Just Pretend (Love Comes To Town)

“Thanks,” I growl.

“Hey, you’re the self-proclaimed forever bachelor,” Greyson reminds me. “Anyway, all jokes aside, I’m happy to hear it. I’m looking forward to meeting her, too.”

“Yeah, I am too,” I say, surprised to actually mean it. “When’s the dinner?”

“Would tomorrow be too little notice?” Greyson asks.

“I’m in,” I say.

“Oh, and that new article’s looking great,” Greyson says. “I’ve had a bunch of people reach out because of it already—wondering if your comedy club restaurant does employee parties, stuff like that.”

“Shit. Really?”

I do what I normally instinctively avoid and usually only do once I’m drunk enough to laugh at it—dare to check my 67,678-new-email inbox.

Sure enough, amidst offers to increase my manhood, show me naughty pictures, and kindly send me $5,000,000 from Nigeria, there it is, the real jackpot: people are reaching out because of the comedy club. Sierra’s article is killing it!

“Wow,” I say, flipping from one to the other as a smile climbs up my face.

“I know,” Greyson says. A crash sounds in the background. “I better go—I think that was Harley with the cereal. But see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” I say.

I head over to Sierra’s office. I pause there for a minute, peeping in her door window like a fucking weirdo. But I can’t help it.

She’s extra beautiful like this, all deep in concentration at her work. Her gaze is rapt on the screen, her small fingers dancing over the keyboard. Her lips purse every so often. That collarbone-skimming hot pink blouse and tight knee-length skirt aren’t helping me tear my gaze away either.

Suddenly, she stops, and it takes me a few seconds to realize why—she’s noticed me.

“Sorry,” I say, coming in. “I didn’t want to disturb you. I can come back, if you’d like.”

“No, it’s fine.” Her smile seems proprietary. “I was just finishing up. What did you need?”

“Other than another night with you?” I quip.

When her giggling seems weak, I soldier on: “I just wanted to congratulate you on your latest article. It’s really turning things around for the restaurant. I’ve already got a bunch of emails from prospective customers. Thank you. You’re doing a great job.”

Her shy smile goes wide. “Thanks. I’m really enjoying the work here.”

“Keep it up,” I tell her.

It feels foreign to me, this part of the job. I’ve managed construction projects before, and mainly my job consisted of finding ways to get the guys to want to do their jobs, and reaming out the ones who would come up with every excuse in the book as to why they had to stand around and do fuck-all for six out of eight hours a day.

“There’s one other thing,” I continue. “It’s not really work related.”

“I think I’m going to take tonight for myself,” she says carefully.

“Not about… what I said before,” I say, although disappointment twists in me. “It’s about tomorrow night—you free?”

“I could be,” she says.

“It’s my brother,” I say. “He’s hosting this family dinner thing and I’d like you to come along.”

She eyes me steadily.

Damn it, those blue eyes look a different color every time I see them. Though no matter their shade or expression, she always looks pretty as hell.

“It’s for the fake engagement thing?” she says.

“No, I…” I scowl. I hadn’t even been thinking of that, just now. Though Sierra does have a point. “Well, maybe we should mention it then, yeah. But I do just want you there… just because.”

She nods. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“Don’t get so excited you fall over,” I grumble.

“I’m just trying to get a handle on this, is all,” she says, not quite looking at me.

“What’s there to get a handle on? We like each other, are seeing each other, and are fake engaged.”

“Right.” She nods. “Sounds good.”

She glances at me—That it?

Fuck if I know.

Lately, when I’m around her, I can’t seem to get my head on straight.

“Alright,” I say, before I do or say anything else stupid. “See you tomorrow night, then.”

“Anything I should know about a dress code?”

I shrug. “Dress nice.” Then stalk out of there.

Fuck it, if she wants to go all cold, then let her.

I’m just trying to get a handle on this—as if this whole situation is some raging bull that could gore either one of us at any second.

Although if I were honest with myself, I’d admit that I don’t have a handle on it at all.

Chapter 16

Sierra

I sit in my office very still for a good minute or two. Then, my phone rings.

“Hello?” I say.

“Of course you haven’t heard,” Peyton says.

Only with my sister can I hear a sneer over the phone.

“I’m at work, Pey, can it wait?”

“Yeah, totally, I mean it’s only our mother, right?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“She’s at Holiday Inn. Part of her house burned down.”

“What?”

“If you’re too busy, though…”

I resist the urge to chuck my phone across the room. Talking to Peyton longer than 0.2 seconds often has that effect.