“Well, yes, all of that.”
“It would be entirely separate from work,” I assured her. “After hours only. No one at the office would need to know.”
She bit her lower lip, a gesture that sent an inappropriate jolt of heat through me. “This is crazy,” she whispered, but there was something in her eyes now, a flicker of possibility.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But it would solve your problem.”
“And create about a thousand new ones,” she countered, but her tone lacked conviction.
“Think about it,” I said, giving her an out. “No pressure.”
Mia’s gaze slid away, then back to me. “I guess I could think about it, at least. If you’re sure you’re serious about it.”
“I’m sure,” I kept my voice low but firm. “And like I said, no pressure. It’s entirely your decision.”
She nodded slowly, a mixture of uncertainty and possibility swimming in her gorgeous eyes before she turned back to her work.
As we fell into silence, I wondered what the hell I’d just done. I’d crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed, offered something that went against every professional boundary I’d ever set for myself. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
The thought of being by her side, of standing between her and the people who made her feel small, of seeing the look on her mother’s face when she realized her daughter had brought home someone on her own, rather than the sad-sack setup she’d arranged... it all felt strangely right.
Only time would tell if Mia felt the same way.
MIA
Ipushed through the front door of our little house, dropped my purse on the entryway table, and made a beeline for the kitchen. My brain was still spinning from Jack’s offer, replaying his words over and over like a broken record.
I could do it. Be your date.
The refrigerator door opened with a soft whoosh, and I grabbed the bottle of Pinot Grigio like it was a lifeline. I didn’t even like white wine, but this would hve to do. My hands trembled slightly as I poured myself a generous glass, not even bothering to grab one of the stemmed glasses from the cabinet. The kitchen tumbler would have to do.
I glanced toward the back of the house, noticing the warm glow spilling from the sunroom. Emily was painting, lost in her creative world. I huffed out an impatient breath, desperate to unload the absolute insanity of my evening. But interrupting Emily mid-creation was like poking a hibernating bear.
So I leaned against the kitchen counter and took a long gulp of wine, letting the cool tartness wash down my throat. Then another. And another, until the glass was empty and I was already pouring a refill.
Be your date. For the wedding. And whatever other events.
I took another generous sip. What the actual fuck was happening in my life? My boss, my incredibly hot, wildly successful, brooding boss had offered to pretend to be my boyfriend. For months. To save me from my mother’s matchmaking schemes.
Finally, I heard the sound of the sunroom door creaking open, then Emily’s footsteps. The moment she appeared in the kitchen doorway, she took one look at me, wine glass clutched in my hand, and frowned. “You okay?”
I stared at her for a moment, then blurted, “Jack just offered to be my fake boyfriend.”
Emily’s frown deepened. “Jack who?”
“Jack Sullivan.”
Her eyes widened comically as she stared at me, blinking slowly as if her brain was buffering. “I must be losing my hearing, because I swear you just said broody, closed off Jack Sullivan offered to be your fake boyfriend.”
“That’s exactly what I said.” I gulped down more wine.
Emily’s mouth fell open, and she gestured wildly toward my glass. “Holy fucking god! I’m going to need one of those, stat!”
I reached for another tumbler and filled it to the brim, then topped off my own glass. Emily accepted hers with paint-stained fingers, and we silently migrated to the living room like two shell shocked survivors.
We both sank down on the couch, drawing our feet up under us.
“Okay, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detail or I will literally die.”
