Page 8 of Playing Pretend

I wave her away. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

If I had a dollar for every time Rome worked a woman around his little finger, I’d be able to ditch this charade and live off the excessive income.

“I truly am sorry.” She slides over the room card. “But he really sold how special this weekend is for the two of you. And when he paid for an upgrade to a king suite, I just assumed…”

“A king suite?” My pulse stutters. “By any chance did he requestseparatesuites first? Or split beds?”

“Just the king suite. Room 305.” Her gaze narrows. “Is that a problem?”

I would’ve thought that if he was inclined to make changes to our room’s configuration it would’ve been to separate the beds. But who am I to begrudge the upgrade when he’s going to be sleeping on the sofa?

Lord knows I’m not spending my nights beside a man who’s never slept in anything other than his birthday suit.

Nope.

No, thank you.

“There you are.” Rome’s voice carries from close behind me, the casual cadence of his steps approaching.

I ignore him and smile at the receptionist as I claim the room card. “The king suite is fine, thank you.” I turn to grab my suitcase handle and there he is.Rightthere. I bump into him, my free hand clapping against his chest as I stumble.

“I’ve got you.” His arm slides around my waist, holding me against his white button-down as he drags me a few feet away from the counter, his light clove aftershave filling my lungs.

Gripping my wrist would’ve sufficed, but his hands-on approach was expected. Predictable. I knew he’d try to unsettle me at the first opportunity.

“Rome,” I say in greeting, deliberately suppressing any sign of protest to his touch. “I told you to arrive closer to dinner.”

“Yes, you did.” He inclines his head. “But you also said it was because you wanted to arrive at a similar time. The thing is, I called your boss this morning and he said the office was closing at lunch so everyone could participate in early evening drinks at the bar. I assume the change of plans slipped your mind.”

I inch back, extracting myself from his embrace. “You called my boss?”

“I’m nothing if not completely thorough.”

Son of a bitch is playing hardball.

“Pete was excited to hear I’m your plus-one.” He leans in, placing a kiss at my temple.

I freeze. Blink.

The contact with my boss is one thing but that brush of lips is entirely another.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You look startled.”

I clear my throat, taking a few extra seconds to regain composure. “I’m just waiting for you to break out in hives. Aren’t you allergic to public displays of affection?”

“Somewhat.” He snickers. “But I plan to spend the next three days desensitizing myself.”

Like hell he is.

“We need to talk.” I grab my suitcase handle and stride toward the elevators.

“What about?” He matches my pace, his fingers sliding over mine in a gentlemanly gesture to claim my luggage.

“The rules.” I move my hand away.

I shouldn’t be surprised he brought his A game. I just didn’t think he’d be so invested in seeing me fail.

He’s never been eager for me to claim my position at Cavanaugh Sheffield Holdings. And I get it. Complications could arise. But I’ve more than proven I’d be an asset.

---