Page 22 of Mine

I sank onto the edge of the bed and rubbed my temples.

What was I thinking?

I told myself I could handle being West Brooks’ fake wife. But sitting in that glass box above the city made me feel every ounce of the imposter I was. Seeing the opulence and extravagance of his actual life made me feel like I was in way over my head.

Because West wasn’t just a small-town guy from Harmony Haven like his brothers were. That was clearer now more than ever. My stomach twisted as I thought about my dad, alone at home while I played dress-up with Atlanta’s most unshakable man.

But my dad was also my motivation and the reason I couldn’t turn back.

The bar would be mine. Mine. And that meant freedom. Not just financially, but from having to answer to anyone else. From having to play nice with people like Jeff and the Murphy brothers. From living under anyone’s thumb.

Dad and I would be able to afford more care, more help, and maybe even a better place to live.

I just had to make it through the month. Sign the papers. Smile for some people. Pretend to be someone I wasn’t.

And hope to hell I didn’t lose myself in the process.

Chapter Twelve

WEST

For the firsttime in my life, someone besides one of my brothers was sleeping in my penthouse, and it messed with my head more than I wanted to admit. Showing her around last night made me feel off. As if I was trying too hard, and I came across as pretentious.

But I had to remind myself that it didn’t really matter. I was her boss. By next weekend, I’d be her husband. And a few weeks after that? Her ex. Clean. Simple. Cut and dried.

Every morning, I got up at five, worked out, and took a quick shower. Today was no different. When I came out fully dressed, Ruby, my housekeeper and chef, was setting breakfast at the bar where I always ate.

Actually, she’d set two plates since I’d told her I had a guest. But by 6:15, Blue still hadn’t appeared and her food was getting cold.

“Leave them,” I told Ruby, nodding to both plates before heading across the penthouse toward the guest room. I knocked, lightly, but with purpose. I didn’t want to come across as a psycho, but I also didn’t want her thinking she could just ignore our schedule.

When she didn’t respond, I considered texting. But my phone was back at the bar, next to my half-eaten breakfast. Instead of going back, I turned the handle and walked in.

She was still in bed, of course. Hair spread across the white pillow, one arm flung above her head, one leg sticking out from the covers. She looked peaceful. And if I wasn’t on such a tight schedule, I might’ve let her stay that way.

Instead, I clapped my hands loudly together to get her attention. “Blue. The stylist will be here any minute and you haven’t even eaten. Wake up.”

She moaned and turned over, fully ignoring me.

“Come on,” I said, moving closer and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Wake up, Blue.”

She rolled back toward me, blinking at the light pouring in through the windows. “This bed is the best thing I’ve ever lain on.”

I cracked a smile. At least she was enjoying something I had to offer, even if I didn’t personally pick it out.

“Breakfast is ready.” I clapped again for effect.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and I took that as my cue to back away. I was almost to the door when she flopped back down, pulling the pillow over her head.

“Oh, fuck no, Blue.” I moaned. “Come on. We have to meet with my lawyer, and I have a damn meeting. Don’t go back to sleep.”

“I’m not,” she mumbled. “But I am lying here until the last possible second.”

As if on cue, the doorbell chimed so I raised an eyebrow. “Time’s up.”

She threw back the covers, dragging herself toward the bathroom. She stuck her tongue out at me and gave a half-hearted salute before shutting the door behind her.

“Five minutes,” I called after her, then left her alone.