Page 10 of An American in London

It’s Sunday, so I’m late getting to Coffee Confide in Me.

My conversation with Melanie is still replaying in my head.

It didn’t occur to me she’d think agreeing to be Ben’s pretend fiancée was a good idea.

I’m worried I’ve done the wrong thing, that I should have said yes.

Melanie’s right—the money would be really useful.

But if he thought I was a stalker before, if I track him down and tell him I’ve changed my mind, he’ll probably have me arrested.

I’m going to need an espresso chaser this morning.

Ginny with the bright-red hair is on again, and she beams when she sees me. I know this isn’t her normal greeting—she’s British, after all. I expect a grunt that’s supposed to pass for hello or a tense smile.

“It’s you,” she says, her eyes widening. “Filter Coffee Guy has paid for your coffee.”

It’s like my brain is upside down in my head today. I can’t make sense of what she’s saying. So I order. “Can I get a venti cappuccino two extra shots, half almond milk, half oat milk, a shot of caramel, extra foam, and cinnamon sprinkles?”

“Absolutely. I was trying to remember what you had before. I forgot about the almond milk and the extra foam.” She calls out the order, still grinning at me, like we’re in on a joke or something. “Can you believe he paid?”

“ Ben paid?” I ask, making sure I haven’t misheard her. I’m distracted watching the barista put all almond milk into my coffee, but I don’t say anything.

“Yes. Are you going to go speak to him?” She lifts her chin toward the tables at the front of the store.

Everything tips into place. “Ben’s here?”

I snap my head around to find the man himself staring back at me.

My heart trips and skips. I’m half nerves, half anticipation.

But I have to chew the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning.

I shouldn’t feel this excited to see this grumpy British dude who’s pretty much a stranger, even if it gives me a second chance to say yes to his offer of twenty grand.

I look back at Ginny and she’s still grinning.

“Go and speak to him. At least to say thank you for your coffee.” She nods vigorously.

“He’s clearly waiting for you. It’s so cute.

If you two end up getting married, you absolutely must have me as a bridesmaid.

I insist. I don’t care that it might be weird because we barely know each other. ”

“Happy to agree to that,” I say, moving to the pickup station. I glance back at Ben’s table and he’s gone. My stomach plunges as my opportunity to change my mind about his offer goes with him. The coffee was a nice apology.

I turn back to wait for my coffee and electricity buzzes through my jacket sleeve as someone touches me. “Hey,” a gravelly voice says, and I don’t need to see him to know Ben didn’t leave.

“Hey.” I turn to face him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He nods. “Do you have five minutes?”

I have the entire day, but I don’t tell him that.

I ditched the Stonehenge idea given the journey time.

I’ve decided to take a bus tour around London today; my Daniel De Luca quest is on hold while I do some straight tourist stuff.

I can’t come to London and miss the big attractions because of my movie-star crush.

“I do,” I say and feel my cheeks burn at the reference to marriage. “You’re a client, after all.”

He guides me back to the table he was at previously and pulls out a chair.

Is that a British thing? Jed never pulled out my chair, and it had never occurred to me that he might until now.

I take a seat and pull off the plastic top of my coffee cup before taking a sip.

Oh, I can taste those extra shots of espresso. Hopefully, I’ll find the words I need.

He sits opposite me and pulls in a breath.

In the beat of silence, I enjoy watching him—the contours of his cheekbones, the strong jaw, that glossy black hair that looks like he’s got his personal hairdresser three feet behind him, making sure it’s entirely perfect at all times.

“I wanted to apologize about the other night,” he says.

“Nick is a little ... He sees a problem, then a solution, then he just wants to get on with it.”

I nod. “I got that about him.”

“It’s useful.”

“He works for you?” I ask.

“He used to. Then he set up on his own, so I pay him three times as much to do the same thing as he did when he was working for me.”

“He’s smart,” I say.

The corner of his mouth lifts, and warmth floods my chest at the thought I’ve been able to elicit a smile from him. “You’re right. But he can be like a bull in a china shop at times. I’m sorry you were—”

“The china?” I suggest.

