“You still got the point. I made you uncomfortable and you took off.”
We walk down the hall to my apartment. “Yeah, to keep myself from saying something stupid.”
“Yeah? Like what?” He turns toward me when we reach my apartment door.
“Nice try. I’m not going to take the bait while you fish for compliments. You have to earn those from me.”
Mumbling he says, “I’ve been trying to earn them since the day we met.”
He goes to open the door, but I stop him. He glances at me and I say, “So, we’re really doing this?”
“Uh, I bought you the ring, so I’d say we are.”
“Okay, but I have one requirement.”
He leans against the doorframe. “Requirements should have been negotiated before I put a ring on it.”
“You put a ring on it and now you’re Mr. Funny? Is that how this is going to be?”
Softening, he says, “Okay, what’s your requirement?”
“That no matter what happens, I keep my job, we stay friends, and you loosen up more. If we’re going to be married, I need you to be more fun.”
His brows shoot up to his hairline. “You don’t think I’m fun?”
“I see moments where you’re fun, but I know there’s more in you. You admittedly said you’ve been guarded around me, so maybe take down that guard from now on.”
His jaw works to the side, his mind processing my request. “This is business, right?”
Taken aback, I say, “Of course this is business.”
“So why not keep it like a business deal?”
“Because, Rath, you can’t possibly think I can do all this without you at least easing up a little. This past weekend, like when you were playing games with us, that’s all I ask, for that fun side of you. You don’t have to tell me about your demons or what or who’s made you the person you are today. Just loosen up. If you can’t do that, I can’t go through with this.”
Sighing, he gives me a coy look and says, “I can loosen up.”
“Thank you.” I roll my eyes. “God, getting you to agree on something is like negotiating a multi-million-dollar deal.”
“I wouldn’t be where I am without going through a specific process with every decision I make.”
Pushing past him, I say, “Well, you folded pretty easily with my request.”
I go to open the door when his lips get close to my ear and he says, “I planned on loosening up anyway, just wanted to give you a hard time.”
I turn my head so we’re inches apart, our noses almost touching. “If you want to play that game, Mr. Westin, I can easily give you a hard time . . . on everything.”
His eyes sharpen. “Don’t even try it.”
Well, well, well, looks like this is going to be more fun than I thought. Wedding planning is already a bitch, so let’s see how much more of a bitch I can make it.
Pushing through the door, I say, “Grandma, I’m home.”
She comes from her room, her hair already in curlers and wearing her dressing gown. When she spots Rath, she squeals and shuffles back into her room.
“Charlee Georgiana Cox, you’re supposed to tell me when we have guests.”
“You look great,” Rath calls out. “Come back, we have something to tell you.”
My grandma pops her head into the doorway. “We?”
I nod, swallowing hard. This is the moment I’ve been dreading: telling my grandma I’m engaged. Is she going to believe me? Is she going to be happy? Will she be mad that I “fell in love” with my boss? Nerves consume me and Rath must be able to tell because he reaches down and grabs my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Yes,” Rath says, “we have something to tell you.”
My grandma takes us in, her eyes trained on our clasped hands. “Oh, my goodness.” She brings her hands to her mouth and steps into the living room. “Are my eyes deceiving me, or are you two holding hands?”
Rath brings our hands to his mouth where he places a gentle kiss along my knuckles. For being in a fake relationship, he’s incredibly natural at showing affection. “We are.”
“Oh, I just knew it. I knew there was something special between you two. I spotted it the minute I first saw you together. This makes me so happy.”
She comes up to us and wraps us in a hug. My nerves start to disappear from one sentence.
This makes me so happy.
That’s all I want, for my grandma to be happy.
“We need to celebrate.” She claps her hands together. She looks at the food we brought over and then back at us. “I guess we don’t need to order anything. Let me go fix my hair—”
Rath tugs on my hand and I say, “We have something else to tell you.”
“Oh?” She starts undoing her rollers, waiting for me to finish.
