Page 77 of The Sun & Her Burn
They decided, too, that enough was enough.
Dating wasn’t doing the trick anymore.
“Marriage,” Mi Cha pushed. “It’s the best option.”
“We don’t want them to elope to Vegas after this has hit the newsstands,” Chaucer argued. “It reeks of guilt.”
“True,” Boone agreed.
“If my opinion has any bearing at all,” I spoke up, unwilling to be swept away on a tide of professionals deciding my future, however well-meaning. “I don’t think it makes any sense to get married in such a rush. It will only hurt us both.”
My feelings on a marriage of convenience were also understandably complicated. Fake dating was one thing, but to enter into holy matrimony on a pretense? I wasn’t religious or even very spiritual, but I was a closet romantic, and I wasn’t sure I could stomach the idea of exchanging vows with a man I was only just coming to know and trust.
“Perhaps an increased presence with the paps?” Boone suggested.
“We’ve been photographed around town countless times in the past few weeks,” Adam pointed out. There was such a weariness in his tone even though he maintained a ramrod straight posture and cool gaze, as if sitting at attention would mean that nothing else could take him by surprise.
“You haven’t been to a proper Hollywood event yet,” Rachel said. “The Critics Choice Awards are in two weeks. It’s an excellent opportunity to attend a red carpet event together. Do some interviews, be photographed for all the publications and social media outlets together.”
“It was already on the schedule,” Adam said, and feeling his gaze on me, I looked over to see he had a raised brow as if to ask me whether it was still okay.
“I’ll be there with bells on,” I assured him.
His other brow joined the first high on his forehead. “I assume you don’t mean literally. I know you are a fashion designer, so frankly, I wouldn’t put that past you.”
He startled a bright burst of laughter from me, and I was rewarded with an answering, slightly smug, smile.
“No bells,” I promised. “But you don’t mind if I wear something I’ve made myself?”
“Why would I?” he countered. “I assume you’ve made most of the clothing I’ve seen you in, including this.” His free hand rose to trail a thumb down the thin strap of my leopard-print dress to the edge of the bodice. His pad was rough enough to make me shiver as he paused and then followed the curve of the fabric to the middle of my breasts. He then used that same thumb to tip my chin back up so I was forced to meet his gaze. “You have been utterly bewitching in all of it.”
“Mr. Meyers, it would be better for exposure to have her wear a known designer—” Mi Cha started to explain, but one cutting glance from Adam quelled her.
“Linnea will wear what she likes,” he declared, once again impervious and completely in control of his domain.
“I’ll bring in a team to do her hair and makeup,” Chaucer offered, giving me a little wink of solidarity.
I beamed at her.
“Good. Meanwhile, someone call Fitzgibbons and see why the hell he hasn’t been able to locate Oscar. It seems to me that if he is sending emails, we should be able to trace him.”
“There are legal means and nonlegal means to track someone,” Boone said carefully.
Adam delivered a cool look that clearly stated he expected both to be valid options.
Boone nodded. “I’m on it.”
I smothered a yawn behind my hand. The antique clock on the desk said it was nearing ten at night, which was my bedtime, given I was usually up before dawn.
Adam had noticed immediately, insisting on walking me to my car, clicking his tongue in disapproval of my ancient Jeep even as he helped me up into the driver’s seat.
“It’s been a long day,” he told me as he stood in the open door, hesitating even though his team waited inside and I was buckled in and ready to head home. The golden lights mounted on the exterior of the garage cast his face into bright rectangles of brightness and shadow. It was hard to read his expression, but even so, I couldn't look away from the intensity in his eyes. “But I had a good time despite the drama. Because of you.”
I swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly shy, every one of my twelve years younger and less experienced than him. The air between us was thick with heat even in the cool February night. I wanted desperately to kiss his weary face, hold him while he tried to sleep tonight, and offer him both comfort and seduction.
But that wasn’t my place.
At the most, we could be friends, and I hoped today was a bigger step toward that.
