10. Let Me Handle Bitsy
Let Me Handle Bitsy
Mina
“ W ow.”
Look, I get that it’s hardly the most eloquent description of Aurum Ridge, but at the moment, it’s all I’ve got.
The resort is stunning and larger than life, but it also serves as a beacon to the rich and upwardly mobile—and I am neither of those things.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Braden remarks, pulling into a spot in a side lot.
“Aurum Ridge is a true testament to the power of design—understated and yet opulent. The resort covers over 100 acres on the mountainside, but it’s hardly your typical luxury hotel.
The owner, Benjamin Hartwood, worked closely with environmental engineers to incorporate the ecological surroundings into the design, so there’s a flow to the place that feels natural—not forced. ”
My mouth drops open at Braden’s observation. “Who are you?”
Braden chuckles. “I enjoy architecture and design, so when Aurum Ridge was being constructed, I paid attention.”
“You sound like a college professor, reciting all the highlights of the resort. You kind of look like one, too.” I smile, motioning to his glasses.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Definitely not.”
Actually, the whole glasses and button-down shirt are a total vibe on Braden. It shouldn’t work, but trust me—it does.
It’s unfair how good he makes boring look.
Then again, he looks gorgeous all the time. Doesn’t matter if he’s kicking around in a T-shirt and jeans or dressed to impress my haughty-as-hell aunt.
“I wanted to look nice.” Braden flips down the visor mirror and adjusts his collar.
“You look more than nice.”
Braden smiles and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’re beautiful.”
Truthfully, I look like I’m trying too hard, between my fancy cocktail dress, pinch-my-toe heels, and heavy makeup—but I appreciate his sentiment.
Even if it’s total crap.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, stepping around to open my door.
A nervous laugh escapes my mouth. “No. Not in any way, shape, or form.”
My reason is threefold.
First, I’m a terrible liar, so this entire ruse doesn’t sit well with me.
Second, I know Aunt Bitsy will be on her haughtiest behavior, with one goal—finding fault with Braden, and with me.
And third, and most importantly, I’m head over heels in love with my fake fiancé. A man who is kind, generous, and confusing the hell out of me.
He’s affectionate, holding my hand and giving me all the soft kisses a girl could want—but when I threw myself at him and begged him to make love to me, he begged off .
The rational side of me understands, and grudgingly respects, his reasoning, but my heart remains wounded, and let’s not talk about the ass-whooping it gave my ego.
Then, there’s my ring. I study the diamond as it flashes in the low light. I would have been fine with a knockoff—something to pass my aunt’s cursory glance—but Braden insisted on this stunning piece. A ring I’d be proud to wear for the rest of my days.
Basically, I’m a bundle of emotions and nerves, and fully prepared to remain this way for the duration.
I’ll follow Braden’s lead this weekend and act the part of the devoted fiancée. Not that it’s much of a leap.
But what happens when we’re alone? Everything has been such a whirlwind since my aunt sprang this weekend on us. We’ve had barely any time to talk—just a quick good morning as we rush out the door.
That changes now.
I screech to a halt at the door of the welcome reception. About a hundred guests mill around the ballroom while servers glide past with trays of fancy hors d’oeuvres and top-dollar champagne.
I am so out of my element.
I dig my nails into my palms and face Braden, my teeth worrying my lower lip. “Do I really look okay? Is the skirt too short? Is it too low cut? Am I too much?”
“Hey,” Braden whispers, his hands gripping mine. “You are stunning, Mina. Trust me, every woman in this room wishes they were you right now. And every man…”
“Every man what? ”
Braden presses a kiss to my cheek. “Wishes like hell he was me.”
This time, my smile is genuine.
Bring it on, Aunt Bitsy. I’m ready.
We meander through the room, spotting my aunt seated at a far table—a glass of champagne in her hand, my cousin and her perfect Wall Street banker boyfriend by her side.
Goody. Looks like my aunt has some fun family competition planned.
What am I doing? Why am I putting Braden through this? Why am I putting myself through this?
If the upscale surroundings rattle Braden, he doesn’t let it show. I can only pray for a fraction of the confidence he exudes as he leads us straight to their table.
Braden nods at everyone in greeting before pulling out my chair. “Good evening, Bitsy. Vanessa. Nice seeing you all again.”
