Page 36 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)

Reality Check

I t’s been a peaceful morning, both of us sharing space but concentrating on our separate tasks.

One week in Florida has blended into two—neither of us seeming anxious to return to colder climates when we can work remotely.

For me though, work just isn’t… well, working today.

I drop the tablet onto my lap and pick up my still steaming mug of coffee.

Warm sunlight streams through the floor to ceiling windows, bathing me in it’s happy glow. It’s why I put the couch in this spot, so I could take catnaps in the sun without going outside. I wriggle my toes, smiling at the swan symbol as the fuzzy material of my fleece socks stretch around my feet.

Without looking up from his laptop, Reginald gives my foot a gentle squeeze where it rests between his hip and the back cushion. As the couch is wide enough for two, we’ve taken to both sitting on opposite ends with our legs sharing the middle—like a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps in a box.

Dressed in soft trousers and a henley, Reginald is about as casual as he gets.

I need to buy the man some athleisure clothes.

His dark brows pinch behind his reading glasses.

Slate-gray eyes dart across the laptop screen before him.

Each word bringing a more pronounced pout to his lips.

I miss the warmth on my foot immediately as he lifts his hand to hit the backspace key repeatedly.

“What’s wrong?” I tap him with my toe to gain his attention .

With a sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses. My core clenches. I never had a thing for teachers, but this sexy scholar look is working for me.

“It’s this list of articles for the magazine. I’m not sure they’re right.”

“What do you have so far?”

“Lord Firth’s environmental efforts, the book drive at Cambridge, that artist working with orphanages, and an interview with an up-and-coming actress who grew up a war refugee.”

All worthy topics of a human interest magazine dedicated to positivity, but I immediately see why he’s struggling. “Those all sound good, but it’s a bit repetitive.”

“What do you mean?” His brows pinch, appearing more confused than angry.

“Well, all those pieces are about public figures. Who is your demographic? Are their stories represented? Most people like reading about themselves.”

I see the moment it clicks.

His eyes widen and his lips form an adorable O before spreading into a full grin. “You’re right. Brilliant as usual. Thank you.” His hand returns to my foot.

I laugh, secretly warmed by his praise, as I glare down at the offending tablet. “Not sure about that.”

“Something troubling you at work?”

“It’s this photoshoot next month. I can’t find the right theme. They gave me full creative control and I’m not sure what to do.”

He closes the laptop and removes his glasses. Warmth blooms in my chest at his full attention.

“Don’t you typically have full control?”

“Not really. There’s usually a brief—something laying out the theme and basic requirements. This magazine keeps saying they trust me after seeing the Time piece. Why did I have to do such a good job?” The buttery leather of the sofa arm cushions my head as I sink lower.

Reginald chuckles as he squeezes my foot again. “Because you’re brilliant—like I said. What is the feature about? Who’s the client?”

“Playbill,” I mumble.

His fingers still. Immediately feeling the loss of his touch, I kick his hand until he resumes his foot rub with another warm chuckle.

“That’s amazing, Nic. I’m so proud of you.”

My cheeks warm at his praise. “It’s not a big deal.”

“The hell it isn’t. Why do you do that? You always play down your accomplishments. It’s like you’re allergic to compliments.”

“Well, the girls always say I’m allergic to emotions, so it tracks.” My lips spread in a smile, though I feel no amusement. Instead of laughing, Reginald’s jaw clenches. “What?”

“You deflected. I’m trying to have a real conversation with you, and you have your social face on.”

“My what?” My face goes cold and my stomach drops.

Reginald crosses his arms and again, I immediately miss the warmth of his hand on my foot. “You put on a show with people. Tell them what you think they want to hear. Don’t do that with me.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” My shoulders lift. His comments, so similar to Bree’s, putting me on edge.

“No.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up. “You don’t lie, but you smile at them and send them off in the wrong direction. You hide behind that mask and everyone eats out of your hand because you’re so goddamned beautiful.”

I’m not sure if I should be angry or flattered. On the one hand, he’s calling me fake, but on the other he thinks I’m beautiful. How does he want me to react? Dark brows lower over stormy gray eyes. Jaw clenched, but lips not pinched. Closed body language with his arms, but still facing me…

“Stop it.” I blink dumbly. “You’re trying to read me so you can shift your answer. Look, I get it. I grew up in the same shallow world you did. I appreciate your ability to work a crowd… when we are out being Lord and Lady Ravenscourt. But when we’re here…”

He propels himself forward until he is sitting before me. Frowning, he looks down at my hands as he holds them in his own. “When it’s the two of us. I want you to be yourself. Just say whatever is in that beautiful head of yours.”

My heart skips a beat. I search his face and only find sincerity.

He leans his forehead against mine with a groan. “Just be yourself with me, Princess. I promise to be your soft place to land—I won’t judge and I won’t pull away.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” I whisper.

With a bark of laughter, he pulls back, a smirk clear on his lips. “You know you’re gorgeous, but I’ll make sure to say it more often.” With a squeeze of my hands, he stands up. “No more work. I’ll go make a snack and we’ll binge some of that dating show you’ve been dying to watch.”

I perk up in my seat. “The one where they are in those pod-thingies?”

He nods as he heads to the pantry.

As we sit close on the couch, an empty bowl of popcorn between us, I relax.

Be myself.

That’s the scary thing. I do feel myself when I’m with him. It’s easy to let go of the filter I constantly run my thoughts through. From the moment we met, I have said exactly what I want with no consideration of the consequences.

Accepting praise is not so easy, partially because of that shallow world he mentioned.

“I’m not used to compliments.”

Reginald pauses the show and turns to face me better.

I keep my eyes on my hands in my lap, worrying a cuticle. “At least without a punchline. You know, the ones that include ‘but’, ‘if only’, or something similar. So I learned to give people what they want so they don’t look too closely and find the ‘but’.”

He pinches my chin, and raises my eyes to his.

I almost expect to see pity, but it’s something closer to rage and sadness.

“Listen to me. They’re just jealous of you, Princess.

You’ve rejected everything their world has handed you and made a fabulously successful new life for yourself.

You’ve proven you don’t need them, and it terrifies them. ”

My eyes burn, tears threatening to spill over at his impassioned words.

Warm fingers tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as he searches my eyes. “Don’t make yourself smaller to fit their box. Kick the walls down and make them grow. Yeah?”

I nod once.

Satisfied, Reginald wraps an arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side. His lips press to the top of my head before he resumes the show.

On the screen, couples talk through a divider, spilling their secrets in the hope they’ll find their soulmate based on something deeper than looks. I laugh along, but my mind is still chewing over the last few minutes.

There’s another reason his compliment threw me. One I’ll never admit out loud .

His praise lit me up like fucking Times Square inside. And that scares me more than anything has in a long time. If being with him can make me feel this good, I don’t want to imagine how bad it can feel without him.