all in there, your copy. Any questions, let me know.”
The money, he means. The legalese.
We’re right back to business—or did we ever leave it? The worst part is, I barely care about dollar signs anymore.
Scary.
Sure, Pawsome Hearts comes first and last, but in the inferno of his kiss, everything fell away.
I cared about the paycheck more before he kissed me.
Before he started a fireworks show in my chest.
Before he ignited chain reactions much lower in my anatomy and made the cameras seem phonier than that ginormous ring on my finger.
Even scarier.
I don’t understand why I’m unraveling and how he’s so good at pulling on every thread.
Pretending to care about Brady was supposed to be the hard part. The improv act I just had to grit my teeth to get through.
When I showed up at his condo, I was certain it would be.
I felt out of place. Awkward.
But after his kiss demolished me twice, everything feels like it’s spinning into uncharted territory.
Ten billion dollars wouldn’t make this any easier.
Not because I can’t stand him.
No, because I don’t know what to do with him baiting my heart like a stray cat, when I know full well it’s just one night by the fire.
He’s keeping me warm and fed and happy to get what he wants, and tomorrow he’ll dump me back on the street.