Chapter 23
JULES
Note to self—skin-tight jeans and biker boots were not designed for running away from poor life choices.
About a quarter mile into my so-called jog through Lincoln’s cookie cutter neighborhood, my big toe starts to burn and I can feel a bunion coming on.
Super duper!
With a quick glance around at the manicured lawns on this quiet, tree-lined street, I drop down on some random curb in front of some random house. I bury my face in my hands. What is this life of mine?
This is so overwhelming. I’ve somehow found myself roped into sharing a bed with a man that I hate.
And I also want to fuck his brains out. I jumped into this engagement with both feet, with my eye on the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
But the deeper I’m pulled into this mess, the less sure I feel about everything.
I knew what I was signing up for. I guess I just didn’t expect it to feel like…this.
I didn’t expect to want this.
There’s a growing part of me that’s toying with the possibilities. What if this relationship wasn’t just some big performance? What if it were actually real? What if Lincoln actually wanted to be with me…the way I sort of want to be with him?
Stop it, Jules. Don’t make it more complicated than it already is, my guardian angel warns.
Because girls like me don’t get the fairytale ending.
I’ve got to stay detached. Indifferent. Emotionally disengaged.
But with every line that Lincoln and I cross, it’s becoming increasingly impossible to keep my heart from getting involved.
How much more will I be required to sacrifice?
I’ve already given up my autonomy, my home, my bed.
I feel like I’m giving up too much. I don’t want to let Lincoln down but I can’t keep chipping away at my identity and still maintain those emotional walls.
I pride myself on being a tough girl, but more and more, I’m feeling myself start to chicken out. Maybe I could call this whole thing off. I’d have to find a new apartment since Laney’s new roommate is moving in next week. But at least, I still have time to call the whole wedding thing off.
As I sit here, I start planning out my speech in my head, the exact words I’m going to say to Lincoln to tell him I’m backing out of our arrangement. But then my phone dings with a notification.
I pull it out of the pocket of my jeans and look down at the screen.
It’s a sale.
A sale…
“I made a sale!” I bark out before I can stop myself, and the sound of my own voice booming in the silent air startles me.
Across the street, a curtain flutters and a nosy nose pokes between the lace panels hanging in a dark window.
But I can hardly contain my excitement as I scroll through the order. Three T-shirts in my most popular designs. I haven’t had a sale in weeks, and this little order has sent me to the moon.
This.
This is the bigger picture.
This is why I’m doing it. Why I’m moving in with a stranger, marrying a man I don’t know, risking my whole identity for a guy who doesn’t even like me.
Because once I get my hands on my trust fund, I’ll be able to expand my marketing and distribution to reach a larger customer base. I’ll finally be able to find success and build the kind of life I’ve always dreamed of. On my own terms.
I just need to put my anxiety aside and go with the flow for the next few weeks. So that everything can unfold as planned.
I can swallow my discomfort for a few months in order to get my big payoff.
This is business. Strictly business. And I’m going to play my role as such. Nothing more. Nothing less. No friendship. No hooking up. And definitely no falling in love.
Right as I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket, the device dings. Once. Twice. Three times. It’s Lincoln’s name on the screen. I don’t like the way my stomach fills with butterflies, so I try to bury them under a wall of indifference.
My strategy is working just fine until I read Lincoln’s messages.
Lincoln: Are you okay?
Lincoln: Where are you?
Lincoln: Need me to come pick you up?
My chest squeezes. And just like that, those confusing feelings are back.
I shake them off of me and look up at my surroundings.
The street around me is growing dark. Warm lights now flicker from behind living room curtains along the street.
I try to wiggle my busted toes. They respond by aching mercilessly inside my hot ass socks.
The mere idea of having to get back on foot makes me want to fall back on the lawn and give up on life.
Having Lincoln pick me up right now would be lovely. But my pride won’t let me accept the offer.
I reply to his texts.
Me: I’m good.
Me: I’ll be home in a minute.
I hit ‘send’ without thinking. Then I cringe from head to toe with embarrassment.
Home?
Lincoln’s house is not my home. It’s our temporary base of operations while we execute our strategic mission. That’s all it is, and I can’t let myself forget that.
That nosy neighbor peeks through her curtains again at the weirdo who’s been sitting on the curb for the past five minutes. I peel my ass off the concrete and start walking. I’d rather not have to explain my loitering to local law enforcement.
But by the time I step through the front door, into the warmth of the bungalow-style house, my heart is wishing this could be more than just a business deal. It sure is nice to have somewhere to belong, someone who notices that I’m not home when they get there, someone who worries about me.
The smell of some sort of stew greets me as I carefully extract my sore feet from my boots. My stomach grumbles. It smells damn good.
Sucking in a breath and running a hand over my tummy to quiet it, I pad toward the kitchen.
Through the doorway, I see Lincoln and Cameron laughing and talking as they eat dinner. Cameron is telling his dad about some new video game he and Jagger have been playing. It warms my heart.
They glance up and see me. They both fall silent and I immediately feel out of place. But I straighten my spine and step into the cozy room.
“Hey, Cameron.” I give him a big grin. “How was school today?”
He flashes a quick, subdued smile but I can see the reservation in his eyes. “Good.” His eyes fall back to his plate.
