“Good morning, sunshine!”
A hot cup of coffee was thrust under my nose. Followed by an insufferably bright smile.
How was it that no matter how many times he crisscrossed the globe, Nick always managed to look as if he’d slept a full eight hours? Even now, after a night of heavy drinking followed by a midnight sprint through downtown Spain, he was all lit up inside. Not a single shadow beneath his sparkling eyes as they beamed down at me, dimples and all.
“It’s dark outside,” I croaked in response, taking the coffee with a petulant swipe.
He grinned. “Yes, but technically morning.”
Remind me to set the Oxford Debate Club on fire.
“At any rate,” he reached down and pulled me gracefully to my feet, “there’s a car ready to take you back to your apartment, your briefcase is already packed, and I’ve had the stewardess lay out some clothes for you to change into.”
My face blanched, and he was quick to explain.
“Not that this late-night clubbing look doesn’t suit you, but I figured you might want something a little more put together now that we’re back on American soil.”
Okay...things were moving a little quick for me to keep up with. Scalding as it was, I gulped down the coffee, and felt as the synapses in my brain slowly blinked back to life.
“Um...thank you,” I murmured, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of this speech. When Nick was up—he was up. But getting him there often required help from the governments of two separate countries. Wherever he was departing, and wherever he was arriving. Needless to say, it was a speech I had made many, many times myself. “How did you get clothes in my size—”
I started to ask the question, then glanced up at his sarcastic smile and caught myself just in time. Of course his private plane was stocked with women’s clothing. Wake up, Abby.
“I’ll just...get changed.”
With as much dignity as I could muster, I headed to the back of the plane—the ‘bedroom’ portion that I had never spent more than a minute in on any day before. Sure enough, stretched out across the bed was enough ‘jet-setting garb’ to make the designers proud. I needed only a glance to see that it was in exactly my size. There was even a pair of boots to match.
With a secret smile, I slipped inside and shut the door to change. Thinking, for the first time since running away from the club, that being Nick’s girlfriend might not be so bad after all.
A few minutes later, I emerged. Dressed, sober, caffeinated, and ready for whatever the world had to throw at me. I was unaccustomed to these temporary lapses in order, and needless to say, when I stormed back into the main cabin, I had one thing on my mind.
Regain control.
In a lot of ways, this was the dream situation. A handsome, wealthy client. A regimented timeline. And a girl who’s every movement I could anticipate as well as my own. Literally.
It was time for me to take charge. The way I’d been doing for two years. The way I’d been programmed to do for even longer than that.
Of course, at that time, I had no way of knowing the simple truth.
...I was about to lose control completely.
“Okay,” I said brightly, the second I was back, ?
?is everyone ready?”
Nick looked me up and down, before lifting to his feet. He looked rather dapper himself in a designer suit jacket paired with a simple white tee and some faded jeans. It was the ‘artfully cool’ look that so many people tried and failed, but seemed to come effortlessly to a select few.
“Ready.” He paused, then added, “You look nice.”
A faint blush rose up in my neck, as I smoothed down my new clothes.
“Um...thanks. You know that I’ll pay you back for these—”
“Abby,” he held up a hand with a little smile, “this is a professional arrangement, remember? You’re my girlfriend now, so you have to play the part. Let me take care of you.”
That blush rose even higher, but I nodded quickly—bowing my head.
“Fake girlfriend,” I couldn’t help but add. But at the same time, I shot him a sideways grin. He grinned back, echoing the words like a challenge.