Chapter 13
LINCOLN
After putting in a few hours of work, I make Cameron a snack and then I start to retreat back to my office. But then Jules crosses my mind.
Honestly, she’s been on my mind a lot all week. And not purely in relation to our upcoming fake marriage.
I find her…amusing. Chaotic—in an intriguing way. Undeniably sexy. And now that she’s about to become my wife, I officially can’t stop thinking about her.
So instead of heading straight back to my desk, I make a detour up the stairs and enter my bedroom. Dropping down onto my bed and getting comfortable in the quiet space, I dial her number before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers, and before I can get a word in, she starts rambling about our disastrous lunch.
“Well, that was a fucking shitshow, wasn’t it?
” she blurts out. “I hate lying. Especially to my mom. I’m not even good at it.
The whole time, I was scared that my pants were going to catch on fire.
Or that my nose would start growing and growing and growing like Pinocchio.
I could feel my damn blood pressure going up with every second that ticked by. ”
As I lay there and listen, I find myself surprised to realize that I like the sound of Jules’s voice over the phone. Without her right here in front of me, rolling her eyes and giving me dirty looks, Jules sounds a whole lot…sweeter. Softer.
I close my eyes, hum in agreement with whatever she’s saying, and just listen to her speak. It’s a strange moment of calm after a week of chaos.
Hmm. This actually isn't so bad. Maybe I should just call her on the phone from now on. Less sass, more...voice.
“My gosh, Lincoln. Do you realize how close we came to blowing this whole thing?” she’s saying frantically.
“If we can’t convince our own moms that this engagement is real, there’s no way we can pull this plan off.
Everyone is going to see right through us.
It’s going to backfire in the most epic way and… and…and…”
Jules continues her flustered rambling. I imagine her pacing around her cozy bedroom, freaking out and replaying every cringe-worthy moment of our lunch date.
Meanwhile, I’m wondering what she’s wearing.
My imagination envisions her in those lacy red panties from the night I spent at her house. Paired with one of her sexy, belly-baring T-shirts—no bra. I recall the dragon tattoo on the inside of her thigh. The silky mess of her hair. The sweet and spicy scent of her skin.
And my cock grows as hard as a rolling pin.
Focus, asshole.
I force my brain to tune back into Jules’s rant, while I listen to the smooth sound of her voice. Christ, why couldn’t I come up with something normal to say when our mothers asked what I like most about my fiancée?
There are a million things I find attractive about Jules—including her voice, apparently—but my stupid mouth blurted resourcefulness? For real?
I mean, yeah, she’s scrappy as hell, and I admire that. But saying that makes us sound more like business partners than lovers.
Which makes sense…because we are business partners.
Not lovers. Not lovers. Not lovers.
She’s still listing out all the ways in which this arrangement of ours is a disaster.
“Your kid doesn’t know me. My mom assumes you’re pressuring me into this.
And your mom probably thinks I’m some floozy who’s after your money.
Oh, and you called me ‘Julia’ at one point!
Did you see my mother gawking at you? That’s most definitely not my name, and she knows I’d strangle anyone who calls me that.
In fact, you’re lucky you’re still alive. ”
I let out a chuckle. “Murdering your fiancé before the wedding? Probably not the best idea when you’re trying to fulfill a morality clause.”
“Lincoln, this is so not funny! We have too much on the line to screw this up,” she argues, reminding me of this business deal I so desperately need. “If we can’t convince our moms, how the hell are we going to fool the clever old woman who cooked up said morality clause?!”
“You’re right. You’re right,” I say, sitting up in my bed. “We just need some more practice.”
“Practice?” she barks out.
“If you want to be good at anything, you need to work at getting better,” I say calmly.
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Jules questions.
“We need to tell more people about our relationship.” I ignore the rock in my stomach when I say that.
Jules’s voice tells me that my suggestion is only making her more anxious. “More people like who?”
“Easton and Alba. Let’s start with them,” I say. “On a video call. We’ll test out our news with them. See how it goes. See what we need to work on.”
Jules is quiet for a moment. Then she sighs. “Fine. I’ll be at your place within the hour.”