Chapter 5 #2
Forget about a fever dream—this is my worst nightmare.
“He’s just a boy,” I assure, needing to make our lack of association known.
“Who’s a friend,” Nate finishes dryly, hands weaseling their way into his pockets.
“More like an acquaintance,” I correct.
“Don’t you think we’re well past the point of acquainted?”
I glare in his direction. “We’re familiar—at best.”
Phil cuts through my death stare with a wave of his hand. “Oh, you guys, there’s no need to bicker! All friends turn into lovers eventually, which means I’m the one who’s right.”
I choke up at his words, trying my hardest not to say anything unnecessary to a man I respect so deeply. But it’s the moment he moves that my mind spirals into full-blown panic.
I latch onto his wrist, tugging him back.
“Please don’t leave me alone with him,” I whisper before turning back to Nate, who seems unimpressed. “He brings me really bad luck.” I try to reason with Phil just as he lets out a rich belly laugh and walks to the front of the shop, like my words mean nothing.
My shoulders slump in defeat.
What have I done to deserve this?
“How’s the coffee?” Nate nods in the direction of my cup.
“Cold and bad now that you’re here,” I grumble under my breath.
The interaction hasn’t even started, and I’m already looking forward to its end.
Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I shift my gaze involuntarily toward him. He props himself up against the counter—one foot lazily crossed over the other, like he owns the place—but it’s the second he folds his arms over his chest that I know it’s game over.
My goal was to ignore his presence and act like he didn’t exist, but it’s hard when he takes up so much room.
I shamelessly admire the enemy for the third time in a row, lingering a little too long on the exposed forearms riddled with veins and his bulging biceps.
For the sake of my sanity, I’d like to believe he buys his shirts one size too small to come off stronger than he is, but anyone with two eyes can tell that’s far from the truth.
He puts in the work, and it shows.
A slow smile creeps up the corners of his mouth, causing his dimples to grace his annoyingly beautiful face.
“Why are you smiling? You should be highly offended by my comment.”
“Have you not noticed anything different?” He motions to my hands.
I glance down at the coffee cup, whose heat seeps through the cardboard, and wince at the burning sensation in my palm. I’m about to switch it from one hand to the other when I catch Nate’s eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Please enlighten me. What is it that you find so funny?”
He shakes his head in disbelief, taking a step forward while I take one back. The cool metal of the kitchen counter presses against my lower back—a stark contrast to the heat spreading through my body.
“I don’t bite.” Nate raises his hands in defense.
The assurance does little to calm my unease and only multiplies when a pair of hands wraps around my cup—one touching the hot cardboard and the other covering mine.
“Have you ever heard of the second law of thermodynamics?” he asks, a little too smug for my liking.
I glare up at him in annoyance. “Of course I have. I’m a scientist.”
“Would you like to define it for me?” He quirks a brow.
Fury rises within me. I’m clearly never beating the dictionary allegations, but I answer, nonetheless. “Heat energy flows from a hot body to a cold body.”
“And according to you, what’s the cold body in this scenario?”
“The coffee cup.”
He steps back, wearing a satisfied smile. “You can thank me for warming it up.”
I deadpan. Did this man just use the laws of physics to inadvertently call himself hot?
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
I’m trying my absolute hardest to collect myself, but it’s a challenge. Something about this Nate guy that makes me want to scream!
“I’d argue you made it colder,” I reason, trying to meet him with that same smugness.
He points at the cup, looking awfully pleased with himself. “There’s steam rising out of the spout.”
Cocky. Pompous. Conceited. There aren’t enough words in the dictionary to describe this man.
“Why are you here?” I walk to the other end of the kitchen to escape his negative energy. “And how did you find me?”
He ignores the most pressing question and decides to focus on the first.
“I have a proposition.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t take propositions from people like you.”
Nate remains straight-faced and seemingly unfazed. “It’s unusual, but I need you to hear me out.”
I shoot him the side-eye, not liking how he’s taking his sweet time—and, as a result, mine.
“Cut to the chase already.”
My lips hover over the rim of the coffee cup, its rising steam filling the air with the most delicious aroma. I’m preparing myself to take my first small sip when—
“Fake an engagement with me for the next six months, and I’ll cover the cost of your PhD.”
My teeth clash against the cup, and an abundance of scalding liquid burns my lip. I flinch at the contact, the sting lingering long after I’ve set my drink down.
“You’re kidding me!” I almost laugh.
Emphasis on almost.
April Fool’s Day was five months ago. These kinds of jokes are not welcome in September.
“Unfortunately, or fortunately—depending on how you see it—I’m not joking.
You need me as much as I need you. I know about the grant your PI lost and the limited funding in your lab.
I know firsthand how expensive science and research are.
You won’t achieve your full potential if your situation doesn’t improve. ”
His words are calm. Affirmative. And by the look on his face, he knows he hit the spot.
But how did he find this out in the first place? And what does he mean by he knows firsthand how expensive research is? My mind is spinning in circles, turning in roller-coaster-worthy loops. Endless questions cross my mind before I settle on the same conclusion.
I shake my head at my momentary lapse in judgment. “No.” I can’t genuinely be considering this. “Absolutely not.”
“Vivienne.” His tone is a desperate plea. “I hate to admit it, but I can’t do this without you. The news that came out about us—”
My eyes widen at the implication. “What news?”
Nate lets out a sigh, hand running down the stubble on his face. For some strange reason, he looks more like the man I met outside the coffee shop than the one from the fountain. It’s crazy how a little facial hair can transform someone’s appearance.
“It—It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it. What’s important is that if you set your feelings of pride and hatred aside, we—”
“I am not prideful,” I interrupt, needing to set the record straight. “But I do hate you—you got that part right.”
Nate shoots me a questionable glance, and I’m ashamed to say he might be onto something. Anyone desperate enough to finish their PhD would accept this deal. Unluckily for me, I fall into that category.
“You’ll help me, and I’ll help you,” Nate reasons. “It’s a win-win for everybody.”
That’s the part I’m still confused about. “What do you need help with?”
As far as I know, he’s some model, bodybuilder, do-it-all, who can weasel his way out of anything with a tap of his face card.
“A shot at fixing my reputation,” he says.
It’s vague—an incomplete answer by all means—but the benefits this deal could bring me outweigh the curiosities I have about his life.
“And how would it work?” I ask when I know I shouldn’t.
“Six months. One date a week. And any major event I may need to attend. In return, I’ll donate a large sum of money to the Anderson lab, pay for your PhD, and take care of any other debts you may have.”
I shouldn’t be considering this, but the answer is staring me right in the face.
I have two options—listen to the prideful part of myself and face the consequences of low funding, or deal with this man for the next six months and have the peace of mind that I can easily finish this PhD.
There are pros and cons to everything—a delicate balance between all that is good and bad—but I seem to have made up my mind when I finally say, “Deal.”
Nate’s eyes light up in surprise, and it’s only when he responds, “Get ready—rehearsals start next week,” that I start questioning what I’ve agreed to.