Just Pretend (Love Comes To Town)

She swallows some, and her grin widens. “You… made ramen breakfast for me?”

“There was nothing else in your kitchen,” I protest, a bit more defensively than I’d like.

She just laughs, cheeks heating up. “Yeah… I… well… Thanks?”

I take a spoonful myself. “Huh. It’s actually pretty good.”

She giggles while I shrug and take another spoonful. “What can I say—I guess I’m a talented ramen chef too. It’s a gift.”

“Come into bed,” is all she says, still chuckling.

So, I do.

And what I can’t figure out, as I sit beside this girl in her bed, and we pass spoonfuls of ramen back and forth, is why this stupid smile on my face won’t go away.

Chapter 12

Sierra

Today, today, today.

I lock myself in the single stall bathroom at the comedy club and grin at my rosy-cheeked reflection like an idiot.

Nolan Storm. Nolan fucking Storm.

The past 24 hours still feel like some fan-fiction the twins—OK, Wynona since she was the one who was into that—would write to taunt me.

But it actually happened. He actually took me out, took me home. Stayed the night. Made me breakfast in bed.

Red Hot Chili Peppers, nachos, amazing car sex, even better sex in bed, ramen breakfast in bed.

Is this real life?

Back in my office, as my fingers dance across the keyboard and idea after idea pours out onto the page, I keep having to resist the urge to laugh out loud like a complete crazy. But I can’t help it.

Just the thought of him makes a smile start taking over my entire face.

Even if he’s my boss. Even if it’s not a good idea.

Screw it—it’s far too late for good ideas anyway.

He steals into my office around 10 AM for a quick kiss… that ends up not being so quick.

How could it be with how good his lips feel on mine?

Seeing my expression, he draws away with a suspicious smirk. “What?”

“Just… I was thinking: right now, I’m being paid to kiss my boss.”

Nolan’s smirk widens as his eyes narrow. “You.”

I just laugh, and we kiss again. Those two have been solutions to a lot of things lately: stress, uncertainty about this situation, speechlessness—a laugh or a kiss.

And both are in abundance with Mr. Storm.

He manages to finally tear himself away half an hour later.

An hour or so after that, at lunchtime, he strides into my office as if we hadn’t spent the better part of the morning kissing and are probably all set for some more.

“What’s up?” I ask him.

“Forget it,” he says, not even trying to smile. “Let’s just go for lunch.”

“OK…” I say, although I get my things and follow him outside.

As he strides along the sidewalk, glaring at nothing, I pause. “Do I get to find out where we’re going for lunch?”

He pauses. “Of course, yeah. Let’s do Baltazk’s.”

“Sounds good to me.”

We head across the street to the building with the abstract art primary color mosaic diagonally painting its exterior. Inside, the brunette waitress finds us a private table in the back that overlooks its own courtyard.

Even once we’ve sat down and taken a sip of our waters, Nolan looks much the same. He hasn’t even picked up the menu, is glaring at one of the ugly striped abstract art prints like it personally insulted him.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” I say, frowning myself. “But if you’re going to sulk this whole time…”

He rakes a tense hand through his tied-back light brown hair, his hazel eyes narrowed. “It’s my company funds. They just got frozen.”

I drop the laminated menu that I hadn’t even realized I was holding. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” he says quickly. “I’ll make sure you’re paid, even if the money comes from my own bank account.” He grimaces, gives his head an angry shake. “I just didn’t expect this so soon.”

“Someone froze your funds?” I ask.

“It has to do with my dad’s will,” he says quietly, not meeting my eye. “I should’ve known the wily bastard would have something like this up his sleeve, but still.” He shakes his head again, a little sadly this time. “Didn’t see it coming.”

“Oh,” I say.

I’m not sure what else to say. Is it really my place to ask Nolan why his dad would do something like that?

Grabbing his water glass, Nolan downs it in a single breathless gulp. Then he fixes hardened, unseeing eyes on me. “I have to get married.”

I was halfway through picking up my own water glass—but at that, I put it right the hell down. “What?!?”

“Forget it.” Nolan picks up his menu, gives it a quick scan, then drops it. “I shouldn’t be getting you involved in this.”

“Telling me is getting me involved?”

“No, just…” He scowls. “Fine. It’s my dad’s will. He always thought I was too wild for my own good, was always wanting me to settle down. So, he put in his will that either I find myself a wife—or I find myself another inheritance.” His chuckle has a note of dark irony in it. “That’s Dad for you—he never went halfway with things. Anyway, the deadline for me to find a wife is coming up soon, and I’m not going to just tie the knot for the sake of it, so…”