by Elise Faber
Tate shook his head. “No, I started to come over when I saw Roche, and he stopped me, said Roche was harmless and that besides, you like it.”
That wasn’t a slice of pain across Sera’s heart. It wasn’t.
Except, dammit, it was.
Her father thought she liked it when a man was coming on to her and making her uncomfortable? Really? And yet, why was that a surprise? Her whole life had been about pushing through discomfort, tolerating it so that it made her parents’ lives easier.
“I didn’t like it.”
He studied her for a long moment then sighed and leaned back against the door with her. “I know you didn’t.”
“You didn’t know?” she asked. “About Roche?”
Hesitation before the barest nod.
Damn.
“This isn’t my world, Sera. Or it hasn’t been. I spent the last decade keeping my head down and avoiding every connection like this I could.” He shook his head. “I’ve never had to solicit investments. They came to me, and I could pick and choose. This—” He broke off.
“It’s different.”
“Yeah.”
“And your investors won’t take FundHer on?”
“No.” He blew out a breath. “Yes, I guess. They’d throw me some money to keep the awkward boy genius CEO happy, but they don’t really care if it works out. And money is only part of what I need. Roche’s expertise in lending, in running nonprofits.” Tate thrust a hand through his hair. “I can debug an app like no one’s business, but I’m not sure I can effectively helm a company whose main goal isn’t going viral or getting the most views.”
“I’m sure you would do fine.”
“I’ve—” A sigh. “I guess the truth is that I’ve never done anything important before. I’ve never been part of a project that might actually change someone’s life for the better.”
Her heart squeezed. He was so freaking sweet and earnest and—
She touched his arm. “You created a company that employs thousands of people.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “And it’s all based on cat videos and bikini shots.”
“I happen to like cat videos.”
He glanced up at her, smile small, dimples making the barest appearance. “I do too.”
Sera’s heart beat a little faster and she could almost picture herself toppling over that edge from liking him to really liking him. Which was incredibly dangerous for her heart. It was so much safer when she could view him as the flakey, arrogant CEO. This soft side of him was . . . well, while it was really freaking great for the world, it was also probably going to be her downfall.
She needed to find some distance and fast.
“So, you honestly thought that Roche was as clean as his public image makes it out?” Tate’s expression tightened at her words. “It’s not. And it’s not just Roche. They’re all like that.”
“Stupid, now that I’m realizing it,” he said. “I’m . . . not good at reading people. I was a fucking nerd all the way through school. I graduated from college at fourteen. Didn’t have a girlfriend until I was twenty. I’m out of my league, and I know it.” He paused, met her gaze. “That’s why I needed you.”
She ignored the past tense of needed. “I can help you get what you need.”
He pushed off the door, paced the small space of the bathroom. “No. Not like this. I’m not tainting FundHer with an asshole like that. I’ll find another partner.” Carefully, he slipped his fingers around her arm, tugging her off the panel before unlocking it and pulling it open. “You’re off the hook,” he said, gesturing for her to go out. “The Monroe property is—”
“I guarantee she’ll screw this up.”
Her mother’s voice preceded her appearance in the hallway.
Not wanting to deal with more wedding talk, Sera jumped back inside, quickly closing the door.
But it didn’t block out the sound of her mother talking on her cell phone. “No,” she snapped. “Seraphina might be beautiful, but she will never find a man who will meet her at the end of the aisle. She’s too headstrong and past her prime. I guarantee if this marriage doesn’t happen in the next month, then Tate will leave her as quickly as all the others did.”
Her breath caught. Tears stung her eyes.
“Conner is the best catch she’s ever managed to snag. He’s attractive, his company is worth billions, and—”
Sera turned away, strode to the sink, and pretended to fix her hair. But she couldn’t even look her own reflection in the eyes.
Leave her.
Like all the others.
Sera lifted her chin and turned back to face him, her smile fixed in place. “She just wants me settled.” A giant lie, because all her mother wanted was for Sera to be her perfect little doll.
Perfect little dolls didn’t talk back, didn’t say no, didn’t go their own way.
“You—”
“You’ll secure a date,” her mother said, voice taking on an icy edge. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you don’t.” An exasperated breath. “Put a deposit down first thing in the morning. You worry about the location and let me worry about my daughter. I’ll make sure she doesn’t screw this up.”
Quiet bathrooms made for the best eavesdropping. Or at least quiet bathrooms with very thin doors. Either that or her mother was talking really loud and just didn’t give a damn, Sera supposed.
Her mother sighed loudly and then the handle turned. Tate leaned back against the door, flipped the lock.
“Occupied,” he said.
“Oh dear,” her mother trilled in a voice that was so different from that used during her phone conversation, it should have been comical. For Sera, who’d heard that change too many times to count, it wasn’t.
“My sincere apologies,” Sugar added, and they heard her walk to the next room and push through the door.
Tate crossed over to where Sera stood by the sink and reached behind her to turn on the faucet.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said gently, over the rush of water.
