Page 96 of Faking It
I take my time and look around the bar before I ans
wer. “It took this long to find her . . . if it’s meant to be, mate, then we’ll see our way through anything.”
“True, but let me give you a little bit of advice”—he leans in a little closer—“if you don’t want to let her go and are considering keeping her on, I suggest you have a contract drafted for her to sign sooner or later.”
“If I plan on keeping her?” I ask through a chuckle.
“For SoulM8, of course.” He laughs.
“Everyone loves her, why wouldn’t I keep her?”
“Because her contract was for the tour and that’s it. Remember how adamant you were that we only hire for the tour and nothing further in case it just didn’t work out?”
I nod pensively. “Has this whole thing—working together when you’re dating—been that rough on you that you’re considering not hiring her again?” he asks when I scrub my hand over my jaw and stare at my drink instead of answering.
How do I explain that these past two months have been so much more than just that—dating and working? It’s been being forced to see things through a whole different set of eyes. Ones unjaded and willing to see the good in everyone, even assholes like me.
“No—I—It’s definitely been a learning experience.”
His smile is slow and even. “Isn’t that what life’s all about?”
We part ways a little bit later, him to go meddle in other business affairs that he has going and me to work. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t concentrate for shit.
My mind keeps going back to where it’s been way too much this past week: Harlow.
I pick up my phone and dial.
“Hey!”
Christ, just her voice does it to me.
Every.
Single.
Time.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“It’s been—I can’t even put into words what today has been like.”
“That good, huh?”
“Yes. I’m just—it’s just—thank you. Today was because of you. All of the tips, all of the insight, all of the contacts, it was all because of you.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
And see you, and kiss you, I mentally add.
“You’re never going to be able to shut me up.” She laughs and the sounds of the city—a horn blowing, the cursing of someone, a passing siren—filter in through the background.
“I may have a few ways that I can,” I murmur and lean back on my stool at the bar. A woman across the way catches my eye and smiles. I nod and then turn in my chair some, not interested.
“Is that so?”
“Dinner with me tonight?”
“I’d love that.”
