Page 18 of That Fake Feeling

Ican’t make the guys thinkI’velet them down.Again.

Ilook from his self-satisfied face toRose.Shechews on her lip and fiddles with the edge of her shorts, a flash of smooth thigh just visible under the edge of the table.

JesusfuckingChrist.

Islump forward, initial the first page, and sign the second.

Ipoint my pen atRose.

“Butyou can’t touch my ass either.”

5

ROSE

“You’renot really fine, are you?”Connorasks with a sigh.

Myarms and back burn asIhaul my suitcase another step up the stairs.I’vemade it only halfway up the first flight, and my room is apparently on the fourth floor.

“Yes,Iam,”Iwheeze through gritted teeth. “Iam totally fine.”

I’mnot.I’mvery far from fine.

HowcouldIpossibly be fine?I’vejust spent half an hour negotiating the weirdest employment contract of my life with a semi-naked man who,I’mfairly sure, was trying to play mind games with me and who looks way hotter in just underwear than is helpful.

Hedid offer to carry my luggage, but there’s no way in hellI’mgoing to give that monumental ass the satisfaction.Itold himI’mquite capable of doing things for myself, thank you very much.AndI’msticking with that.

Iturn around and face down the stairs.Maybetrying to pull the case up toward me, rather than dragging it behind, might work better.

Themonumental ass is standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at me from under the hair that’s fallen across his forehead again.He’sstill clad only in the outrageously tight boxers that can’t disguise the size, shape, or interest level of what he keeps in them.

Hefolds his arms across his chest, a chest which the morning sunlight through the living room window had revealed to be coated in a dusting of fair hairs.

I’msure the biceps pressing against that chest and the firm thighs sticking out of those bright white briefs would make much lighter work of getting my things upstairs.Butthen a ninety-year-old with a bad back would probably be doing better thanIam right now.

Connor’sdefinitely handsome, in a crumpled sort of way.Iforce my eyes not to drift south to the bulge that screams for my attention, and tighten my grip around the suitcase handle.

“Doyou always attend business meetings in only your underwear?”

“Firsttime.ButmaybeIshould try it more often, as a negotiation technique.”

Ijerk the case to get it up another step, but just as it’s about to make it, the wheels roll off the edge, and it drops back down.

“Itwasn’t a very successful one, though, was it?Imean, you agreed to everythingIwanted.Areyou disappointedIwasn’t intimidated?”

Igive the suitcase another hard yank, and this time it makes it.Great.Onlyfour more stairs—and three more flights—to go.

“WhywouldIwant to intimidate you?”Hisvoice is full of exaggerated innocence.

Lookingaway from the upward curl of one side of his mouth,Ibend my knees, put my back into it, and hoist the case up another step.Ittips to the side and almost pulls me off balance, butIget my knee around it and just about keep it upright.

Connorraises his hands. “Pleasetry to keep the wheels on the carpet runner.That’shundred-year-old wood at the sides.Ittook weeks to restore.”

Heshakes his head slowly and sighs. “Orjust let me do it.”

Hecares about the finish on antique wood?Andthere was me pegging him as a drunken trasher of hotel rooms with zero respect for property.

“I’mdoing my best here.”Istraighten and stretch out my spine. “AndIhave no idea why you’d want to intimidate me.Isn’tityouwho needs me?”