“You should just go,” she whispered. “Get out of here before they manage to taint you, too.”
“Taint?”
“Yeah,” she said. “You’re good, Tate, don’t let them get to you, too.”
“I think you’re confused.”
A huff. Typical.
“No,” he said. “I don’t mean about them, I mean about you. You’re good, Sera. Anyone can see that.”
She scoffed. “Sure. Great. Thanks for the compliment.” She’d grown up with that, and the contamination of that didn’t just fade away.
“Your mother said she hadn’t talked to you in months.”
“So?”
“So, I think it’s obvious that you’re not one of them.”
He’d meant it as a compliment, and she should have taken it as one, and yet . . . it still stung. That feeling of not belonging in any world.
“That’s been established time and again.”
Tate crossed his arms, studied her. “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but Sera—”
“Just go.”
The arms stayed crossed. “I’m not leaving you.”
She sighed, disappointment coursing through her, but she still managed to straighten her shoulders. “I understand. Let me fix my makeup, and we’ll get back out there and get your investor.”
“What?”
Sera adjusted her skirt, fiddled with the straps on her dress. “I just need a minute. I c-can get through—I just need to shove it all away and—”
To her horror, a tear streaked down her cheek.
“Hey,” he said, hands coming to rest on the outsides of her arms.
She dashed it away. “I-I’m fine. I’ve done this before.”
Tate growled. Actually growled. “I’m not going to whore you out for a fucking asshole to invest in my company,” he whispered hotly.
“Why?” She tried to pull back. “How is it any different than
before?”
He froze. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly.” It wasn’t.
And she was used to this role. Used to being a pretty face, a connection, and nothing more.
So, she closed her eyes and thought of her friends, of Wine Nights and Book Club, of a shared love of expensive pajamas and happily ever afters. She thought of the coastline overlooking the Pacific Ocean and how the crash of the waves against the beach never failed to soothe her soul.
And when she opened them again, she was ready.
“Let’s go back to the table.”
“No.”
Sera sighed. “Tate.”
“No,” he said. “I meant what I said before. The Monroe Estate is yours.”
Her heart sank. Which it definitely shouldn’t be doing. Because the house was the only thing she wanted, right? Not Tate.
Definitely not Tate.
“You’re leaving.” Not a question. A statement, and one she shouldn’t have made. It didn’t matter if he left.
“Se—”
“Great,” she said, shaking herself and brushing by him. “I’ll be in touch about Monroe.”
He stopped her by grabbing her hand.
“I’m—”
She’d started to say she was fine, that she got it, she really did. He needed to get away from the mess that was her and her family, needed to—
“Marry me.”
Nine
Tate
Sera’s jaw dropped open. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
He laced their fingers together, tugged her around to face him, words pouring out of him, even though his mind was still spinning from having said that at all. “I know I’m not the best catch. I know I say the worst things at the worst times or nothing at all when I really should say something. But I like you, Sera. So much.”
She shook her head in a slow swivel. “You’re insane.”
Tate laughed. He was insane. This was insane.
But not so much the proposal, but because he was so drawn to Sera in the first place. Her mother, those words, the way she’d tucked her hurt down deep and prepared to carry on.
He’d thought her beautiful and kind and sexy before, but seeing her hurt? That made him want to take that all away for her.
And that—his inner hero wanting to make a rescue—also made him remember.
His parents.
Priscilla.
He shuddered, forced his emotions to take a mental step back.
So, instead of saying any of the things he really felt, Tate affected casual and said, “We can sign a prenup, but let’s make it official.” A shrug. “Just for a little while. Make your mother eat her words. Show them they’re wrong about you.”
Something interesting happened to Sera’s face.
He didn’t see a blip of hurt, like the overheard conversation with Sugar had wrought, nor did he see gratitude or conflict or—
Well, he didn’t see anything.
Her expression wiped clean and her eyes, which had been glistening with tears, went completely dry.
He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad—though his gut had a strange feeling that told him it was probably bad—and so The Blurt happened. “It doesn’t have to be anything romantic and definitely won’t be sexual, but let’s get married. That’ll shut everyone up, prove that you aren’t any of the things your mother said . . .” Words trailed off as he lost his steam.
A long, interminable silence.
“And what do you get out of this?” she eventually asked.
There was something in her tone that hadn’t been there before.
Ice.
Tate found he didn’t like it, but he also found that he didn’t have the words, or at least he couldn’t find the courage to say the words that described what he felt inside.
What he’d felt for this woman from the beginning.
A draw that didn’t make sense, and one that he couldn’t allow himself to feel.
Not ever again.
Hey, asshole, you can’t shut off your feelings. No matter how hard you try.
He clenched his jaw, knowing that even though the thought might well be the truth, he couldn’t afford to let it be. He’d chosen Priscilla and look where that had gotten him. Alone, heartbroken, used and then promptly discarded, all over again. “I get . . . you.”
She blinked.
