Chapter 7
7
ROWENA
I slowly rise from the tiled bathroom floor, my legs wobbly beneath me like a newborn foal taking its first steps. The nausea seems to have subsided for now, but I gingerly place a hand on my stomach just in case. I want to make sure I’m 100 per cent in control before I get out. Puking again in front of Adrian is not on the list of humiliations I strive to add to this day.
A swarm of bees buzzes in my belly at the thought of meeting him face to face. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, excited even. He’s just some random—albeit kind and sexy-voiced—stranger I happened to vomit next to. And who asked me to marry him. Nothing to get worked up over. Right?
I glance down, scanning my black trousers and top for any rogue flecks of upchuck. The last thing I need is to walk out there with puke on my clothes. Thankfully everything appears clean, just a bit rumpled. I tug at the hem of my blouse to smooth out the wrinkles.
Clothes set, I clasp and unclasp my hands at my sides, wiping my palms on my pants before I reach for the stall door and open it.
My vision narrows on Adrian standing just a few feet away from me but taking up a lot of space.
Holy hot damn.
I’m unprepared for how devastatingly handsome he is. Easily over six-foot tall with a lean, muscular build that his impeccably tailored charcoal suit does nothing to hide. Thick, raven-black hair with a hint of a curl at the nape. Chiseled jaw dusted with just the right amount of scruff. Full, sensual lips quirked in a slight smile.
But it’s his eyes that draw me in more than anything else and make my knees go weak—two pools of fall twilight, both mysterious and inviting, fringed by obscenely long lashes. Those bedroom eyes meet mine and it’s as if an electric current zings through my body, making every nerve ending tingle.
He emanates this raw, primal sort of sex appeal that pulses down to my very core. It’s not just that he’s classically handsome, there’s an allure to him, an edge of danger and dominance cloaked in a crisp, polished veneer. I have the sudden urge to muss up his perfect hair and tear off that expensive tie with my teeth.
I’m staring slack-jawed, probably with drool gathering at the corner of my mouth. Fantastic. Way to play it cool. I snap my gaping pie-hole shut and pray my cheeks aren’t as flaming red as they feel.
Aside from being panties-dropping handsome, Adrian looks pallid, no doubt from being sick, but he’s still a hundred times more attractive than any man I’ve ever dated. Not that he wants to date me. Adrian is promising only minimal interactions and completely separate lives.
If looking a little ashen is what a single hurl did to him, I’m afraid to so much as glance in the mirror, certain I’ll find a hot mess of tangled hair, smudged mascara, and green-tinged complexion staring back at me.
But then his lips curve into a full-blown smile and I swear I hear a chorus of angels singing.
“Hello, Rowena,” he says in that honey-rich baritone, smooth and sweet, yet with a rasp of sandpaper grit. Hearing him say my name in that sinful voice makes the skin of my upper back prickle. Like a thousand tiny pins are being stabbed across my shoulder blades.
“H-hi,” I stammer, hating how breathy and shy I sound.
I step forward, arm extended for a handshake, but then snatch it back hastily as it occurs to me where that hand has recently been. “I should um, wash up first,” I say with a queasy grimace.
“Good thinking. I’d better do the same.” He flashes me another knee-buckling grin.
We head over to the sparkling chrome sinks side by side. Hyperaware of Adrian’s towering figure next to me, I fumble with the dispenser, pumping foamy soap into my palm. As I lather up, I can’t resist peeking at him in the full-wall mirror, trying to be surreptitious. But then his deep-set eyes snag mine in the glass and hold. Busted. Heat floods my cheeks.
Quickly ducking my gaze, I rinse the suds away, the water feeling icy against my flushed skin. When I’m done, I tear off a length of rough brown paper towel, the sound as loud as a thunderclap in the quiet of the public restroom. My fingers tremble as I pat my damp hands dry.
We turn to face each other again, a weird tension pulling between us. Mustering my courage, I thrust out my arm. “Nice to officially meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure, Rowena.” Adrian envelops my hand in his much larger one. His skin is cool from the water, yet it ignites a flash fire in my veins. I feel the scrape of a callus on his palm—maybe from lifting weights at the gym—and the firm, assured pressure of his grip. Solid. Strong. Capable.
When Adrian releases my hand, I immediately mourn the loss of contact. “I’m glad we ran into each other.” His eyes sparkle with interest as he talks. “Unconventional as the circumstances may be.”
I twist a lock of hair around my finger, my gaze flicking up to meet Adrian’s as I keep blabbering nonsense. “So how would I do as an investment banker’s wife?” I ask, aiming for playful but wincing inwardly at the note of self-doubt that creeps into my voice.
Adrian’s gorgeous brown eyes sweep over me appraisingly. The unhurried scrutiny ignites a flicker of heat low in my spine. He tilts his head, shoving his hands casually into his pockets in a way that somehow makes him even more attractive. A tiny smirk tugs at his lips.
“I think,” he drawls, “you’re going to make me look very shallow.”
My cheeks flush hotly at the veiled compliment.
