CHAPTER TEN
CLARA
Nash arrived at exactly six o'clock, once again filling my doorway in a way that stole my breath.
He wore dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that hugged his broad shoulders, looking casual and more approachable than he had in his tuxedo.
His arms were full of grocery bags, and tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeves bunched up on his forearms.
"I thought I'd cook for us," he said, stepping inside. "Hope that's okay."
"That’s so sweet." I took some of the bags from him, peeking inside to see pasta, chicken, vegetables, and what looked like ingredients for garlic bread. "This looks amazing."
Nash's gaze swept my apartment again, taking in the soft lighting and the abundance of greenery I'd cultivated.
Pothos cascaded from floating shelves, snake plants stood sentinel in corners, and my prized fiddle leaf fig dominated the space near the main window.
Small succulents dotted every available surface, turning my tiny apartment into an urban jungle.
"Your apartment is incredible," he said, his eyes lingering on a trailing philodendron that I'd trained around my bookshelf. "It's like a greenhouse in here."
Heat flushed my cheeks. "I may have gone a little overboard with the plants."
"No, it's perfect." Something in his voice made me look at him more closely, but his expression was unreadable. "How's Mia feeling?"
"Better. Just a little cold." I set the groceries on my small kitchen counter, which was overseen by herbs I grew on the windowsill. "She’s napping right now, but she’ll be up soon.”
Nash walked toward me, looking broad and confident and completely out of place in my little, cheap apartment. I was suddenly self-conscious.
“I didn’t realize you cooked.” As soon as it left my lips, I realized how dumb that sounded. Or possibly offensive. He began to smile as I added, “I guess I meant I assumed you had private chefs or always ate out.”
“Like since I have money I never need to cook?”
“Right, I didn’t expect you to know what to do with all of this.” His grin grew wider the more I clarified. “Like when’s the last time you had to cook for yourself?”
Nash laughed. “It may come as a surprise, Clara, but I do know how to cook, and I like to cook. However, there are a lot of people out there who do it better than me, so I also like to hire them on occasion.”
He didn’t seem offended by my rambling, but I was still eager to steer the conversation into safer waters. After all, when Nash was as handsome as he was, offering so much strength and stability and reassurance in my life, the last thing I needed was to find out that he also could cook.
Nash already was my dream man. Now the universe was just throwing salt in the wound. Let’s make him perfect and also fully unattainable. Just a pretend husband. Nothing more.
“So I’m not sure where to start with the Haley Reeves situation,” I said, inspecting some of the spines on a tiny cactus that I’d been slowly rehabilitating. “She really threw me off. I did not have a surprise call from a social media influencer on my bingo card for today.”
Nash nodded, pulling out his phone. "Let’s do some research. Once we do a deep dive, we can figure out what makes sense."
We settled on my couch, Nash's presence making the space feel even smaller than usual.
His jean-clad knee knocked against mine as he pulled up Haley's Instagram, and I restrained myself from resting my head against his arm like I wanted to.
If we were in public, I would have, because that would have made sense as a couple.
But in here, I wanted to do it because he was a powerful magnet and I was just a helpless scrap of metal when it came to him.
We scrolled through her recent posts together, commenting on each one.
"Look at this," Nash said, pointing to a post from two days ago. "Reality TV star caught faking pregnancy with prosthetic belly."
The post had 800,000 likes and thousands of comments. The next post was even more damning—a deep dive into a pop singer's secret debt crisis, complete with leaked financial documents.
"She goes after people who seem too good to be true," I said, reading through the comments. "Or relationships that don't add up."
"Exactly. It’s her niche." Nash turned to face me, his eyes intense. "So we give her a relationship that does add up."
"What do you mean?"
"Our love story has to be romantic enough that her followers will eat it up, but believable enough that she won't have any reason to keep digging."
My pulse quickened. "Like what?"
"Like the truth." Nash's voice was quiet, and the way he was looking at me made my breath evaporate. I’d kill to have these blue eyes on me just like this for the rest of my life.
"We met four years ago. There was an instant connection, but circumstances kept us apart.
