CHAPTER EIGHT
Gizmo
N athaniel looks at me and nods.
“You have to promise me,” he says.
“I’m not going to sleep with her. Have no intention to. She’s good, real, wholesome.”
“Like that’s ever stopped you.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “But I’m serious. Keep your hands off her.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for being the pussy patrol, brother, but I can handle my own life.”
“You sleep with her, you won’t last the four months needed to prove this whole scenario out. Me being the pussy patrol”—he winces at the crass term—“is because you don’t date a woman longer than a month once you sleep with her. That’s a problem in this scenario. A huge fucking problem. You can’t lock your fake wife up in your house when she’s miserable because you’ve slept with and then discarded her.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You do.”
“It’s mutual though. You make it sound like—”
“No one said you were a bad guy—or even original in doing this. All I’m saying is that this isn’t going to work if you sabotage it in the only way you know how.”
“People don’t stay, Nathaniel. Look at what you did. So why does it matter if I sleep with people and then move on?” My words are a low blow. Ones that aren’t warranted. His face pulls tight and his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t react to them.
“Promise me, Jase. We’re not doing all this hard work for nothing.”
“I promise.” I roll my eyes, stand, and move about the room.
I don’t know how I feel. About this. About the conflict on Hendrix’s face or the words she said—and didn’t say—that are stuck in my head.
The woman is good under pressure. She doesn’t back down or get intimidated when almost all other women would have asked where to sign on the dotted line without a second thought.
But she had many of them. She voiced them.
The terms are negotiated. The contract is signed. The deal is done.
And for a fucker like me who rarely thinks of anyone other than himself, I can’t stop thinking about her or her expression when she signed the contract.
And then the concern and regret that glanced through it shortly thereafter.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Nathaniel.
It only takes me a few seconds to get to the elevator and out to the parking garage where no doubt she parked. I spot her immediately on the far side of the vacant, dim structure.
“Cookie,” I call out as I jog over to her.
“Everything okay?” Hendrix turns, and I’m greeted full force with the reason I suggested her for this in the first place. Her kindness. I know she must be a little overwhelmed and yet her smile is sincere and her hazel eyes are wide with concern as she asks me if I’m okay after everything we just unloaded on her.
“Yeah. Why?” I ask and study her.
Hendrix Wright is definitely not the typical Gizmo type of blond hair, long legs, and a cluster of fake things on her: hair extensions, breasts, eyelashes, nails, fillers, you name it. God love all of them too.
No. She’s the total opposite. Natural with light makeup but that’s it. Her hair is light brown and it falls in waves down her back. Her eyes are hazel, framed with thick lashes. They could be considered oversized, but that only showcases her every emotion. Her skin is pale, which serves to highlight the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the blush of pink on the apples of her cheeks.
And then there’s her mouth. It’s about as sexy as the curve of her ass. Her lips are full and a dark pink, and she has a tendency to bite her bottom lip, which drives me somewhat mad.
“Did I forget something?” she asks when I don’t respond to her first question.
“No.” I pull up to a stop right in front of her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Why would I not be?” An unnamed emotion flickers there but it’s too quick to pinpoint.
“That was a lot and unexpected and... now that you’ve had a few minutes to decompress without Nathaniel or me staring at you, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I chuckle. “I guess I already said that, didn’t I?”
Her expression softens but her guard stays up. “For some reason this whole past month has been a lot and unexpected so it’s just par for the course, I guess.” She bites her bottom lip and shifts her feet. “Which like I said, is why I guess I said yes.”
“Already getting cold feet?” I tease.
“Isn’t that normal before a wedding?” She smiles and looks down at her twisting fingers. Funny how she was so sure of herself in that conference room but now that it’s the two of us, she seems nervous.
“From what I hear. I’ve never been married before.”
“Me either,” she whispers.
“You sure you’re good with this? With... everything?” Without thinking, I reach out and tuck an errant piece of hair behind her ear. It’s something I’ve never done before, but it seems Hendrix has that effect on me. Asking someone to marry me. Chasing after them in garages. Tucking hair behind their ears.
“No.” She laughs nervously. “I’ll be fine. I’m not good at lying. Maybe I should have admitted to that before I signed on the dotted line that come to think of it, wasn’t really dotted, but I’m not.”
“It’ll be fine. We’ll stay in our little bubble. You’ll get to do your work. We’re currently writing our next album so that will force me to create more since I’ll be home more. We’ll figure it out. No big deal.”
But it’s a huge fucking deal. A woman? Living with me? Usually they come for the night, maybe stay for two, and then they’re gone. They never live with me.
“I know. It’s just . . . weird.”
I nod. My bandmates are going to lose their minds over this one. They’re going to give me so much shit . Here I am thinking about the change to my life when hers is about to get thrown in a blender and turned on without the top put back on. I fear she has no idea what she’s signed on for. The life I live and the people who demand everything from me isn’t for the faint of heart.
“Thank you,” I say softly. Contritely. “You’re doing me a huge favor. I promise to try and protect you as much as possible from the outside chaos and noise.”
Her smile is brave but she blinks away the threatening tears as she fights the regret brimming in her eyes. “I’m holding you to that.”
Let’s hope I don’t let you down.
That seems to be my MO.