Page 40 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

Which just happens to have a dog standing on top of it.

Eating my meatballs.

“Beans!” I clap my hands together, and he scurries down, but not before he laps up all the meatballs off the pile of my spaghetti, spraying sauce all over the place. Then, he goes running, munching all the way.

Honestly, it’s too cute to be mad. I can always make more meatballs. And more spaghetti.

But this…Sterling…he’s already breaking away, rubbing at the back of his neck and putting distance between us. That’s not just something we can resume. What happened was natural and hot, and I don’t feel like we can just pick up where we left off a second ago.

“Time for a walk?” he calls out to Beans.

Beans’ stumpy tail wags hard, and he licks his lips furiously.

Later, after walking the dog and having a second round of spaghetti and meatballs made fresh for dinner, and after a brief discussion about all the lawyers Sterling called and talked to today and how he’s moving forward with my family’s plan to pull the arsehole rug out from under his arsehole cousins and keep his company safe, we both fall into bed together.

Though not the way we did last night.

This is the kind of falling that involves separate sides and no touching. We’re as awkward as if we were strangers forced to be sharing a bed.

I turn over onto my side to face the wall, and Sterling does the same. We’re back to back, not just like strangers, but like two people who don’t even like each other. I know we’re just awkward. We’re shy, and he’s tired. He hasn’t slept well. He’s stressed. I should probably just let him sleep if he can find it.

Surprisingly, I feel the twisty, dizzy, falling sensation that comes right before the really heavy sleep feeling overtakes me. The last thought I remember having is that the wholeso close but so far awaything actually makes a lot of sense. Sterling is so close to me in this bed, but he’s never felt further away.

Chapter twenty

Sterling

Smitty does know no one should call a person before six in the morning, but he does it this morning because he has news. Impossibly good news.

The plan that Weland’s family put forward yesterday, and I scrambled and made mad amounts of phone calls to get everyone working on? It’s not just going to be a thing. Itisa thing. In one day, Smitty has worked a miracle. Well, he and a giant team behind him, along with everyone who works for me. The company is safe, and it’s always going to be safe. Yesterday, a new company was created. The team back in Nashville worked into the late hours of the night, changing contracts, and every single artist signed. Smitty’s people made a miracle happen. There’s nothing that can’t work out if you have enough money. I’ve always had a few shell corps sitting around. Smitty just took one and turned it into a bigger one. There were some holdings under each, but this one is going to be airtight.

The people who work for me are now safe.

Every artist making music under our label is now safe.

My company is safe.

Everything I have built and worked so hard for is protected.

Overnight, all those shares my aunt had in her will became valueless.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of this. I don’t know why no one thought of this in the past four years. Granted, not many people knew about it, but I’m shocked Smitty didn’t come up with the idea. He literally said yesterday, and I quote, “Well, fuck me with a dilly of a pickle and a pine tree. Why didn’t I come up with that myself four years ago?

The tough part is over, but now the even tougher part begins. How do I tell Weland?

I guess the answer to that is I don’t. I roll over in bed after I set my phone on the nightstand and find her propped up on her elbow, watching me. She looks mussed and sunny and highly kissable. She’s clearly a morning person.

“Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” Even her voice is pure, golden sunshine.

It makes my chest ache. I need to get it together here. I nod and throw back the blankets. I’m only wearing my boxers, and I rush to get my clothes on. She slips a robe over her super cute pajamas. The top has a monster on the front, and the bottoms are fries boxes with smiling faces.

“Sterling?” She makes me freeze as I’m about to throw my T-shirt on. I slowly look up and meet her eyes. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

I owe it to her to tell her the truth. “What your parents said makes a lot of sense. I know they only helped me because they wanted you free of me,” I say softly.

“That’s not true. They might not like you all that much, but they don’t despise you. Give them time. They’ll come around.”

“They were right, though.” I stride over, take her hand, and sit her down on the end of the bed with me. Her eyes are so big and luminous. They look like they’re going to fill up with tears, but I hope they don’t. Because that would gut me.

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