Page 83 of Filthy Twisted Devil

I’ve been to the Flair office before, when I was first considering them to plan an event for Twisted Devil. It’s easy to find Eden’s office, which is in a state of controlled chaos. Piles of boxes are stacked on every surface, some full of papers, others full of party favors or plastic champagne glasses or branded thermoses for Infinity Bank. Knowing Eden, though, the place is actually in perfect order. I bet if I asked her to tell me what’s in every box, she could do it without batting an eye.

She’s currently typing on a laptop precariously perched on a massive statue of a cherub. I raise my brows.

“Don’t you have a desk somewhere in here that saves poor Cupid’s head from your computer?” I ask.

Eden finishes typing her last sentence before looking up at me. “Sorry, what?”

I point to the statue, then the desk. “Shouldn’t your laptop be there?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “There just never seems to be enough room.”

“What's with the statue? Doesn't seem like your taste.”

“He's left over from a Valentine's Day party we planned. He was only supposed to be in my office temporarily, but he kind of grew on me.” She closes the laptop and turns to me. “What's up? I thought I wasn't supposed to see you until tonight.”

Tonight, when Eden and I go on yet another not-date, this time a restaurant opening for a friend of Beau’s. Where there are photographers, there’s me and Eden.

“I realized we never made an official plan for tonight. Since I was in the area, I figured it would be easier to stop by and chat.”

“Okay,” Eden says, her eyes leveling me like she knows that’s bullshit. She’s too polite to call me on it, though. “Will there be any execs there?”

“Yes. The president of passenger services. I’ve met him a few times, but I’d like to strengthen that connection.”

She nods. “Okay. Do you know where he came down on the Peppermint thing?”

“I chatted with a few people I know in his department. If they're right, he doesn't care. His wife does, though. She’s a big gossip blog fan, and she’s got a lot of opinions.”

“Hmm. If she loves gossip, I can probably win her over if I drop a few hints about Brinley's wedding.”

I'm a little surprised to hear my sister's name. Eden almost never brings her up around me. She's like the third rail we don't touch. I know that Eden and my relationship has put strain on the friendship. Maybe Brinley was reluctantly supportive at the beginning, but thanks to a little inside intel from Beau, I know that they’ve started to pull away from each other a bit.

“Brinley wouldn’t mind you telling a stranger that stuff?” I ask.

“I mean, I doubt she would care if I just talked about linen colors and menus. Maybe I’ll ask—” Eden reaches for her phone, then puts it back down. “Never mind. I won't bother her with it. If the wife wants gossip, I’ll just talk about our relationship instead. You know, the whole Toronto flower market story. I bet she’ll eat it up.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

It’s hard putting any enthusiasm into the words. I hate that Eden didn’t text Brinley because of me. It reminds me way too much of what happened between me and Beau. The secrets he kept from me drove a wedge between me and the best friend I’ve ever had.

I know Eden’s keeping our physical intimacy a secret from Brinley. She hasn’t told me explicitly, but my sister would have decked me by now if she knew. Eden’s probably not telling Brinley about all the other ways we’ve blurred the lines of our fake relationship until it’s way too close to a real one.

“So, should I meet you at the restaurant?” Eden asks, shaking me out of my inner guilt trip.

“If you were planning on going back to your apartment first, I can pick you up there.” I’ll take any excuse to get an extra ten minutes in her presence.

“Yeah, I have to change,” Eden says.

“You should wear the black dress.” It’s my favorite piece of clothing on earth. It completely covers her arms, but dips dangerously low in a deep V between her breasts. Eden wore it to a fundraiser a month ago, and it was all I could do to stop myself from stealing her away into a coat closet to yank that fabric to the side and suck on her nipples until she screamed my name.

We don’t do that anymore, not after that last night in Sundre. It’s like we both silently agreed that if we kept getting that close to fucking, we wouldn’t be able to stop ourselves again. It means that every night I spend with Eden, I end up aching from blue balls.

“Okay,” Eden says, oblivious to the filthy thoughts I’m having. “I can be ready at 7:45.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

I brush my hand against her lower back, leaning in to brush a kiss on her cheek. Eden stiffens, and I whisper, “I just told your receptionist I’m your boyfriend.”

The receptionist who can’t see us all the way back in Eden’s office, but she relaxes immediately at the excuse of having an audience.