Chapter 7 – Eden #2
I almost sigh. It's true, Luke's wardrobe is perfect, masculine but tailored, casual but expensive. I've always been a sucker for his well-cut shirts that hug his slimly muscled form.
“When you say girlfriend, you me…”
“A nice, normal, pretty girl to have on my arm and in industry events. Trust me, I've looked into it. My girlfriend will do more to rebuild my image than any PR firm could. Obviously, it won't be permanent. Just long enough for things to settle down.”
I take a long sip of whiskey to give me time to think. It’s the first thing he’s said all weekend that doesn’t make him sound like a wannabe knight-in-shining-armor. It makes the whole charade more palatable.
“How long would we pretend?” I ask.
“How long will it take until your brothers are off your back?”
“No idea. Maybe months. How about you? How long will it take for your reputation to get cleaned up?”
Luke shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you. We don’t need to decide that now. We can just figure it out as we go.”
“We should have some rules, though, right? About how far we’ll go, and how we should act.”
He nods and reaches behind the bar to grab a pen and a clean cocktail napkin. “Right. Rules time. I have one, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“Then let’s get it over with. What?”
“Rule one—the cam work ends now,” he says. “PrairieSmoke is done.”
I arch a brow. “You don't think I decided to be a camgirl for fun, do you? I need the money. I spent months looking for work and my savings are almost gone. I have to keep at it.”
“Not if you get a job. Have you heard of Flair Events?”
“Of course.” Flair isn’t the biggest event planning company in the city, but I’ve looked into every company I could find, big and small. Flair Events is known for planning cool, artsy events for up-and-coming companies, plus weddings and birthday blowouts for high-level creatives.
“They’re the event planners we use for Twisted Devil. I know for a fact that they’re about to lose one of their planners because she’s moving to London to be near family. I can make an introduction.”
I cross my arms defensively. Here he goes again, trying to save me. “How do you know they want to hire me?”
“Because they’d be stupid not to. I've been to your parties at the Whitmer. You're a perfect fit for them.”
Despite myself, pride warms my chest. “You're just saying that.”
“Take the compliment, Eden,” Luke mutters. “And quit the cam job. If it gets out, you're no used to me as a fake girlfriend. Both because it'll be bad for my reputation and because your brothers will break my bones into a zillion pieces.”
I hate to admit it, but he's right. If my brothers looked back at the site, they’d just come back to Toronto again.
“Fine. I’ll suspend it for now, and if I get the job, I’ll delete the account for good.”
Luke scribbles it down on the napkin.
1. Cam work ends.
Seeing the words in black and white hammers home the reality that I'm about to start pretending that Luke Windsor is my boyfriend.
“We have to touch each other,” I blurt out. “Not now, I mean, but in front of people.”
“Obviously,” Luke says. “Otherwise, no one will believe us. So, uh, how far exactly are you comfortable going?”
My face heats. I’m a virgin, but I’m not completely inexperienced. Still, it’s uncomfortable to say this stuff out loud. “We can hold hands.”
Luke fails to hold back a smile. “If you want anyone to believe us, we're going to need to go a little further than that.”
“Okay, well, how far do you want to go?” I shoot back.
He leans closer to me. “If you were really my girlfriend, I'd touch you in public. Your back, your hair, the small of your back. Maybe sometimes I’d put my hand on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”
I know I’m blushing, and I hate it. “That’s all fine.”
“How about kissing you on the cheek?” When I nod, he adds, “Any other places I’m cleared to kiss?”
If this conversation goes on any longer, my face is going to be a giant tomato. “We don’t need to go into every tiny detail. I’m sure at some point, we’ll have to kiss in front of people. Just do what feels right within reason, okay?”
Luke holds up his hands. “Fine. I’m just giving you the option to set some hard limits if you want to.”
“Okay. Good. What about you? A…touching limits?”
“No.” He laughs bitterly. “I'm sure you read that article, too. I don't have that many limits.”
“No, Luke. I don't care how kinky you are or aren't. None of that gives anyone the right to touch you in a way you don't like.”
He fiddles with his glass. “Well, you're one of the only people who thinks that way.”
My stomach turns. “Seriously? People are touching you? What—”
“It's nothing,” he says quickly. “Just the occasional ass grab. It's not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is! Seriously, Luke, if you need me to kick anyone’s ass, I’ll do it. I’m stronger than I look. Three brothers, remember?”
That brings a small smile to his face. “As much as I'd like to see that, it's not something you need to worry about.” He scribbles the second rule on the napkin.
2. Public physical contact is permitted.
Thinking about other women touching Luke without asking reminds me that he was essentially forced into a fake relationship with me by bad luck and chance. I mean, sure, him bidding on my virginity was a major part of it, but he still didn’t expect these would be the consequences.
“If we’re not going to have an end date, we should have an immediate exit clause,” I say. “When one person says we stop, we stop. No matter what.”
Luke nods and writes it down.
3. When one person says stop, the other honors it.
“We’re not telling anyone this is fake, right?” he asks.
“Except Brinley.”
“Obviously, she already knows, unfortunately.” He sighs. “But you don't tell anyone else, not Pippa, not Cat, not Maura.”
“And you can't tell your poker buddies.”
“Of course. Ryan’s the worst secret keeper in the world. If he knows, so does half of Toronto. We know, Brinley knows, that’s it.” He writes it down.
4. Nobody else finds out.
“Anything else to add?” He gestures with the pen.
I look down at the napkin. It looks like there's enough space left for exactly one rule. Since I can't think of anything better, I tilt my head and say dryly, “Should we add a no-falling-in-love clause? For thoroughness.”
He laughs. A real, full laugh, probably the first one either of us has enjoyed in the past thirty-six hours. “Haven’t you heard, baby? Luke Windsor doesn’t fall in love?”
I find myself laughing along with him. The idea of Toronto’s biggest playboy wandering around with heart eyes? Yeah. Not happening.
5. No falling in love.
He caps the pen and folds the napkin. I watch as he walks through the door behind the bar into his office. He puts the napkin in the top drawer of his desk and turns a small key in the lock. When he's done, he returns and refills both our glasses.
“To faking it for the win?” he says, raising his glass.
“To faking it until we make it,” I reply.
We clink our glasses and both take a long drink.