Chapter 7
Delaney
The light of early morning pours through the window, causing my lids to flutter open. My head spins like I got wasted at a bachelorette party instead of experiencing the mayhem of bad decisions. I had hoped rest would balance my overwrought brain, but the dizziness of the situation says otherwise.
The reprieve while I rested is only temporary as the unfamiliarity of everything surrounding me causes panic to rise in my throat.
The air smells of some exotic location—musky with a warmth of sweetness, homey, the soft sheets against my bare legs, the coziest bed I’ve ever slept in, the weight of a warm hand on my inner thigh—Hand?
My eyes fly open as I suck in a harsh breath. Fear races through my veins, but I still my breathing, harboring the next breath in my chest. Turning my head slowly, I’m careful not to disturb the person next to me.
Just enough light streams into the room to see Warner lying on his back next to me.
My heart is quick to find a rhythm with the sound of his steady breathing, calming my initial concerns.
He’s handsome when he sleeps, like he is when he’s awake, but more so when he’s not speaking.
He sure has a knack for pushing buttons, especially mine.
In the peace of his sleep, I can pretend he’s not an awful human being trying to destroy my family’s lives.
I can even find comfort in the warmth of his hand between my legs. Wait, what? I should shift, but I stay still instead, enjoying the heat his touch radiates to the rest of my body, even reaching my toes.
Lying here, I drape my arm across my forehead and stare up at the ceiling. With Warner’s hand on my thigh and the scent of his soap floating in the air, my thoughts scroll through snapshots of the past twenty-four hours. I let this man believe he’s my husband.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I inhale a deep breath and look at him again.
The bridge of his nose has the slightest of bumps, and his full lips appear soft in the morning light juxtaposed against the hard cut of his jawline.
The hills and valleys of his muscular shoulders lead my gaze across his chest, but a heaviness weighs on mine, causing me to look away.
I take a deep breath, refusing to get caught up in him.
Everything I learned from the old con-job movies I used to watch with my dad taught me that Warner is a target. My target. That’s it. Stay focused on the job at hand.
On the edge of delirium last night, I had to make a choice. Whether it was a wise decision or not remains to be seen. But today, I’m fully committed. It’s not like I have another option at this point.
Warner Landers has made himself clear.
It’s time Delaney Bayetti does the same. I’m not here to play. I’m here to win him over and talk some sense into him.
The lies are already embedding themselves under my skin just enough to slide off my tongue when necessary. He was testing me last night. He’ll do it again today. I have to be ready for him, or I’ll give myself away.
I only wish I didn’t love the feel of his hand spanning the inside of my thigh like I do.
And how bold he was to slide it between my thighs like I’m his girlfriend, or worse, his wife.
Did he really think I wouldn’t notice? Technically, I didn’t, but that’s neither here nor there in this situation.
I have a scroll length of excuses lined up and ready to toss out on a moment’s notice.
One. I went almost forty-eight hours without sleep. No one is any good without solid rest. I got that here last night. Finally.
Two. The amount of mental gymnastics I’ve had to perform for this man to convince him we’re the real deal has been an expenditure of energy I didn’t know I possessed. We might not be a couple, but it’s been fun living like a queen in his castle.
Enough of the mush, Delaney. I’d be wise to remember the man is a monster with no heart.
I’m not interested in spending my time trying to redeem him so he’s tolerable.
He’s not, so there’s no use hoping for the best in this mess.
I’ve come to accept he is who he is. I know exactly what I’m working with and will act accordingly.
Plus, I can’t stay like this all day.
Moving ever so slowly, I roll to the side of the bed to get up.
When his hand falls to the mattress, I still and look back over my shoulder.
He shifts, but there’s no reason to believe he’s awake.
I slink out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, pushing the door shut quietly until my back rests against it.
A much-needed breath brings clarity rather than the usual rush of panic. I’m doing the right thing.
He might be the one with the concussion, but I’m the one acting like I was in the accident.
Logic has gone out the window. I know what I’m doing is wrong.
I feel it in my gut. But at what point will morals outweigh purpose?