Shit. My presence is already cramping his style.
“You hungry?” Lincoln speaks up in his deep, raspy voice, causing my stomach to clench for a whole different reason.
My eyes scan over the layout on the table. Some gourmet-looking flat-bread to go along with a hearty stew. And there’s a third place setting.
For me.
“Nah, I’m good.” I wave the offer away.
But my stomach decides to betray me, growling and bubbling like a captive animal.
Finally, Cameron looks up and cracks a genuine smile. A little giggle even manages to escape him.
I grin, too. “Sorry. I guess I am a tiny bit hungry.”
Lincoln nudges the empty plate toward me. “Then, sit,” he says, his expression unreadable.
With a nod, I join them at the table. But as I’m taking my second bite, Cameron is pushing his empty plate away.
“All done, Bud?” Lincoln asks him and he nods adorably. Lincoln glances my way. “Sorry. We should have waited for you. But we weren’t sure when you’d get back and Cameron has school tomorrow.”
“Sorry about that,” I say, “I should have checked in with you about the schedule for the night.”
“It’s no problem,” Lincoln says, rising from the table, and I mentally count how many awkward apologies we’ve shared between us since I walked in here mere minutes ago.
Cameron says a shy good night before he lets his Dad usher him off to get ready for bed.
I finish my meal alone, and when I’m done, I tidy up the kitchen.
Lincoln’s house is clean. The kind of clean you see in decor magazines with spotless counters and floors you could probably eat off of.
A far cry from the cluttered and chaotic shoebox I shared with Laney.
I get a rush of anxiety, telling me I don’t fit here.
But I remind myself that this is just temporary. It’s short-term. I can survive this in the short-term.
Then, with my heart in my throat, I climb the stairs on wobbly feet. Lincoln and Cameron are in the bathroom. I can hear the splashing water and there’s dim light bleeding from beneath the door.
I hurry past and go to the bedroom with every intention of quickly digging through my garbage bags for some pajamas and hopefully a blanket, so I can be on the couch pretending to be asleep before Lincoln is ready for bed.
But the scent of his cologne lingers in the air, screwing with my head and distracting me.
In a daze, I dig through my mess of garbage bags, dropping clothes all over the floor, and I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for.
Usually, I’d just sleep naked, but that doesn’t seem appropriate given my new housemates.
I know I’ve run out of time when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around from where I’m bent over digging around and I find Lincoln standing there, his wide shoulders crowding the narrow doorframe.
His hair is still perfectly combed. But his white button down is untucked and rumpled after a long day. The sleeves are rolled back. He looks like a corporate sex god.
A corporate sex god who’s blatantly staring at my ass.
He quickly looks away.
“Hey…” he says quietly.
“Hey…” I respond, sounding squeaky and small. I quickly shove everything back into one garbage bag.
His eyes flash to the bed. Mine follow suit.
I speak up quickly, a pair of pajamas gripped in my hand. “I, uh, I’ll sleep on the couch. Do you have some extra linens I can use?”
He takes a firm step forward. “Jules, you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Well, I’m definitely not sleeping in here with you,” I say defensively. “Do I have to remind you of our contract?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, you don’t have to remind me of the contract. I remember clause four very well.” Then he mutters something that sounds like, “Clause four tortures my mind night and day.”
“What?” I mumble.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Look—I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You don’t have to do that. This is your house. I don’t mind taking the couch.”
He frowns at me. “Jules, I did not ask you to leave your apartment with your own bed so you can come and curl up on my couch. It’s not fair.”
I argue back. “Not fair? Barging into your house and stealing your bed would be unfair.”
“My mother raised me right. I’m not going to let a lady be uncomfortable in my home.”
“I’m smaller than you. If you’re squeezing your gigantic butt onto that couch every night, you’ll be waking up with back pain every day.”
Exasperation comes over his face. He takes one firm footstep at a time in my direction, each word punctuated by a solid stomp. “I. Will. Sleep. On. The. Couch.” He reaches out, startling me when he brushes my hair out of my eyes. “And you, my wife-to-be, will sleep in my bed.”
I grumble under my breath, hating being bossed around. If this is what marriage really is, scratch my name off the list. As soon as I get my trust fund payout.
“Fine, you miserable man,” I grind through my teeth.
A pleased smirk crosses his face. “Good girl.”
I growl, hating the shiver of arousal that radiates through me. “I’m no one’s good girl, Lincoln Raines,” I say through a tight jaw.
He smirks some more. I watch as he leans over and grabs a pillow off the bed.
I expect him to turn and walk out of the room. Instead, he suddenly drops in front of me. On both knees.
A million x-rated flashbacks dash through my mind. I can clearly remember what happened the first night he got on his knees and looked up at me like that. The moment had ended with his face buried between my legs as they’d quaked around his head.
But this time, Lincoln simply stretches an arm under the bed and scoops something off the floor. He presents my lacy red panties to me like an offering.
When I think about the way we’d shimmied those same red panties off of my body all those weeks ago, my core aches all over again.
“Thank you…” I say, way too breathlessly.
Lincoln’s eyes blaze as he rises to his full height, towering over me.
“Sweet dreams, future wife…” His voice rumbles as he turns on his heel toward the door. He tries to be discreet as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I know what I’ll be dreaming about.”