10. Rosay
Chapter ten
Rosay
T his isn’t real.
His words echo in my head, the perfect reminder to stop letting my heart flutter away every time he says something sweet and encouraging. This is just two coworkers helping each other out, a means to an end.
“This bacon is perfectly crispy,” Graham says, stealing another piece from the pile.
I stare at him, quietly considering if he’s potentially from another planet.
He’s so different when he’s not at work.
The slight crinkle between his brows that I thought was a permanent fixture is gone, and the dimple in his cheek that’s normally hidden by his clenched jaw keeps making an appearance when he thinks I’m not looking.
“I’ve gotta grab a few things before we leave.” I rinse my plate and leave Graham to enjoy his breakfast now that the maintenance man has fixed my doorknob.
Inside my room, I relax against the door and sigh. This weekend must be perfect. Winnie’s wedding is a few days away, and if Graham and I are going to pull this thing off, we’ve got to figure out this weird chemistry we have going on between us.
My clothes are strewn around the bed, and my hygiene kit is in the center, ready to be thrown into my small suitcase.
Graham probably had his bag neatly packed the minute he decided to help me with this fake dating ruse.
With his FBI level file of information and I’m sure color-coded closet, he has ‘uptight planner’ written all over him.
I open the top drawer of my nightstand to find an extra charger and get my hand tangled in a web of cords and batteries.
My gaze snags on a box of condoms I bought back before I found Connor cheating.
A quick look at the box tells me they’re still good, but useless, so I set them down.
Casual sex wasn’t discussed in Graham’s humongous file, nor did we talk about it last night at dinner—outside of finding out each other’s favorite positions.
After seeing the mirror above his bed, it’s not a surprise that a certain CEO made an appearance in my dreams last night, but I’m sure my brain only conjured the images because it’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.
With the charger in hand, I spin around to take one last look at the surfaces. The cord clinks against my perfume bottles, knocking them over in a domino effect. I groan and bend to pick them up, managing to bang my head against the open drawer.
A knock at my door startles me. I rub my head as I open it and find Graham standing there with his hand covering his eyes and a wide grin on his face. I poke him in the side.
“Funny, funny. What’s up?”
“Are you clothed?” he asks.
“Yes.” I remove his hand from his face. ‘What do you need?”
Graham points over his shoulder. “There’s a kid at your door saying you have some papers for him?”
“Oh, James.” I smack my hand against my forehead. With all the chaos of last night, I forgot to print out his tutoring worksheets. “Can you grab my suitcase while I take care of him?”
“Sure.” He checks his watch. “We’ve gotta get going soon. Don’t want to get caught up in traffic at the interchange and be late.”
I want to say that I doubt they’ll even notice I’m not there, but instead I just nod. “Be right back.”
James stands in my living room tapping away on his phone. His brown hair is long and scraggly, hidden under a beanie. “Sup, Ms. Wilmington.”
“Hey, James. Give me a second to print those worksheets out for you.” My computer screen illuminates, and I find the Algebra worksheets I meant to print out last night.
The printer chugs to life as Graham rolls my suitcase into the foyer.
He glances at me for a moment, and I catch the pink hue creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a touch higher than normal. “Perfect.”
“Did you already grade last week’s test?” James asks, patiently waiting as I grab the papers and staple them together. “My mom needs to know if I passed before she’ll let me go to the movies this weekend.”
I chuckle as I hand him the packet. “You got an 85. Had some issues with your slope intercept form, but you’ll have an opportunity to work on those with these worksheets. I’ll forward your mom the results for proof.”
“Heck yeah. Thanks, Ms. Wilmington.” He fist pumps then slips an AirPod back into his ear. “I’ll see you next week.”
“See you then, kid.” I close the door behind him, and when I spin around, Graham leans against the wall, staring at me with a perplexed look. “What’s wrong with your face?”
“My face?” He straightens and unfolds his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with my face. It’s perfectly symmetrical.” I stare daggers at him until he speaks again. “You looked happy helping that kid.”
I fight a grimace at his spot-on assessment. All it does is remind me that while I love helping people invest their money, what I truly wish I could do is teach.
Paren ts don’t want a felon teaching their children.
“I guess,” I mumble. “Thanks for grabbing my bag.”
