Page 25 of Love is Fake

“-but I have no intention of firing you,” he finishes as if I hadn’t broken his flow.

“You don’t?” I can hear the surprise in my own voice.

“No. I’ve worked with a lot of PTs. I know the difference between someone who’s up to the task and someone who isn’t. You know what you’re doing.”

I tell myself I shouldn’t be so pleased when all he’s done is tell me something I already know. But I can’t deny it feels good to have his approval, even though I shouldn’t need it. My job is important to me and to know he respects my work is a heady feeling.

“I thought you didn’t hire women,” I blurt out. Apparently, that’s what I do when I’m nervous. Whenever I’m around Lennox I feel as if I go back to being that gawky 15 year old girl again instead of the woman I’ve grown into and it’s more than a little unnerving.

I expect an angry response, telling me who he hires isn’t my business – and he’d be right. But instead, Lennox sighs deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if I’ve given him a headache – which I probably have.

“Remind me to kill Kai once we’re done here,” he mutters, accurately guessing who let that particular cat out of the bag. Finally, he takes a deep breath and looks me square in the face again with that intense look of his.

“It’s true, I don’t usually bring women into my closest circle of employees, you’re the first in a while,” he admits a little begrudgingly.

I’m about to point out again how I don’t work for him, but I figure there’s only so much sass he’ll take before he changes his mind about not firing me. So, I keep my mouth shut.

“Wow, no questions? That must be a first,” he jokes, making me smile in spite of myself. There’s something contagious about Lennox when he’s in a good mood; he has the kind of grin you can’t help but return. “When I said this isn’t working, I meant you commuting here from the city every day. You drive 2 hours to get here, work a full day, hit rush hour traffic on the wayhome, do your PhD work, most likely falling asleep at your laptop and then repeat the process. You’re exhausted and it’s only day 2.”

I bristle a little at that. “Sure, it’s a long day, but I’m not exhausted. I may be a little tired -,”

“You’ve yawned your way through the past hour, and you look like you’d like to stick your head in a bucket of caffeine,” Lennox challenges.

I indulge the thought of just mainlining coffee for a second, before snapping out of my waking dream. It pisses me off that he’s right. Between the travel, the work and my studies, I’m burning the candle at both ends and then just setting fire to it right in the middle.

“I’ll figure it out,” I promise him. “My sleep shouldn’t be your concern.”

“It is when I need you at the top of your game and you’re too tired to function properly.” He pauses for a second. “Which is why I think the best solution is for you to move in here,” he finishes, making my mouth hang open in that gaping fish look that everyone knows is so attractive.

“Sorry, I must have misheard you, because it sounds like you just asked me to move in with you.” And while the idea of living at the Gray Mansion may hold some appeal – I’ve seen the size of the tub in one of the guest baths – it’s wholly ridiculous.

“What’s the matter, Izzy? A guy’s never asked you to move in with him before?” Lennox gives me an assessing look and I’m starting to have a really hard time telling whether he’s joking or not.

To my horror I find myself answering him truthfully. “I’ve never been with anyone long enough for things to get to that point, I guess.” And up to now, I’ve been okay with that. I have close friends and a job I love, my life is pretty full.

“That…surprises me,” he says slowly, his dark eyes never leaving mine.

Yet again, I wish I had some idea what’s going on in that head of his, because his expression is completely inscrutable.

“It shouldn’t,” I joke, “you’ve had first-hand experience of my sparkling personality. Most guys I’ve dated aren’t all that interested in a woman who speaks her mind, and I have a brain to mouth filter malfunction so…” I gesture helplessly, smiling in spite of myself as Lennox lets out a husky laugh.

“Well, you’ll be relieved to know I wasn’t suggesting we make this official. I was thinking you could move into the pool-house. It has an apartment above it. It’s totally private so you’d be independent from the main house. It makes sense if we’re going to be working together 6 days a week that you’re here on site instead of spending half your day on the road.” He spreads his hands out in a kind of ‘take it or leave it’ move.

There’s a lot of information there to digest, and it’s hard to argue that what he’s saying doesn’t make sense. If I was based here it would give me so much more free time to catch up with all the PhD work I’ve been falling behind on without having to choose between that and a decent night’s sleep. And yet, being here, on the property with Lennox 24/7 seems like a step too far. It’s a little too extreme. A little too intimate.

“I’ve never lived on site with a client before. I’m not sure it would be appropriate.” And oh my God how prissy do I sound right now? He’s offered me a completely separate living space, not a cot in his bedroom…

Lennox stands up a little straighter at my words, the ease gone from his expression. “I wasn’t hitting on you, Isabella.” There he goes again saying my name like I’m the most frustrating person he’s ever met. “It’s not like we’d beliving together.”

“I didn’t mean…I wasn’t saying -,” I fluster, knowing I’ve offended him when he was offering me help.

He holds his hand up, stopping whatever I was about to say and thank goodness because I have no idea what it was going to be.

“You don’t have to decide right now, just think about it.”

It’s less of a question and more of a command and although being ordered around doesn’t sit well with me, I nod in acquiescence because I’m starting to get used to Lennox’s high-handedness. And I know it’s coming from a good place.

“We should get back to work.” I motion towards the weight bench, without directly looking at Lennox because I need a minute to switch gears in my brain.

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