“I don’t find you funny,” she said.
“She’s done her research,” Juliet said, agreeing with their friend.
Eliza groaned. She had done her research. After lunch, while her friends went back to work, she’d gone back to their apartment and sat down with her laptop, with Preston Boone being the main search in her search engine. There wasn’t a whole lot to go on. He liked to keep his private life exactly that—private.
There were always rumors and local gossip, but nothing of any truth.
She knew for a fact the pregnancy story was fake. The model who had been the main subject of the story had stopped by Preston’s office where they had resolved the news together. It had required an hour-long phone call with someone in the media, a couple of news stories she had to write and Preston vetted, and the story had been removed after a whole bunch of apologies.
Preston Boone knew how to get what he wanted.
“You know what, you’re both right. I’m sitting here panicking over nothing. I should just go over there and have it out with him. Tell him what my terms and conditions are, like any self-respecting fake fiancée.”
“Yeah, you go over there and tell him how it’s going to be,” Juliet said.
Eliza grabbed her jacket and bag, giving her friends a wave. They wished her good luck.
She got in her car and on the road, heading toward Preston’s apartment. It was a forty-minute drive from where she lived. The closer she got, the higher her nerves rose. This wasn’t good.
The last person she wanted to see was her boss.
Still, rules had to be arranged. They were what made her life organized.
She liked rules.
After parking her car in the spare space, she climbed out. Preston had purchased a slot for her at his apartment building because he’d been annoyed at her for being late for a meeting because of no parking.
He’d been sick, but he refused to not work just because of a little flu. He’d looked like death, but she wasn’t about to tell the boss what he could and couldn’t do. With his determination to work, he’d given her the same flu. She had no choice but to take a week off work. Fortunately, Preston had been more than guilty. He bought her soup and she got deliveries of it every day until she returned to work in way of an apology.
The little acts of kindness like that were what kept her working for him. He wasn’t a total monster.
Once she’d keyed in the code to let her in the building, she took the elevator all the way up to his room. She had no idea what his deal was with heights. She couldn’t stand them. When he stood at his office window while she was in the room, it always made her feel a little sick, and her hands would grow clammy.
One wrong move, and she imagined him falling straight through the glass. Her imagination was wild. Her mother had once told her she needed to get her head in the game and not in the clouds. She rather liked being in the clouds though. Real life tended to suck.
She arrived outside Preston’s penthouse suite and knocked. It was a little after ten. She should be at home, enjoying the last few hours of her life before heading to work, but instead, she was here to visit her boss.
This sucked.
If her parents ever found out she was engaged, even if it was fake, they were doomed. Wedding plans would start happening the moment her mother heard about it. They had to keep this engagement as quiet as possible, for as long as possible.
Preston opened the door, and to her surprise, he wore a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. Perspiration covered his body, and he had a towel draped across the back of his neck.
“Eliza,” he said.
“Mr. Boone.”
“Please, call me Preston.”
She nodded but pressed her lips together. It was so silly for her not to call him Preston. She didn’t even have a good reason not to call him it.
“I wanted to … I think we should talk about … our engagement. I have a few conditions and rules.”
He stepped back.
There was no sign of laughter, and for that, she was thankful. She didn’t think she could handle him laughing at her, not at a time like this.
Nothing had changed in his apartment; it was still white walls and black furniture. The cliché playboy penthouse suite. There was nothing of any personal effect. No paintings. No pictures. Anyone coming into this penthouse would believe this man had no family, no friends.
She knew differently.
With his lack of personal touch, she had to wonder if his parents had been good and kind.
She pushed those useless thoughts to the back of her mind. Clearly, his parents were good, otherwise, he wouldn’t be trying to trick them with this fake-fiancée stuff.