Page 26 of The Temporary Fiancée
I swallow, pressing my thighs together. “I guess I should’ve figured out which one was your bedroom before I…” I trail off, unsure what to say.
He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I have to admit, I’m already regretting the no sex rule in that contract. You look beautiful.”
My heart rate quickens, and I bite my lip, trying to hide my arousal. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I tease him, letting my shoulders fall back into the water.
He stares at me like he’s going to eat me whole. For a moment, I think that he’s about to break the rules before we even begin; he wants to touch me, more than anything. I can tell.
But instead, with an air of great restraint, he steps back. His hands slip into his pockets, like he can’t trust them to behave themselves.
“The contract is ready to be reviewed and signed,” he says, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Whenever you’re done, come meet me in my office.”
He turns and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.
I should feel relieved. We haven’t fallen off the wagon yet, despite the temptation. He’s being professional.
So why do I feel nothing but disappointment?
Maybe it’s just worry—worry at the amount of tension between us already, before I’ve even signed the paperwork. It’s going to be more difficult than I’d feared.
Whatever the case, I’m pretty sure I’m already regretting my choice to play fake fiancée.
Chapter 8
Reed
After an hour spent staringat a dry, clinical piece of paperwork, it’s impossible for me to keep my eyes off of Olivia as she leaves my bathroom.
I probably should’ve waited for her in my office, but… I’ll admit it, I wanted to catch a glimpse of her as she got out of the bath. I don’t regret it, either. She’s wrapped in a towel, but she lets it fall in order to get dressed.
I looked away while she was in the tub, but I can’t help watching her now. It feels as though the temperature in my bedroom is ten degrees higher than the thermostat reads, even though we’re on opposite sides of the room.
When she’s finally dressed, she looks up at me, holding her arms out to the sides. “Okay. Ready to go.”
“Let’s do it.” I gesture for Olivia to follow me, and together, we head to my office.
Olivia scans the printed copy of the contract, nodding to herself as she comes to the clauses that we discussed over breakfast. She purses her lips in concentration as she reads. When she gets to the end, she looks up.
“All good?” I ask.
She nods. “All good.”
I reach for a pen on the desk, appending my signature to the document. I hand it to her, and she hesitates for a moment before signing.
“Okay,” I tell her. “You ready for the fun part?”
She looks apprehensive, but relief floods her expression when I pull a checkbook out of my pocket. With a flourish, I scribble down the amount and sign my name at the bottom. I add the date—six months from now—and tear it off, handing it to her.
“Once this is over, you can go ahead and cash that,” I say with a smile.
She stares at the slip of paper for a long time, her eyes wide—taking in all of the zeros. Then she takes a deep breath and looks up at me.
I can tell that she’s still nervous about everything, but the fact that her finances are taken care of—for herself and her family—is an obvious weight off of her shoulders.
The fact that I’m able to give her that comfort tugs at something inside me. It was so simple, and yet, it gave her such relief.
I shake my head, trying to remind myself that there are no feelings involved in this contract. It’s not about what I can do for her. It’s about the mutual benefits gained before we amicably part ways at the end.
“So,” she says, a little bit of humor in her voice, “now what,dear?”
