Page 68 of The Fake Dating War

It’s obvious there is pain behind his words, even if his tone is carefully neutral, so I don’t argue.

“Okay. The weather is good today.”

“Nice try.” He shifts to look at me. “Why don’t you tell your relatives who you really are?”

A weight rolls in my belly. “And exactly who am I?”

“I don’t know. Successful. One of the top recruitment agents in our office, beating everyone but me by a huge margin. Your personality isn’t terrible either. Clients obsess over you, you somehow got Moby Dick to sign on, and Leo loves you. Mr.Davies also admires and hugely respects you.” He waves his hand. “I’d go on, but this is making me nauseous. You get the point.”

Absurd glee grows at hearing his words.

I imagine myself telling everyone in the wedding exactly that. Maybe if I wasn’t hiding so many mistakes, I could. But Coleman doesn’t know the reason I work so hard is atonement and fixing what I’ve already messed up. I’m forced to be the person he’s describing because of my past.

He asks again why I’m not sharing my accomplishments. He—with exasperation—brings up the forty-five million client portfolio. Asking why I haven’t told anyone here, from what he can tell.

“That’s not the whole story of me,” I finally say.

“What am I missing? Your commission is going to shatter the company record this year if you win.”

“Yes. But I’ve also had a few financial hiccups.”

“Hiccups? How bad?”

“I—” What am I saying? It’s not like I want to tell anyone, least of all him, the truth! “Nothing major. Let’s move on. We should get some rest.” I turn away from him, giving him my back.

He scoffs. “Like I could sleep beside you.”

“Don’t stress, I forgot to pack my knives,” I mumble. “You’re safe for the moment.”

His answer sounded a lot like,If only that was my problem.

Whatever the case, it’s the last thing I hear. My body is losing the will to stay awake. It’s because this whole morning has exhausted me. I haven’t been so tense and worried about socializing in forever, and last night I barely got any rest. So now, I’m being pulled under by the soft comforter underneath me.

My eyes close.

40

JAKE

A woman presses against me. Her curious touch is enough to make a man beg for more. I’m trying to figure out if I should pull her on top of me, or endure more fluttery touches for longer before I take over.

Her palm explores a path down my abdomen, my muscles tightening wherever she goes. I suck in a sharp breath, rubbing my thigh along the length of her legs. God, she fits against me perfectly.

“Coleman,” her voice moans softly.

Well,alright.

I prefer Jake.

Sirworks fine, too.

My last name isn’t used by anyone other than?—

Fuck, it’s not any woman who has wrapped herself around me. No, I know who it is, and in my conscience, I feelcondemned.Because now, in my very fucking soul, I know that my situation isn’t helped by learning Patel is the one touching me. It’s been made much worse.

My cock goes completely hard.

How did her hand get under my shirt? She’s pulled out the hem from where it was tucked into my pants. Her palm strokes leisurely, as if counting my abs. (There are enough of them, it should take a while). Not that she is patient. She slides her hand almost all the way down, so fast that I have to rush to catch her wrist. She can’t—not there?—

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