“I hope you’re not entirely broken by the experience.” He clears his throat, as if completely uncomfortable discussing my potential brokenness.

I smile. “Not broken at all. I was on a high shelf, watching while I enjoyed a lovely dinner.” With a pretty view, I don’t say. He really does have the most beautiful eyes.

He nods. “Glad to hear it.”

I lift one shoulder in a semi-shrug. It really doesn’t matter. “Seriously. It’s forgotten.”

“I want to assure you there was never any intention that sex would be part of the deal. Not on Nick’s or my part.

It wasn’t a case of me wanting to sleep with you.

If I wanted to pay for sex, there are plenty of options in this city.

” He blushes and shakes his head. “Not that I take advantage of any of them—I’m speculating. ”

He sounds awkward, like everywhere he turns, he’s stepping on land mines.

“I never thought it was some elaborate scheme to get me to sleep with you.”

“Good,” he says, clearly relieved he can stop rambling about prostitution.

He blows out a breath. “But the thing about Nick is, he does have incredibly good ideas, even if he’s a little impatient to execute them.

” His tone has shifted from embarrassed and awkward to serious and studious.

Nerves start to trace circles on my lower back.

I suppress a shiver. “I would like you to consider an offer I have for you.”

I thought he’d never ask.

He opens a manila file I hadn’t noticed on the table in front of him and pushes it toward me.

“That’s an independent background check on me.

” He guides my eye down the page as he points to various items. “My full name, my current address, confirmation I have no criminal or civil convictions. Details of where I went to school, university.” He turns the page and reveals a list of company names.

“This shows all the companies of which I’m a shareholder, either directly or through a shareholding of another company.

” The list continues on the following page.

On the next page, he stops. “I’m a director of all these companies,” he says.

He turns the page once again. “This is a printout of my Wikipedia page.”

I glance up at him, but he’s focused on the file. “You have a Wikipedia page?”

He meets my gaze but doesn’t say anything before he looks back down at the file and turns the page again. “These are character references.”

I scan down the page and recognize a few of the names. I’m not sure why he’s shown me his file, like I’m some investigative journalist or something. I pull my mouth into a forced smile. “Congratulations?” I’m not sure what he wants me to say.

His half smile is back and tugs at something in my stomach as the penny drops.

He wants me to feel safe with him.

“I want you to reconsider Nick’s suggestion.”

“Why would you pay me to be your fiancée when you could get any girl in England for free?”

His jaw twitches, and I get the sense he’s trying to decide how to answer.

“There’s more than one answer to that question.

Obviously, you know I need someone to go with me.

You fit for more reasons than Nick even realized.

He thought the priority was finding someone who didn’t actually want to be my fiancée.

I could have picked any one of my exes if that was the only requirement. ”

Did moody, serious Ben just make a joke that wasn’t about my name?

“It’s helpful to me that you ...” He exhales loudly.

“It’s helpful to me you don’t live in London.

The fact you’re American means when people ask you where you went to school or whether you know the so-and-so family and whether you grew up skiing in Val d’Isere or Verbier, you can say no to all the above and won’t be judged for it.

Yes, people will judge you for being American, but that’s something we can get past.”

“Wow, so you don’t like this duke guy, then? Sounds like a horrible snob.”

“To be fair, I don’t know him, but I do know how aristocrats think. They like people to be one of them. Not that they won’t welcome outsiders into their homes and joke with them like you’re their best friend. They just don’t want their sons and daughters to marry them.”

“Oh. And ... I’m an outsider.”

“Yes, but not because you didn’t go to the right school or don’t know the right people.

It’s because you’re American. It’s almost a thrill for them, like seeing a lion in a cage or something.

And then there’s the issue after the split.

They’re not going to run into you and find out our story was an elaborate hoax.

You’ll be back in America”—he pauses—“doing whatever it was you were doing before you came here. And the likelihood of bumping into someone you met during the charade will be almost zero.”

I nod. “How very convenient.”

“I told you, Nick’s smarter than he looks.”

I take another sip of my coffee. When I’d chatted to Melanie last night, she’d had some good ideas—negotiating for more money, for a start. But would that look weird? I don’t want Ben to think I’m greedy.