Page 20 of Fake

I furrow my brow, expecting a trap. “But…” I prompt as I lean forward and cock my head.

“But what? I like it. Approval granted.” Nathan waves a hand through the air. “Start shopping or designing or whatever it is you do at this point.”

“I honestly didn’t expect you to make things this easy,” I say, reaching for my water. “You seem more…”

Cranky. Controlling. Egotistical.

I take a drink before I stick another foot into my mouth.

Nathan lifts a brow and gestures for me to continue. “I seem…”

Like the type of guy who wouldn’t like hearing what I truly think of you.

Nope, shouldn’t say that either.

Dear God. A little help, here? Yours, Mina Blake.

“Let’s say I don’t make a habit of calling my clients The Prince of Darkness.”

The last bit of warmth in Nathan’s smile fades. I take it back. I definitely prefer the summer forest vibe to thorns and brambles. The way he’s glaring at me makes me want to fidget—a nervous habit I can’t quite crack. His scrutiny makes me feel electrified. Like I’m standing in line for an amusement park ride I’m not brave enough to try.

Like I’m falling, or flying, or…

“Maybe you don’t see me as clearly as I thought,” Nathan growls, jerking me away from wherever the hell those thoughts were heading. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Ms. Blake.”

I almost tell him that isn’t true. I happen to know a lot about him, thanks to Fallon’s constant updates on his life. But our food arrives, and the moment passes. Silence sits strangely between us as we fiddle with napkins, seasoning, and silverware. Sharing a meal implies a deeper connection than we have and eating in front of a client I can’t stand just feels weird. Especially when he’s being oddly magnanimous today. Something tells me there’s more to this meeting than mood boards and giant mansions, but I couldn’t guess what it is. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it’s just hovering a few feet off the ground.

I meet Nathan’s eyes and glance away. Dig my fork through my salad, then look up only to glance away again when I discover he’s staring. Tuck my hair behind my ear, untuck it, then tuck it again before stabbing aimlessly at a bite of chicken. This is almost as uncomfortable as our first meeting and that’s saying a lot. I can’t believe this is Mason Channing’s cousin.

Though, Mason did say Nathan is going through a rough patch. And Fallon swears he used to be amazing. Maybe I should cut the man some slack.

Smiling awkwardly, I put my fork down and fold my hands in my lap. “I assume you have something more you’d like to discuss, since we’re here, stuck eating together instead of at my office where you could make a hasty exit.”

Nathan stares for a long moment, then scrubs a hand over his mouth and shrugs. “Our meeting overlapped my lunch. This kills two birds with one stone.”

Nope. Not buying that.

There’s an ulterior motive here and he’s stalling. I’m sure of it. Maybe a little self-deprecating humor will lighten the mood enough to bring it out.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to be seen with someone who isn’t dazzling and spectacular,” I quip, referencing Fallon’s favorite way to describe Nathan’s type. “From what I’ve heard, ‘hot mess’ isn’t exactly the company you keep.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. There’s a flash of fire in his eyes. Did I hit another nerve? Talking to this guy is like tiptoeing through a minefield covered in Lego blocks…barefoot. And naked.

An image of a naked Nathan West flashes through my mind, all hard lines and taut muscles, glaring as he strides closer. My nipples pebble and I cross my arms over my chest.

Traitors.

Nathan leans on the table, those mercurial eyes on mine. His hair falls into his face, and he flips it away, one finger lazily brushing through the condensation on his glass. For a moment, I imagine that finger brushing my cheek.

I break eye contact to regain my sanity.

Nathan takes a long drink before, “Un-spectacular company is exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Umm…thanks?” I swipe up my fork and hunt down a bite. Apparently, his ulterior motive is to kill any hope I have that this project will go smoothly.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, brushing away my frustration like a bit of dust in the air.

I shove food into my mouth and chew ferociously to keep myself from another snarky response.

---