CHAPTER 1
“Fuck.” He sighs, and dammit I wish I could read him better. Is he muttering curses because of the article? Because he believes it? Because of how it’s going to affect his image?
And then it’s like something flips. He blinks as he stares off into space for a second. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
He grabs the towel from around his neck and hangs it over the side of the treadmill. “We had a bonus night.” He avoids eye contact as he stares down at his towel as realization seems to crash into him. “Fuck.”
“A bonus night?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
He nods and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Two months ago maybe? It was after we broke up.” He tries to think back as he turns and stares out into his yard. “I was out with a group of buddies, and we drank way too much, and she showed up at my place. I was drunk and we...well, you know.”
“Banged?” I fill in the blank, and he’s the one looking all awkward now.
He clears his throat. “Yeah.”
I wave my phone around. “You think what’s in the article is true?”
He nods as he grips his hair with both hands, the first real emotion he’s shown during this conversation apart from some cursing. “She’s manipulative, but she wouldn’t lie about something like this to the media.” His hair is sticking up as he punches one fist into the palm of his other hand. “Dammit. I should’ve known she was going to find some way to trap me. And to run to Savannah...” He shakes his head. “That’s just bullshit.”
“This doesn’t mean you’re trapped, Luke. Plenty of parents raise kids just fine without being married.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know Michelle. She’s the kind of person who would get pregnant on purpose to find a way to keep me in her life.” He grips the railing of the treadmill, and then he sits on the belt. He hangs his head as anger melts into wistfulness. “Jesus. I’m going to be a father. This is not at all how I expected today to go.”
I kneel on the ground across from him so we’re eye level. “She can manipulate all she wants, Luke, but you don’t have to be with her even if you’re having a baby with her. You can be there for her. You can support her. But you don’t have to be her boyfriend or her husband.”
He glances up at me, and he has this torn look in his eyes. He wants to do what’s right, but he also wants to live his own life. He wants to be happy. He doesn’t want to be trapped by someone he doesn’t see in his life forever...even if she will be in his life in some capacity if she really is carrying his baby.
And I don’t believe for a second that it’s really his. He can believe her all he wants, but I don’t have to.
“All right, publicist,” he says. He glances up at me, and when our eyes connect, even amid this scandal that I’m going to have to sort for him, I feel the heat between the two of us. “Prove your worth.”
My eyes widen, and I nod. “I’ve got this.”
“I’ll get you a ring today,” he says. “A bigger one than the one she wanted.”
I laugh at the sheer pettiness in his tone, but I’m not sure I quite get what’s happening. “So just like that...we’re engaged?”
He presses his lips together. “Looks like it.”
“But it’s fake,” I clarify.
He stares at me a long beat as if he’s contemplating his next move, and then he shrugs before he speaks the words that knock my knees out from under me. “It doesn’t have to be...not if we actually get married.”
My jaw drops and my eyes widen as I stare at him in stunned silence. When I finally manage to form words, I stammer. “Uh...what?”
He chuckles.
“Are you suggesting we really get married?” I ask.
“With that reaction, I’ll slowly back away and say no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting. It was just a thought.” He lifts a shoulder.
My brows dip as I think about it. “I thought you didn’t want to get married ever again.”
“I don’t. But our engagement’s public now. It’s in black and white,” he says nodding to the headline on my phone. “Michelle plays games. I’ve never played back, but you know what? I thought a lot about what you said yesterday, and I think you’re right.”
“What I said?” I ask. My cheeks are all hot just from having this conversation. I’m pretty sure I’m sweating, and I’m still in that damn flimsy tank top and shorts. “What did I say?”
“That what she does isn’t fair.” He pauses, and then he shakes his head. “You’re right. It isn’t. If I want things to change with Michelle, then I have to make them change. I need her to see I’m committed to somebody else, that this trick she’s trying to pull won’t work. If she’s carrying my kid, I’ll be the best dad I can be. But I can’t be with her. This engagement plan is crazy enough to work...if you’re still on board with it.”
“I’m still on board with the engagement,” I say.
I may need a minute on the actual marriage topic of conversation. I’m pretty sure he was just kidding, anyway. Wasn’t he?
My eyes fall to his abs.
Is it really such a crazy idea?
That’s clearly the lust talking, but still...
The thought of his hips slamming against my backside as I clawed at the floor-to-ceiling windows in a hotel room on the Las Vegas Strip flashes through my mind.
Did it just get a little hotter out here?
I blow out a breath.
I don’t know about the marriage thing, but as far as a fake engagement is concerned, I have nothing to lose here. I’ll help him however I can.
Not because he’s hot (though he is), and not because I have a huge crush on him (though I do), but because he’s letting me stay here and he’s giving me a job and he’s my brother’s best friend. It’s really not a big deal to pretend to be engaged to the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Get back on that treadmill,” I say. I need to change the subject. “We’re about to set some thirst traps on your Instagram.”
“Thirst traps?” he asks as he gets back on the treadmill as requested.
“Oh, my sweet husband to be, you have so much to learn. Start running.”
“Right now? Don’t we need to deal with this pregnancy thing first? Shouldn’t I call Michelle or something?” he asks.
“That’s exactly what she wants, isn’t it? I’ll handle the media angle, but we need a second to think it through. Let’s take a deep breath and draft a plan before you run to the phone. And in the meantime, I’ll take some photos so we can get your Insta-campaign moving.”
His brows furrow and God he’s adorable, but then he does what I ask. I relish my job as his amateur photographer, snapping different angles of him as he runs on the treadmill. I blush even harder as I think how I’m building quite the spank bank.
And that’s when I remember I literally rolled out of bed to come down here. My hair is a mess, I have morning breath, I’m not wearing any make-up, and I’m donning that awful tank top with a pair of short, barely-there shorts.