I shake the guilt from my shoulders and look in the mirror.
My gaze dips to my chest with a university’s name emblazoned across the front.
If I’d gone to Harvard, I’d be blasting it out there, too.
Warner Landers might have expensive suits and this incredible apartment.
He even has a fancy pedigree in legacy and degree, but it doesn’t seem like he actually enjoys his life.
He’s wound up tighter than a bobbin. It’s the lack of fun, I just know it is.
Happiness might also be a culprit. Why else would someone find joy in ruining other people’s lives? And that is what tells me all I need to know about him. Focus on the job, Delaney. Get in, sweet-talk him into tossing this deal away, and get out.
“Take no prisoners,” I whisper. It would be a lot easier if he didn’t have that stupidly handsome face of his. It’s not fair for him to win all the awards from wealth to good looks. He does have his flaws, but even his personality is becoming easier to overlook.
I grin, glancing at the shirt again, even half-heartedly to give him credit where it’s due. It’s an impressive achievement. And though I’m not surprised he went to Harvard, I am by how soft this T-shirt is. Wonder how many washes it took to achieve this cotton perfection.
After snooping around the bathroom, I find a clear container of brand-new toothbrushes. Of course, he has them neatly organized and a supply to last twenty years. I roll my eyes. Does this man ever have any fun? I’d have to see it to believe it.
I brush my teeth and then use the face wash he keeps in the shower.
It felt so luxurious when I used it last night that I didn’t even need moisturizer afterward.
After patting my face dry, I put on my strapless bra and then ball up my dress in the corner.
Sneaking through the bedroom, I quietly grab the first pair of shorts I find, slipping them on but holding them up at the waist as I tiptoe back out toward the door.
I glance over at him sleeping so soundly and smile before I get frustrated for giving him the courtesy of thinking he looks cute all snug as a bug in that bed.
I close the door behind me and pad down the hall to the main living area to have a look around in the daylight. The sun hasn’t risen above the buildings, so the place is still cast in shadow, but it is no less impressive.
Pulling the drawstring as tight as it will go at the waistband, I knot it and hope it keeps the shorts from falling.
That would be embarrassing. I get my purse out from behind the large plant pot in the corner.
Hiding it seemed like a good idea last night.
I didn’t want him rummaging through it for evidence that I’m not who I say I am.
Strangely, in the light of a new day and looking back, I’m not so sure he would have cared. He’s wily but still not operating at one hundred percent.
Today might be a different story.
I would never wish harm on someone, but if he could keep that memory loss front and center for a while, I wouldn’t be upset.
I slide onto a barstool and pull out my phone.
Seeing the time makes me feel less rushed.
It’s not even seven, though I’d bet money that Warner probably typically gets up before the sun and works out or something. He’s got the body to show for it.
Hard abs.
Defined biceps.
The man has the perfect balance of athleticism—not overly bulky, yet he can hold his own. Those shoulders made me want to cling to him like a monkey to see, but I have no doubt he could hold me if he wanted to. Why he’d want to is a whole other issue.
This con would be easier if he were less .
. . less at everything. Looks, finances, apartments.
Not easier to take advantage of, but I wouldn’t get so distracted around him.
I would sound less like a bumbling fool every time I open my mouth.
He would get the real, confident, and independent version of me.
Looking down at my phone again, I realize that with less than 5 percent battery, I won’t get far in this city, so I unplug his new phone to charge mine for a few minutes. I turn to look out the window, assuming I won’t have a lot of time before he wakes up. What happens next?
I need clothes. I need my toiletries. And makeup.
I need to see my family. Turning back to the kitchen, I make note of things I need to get.
After scrounging through the fridge and cabinets, pancakes were all I could think to make.
The fridge looks new, given how few things are in it.
There’s no old cheese or rotting vegetables in the drawers.
There’s no cheese or vegetables at all. Talk about bare bones living.
I’m not sure how he survives off probiotic active yogurt, bottles of Evian water, and French butter, so I’m certain he must have restaurants programmed on his speed dial.
His phone . . . Shoot. That will be an issue. One call will ruin it all.