Freaky.
Neil extends a hand and moves his thumb up and down.
“What are you doing?”
“Practicing changing the TV station. I need a TV in my living room. Screw the decorator. That means I need a TV console table…”
“It’s possible you’re getting a little carried away now.”
“Am I? I remember someone telling me recently that a rich asshole like me could have any furniture he wanted. Pretty sure those words came out of your mouth.” He kisses my jaw. “Or do I have that wrong?”
“Neil.”
He chuckles. Then he kisses my hair.
And there it is again—that fizzy feeling inside my chest. I can’t let myself get used to this. I don’t know how long it takes for furniture to be delivered, but I’d lay odds that we’ll have filed for divorce by then.
“Which color are we getting?” He picks up a metal ring with swatches on it. “Nickel is just a nice word for gray.” He flips to the other square of fabric. “How about cayenne?”
“Hmm.” Cayenne is a deep red-orange. Like a nicely aged red brick. “I like it.”
“Me too! Wait—” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a throw pillow. “Do I need fuzzy pillows like this, too?”
“If sir wants fuzzy throw pillows, sir shall have fuzzy throw pillows.”
Neil snorts. Then he waves a hand in the air.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the nice sales lady over. She’s going to sell me a couch.”
I stand up and put my shoes back on while Neil greets the salesperson.
“Patricia, I think I found the one. How quickly can I have this kind of Lazy Sunday sofa, in cayenne, delivered to Brooklyn? I’m willing to pay a rush fee.”
Of course he is.
Neil asks me where I want to eat, and I pick that Turkish place again. I’ve been more or less dreaming about the food since last time we went there.
“I ordered for us last time,” Neil says, tossing down the menu after a single glance. “But I wouldn’t want to assume what the lady wants to eat.”
“You are so progressive.” I put my menu down, too. “But I want the same things as last time. Do it up.”
He gives me a smug smile and places the identical order, right down to the glass of wine he chose for me last time.
The food is just as good tonight. Maybe even better. After eating a giant portion, I finally make myself slow down. “God, I needed that,” I say with a happy sigh.
Neil gives me a slow smile from across the table. “You’re a fun dinner date, wifey.”
“Thanks, hubby.”
But then his smile fades. And he’s fiddling with his napkin in a way that isn’t his usual cocky billionaire manner.
“Something bothering you?” I demand.
He looks up with a sheepish expression on his face. “I have a little problem, which probably has no solution. You know how I gave you a date in March for the quarterly meeting of the foundation?”
“Yes. It’s on my calendar. Why?”
He props his handsome face in his hand and sighs. “My uncle moved the date. As the chairman, he can do that. I could have objected, but the time for me to do so has passed.”
I have a sinking feeling. “Moved it to what?”
“A Friday afternoon at four.”
“Which Friday?” I pull out my phone.
He reaches across the table and covers my hand. “I already looked, Charli. You’ll be halfway to Boston when this meeting convenes.”
“Hell.” I drop the phone on the table. “What does this mean? I don’t get to vote?”
He shakes his head. “The bylaws say there’s no absentee voting. Which means we can’t strong-arm Uncle Harmon into negotiating with us on the other things we want from him. Not this quarter, anyway.”
Whoa. “What do you mean, this quarter. When’s the meeting after that one?”
He winces. “June.”
“June!” My temper flares. “You said our divorce would be final by then.”
“It can be,” he says quietly, smoothing the napkin on his lap once again. “I made that promise, and I’ll keep it. Unless you want to try to make that June meeting.”
“And?” I pick up my wine glass and take a sip to cover my reaction. This can’t be happening. He did not just ask for a three-month extension.
“If that was the new plan, we, uh, couldn’t file until after the meeting.” He worries his butter knife on the tablecloth.
“And the divorce would happen…?”
“August. Or, well, September.”
I might break apart from confusion. A few minutes ago, we were two people out on a fun date. But now it feels like a setup. Is he wining and dining me to get another shot at family politics? “How long have you known about this?”
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “A few days? A week? I asked my mother to try to get the meeting date changed back. She couldn’t.”
The waiter drops the check on the table, and I watch Neil slide his Amex Black card onto the slip of paper. And I don’t think I can survive being Neil’s fake wife until the fall. Three extra months of holding his hand at Drake family functions. Three extra months of pretending this is my life. Three extra months of rolling over to curl up against him in bed.
Only to walk away after all those moments of lighting up each time he smiles at me.
“No,” I blurt out. “I would have showed up and voted with you. I wanted to help you. But this last-minute change isn’t my fault.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “Forget I mentioned it.”
“I have a game, Neil,” I say, my mind racing. “I can’t just call in sick. My games are just as important as yours are.”
“Did you hear me argue with that?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.
“No, but…” I let out a deep sigh. “You want me to make a sacrifice. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.”
“Not true,” he says, his frown deepening. “I told you about it because we have a partnership here…” He waves a hand back and forth between us. “No matter how unusual. And we’re friends, right? Am I still allowed to assume that?”
“Yes,” I say softly. But that doesn’t make it better. We should have stayed friends, because sleeping with him is messing with my head.
When it comes to Neil, I keep making the same mistakes over and over again. I’ve got to stop. Right now, preferably. I’ve got to keep a cool head.
I push back my chair. “Dinner was excellent. Thank you for coming back here with me.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Don’t do that, Charli.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Get all polite on me. I thought we were past that.”
“Should we be?” I demand. “This was always just an arrangement. What do you think will happen when it’s over? All the politeness. Nothing but politeness. And that day is coming soon. Whether you’re ready or not.”
TWENTY-NINE