Why is this so hard? Maybe because it’s a lie and I feel bad lying to my grandma. It’s not something I ever do, and yet, here I am about to tell the biggest lie of my life. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that this isn’t for me; this is for my grandma, so she gets her moment.
Smiling brightly, I hold out my hand, showing off the beautiful ring on my finger, and say, “We’re engaged.”
My grandma drops the rollers to the floor and quickly grabs my hand, taking in the intricately designed ring and the halo of diamonds that surround the rather impressive rock in the middle. “Heavens to Betsy.” When she looks up at me, her eyes are full of tears and before I can say anything, she’s pulling me into a hug. “Oh Chuckie, this is the best . . .” she sobs out of happiness. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.” Gripping me by the shoulders, she gives us distance so our gazes meet. “This is just so great. He’s a good man.” She says this as if Rath isn’t standing right next to me. “He’ll be good to you. I know it. Nothing like Chris. I can see the way Rath looks at you. This is forever.”
And just like that, my happiness fades into a giant lump of guilt. This isn’t forever. This is temporary, a farce, just an idea, not for a lifetime of happiness. And not knowing what’s happening with my grandma, I have no idea how long I’ll have to live in this lie. Would it really make her happy if she knew the truth? If she knew I won’t get my happily after this time either?
Being the astute man that he is, Rath steps in and hugs my grandma. “I consider myself the lucky one. When I first saw her, I knew she was different. I just had to figure out why.”
Standing back, I wonder how much truth is in that statement. Our first interaction wasn’t great, not great at all actually. He was rude, I was trying to kick him out of a convention I had no business kicking him out of, but then, when I sat down to have coffee with him and Linus, he observed me rather than judged. He watched, and I remember feeling his calculated gaze. Something within that interaction won him over, and I’ve wondered what it was.
“Oh, let me go change and then we can celebrate. This is the best news ever.” Grandma whistles “Going to the Chapel” as she heads back to her bedroom.
Deflated, I collapse in a chair and Rath quickly squats next to me. Getting emotional, I say, “She’s so happy, and it’s all a lie.”
“But isn’t this what you wanted? For her to be happy?” he asks, sitting on the coffee table in front of me.
“Yes, but I feel guilty.”
“Yeah.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “The guilt doesn’t feel great but think about the smile on her face.”
“You feel guilty too?”
“Of course. I don’t like deceiving people. I’m an honest man. I’m an honest businessman. One of the most honest in this city, and this feels . . . uncomfortable. But I know how close you are with your grandma, how much this means to her and to you, and I think we need to focus on that.”
“You’re right.” I shake out my shoulders. “Okay, we got this. No big deal, right? Just have to plan a wedding and get married.”
“We’re inviting at least five hundred people.”
“What?” I ask, my j
aw tumbling to the floor. “How on earth do you know five hundred people? Please tell me you’re kidding. I don’t think I could do this in front of a crowd. I mean, five hundred people, are you going to rent out a stadium? How do you think you’re going to be able to fit that many people in a church? They’re going to have to hang from the rafters in adult-sized baby carriers, and then what happens if they fall? We’re going to have to have EMT on location, which adds more bodies. You can’t be serious. Five hundred people is far too many.”
Rath sits back on his hands, his chest muscles flexing with humor. “See? I can have fun.”
“Excuse me?”
“You were telling me to loosen up, so I did. Five hundred people is obviously far too many. We’re keeping it intimate, twenty people max. But wasn’t that fun?”
My eyes narrow as I point at him. “You think that’s funny? Oh, just you wait, boss man bridegroom. Your time is coming.”
He playfully wiggles his eyebrows. “Can’t wait.”
* * *
“Yes, they’re a little shocked, but they’re happy for you.”
Calling my parents, that was fun. Grandma insisted we FaceTime them so they could see what a “handsome fella” Rath is and then he could woo them with his intelligence. Well, he wooed all right, but they still were apprehensive. They texted me after we hung up, asking me if I was sure about this—you know, since I’ve known my boss such a short time.