I bite my lip to hold back the ridiculously giddy smile threatening to break free. Adrian finds me beautiful. Or he’s just telling me what I want to hear to get me to agree to his proposal.
“How about me?” He theatrically sniffs the air. “Any body odor that disturbs you?”
“The jury is still out on that.” I clear my throat, trying to regain my mental balance. “Our stomachs’ recent rebellion sort of covers everything else.”
Adrian barks out a surprised laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ouch! That’s cold. ”
“But accurate,” I counter swiftly, the words sharp but my smile softening the blow.
Adrian nods solemnly, although the twinkle in his eyes is still playful.
Gosh, he makes me so nervous.
“How old are you?” I blurt out, trying to fill the silence.
Adrian arches an eyebrow. “Should I be offended by that question?” Amusement laces his words.
“No! I mean—that’s not what I—sorry.” Mortified, I stammer an apology and wish not for the first time today that the floor would swallow me whole.
“I’m thirty-nine,” he cuts in smoothly, mercifully halting my verbal floundering.
I blink. Thirty-nine. A solid eleven years my senior. Suddenly, all the men I’ve previously dated—Liam included—seem woefully juvenile in comparison. Boys playing at adulthood. But Adrian? He exudes maturity, capability and raw masculinity from every pore.
Every inch a man.
“I’m twenty-eight,” I offer even if he hasn’t asked me.
An awkward silence descends on the room. I fidget, fingers twisting together. What now? Should I say something else? Crack a joke?
Luckily, Adrian talks before I further embarrass myself with a knock-knock pun. “I know this is… unorthodox . But I hope you’ll seriously consider my proposal for…” His gaze holds mine, dark and intent. “… a mutually beneficial arrangement. No pressure, of course.”
Mutely, I nod. My head’s still spinning, thoughts tripping over themselves. Engaged. To a veritable stranger. It’s crazy. Absolutely bananas. And yet…
“Could I get your number?” Adrian produces his phone, sleek and gleaming. “To discuss details whenever you’re ready.”
“Um, sure.” I recite the digits and watch as his fingers fly across the screen. A second later, my cell buzzes in my bag.
“There. Now you have mine, too.” A hint of a smile plays at the edges of his mouth.
I bob my head again, feeling like one of those bouncy-headed dashboard dogs. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll think it over and get back to you soon.”
“Wonderful.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Where are you going from here? Home, I suppose?”
“Yeah, I feel better.”
“How are you getting there?”
“I’ll just take the subway. It’s only a few stops to my place. I’ll be fine now that the naus?—”
“Nonsense. My driver will take you.” His tone brooks no argument.
“Your driver?” I quirk a smirk. “How loaded are you, exactly?”
If his polished leather shoes and expensive-looking watch are an indication, he must be rolling in it.
Adrian gives an insouciant half-shrug. “I do alright for myself.”
He steps forward and for a deluded moment I think he’s going to hug me or something, but he merely brushes past me—still close enough for me to detect the smell of his aftershave, a rich and earthy scent that momentarily scrambles my brain cells. Yeah, BO won’t be a problem.
Bending down, he scoops up the cardboard box containing the riffraff I kept in my cubicle. “Shall we?”
I trail after him, marveling at the strangeness of it all as we exit the restroom. Adrian West, my investment banker in shining armor, escorts me to his luxury motorized stallion. The sleek black town car is already waiting parallel parked at the curb when we step outside, gleaming under the late afternoon sun.
So this is how the other half lives , I think to myself.
Adrian pulls open the rear door and sets my box on the leather seat before turning back to me. “Tell Sam your address. He’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I hesitate with one hand on the door frame. “For all of this. The ride, and well, you know…”
“The impromptu marriage proposal?” he offers.
“That too.” I duck my head to get into the car.
Adrian’s expression sobers. “I’ll be in touch soon. Take it easy in the meantime, you’ve had a long day.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter. With a parting nod, I slide into the buttery soft rear seat. “Thanks again. Bye, I guess.”
He gives me a small smile and shuts the door with a solid thump, rapping twice on the roof.
As the car pulls away from the curb and merges into traffic, I twist around to peer out the back window. Adrian stands on the sidewalk, an imposing figure in his dark suit, watching us drive off. My stomach does a little flip that doesn’t seem vomit-related for once. He disappears as we turn a corner, and I face forward again, slumping against the seat with a shuddery exhale.
Wow. I’m sitting in a car that must cost more than my yearly salary. With a box of my pitiful desk whatnots. Because I just got fired. And then proposed to by a stranger. A millionaire from the looks of it. To be his wife. His fake, contractual wife precisely, but still .
I glance out the window at the blur of signs and shop windows whizzing by. It feels like a metaphor for how quickly my life has spun off in a new direction. In a few hours, everything familiar is shrinking behind me as I careen into the unknown.
Resting my forehead against the cool glass of the window, I close my eyes and try to slow my racing thoughts. The only certainty: life as I knew it is already just a memory. I’m hurtling down an unbeaten path, destination unclear.
Goodbye, old life. Let’s see what the future holds.