Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Aside from the casual tart comment, we’ve played this very cool.
Which isn’t the helpful inspiration my cock needs right now to be decidedly uncool.
Instead, I try to think of unsexy things, like rubbish heaps and queues and public transport delays.
Taxes. Or being technically homeless in London because I don’t even have a flat share.
He’s bathed in sunlight when he turns finally to me, buttoning his shirt.
I swallow hard. And again, I shift awkwardly, trying to casually drape my arms in a way as if I’m not drawing attention to my erection. “Florian?”
“Yes?”
“What exactly is the rule book for fake partners? I don’t think we’ve said.” Bold move, Matty. That’s not helping things below the belt.
“Ah. Like the parameters?”
“I guess you can put it like that, yeah. Love parameters.”
“The rules are whatever we find mutually satisfactory and agreeable.”
“Good talk. I like all my fake partnering arrangements to meet a minimum satisfactory standard.”
“And here I thought I was the only fake partner you had.” Florian arches a dark eyebrow at me. He works on his tie without looking at what he’s doing, his fingers obviously practiced at the routine. While Florian looks at me, he does something funny to my insides.
“You are. Um, currently.”
“Good. I am only into ethical fake partnering. And I insist on being the only one.”
“I’m glad you have your standards. Hate for you to get mixed up in something dodgy.” Which is true enough. “And duly noted.”
“Rule 1: there can only be one fake partner. There’s a noncompete clause, for the official record.
” Florian slips into his suit jacket. Fully, safely clothed.
Still cutting a remarkable figure. Though the image of him sitting undressed in my bed is going to be imprinted forever in my brain.
Perfect wankable material for another time. “Fewer complications.”
“Okay.” There’s hardly a queue of men waiting to date me, so that’s easy. I’m not about to go hunting for others either. “Done.”
“Do you have any rules?” Florian peers at me in a way that unravels me silently. Which is a problem, given our pseudo-status.
“Oh yeah.” I shrug casually, frantically racking my brain for something rule-sounding, hopefully more convincing than inane. “It needs to look authentic. Any physical intimacy. My golden standard.”
“Right. Of course.” Florian nods, quickly checking his tie in the mirror over the desk. He makes an adjustment that’s not necessary, but it’s fascinating to watch, even so. “Rule 2: look authentic.”
“And that means everything. Like, hand holding or kisses or whatever.” I do my best to give him a level stare. “If people are going to buy in. I mean, that’s the goal, right?”
“I agree.”
“Maybe we’ll need to practice.” I do my best to look totally relaxed, which I definitely am not, while Florian lifts his eyebrow at me.
“Fine. We’ll practice looking authentic.” Florian tilts his head but makes no sign of moving toward me. I suppose I didn’t say we need to practice right now. “So, for the record, how did we meet?”
“Well… probably a version of the truth for that, at least, is helpful,” I admit.
“We could say we met at a bar. Even at Ivan’s, that we met when I was on shift.
Otherwise, saying we met at an art event is going to lead to loads of questions because my friends are mostly artists.
And they know I don’t exactly hang out at Sotheby’s. ” I cough.
“Okay. We met at Ivan’s. And how did we actually start to fake partner?”
“Well. You couldn’t resist my charm, and I couldn’t resist your way with a suit.” I shrug. “I mean, fair. That’s all believable.”
“I see. Opposites attract, then.”
“Yeah.” I nod, brightening. Now he’s getting into the spirit. “That. When you’re not managing millions, you like to spend time with your friendly local bartender talking about your… business conquests?”
Florian adjusts his cufflinks. He peers at me for a long moment. “May I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you going to get dressed too? As you told me, time is getting on, and I didn’t bring a suit all this way for you not to wear it.”
“Ha. I was just going to do that,” I say a little too quickly.
I open the wardrobe and pull out the garment bags.
Focusing on something other than Florian will definitely be helpful.
I open both of the garment bags and admire the charcoal replacement suit that Florian’s brought me.
It’s definitely more luxurious than my navy one.
“It’ll probably need alterations,” Florian warns. “But it was better than no suit.”
“Let me go try these on.” Quickly, I take both suits and a shirt into the en suite to change because I don’t have the guts to change in front of him like he did. I’m way too self-conscious for that. And I’m not showing him my boxers or my hard-on right now.
Before long, I emerge in the navy suit. “Here we go. Ready as it gets.”
Florian frowns slightly, coming over. He sweeps in and purposefully adjusts my tie as I flush. “Like this,” he instructs.
“Sure.” Oh God. I cough slightly, squirming under his close attention and fighting the urge to pull him close by the jacket and practice our fake kissing.
His eyelashes are unreasonably lush. I really need to get this under control.
It’s one thing to have an impulsive kiss in the lobby on suit delivery; it’s another when we’re in here, because who knows what that might lead to. Scandal, for sure. And my downfall.
Our gazes meet, and he blushes ever so faintly before he gives a decisive nod. “Better.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
We head out a couple of moments later after I call for a taxi, then giving myself a stern talking-to as we walk down the stairs to the hotel lobby.
Each wooden tread creaks faintly under the carpet.
We know next to nothing about each other, despite my attraction.
He’s a stranger. It’s just brain chemistry doing its usual thing due to close quarters, I tell myself.
Hormones. It doesn’t mean anything real.
Not like what he must have had with Billy.
Or what I had once with my ex. It’s just an arrangement of convenience, to get us through a couple of events, and then that’s it.
Mission over, back to normal. He’ll find his way back with Billy.
I’ll find… well, who knows what I’ll find, but it’ll probably be a while before I find anyone because I’m just starting out and don’t even have my own place to live. So, there’s that.
Pushing that all out of my head, I watch Brighton’s city streets slide past. And with the smallest sidelong glance and hidden goose bumps, I take Florian’s hand in mine. At the inevitable eyebrow, all I say with a straight face is, “Rule 2: Authenticity practice.”