Page 47 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

“How are you, Silas?” He doesn’t look away from the medal of honor. “How are the nightmares?”

I mentioned once on a drunken night that some days, I had trouble sleeping because I couldn’t keep the nightmares about Ezra away from me. I regret mentioning it. Not because Harvey would taunt me with it, but because there was nothing he could do. So why did I mention it?

“I sleep like a baby nowadays.” I shrug.

He studies me for a moment before leaning forward. “And how’s the Caldwell deal coming along?”

“Slow.”

“Damn brits.”

“I gotta go to England with Leah, though,” I say too quickly. “For the Caldwell deal. She’s gonna help with the logistics.”

Harvey narrows his eyes. “Huh. And your fiancée? Isn’t that the whole reason for the engagement trick?”

I freeze, heart pounding. He doesn’t know it’s Leah. If he did . . .

“She’ll be meeting us there,” I say, voice steady, but inside I’m screaming. I’m in so deep I can’t even see the way out anymore.

Harvey nods slowly, standing up. “You didn’t publicize her identity, I noticed.”

“She’s very private.” I rub my cheek, feeling stubble. “I think it’s a good thing, too, because I’m private, so the engagement makes sense.”

“Blonde?”

“Brunette.”

“Well, I’ll expect to meet her when you return.” He clasps my shoulder. “Don’t forget to talk to Leah, yeah?”

“Of course.”

I force a smile as he heads for the door, but my mind is racing. This is a disaster waiting to happen.

And I have no idea how I’m going to fix it.

Chapter seventeen

Leah

Of course, the onetime I’m pretending to be engaged, the world suddenly cares.

I watch through the tinted window as Silas’s car pulls up to the private airfield, the usual small crowd of paparazzi already camped out like vultures on the hunt. Their cameras flash, reflecting off the dark tint, and I shift in my seat, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck.

I don't like attention. Especially this kind. They’re not here for Silas—not really. It’s me, the mysterious fiancée of Silas Waverly. The one nobody’s seen.

Beside me, Silas glances at the commotion, his eyes narrowing for a brief second before his features tighten. "They must be here for you. Not every day, the press gets wind of my supposed bride-to-be."

"Supposed?" I arch an eyebrow, knowing full well what this fake engagement means. I pull my sunglasses down a bit, catching his sharp blue eyes. “How the hell did they even know you were going to London?”

“They have their ways.”

“God, I hate them.” I glance out the window. “I hate them so damn much.”

He chuckles softly, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t worry. They have no idea who you are, especially with that,” he gestures to my long coat, oversized sunglasses, and scarf, “disguise you’ve got going on.”

I roll my eyes but keep quiet.

The press doesn’t need to know who I am. Not yet, at least. That would open a whole can of worms I’m not ready for. Or maybe I’ll never be ready for it.

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