Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Does she even hear herself?
She’s not wrong, though.
A person could starfish on the mattress two or three times over without touching anyone else on the other side.
Only, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s one bed.
One bed.
Only one bed for two awkwardly attracted people and a man fighting off his inner caveman like a feral monkey with a stick.
A single shared bed we’re somehow expected to sleep in without turning into ravenous beasts tearing each other’s clothes off.
“I’m calling them,” I growl.
“Hold up. I know how much a room like this costs,” she continues, running her fingers along the silky bedspread. “I checked, remember?”
“I can afford another room, goddammit. I’m sure there’s something available.”
“And if there isn’t?” She looks at me.
“Then I’ll take the sofa, woman. We need rest if we want to make the most of this weekend.”
“When you’re the one flipping the bill? Um, no. And that’s beside the point.” She juts her chin out so defiantly I almost laugh. When a woman gives you that look, it means you’ve already lost. “You paid for this room. I agreed to it, and I also asked for one room. We’ll be fine. I can survive a few nights in a place that makes my apartment look like a beat-up shed. One roommate, that’s a luxury—and you won’t even throw chicken nuggets around.”
I snort, biting back a grin.
She’s insufferable.
She also might think it’ll be fine, but she hasn’t met my self-control, or lack thereof.
Right now, it’s hanging by its very last worn thread.
“Your choice,” I bite off. “One room. One bed. Whatever.”
“Okay. Now that we have that settled…” She sends me a nervous glance before stepping over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looking out at the mountains in the distance. There are more suites farther to our right, but the place does a remarkable job with positioning for maximum privacy.
It looks like there’s nothing else around.
No one to hear if we—
Stop. Right the hell now.
But there’s something else I need to ask her, and considering she’s insisting on this death sentence of one shared bed, there’s no time like the present.
“Salem?” Even saying her name feels weirdly intimate here—or maybe it’s just the fact that I know what I’m about to say next. “I need to come clean. There’s another reason I brought you here and you’re going to hate it.”
She stops halfway through smelling the fresh flowers on the small table by the window and flashes me a suspicious glance.
“Huh? You mean this isn’t just a learning lesson in a gorgeous place I’m lucky to step foot in?”
“It is, but I also hoped you might help me out with a little problem.” I clear my throat loudly. Her suspicious expression doesn’t ease for one second. “I was hoping you might attend the conference tomorrow as more than an employee I’m mentoring.”
Brutal pause. Her eyes sharpen.
“I’d like you to come as my girlfriend.”
I wait to hear a pen drop in the grim silence, if she doesn’t just pick up one of the large black ceramic coffee cups and hurl it at my head first.
She’s so frozen I wonder if she heard me at all.
“Your what?” she croaks.
“I know it sounds insane. It’s a big fucking ask.” I hold up my hands before her gaze sets me on fire. “And yeah, it’s breaching professional boundaries and breaking common sense… but a lot of these guys are married. Most of them, in fact.”
“And you’re not.” She folds her arms, her lips twisted sourly. “But so what? Why does it matter?”
“Because these men have egos bigger than the moon. They’re obsessed with optics. If they’re not marching in with their wives, they’re flaunting their weekend arm candy, whatever model mistress or exotic sugar baby they’ve hired to impress.”
“Gross!” She inhales sharply. “And you—what? You want me to play that game? To be your accessory?”
I swallow.
“I want you to be taken seriously.” I hold up my hands. “There are a lot of pigs who come to feed at these conferences, but that’s not everyone. There’s another class of professionals who shows up here. The classic power couple. Men with wives and girlfriends who have their heads in the game, usually sharper than their partners. They’re some of the biggest movers and shakers around, and I’ve always had trouble connecting with the type when I’m a damn loner.”
Her lips twist, mulling over my breathtaking stupidity.
“But if I walk in there with a brilliant woman on my arm, it could help us both connect with the real players. Have you thought about your future after Higher Ends, assuming you stay in real estate? There’s no telling the doors these people could open.”
“What, because they think I’m connected to you?” She huffs a breath. “How many connections do you think I’ll make? Or really, how many connections would make this ruse worth it?”