Page 62 of Charming Deception

Jameson

She said no.

And I’m still reeling from it.

Late into the night, I’m awake when I should be sleeping, reading more of Megan’s book.

And thinking about her.

I thought about her, and about our conversation in the restaurant, while I sat in the limo, alone, outside the nightclub she met her friends at. Waiting for updates from Rurik, one of my bodyguards, who drove her there, then followed her inside.

I didn’t bother going into the club. No-sex challenge and all. Last thing I needed was to spend my night watching Megan Hudson dance in her shimmery little top and velvet leggings after she told me no.

I thought about how she told me no all the way home, after Locke and I tailed her back to her friend’s apartment and made sure she was all tucked in for the night.

Not the most exciting Friday night I’ve ever spent. But at least I’ve managed to read a bit more of Megan’s book. The truth is I’ve been sneaking in pages all damn day. It’s becoming a problem.

Especially if this story is turning out to be the romance I suspect it is.

So far, it’s definitely a survival story, featuring several near brushes with death and a lot of bickering between the two main characters. The scenes switch back and forth between Wolf’s point of view and Rowan’s, and I’m still reserving judgment on which one I’m going to sympathize with more.

Wolf lost his little brother, sure.

But he’s still being a dick to Rowan, who’s basically on a death march to sell herself off to some stranger who might turn out to be a fucking psychopath for all we know.

Only Megan knows for sure.

Even though it’s subtle, I’m pretty sure Rowan is starting to like Wolf, though. She’s been calling him savage the whole time, and when she finally asks him his name, several chapters in, he gives her such shit about her manners, I somehow want to high-five him.

I pick up my phone and type.

Me: You know what, I changed my mind. Wolf is charming.

Moments later, as I’m reading, my phone chimes in the dark. It’s the middle of the night. Why is she still up?

Did I wake her?

Megan: You’re reading my book again??

Me: I never stopped.

She texts me five “mind blown” emojis in a row.

It’s not a yes, though.

I bury the brief thrill of victory that courses through my veins like a drug and resist the urge to text her back. You haven’t won her over yet. Relax.

In truth, Megan’s mind is becoming a trickier web to unweave the more I read.

She’s written two characters into a pretty dangerous scenario where, according to her, they’re going to fall in love, she’s three books in, and she doesn’t even know if they’re going to get to a happily ever after.

In real life, she stayed with a guy for a decade, in hopes of that happy ending, probably, even when it didn’t get there.

Yet she said no to my proposal, when I really wasn’t asking much of her in return for a hell of a lot of security. Because, presumably, she’d rather be in a real relationship or no relationship at all than a fake one.

Have I ever met a woman who’d say no to the offer I made to her tonight, fake or real?

Plenty of women from my past would balk at the idea of being hired to be my gardener, sure. I can’t see a one of them doing it. But being my fiancée, especially with so few strings attached? I can think of more than a few women who would jump at that chance.

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