Then he turns to Mr. Wall Street and extends his hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Braden Hammond.”
“Trevor Grayson.”
Bitsy cuts into the moment, her eyes locked on Braden. “Trevor’s family is well known in Manhattan. He’s on the board of Grayson Industries—not that I expect you to be familiar with them.”
Only thirty seconds in, and my aunt has already called upon one of her favorite activities—name-dropping with a side of condescension.
Poor Braden. He did not sign up to be treated like a second-class citizen.
Braden scratches his chin, pondering the man’s name as he settles into his seat. “Ah yes, Grayson Industries. Of course.”
Bitsy is enjoying her predatory game, a smug smile stretching across her face. “Do tell. What do you know about them? ”
Braden glances around the table, and I’m certain he’s cornered.
Fuckity fuck.
“Defense contracts and clean energy investments, right? Solid portfolio.” He leans back, casual and confident. “Impressive work, man.”
Trevor nods, raising his glass of champagne. “Appreciate it.”
And just like that, I’m gone.
“How interesting,” Bitsy mutters, motioning to a server. “Two champagnes for my niece and her… fiancé.”
“Actually, I’d rather have a whiskey. Neat. Thank you.” Braden slides a fifty onto the server’s tray with a smile before leaning back in his chair and locking stares with my aunt.
Total power move on Braden’s part—and my aunt knows it. She tried to control him, and Braden quietly but effectively upended that notion and let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he was his own man.
Fuck, but that’s hot.
“I would have guessed you to be a beer man,” Bitsy says, enunciating each syllable as she clicks her tongue against her teeth.
“I’m many things, Bitsy. No one thing defines me—although I do love a good single malt.”
“Actually,” Trevor interjects, “I think I might join Braden in a glass.”
My, how the tables have turned.
I hide a laugh behind my hand, although the more I try to remain stoic, the harder it becomes.
When the server returns with the whiskey, I raise my glass in a toast. “To a wonderful weekend. May it be full of the best surprises.”
Braden’s eyes lock with mine, an intensity brewing there as he sips his whiskey. “To discovering every exquisite, delicious temptation life has to offer. ”
I fan myself, fully aware I’m blushing like a fool. “My, it’s a bit warm in here, isn’t it?”
Braden leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my throat as his hand finds the small of my back, warm and deliberate. “Sweetheart, I haven’t even struck the match yet.”
Congratulations, sir. You’ve just short-circuited my brain.
“I must say, Braden,” Bitsy interjects, drumming the table with her manicured nails, “you are not what I expected. Especially not for Mina.”
What the hell does that mean? Is she insulting him, me, or both of us simultaneously?
I stiffen, but Braden curls his hand in my lap, giving my fingers a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be glad to know Mina and I are very happy together. We take care of each other. In every way.”
I swear, he can’t help himself. He knows his words throw Bitsy, so he sprinkles some in to counterbalance her entitled arrogance.
It’s a symphony of personalities, and I really didn’t think anyone could toe the line with Bitsy’s sharp tongue.
But Braden is outwitting her at every turn.
And from the look on his face, he’s enjoying every second.
Sadly, I don’t know if he’s helping or hindering my effort to secure the studio, but there’s no way in hell I’m stopping him.
I stifle a yawn and glance at the clock. Despite being twenty-five, I’m an early riser—and my bed is calling.
Braden stands, smiling at everyone. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ve both had a long week, and we still have to check in. Don’t want to miss a minute of the festivities.”
“Of course.” Bitsy forces a smile, silently admitting defeat—for this round, at least. “Sleep well, and I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
Braden leads us from the table, and I pull him aside the second we exit the ballroom. “Who are you? That was amazing.”
Braden shrugs. “She wants to play? I’ll play. Just because I’m covered in ink doesn’t mean I’m not also business savvy.”
“The fifty was a nice touch. Tack it onto my ever-expanding bill.”
He glides a thumb along my lower lip, a strange smile on his face. “You owe me nothing, save one thing.”
“Uh-oh. Dare I ask?”
“You let me handle Bitsy, because I will not abide her treating you shabbily.”
Truly the greatest man on the planet.
“She has no idea what she’s in for, does she?”
“No.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of my skirt to trace the contours of my thighs. “And neither do you.”