Page 19 of Peaches

It’s just one night. Right?

But as I stare in his green eyes, I know one night with him, playing make-believe in a world I could only ever fantasize about living in, I’d always want more.

Which gives me another idea. One that sealsalldeals, and makes me realize I stand to gain even more from this fake relationship than I may have first realized.

I can use this.All of it.My unreal day turned twilight zone. The night in front of me, as scary and intimidating as it may feel like right now. I’m sure what’s ahead of me would make a great story one day, whether I ever find the time to write it all down or not. Look who just found a way through the rest of her writer’s block! If spending time with him earlier inspired well over 5k, what more could I chance to gain in one whole night by his irresistible side?

I can do this.

No strings attached.

Just money.

Money and my damned soul, that is, if he ends up hating my story and hiring someone else to write it under my name.

I sigh. The gambles we all take in life, I suppose. Only this one comes with a heavy buy in, and even as I begin to push my chips on the table, I simultaneously feel the weight of that decision rock every bit of the cards that I hold in my hand.

“Your answer, Ms. Presley, before you let time decide for you. Like I said, I can’t miss this engagement, and if we’re going to make it there by seven, time is of the essence. I’ll give you half the money now, and the other half after we return. You’ll ride over with me, and I’ll arrange for a deposit into your account once the night is over.”

I set my manuscript down on my lap and take a deep breath. God, life really can be a bitch sometimes, can’t it?

Under normal circumstances, I’d be jumping all over the idea of going out with the man in front of me. But these arenotnormal circumstances, and he isnotyour normal, “guy I just met at a bar,” type of person.

Looking back up, I feel my work, my manuscript, slipping away as I gain what I know is more important, what is needed most, the reassurance that Archie and my mom will be okay. My relationship with my mother has been sort of rocky the last few years and this could help make up for it. I take one more final moment to myself before handing everything I have over to Brett Beckett and cursing the day he ever walked into my life. The current day I’m still breathing in. God, it really is a cruel world we live in when you look at it that way.

“I’ll do it, but on one condition,” he smiles and waits for me to finish. “No one, and I mean no one, calls me Kimmie!”

His grin deepens just as a sparkle I haven’t seen since he was sitting across from me at the coffee shop fills his eyes.

“Of course, Peaches, whatever you’d like.”

I lied.

This man does own me.

Not just in business, but now completely. Body, and soul. It’s a good thing I still have control of my heart. A tiny fact, if I’m being honest with myself, I feel slipping through my fingers as well.

6

Grace

His hand restson the small of my back as he walks, excuseme,escortsme, (the damn Southern gentleman in him, pardon me while I swoon), through the hallway, downstairs, out the back way of the building and into the parking garage.

It sounds fast when I say it, but my beating heart, wobbly knees and racing mind would beg to differ.

He hasn’t said a word since we left the office and something about it has my stomach feeling like it’s in knots.

Do I speak first?

Do I wait him out and continue to feel like, with each passing second in the silence, that I’m going to throw up?

He should be the one to speak first!

After all, he’s the one that sprung this asinine idea on me,his client, after the hell of a day I’ve had when all I really wanted was to go home, eat my weight in Italian food and lie to myself tomorrow morning about how much desert I’ll eventually end up devouring.

In the time it’s taken me to reminisce on my earlier evening plans, (oh, and the fantasizing part, totally was going to fantasize the hell out of this man), we’ve somehow made it across the garage and I’ve come to standing in front of one of the absolutely sexiest convertibles I have ever seen. Many people say this, but I’m serious! This car is straight sex. Just looking at it brings me to the brink of my own personal frenzy, and I don’t care who watches me lust after it as I fall over the edge.

My eyes grow wide as I look up at him because he’s out of his ever-loving mind if he thinks I am getting anywhere close to touching that thing. It looks like just a tiny scratch, a small dent, a tear in its expensive leather, even though small that most of the world would never notice, would cost more to fix than every penny I have made in life so far.

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