Page 22 of One Billion Reasons

“Great to meet you as well. I’m looking forward to the wedding.” My voice sounds fake, and Miles squeezes a hand on my waist in warning. Jerk. The heat of his side is seeping into me, making me a little sweaty and flushed. Why is he so warm? I read something once about how lean muscle mass lets off more heat than fat. Based on how he’s a human furnace, he must be all muscle. I want to laugh, but I smother it. Amanda gives me an odd look, and I force another smile.

“Oh, there are so many events before then. We have hiking, surfing lessons, a spa day, a wine tasting, you name it.”

At the word surfing, Miles tenses. Weird. He loves surfing, or so I thought.

Amanda says goodbye and strolls off. Miles’s hand tightens on my waist.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he grits out.

“Yes, darling,” I mutter. When she’s nearly back at the hotel, he drops his hand like his arm is on fire and shakes his body. That bad, huh? Something about his eagerness to get away from me irritates me just as much as his dismissal of my entire career.

“Well, this will be easy.” He looks like he’s in pain.

“If you didn’t look like you would rather drop dead than attend, it would go much more smoothly.”

“I would rather drop dead,” he mutters and shoves a hand through that sun-streaked hair. “It’s not even Amanda. She’s fine. It’s her asshole of a father. And his friend, Mark. He’s competing with me on a property I want.”

“Another property? God, Miles. How could you possibly need more?” I’m thinking of the awful developers buying up our apartment building just to raze it to the ground, and my blood heats.

His face is hard. “You wouldn’t understand,” he bites out, and I rear back.

“Yeah, and why not?”

“You’re not part of this world, Lane. You don’t get it.” His words are harsh and I’m reeling. This is how I felt at nineteen and twenty-four, rubbing elbows with his parents’ friends who would never accept me or Liam. How I felt every time he raised an arrogant brow at my life choices.

“You know, Miles, I guess you’ve made that pretty clear. I’m not good enough for you. I don’t belong. So what the hell am I doing here?”

I turn my back and march into the hotel, blindly, since I have no idea where our rooms are or even where the elevator is. I barely see the gleaming lobby, or the massive flower displays, or the tasteful signs that say “Welcome to the Richardson Davies Wedding.” Miles catches me, his long legs eating up the ground faster than I can walk. He silently hands me a room key and guides me to the elevator. He must have been here before. Probably with a woman. I shove the thought down and follow him.

His face is set, and his eyes are flinty. I avoid his gaze as we lean against opposite sides of the elevator.

He lets me go first out of the elevator, and I hate it. I hate how gentlemanly he is, how courteous, even when he’s being a dick. With any luck, we’ll be placed at opposite ends of the hall. We walk, side-by-side, in silence, until we get to the door. He pushes it open.

“Where’s my room?”

“This is your room.” Shit. Right. We’re sharing. I open my mouth to protest, but I agreed to this. And we can’t sell the dating thing without it.

I precede Miles, and we step into a lavishly decorated suite with an oceanfront balcony. A lavishly decorated suite with only one bed.

I turn to him and cross my arms. “Where’s the other bed? Or did you think we’d share?”

“I told George to book us the largest suite.” His jaw tics. “I’m sure the second room has a bed.” I poke my head into what looks like a living room. There’s a couch. I hope it pulls out because there’s no way in hell I’m sharing a bed with Miles.

“There’s a pull-out couch. That’s good enough.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take it.”

“You’re like eleven feet tall. You won’t fit.”

“Then we can share the bed. It’s fine. I’ll stay to my side.” His face is impassive. The thought of sharing a bed with me doesn’t even get a rise out of him. I hate that I’m alone in this. I can’t even look at the bed without imagining him stretched over me, his hips anchoring me into the soft duvet. And he doesn’t even like me. He’s never approved of me. And I still crave his approval. Just like I did at nineteen. God, grow up, Lane.

“I’m not sharing with you.” I cross my arms. I’d rather sleep on the floor than share with this cold man.

“Disgusted by the thought?” His eyes narrow. “You’re my loving girlfriend, remember?”

“In public.”

He dips his chin. “Don’t let on that you’re sleeping on the couch.” Asshole. Appearances and business matter more to him than anything else.

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