“No problem.” With a tight smile, he hoists my luggage over his shoulder. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, just let me get my keys.”
The elevator ride is near silent, with only our deep breaths and cleared throats as a soundtrack.
Tension bounces off the walls, but I can’t quite figure out how to break it.
Graham being able to see past the facade of my work happiness wasn’t something I was prepared for.
Everything I’ve known about this man is that he’s callous and focused on the bottom line; he’s never cared whether someone was happy or excited about work.
Hell, he makes me do other people’s work on a daily basis.
So, what’s changed?
The brisk morning air whips my newly colored hair into my face, and I bat away the loose tendrils as I walk toward my car. Graham’s hand lands on my arm, the heat of his skin almost as warm as the Texas sun. I glance at his hand, but he retracts it before I have a chance to smack it away.
“I’m driving,” he says, redirecting us toward his car.
I stop and plant my feet. “We’re not gonna be that couple who fights over who’s driving or stopping for directions.”
He snorts. “That’s what GPS is for.”
Flabbergasted, I stare at him for an unnerving amount of time. “You’ve clearly spent so much time as a city boy that you forgot mountains and hills exist.”
He ignores me and walks over to his car, opening the passenger door in expectation. “Get in the car, Rosay.”
The command in his voice makes my core flutter and goosebumps spread down my arms. Graham has always been annoyingly bossy, but something ab out the gravel in his tone shows me there’s another side to his bossiness that I might actually like.
“I’m picking the music,” I grumble and reluctantly slide into the seat.
Graham closes the door behind me and throws my luggage into the backseat.
It gives me a few moments to think through the logistics of our arrangement.
If we’re going to be successful, then I need my family to believe I’m in love with Graham.
And if I’m going to protect my heart from catching feelings, I need to remind myself that there’s no way Graham and I could ever truly work.
“Rosay,” Graham says my name, snapping me from my daze.
His eyebrows are arched as if he asked me a question, and I can’t help but notice when we’re this close that he has a tiny scar on the side of his eye that looks like a sunburst. “Are you ready? Need to stop at the gas station before we leave?”
“No. I’m fine.” I tear my eyes away from his, hoping to reset my brain. He nods and shifts into drive, maneuvering around the throng of cars blocking the entrance. “Let’s get this over with.”
He chuckles as we approach a stoplight. “Don’t sound so excited that you have to pretend to be engaged to me now.” Something must pop into his head because he says, “Reach into the back and grab my bag, would ya?”
“Sure?” I say as I unbuckle my seatbelt, hoping there are no cops around. Texas cops will do anything to meet their quotas. “Everything okay?”
His bag is behind his seat, out of immediate reach.
I crawl through the space, and heat skitters along my stomach as Graham’s hand lands on my hip, steadying me.
I glance at where my shirt has ridden up, displaying the faded scar on my side, and pray that Graham doesn’t notice it.
I refocus my attention on grabbing his bag and within seconds I’m back in my seat, buckled up and trying to slow my racing heart.
“Open the pocket inside,” he says once the bag is on my lap.
I oblige his request and sink my hand into the bag, searching around for the zipper as he merges onto the highway. His clothes shift as I search, but I finally find the inside the pocket. My fingers coast over a chunky box and my throat dries.
This better be a Rolex box.
Air leaks out of my parted lips when I pull out the smooth green velvet box. “Graham.”
“Yeah?” he asks, paying attention to the traffic instead of my mini meltdown.
“What the hell is this?”
He affords me a glance but otherwise is nonplussed. “I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.”
“No shit,” I say. “Is there a ring in here?”
“There’d better be, or I’ve been robbed.” He chuckles, entirely too relaxed when I’m wound-up. “Open it.”
My teeth clink, forced together by the tension in my jaw. I slide my finger across the opening, trying to convince myself this isn’t a terrible idea. I once thought I’d have a ring on my finger, that I’d be a wife someone would be proud to have, but Connor made it clear that I was unlovable.
I suck in a breath when I see a large round diamond in a twisted yellow-gold band.
The perfect ring. I’m not a ring expert, but I have helped plenty of customers value their assets for investment, and I’ve seen some beautiful jewelry.
This solitaire is at least three karats and costs entirely too much for a fake engagement.