Page 28 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

“I’ve seen how you drown yourself in coffee, and it barely affects you. I read somewhere once that for people like you, drinking coffee and then napping for a few hours will do wonders for you,” Emma says, grinning proudly. “It’ll make you more energized, like a literal power nap.”

I exhale sharply. “The last thing I need is a nap. We need to start getting ready to leave, or the phone will never stop ringing.”

Emma frowns. “What do you mean, we’re leaving?”

I hate the look on her face as much as I hate the fact that she’s looking at me with sadness and hope that I’ll say we can stay just a little longer. But I can’t afford to spend another day away from Grover Hill.

“Yes. I’m so sorry this is coming to an end,” I say, truly meaning it. “We can come back together some other time, or maybe we’ll go to Bora Bora for real…” I trail off, and even I can feel the implication of my words, the hope that we’ll somehow extend this temporary arrangement.

Emma grips my arm lightly. “But can we take the day off? Just today? We can be on our way home tomorrow.” Her voice drops slightly, a quiet plea beneath her words. “One more day surely won’t hurt.”

I stop to ponder it, and she’s right. With my already sleep-deprived brain and the exhaustion weighing down on me, I’d probably be doing more harm than good.

I nod. “Fine. I’ll let them know I won’t be coming in today.”

“And you’ll be switching off your phone so you don’t get disturbed?” Emma says sternly.

“And I’ll be switching off my phone,” I promise, liking the slightly bossy side of her that I’m getting to see.

Emma nods, seemingly satisfied, and calls room service for us. She orders a lot of coffee and breakfast food. I hadn’t realized it’s been over twenty-four hours since my last meal, and I’m starving. I appreciate that she’s taking charge and ordering us food, because my brain can’t function properly at the moment. All I can think about is work.

“So,” I say, trying to keep my own thoughts from disturbing me. “What did you do while I was gone, besides sleep on my couch?”

Emma wrinkles her nose. “Never again will I sleep on a couch. It felt like sleeping on a slab of concrete. And I fell asleep there waiting for you because I couldn’t get you to answer your phone and I was worried.”

“You were worried about me?” I ask softly, feeling my heart beginning to race.

Emma shrugs. “I don’t know anyone on this island, so it’s natural for me to be worried. But before that I did get some writing done. And in my book, the male protagonist leaves and disappears…just like you.”

I stare at her. “You scare me. I sure hope these stories of yours don’t become our reality.”

Emma laughs. “Oh, don’t be a wuss. That would be an incredible power to have—being able to make your imagination reality.”

I agree, nodding. “I’m glad this little arrangement of ours is working for you. You’re writing and I’m getting my company.”

“Let’s hope my writing is actually good,” Emma says. The dread and doubt are back in her voice, and I don’t like that one bit.

I clear my throat. “As your unofficial editor and writing adviser, I would like to read what you’ve written so far.”

Emma smiles, then hesitates. “Are you sure? You’re tired, and there’s your work thing, and I don’t know if you can handle all of this at once.”

“Oh, believe me when I say I need this. It’ll be the perfect distraction from the chaos at work,” I say honestly.

Emma sighs, hearing the sincerity in my voice. She hesitates for a moment, biting her lip, then retrieves her laptop from where it’s charging. She turns the screen around for me and opens her first draft.

“You can’t read all of it though,” Emma warns. “Some of it is good, but there are some areas I know are absolute garbage. Remember this is just the first draft, and things may not make sense or—”

I laugh, cutting her rambling off. “It’s fine, Emma. This isn’t exactly the first time I’m reading your work. I know how first drafts work.”

Then there’s a knock on the door and Emma lets in the breakfast tray, reminding me once more how hungry I am. We immediately dive into the food, and only after my stomach feels full do I start to read Emma’s work.

I grab my coffee and recline against the sofa. Emma sits very close to me. There’s eagerness in her eyes as she closely watches me read her work, looking for any emotion to indicate what I feel about the story. But I mask my face so well that it doesn’t betray any emotion.

“Are you bored? You look bored. Please tell me you like it.” Emma bites her cheek, nervous. “Oh, I can’t stand this. I’m going to leave…I’ll go for a quick walk around the grounds, and then I’ll be back.”

I laugh as she darts out of the room, eyes wide and terrified.

“Stay safe!” I call out. “I’m leaving my phone on for you.”

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