“Your name. Your social status,” he hurried to add in case she read too much into that. “Roche is out as an investor, obviously, but if you’re my wife, then I can use that connection to find someone else.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor, hair swinging forward to cover that beautiful face.
She was going to tell him—and rightfully so—to fuck off.
He wasn’t disappointed. He’d been an idiot to suggest they get married in the first place—
“Okay,” she whispered.
“What?”
Her chin came up. “Okay.”
“Oh.”
Silence as he tried to formulate the right words. Not relief, because he shouldn’t be relieved that she was seriously considering marrying him after the disaster with Priscilla.
Because Tate had been like this with Priscilla . . . or maybe if not exactly like this, then at least the draw was similar. He’d fallen for the tall, statuesque beauty, had been equal parts taciturn and verbose. She’d called it cute and sweet in the beginning, had loved his “little quirks,” but ultimately she’d weaponized his subpar social skills, turned them into demands for apologies in the form of diamonds or expensive clothes. And Tate, having never been particularly interested or attached to a woman—or more realistically, never had the opposite sex pay much attention to him—he’d fallen hook, line, and sinker. He’d bought her the expensive clothes and the diamonds, and ultimately, he’d asked her to be his wife.
He’d dodged a bullet when she’d gotten so infuriated with him that she’d dumped him for the CEO of his biggest competitor and Tate had realized that he didn’t particularly care.
Asshole, right?
He’d always assumed that he didn’t have big, sweeping feelings for other people, that he thought in terms of code and cause and effect and pure logic, but Sera was making him wonder if perhaps, it wasn’t that he couldn’t feel, but maybe it was that he just hadn’t felt strongly enough about Priscilla.
So, even as part of him was urging him closer to Sera, the other piece, the bigger portion, that was telling him he shouldn’t be relieved she’d agreed to marry him, he shouldn’t be feeling pleasure at the thought of her by his side.
Because that was crazy.
They hardly knew each other.
And he certainly shouldn’t be feeling possessiveness, because he sure as fuck shouldn’t be thinking that this woman was his in any way.
“Oh,” he said again, clearing his throat. “Great.”
As in, great, he sounded like a fucking moron.
A tinge of pink crossed her cheeks, and she stepped back, bumping against the door. “Unless you weren’t serious or changed your mind. I just figured that I have a few friends—good people who might be interested in partnering with a project like FundHer.” She waved her hand. “Never mind. This is stupid. I’ll give you the names any—”
Finally, Tate got the fuck out of his own brain.
He closed the distance between them, coming close, her breasts brushing his chest, her skirt tangling around his legs.
“Sera.”
She froze, eyes coming to his. “Wh—”
He kissed her.
And the moment his lips collided with hers, Tate knew this was what he should have been doing the entire time. Fuck talking, fuck trying to make any sense of the jumbled thoughts and feelings in his brain.
No more.
She sighed, melted against him, and . . . everything just made sense.
The pull he felt toward her, the feel of her mouth against his, her scent in his nostrils, the hot glide of her tongue against his.
&nbs
p; If only he’d done this months ago.
Her hands rose, sliding into the hairs on his nape as she pressed closer, and Tate lost his head. He reached for her waist, lifted her up, and without missing a beat, Sera wrapped her legs around his hips. Her skirt was trapped between them, but he couldn’t spare a moment to care, not when he was too busy pinning her against the door, kissing her harder, completely lost in the moment.
Sera was right there with him, moaning when he nipped at her bottom lip, fingers digging into his neck, tugging him closer, hips arching—
Knock. Knock.
“Sera?” her mother’s voice was the harshest intrusion of Tate’s life.
Nails on a chalkboard. A blaring alarm too early in the morning.
“Are you in there crying?” Sugar snapped. “What did you do to Tate? He’s disappeared.”
He sighed, head dropping back to study the ceiling. His dick was hard and throbbing, his mind torn between wanting to ignore Sugar and continue on with Sera, and knowing they were in the middle of a very expensive restaurant with an exceedingly not-soundproof door.
Tate knew that if he slept with Sera, he wanted it to be somewhere with more surface options, because getting horizontal on a bathroom floor was disgusting, and a quickie against the wall wasn’t going to be enough for him.
He also knew that as frustrating as the interruption was, it was probably timely.
Because connections.
Getting too close and risking getting hurt again.
For both of them.
Avoiding crossing this line was probably best.
And so he bent close, whispered, “Marry me.”
Three proposals in two days. That must be a record.
Sera’s eyes were hazy when they locked with his. She nodded at the same moment another jarring knock rattled through the door before the handle jingled a heartbeat later.
Slowly, he set Sera’s feet on the floor, making sure she was steady before he stepped away.
She sighed, obviously shoring herself up for another confrontation with her mother.
And so, Tate did the only thing he could think of.
He tugged her to his side, opened the door, and pressed his mouth to hers one more time.
It was supposed to be a peck, a quick meeting of lips to get her mother to shut up. But then Sera moaned, the soft vibration crawling up her throat and reverberating through Tate’s mouth. That sound severed his control.