I assured them that my love for him is strong, even if it’s been short. And holy crap, I never thought I’d be the daughter who lies to her family so much. Can’t say I’m enjoying that aspect of this business arrangement.
“Just watch, they’ll be sending the congratulations cookies tomorrow.” Grandma yawns and stretches her arms above her head. “I’m exhausted. So much excitement, so much good food. I should be off to bed.”
Rath stands from the dining table as well and says, “I’ll let you two get your sleep.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” Grandma shakes her head. “I’ll have none of that. I may be old, but I’m not old-fashioned. I know you two want to spend the night together. Stay, stay.”
Oh, dear God.
“Grandma,” I say quickly, while I choke on some saliva from a fast intake of breath I took when she suggested the idea. “Rath doesn’t have anything here.”
“Oh, I know. That’s why you should pack a bag quickly. Pack a few things because I’ll be damned if I stand in the way of you two enjoying your engagement.” She wiggles her eyebrows and then stage-whispers, “Pack the lingerie. Men like that.”
See that oozing on the floor? That’s me melting from mortification.
“Grandma.”
She waves me off. “Oh, don’t try to fool the old bird, I know what’s been going on in that office of yours.” She winks and pats Rath’s arm. “I wouldn’t be able to stay away from these muscles either. Now hurry up and pack a bag for the week. I won’t plan on seeing you until the weekend.”
After the weekend, as in seven days at Rath’s place. Is she insane?
“Grandma, we’re really trying to, uh . . . keep . . . celibate until after the wedding. Anticipation and all.”
“Balderdash,” she scoffs. “I’ll not be letting my granddaughter get married without testing the sheets first.” Growing serious and very stern, she points her finger at me and says, “Go pack a bag right now, you’re going home with him.”
Poor Rath just stands there, looking between the two of us, most likely enjoying the moment. When I look up at him for help, he shrugs and says, “I’ll have the driver wait.”
God, much help he is.
* * *
“Are you really going to be mad all night?”
We’re climbing the elevator to his apartment. I’m leaning against the metal side, arms crossed, looking anywhere but at him. “You could have said something, you know, something like my apartment is being renovated.”
“It is being renovated.”
“So why didn’t you say that?” I ask, finally turning toward him.
He just shrugs and leads me out of the elevator when the doors part. He unlocks the door to his apartment, the only apartment on the floor, and lets me in first.
Ugh, typical rich-man apartment. Beautiful high ceilings, windows that stretch wall to wall, and an open floor plan that allows you to see every aspect of the apartment other than the bedrooms and bathrooms. The colors are monochromatic and even though it feels quite sterile in here with nothing out of place, there is a hominess about it with pictures of him, his boys, and Julia scattered around.
He tosses his keys on the side table next to the door and says, “Make yourself at home. Seems like you’ll be staying here awhile. The west part of the apartment is under construction, so unless you want drywall dust in your mouth, I’d stay out of there. The east is where we’ll be staying.”
Only rich people refer to sections of their house as east and west.
“Now when you say we, what do you mean by that?”
“I mean, we’ll both be staying there.”
“As in . . .”
“As in sharing a bed and bathroom.”
I hold up my hand. “Okay, slow down there, mister. A bed. Why do we need to share a bed when your couch is perfectly—” I sit on it and land on what feels like hard stone. “Why on earth with all the money you have are you sitting on a boulder while watching TV? My God, man, this is horrific.” I try bouncing on it but nothing happens. “Why so stiff?”
“Haven’t really broken it in, I guess. Spend most of my time in my bedroom.”
“You have money, so hire people to break it in for you.”