When we ran into each other again recently, we couldn't deny what we'd always felt since day one. "
The way he said it, looking directly at me, made my chest tight. It was real—or close enough to real that hearing it out loud made my head spin. I wanted it to be true down to my bones, but he was just crafting our fiction.
“Since day one,” I whispered. It was true, even though we were supposedly crafting fiction here. "So we met four years ago," I said slowly, trying to focus on the logistics instead of the way his eyes seemed to see right through me. "And then what? Why didn't we get together then?"
Nash's jaw tightened slightly. "You…were pregnant with someone else’s baby. I was focused on building my business. The timing was wrong."
The parallel to our real story made my chest ache. This felt like a truth that could have been mine, had I just slipped into an alternate dimension. "And we just...kept in touch?"
"Occasional texts. Coffee every so often. But we both knew there was something there."
"And then?"
"Then I saw you at the catering event and knew I couldn't let you walk away again."
For a moment, I forgot we were constructing a lie. The way Nash looked at me, the sincerity in his voice—it felt real.
“I think it sounds great.” My voice stuck to my throat, so I reached for a glass of water on the end table. “This sort of thing happens in real life. It checks out.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s just…not the right time,” Nash said, his gaze still stuck on me. It seemed like he had more he wanted to add.
“Until it suddenly is,” I added.
Nash studied me a moment longer then nodded, pocketing his phone. “I’m monitoring your name on social media. My brother and I have an assistant who keeps an eye on malicious news events involving us. Now he includes you.”
“Oh goodie,” I said dryly.
“Maybe we should have talked more about this side of things,” Nash said, leaning back into the couch.
He draped his arm across the back, and his six-foot-plus frame looked mammoth against the loveseat.
In a different world, he’d cock his head and reach for me, and I’d unbutton his pants and sink between his legs…
Focus. This is business. Not the beginning of a porno.
“The social media side of things?” I asked, focusing intently on invisible pieces of lint on the couch.
“Media in general, but yeah. We’re newsworthy people, for whatever reason.
So it’s going to keep happening. We only react if there’s something slanderous.
I’ll keep you updated on anything new. I have to say, I’m surprised Haley called you directly.
That doesn’t often happen—normally people just speculate and leave it as gossip. ”
“Haley is a special case, I guess.” I laughed, but it sounded nervous to me.
Probably because Nash’s heat was sinking into me, begging me to crumple on top of him.
“She’s built her brand on factual exposés, so she went straight to the source.
Besides, she probably had an easier time getting ahold of me than someone like you. ”
Nash gnawed on the inside of his lip, his gaze skating across my face. Goosebumps flared across my forearms, and everything inside me felt jittery. I hadn’t been this nervous at his side last night. Why was this so much harder when it was just the two of us inside my apartment?
“Oh, that reminds me. Speaking of things we should have talked about.” I smoothed down my leggings. I couldn’t look too long into his eyes, or else I’d dissolve into a horny mess right here in my own living room. “I wanted to know what you’re doing about…uh…I don’t know how to say it.”
His brow lifted, and I felt his attention sharpen to a point.
“Your…other relationships, I guess.” I laughed, feeling my cheeks go hot. God, Clara, can you keep it together please? “I don’t expect you to be…you know…celibate.”
He cleared his throat, shifting on the couch. “Clara, you’re not expected—”
“No, I don’t mean with me. Of course not.
” I X’d my hands through the air. “I know you’d never.
And it’s inappropriate. And the contract.
” The more I rambled, the stupider I felt.
But we needed to get this clear. “I guess what I’m saying is that I, uh, I recognize that you might need to like, uh…
step out of this marriage. Not that we’re married yet.
But you know, when we are. I just wanted to know what the, uh, guidelines are. For that.”
“For sex?” he finally supplied, looking highly amused.
“Yes. Sex. With other people specifically.”
He rubbed his hand against his jawline, getting lost in thought. “Well, what makes sense for you?”
The question caught me off guard. He assumed I was having sex with anybody? That was sweet of him, but horribly off base. And I’d rather die than admit to him the last person I’d slept with was him, four years ago.
“I’m down with whatever arrangement you thinks work best. I don’t want to jeopardize the inheritance in any way, and with the committee…” I trailed off, unsure what else to add.