“Why hire someone when I can have my fiancée break it in? I’ll grab you some sheets and blankets.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I stand, grabbing my suitcase and marching it toward his bedroom, at least what I think is his bedroom. When I open the door, I’m greeted by the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. Pristinely made, corners folded and tucked, and the perfect amount of decorative pillows to make it seem inviting but not overwhelming. I set my suitcase down and say, “This will do. There’s plenty of room for the both of us. You better not snore.”
“I was just going to say the same thing.”
“Pfft, I sleep like an angel.”
He looks me up and down. “We’ll see about that.”
Since it’s already late, we don’t bother hanging out, but get ready for bed. I get changed in the bathroom while he changes in his closet and then together we brush our teeth. Him in a plain black T-shirt and flannel pants, me in what I call my convent pajamas—basically no skin is showing besides my hands and feet.
When we turn off the light to the bathroom, I go to get in the bed when Rath asks, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you I’m not sleeping on the couch.”
“Yeah, I get that, but that’s my side of the bed.”
I stare at his nightstand and see his phone already charging. “But I like this side.”
“And I like sleep, so scoot over or there’s going to be a problem.”
I scoot and say, “You’re not being very husband-y.”
“Not your husband yet.” He sits on the side of the bed and I watch as he shucks his pants and then pulls his shirt off, folding both articles of clothing and setting them to the side. Slipping under the covers, he keeps his back toward me and says, “Good night.”
But I’m not ready to say good night yet. “What was the point of putting pants and a shirt on if you were just going to take them off?”
He rotates to face me and from the little light that’s filtering into the room, I see the strength of his collarbone and shoulders, but that’s about it. Damn covers.
“I didn’t want to scare you right off the bat and walk around in my boxer briefs. I was being respectful.” A small smile passes over his lips. “Sad you missed the show?”
“Oh yeah, uh-huh, yup, real sad. I’m crying a river over here. Oh, woe is me, I didn�
��t get to see my boss in his boxer briefs,” I say, hamming it up. “How will I ever live?”
With the snap of his wrist, the covers are yanked off both of us and Rath places both his hands behind his head, lying flat on the bed.
“Can’t have my fiancée upset. Go on, take in your fill.”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt my cheeks flame as quickly as they do the second Rath tosses the blankets to the side.
Holy mother . . . dare I say . . . aah-ooo-ga?
I knew the man had muscles—it’s hard not to notice when his suits are tailored specifically to every contour of his body—but I wasn’t expecting him to be so ripped.
The man eats a pastry a day, for Christ’s sake. He should have two love handles and a pouch over his abs that he playfully pokes and calls it his Danish daddy.
But no, the man has no ounce of fat on him. His stomach is ripped with abs stacked on top of abs and where his love handles should be is the magical V that’s cut into his side.
How on earth?
How.
HOW, GOD, HOW?
Already, from being around the man for so long, I’ve developed some Danish friends of my own and I work out almost every day. So how on earth is Rath maintaining such an amazing physique?
It’s because he’s rich, I know it. Rich people pay for secret fat-sucking services. It’s clandestine knowledge amongst them that they don’t share with us peons. It’s bad enough they have more money, now they’re just shoving their beautiful bodies in front of us.
“Why are you sneering at me?”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, twisting around so I don’t have to see his body for one more second.
“What?” He chuckles. “Why am I an asshole?”
I don’t answer, instead I bury myself further into my pillow.
“Charlee.”
Nope, I’m not turning—
He grips my shoulder and forcibly lays me flat on my back while he hovers over me—not completely, slightly off to the side—and I’m still staring at him, taking in his thick pecs that have a small splattering of hair across them. Sculpted shoulders, thick biceps, corded muscles that weave and twine together . . . he’s a gorgeous specimen, one I can’t seem to tear my eyes off. I can’t decide if it’s going to be the worst punishment for all my lies, or the unspoken, undeserved blessing that I have to face his half-naked body daily. It’s torture and it’s only night one. Torture. But . . . given I’m a half-glass full girl, it’s a burden I’ll gladly bear.
Boss Man Bridegroom Page 22
