Page 8 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

“I have to tell the driver,” I point out.

“Right. Well…I can promise I’m not a creepy stalker. Plus, you have a dog.”

“He’s not that kind of dog.”

“He could…dog fart me to death.”

I nod. “He could do that.” Did he really just say dog fart me to death? I can feel myself starting to smile even though this night has not been exactly what I expected so far. Really, what’s the harm in letting a nice guy who also just happens to be super freaking handsome as a bonus ride along with me in the cab? It would be safer. And yeah, okay, I don’t think he’ll stalk me. Sometimes, people are just really nice. He didn’t have to wait for me to make sure I was okay. He didn’t have to offer to see me home. Unless he actually is a stalker.

In reality, I knew I wouldn’t be taking anyone home tonight. That wasn’t my plan at all. But maybe the universe has other ideas.

Mr. Tall, Dark, Ride-In-Your-Cab-With-You, I’m-Not-A-Stalker-I-Promise stands up and holds his hand out. “Sterling,” he says, his voice just a shade deeper, like it’s an admission he doesn’t usually make, which doesn’t make any sense because it’s his name. It’s not some dark secret.

I don’t shake his hand. Instead, I nod, grab a glass of water from the table, and slide it into his waiting palm without touching his fingers. For some reason, I think touching his skin would be dangerous. “Weland,” I say, and not as carefully or as reluctantly as I should either.

It’s just my name. I’ve only given him my name and agreed to share a cab for safety’s sake, but for some reason, I feel like I’m in all sorts of deep trouble that I never truly expected to find myself in.

Chapter four

Sterling

Iused my real name. I gave it away like it was nothing. I don’t know why I did that. Because I don’t do things like that. Ever. Fake names work just as well. Weland wouldn’t have known the difference. The night is almost over, and she’s almost home safe. But now she knows who I am.

She knows withoutreallyknowing who I am because Sterling means nothing to her.

The cab ride is pretty quiet. I ruminate on why I said Sterling, and she ruminates on, well…I’m not quite sure. But I do know that I want to find her asshole friends and do to them what my parents always threatened to do to me when I misbehaved as a kid—hang them upside down and whip them. Which, back in the day, was nothing to get sued over, but now? It’s clear I can’t do that. But I can sit here and fume about them being less than considerate. Didn’t Weland say it was herbestfriend getting married? My god, with friends like that, sign me up for enemies.

I know exactly what kind of condo Weland has, and I know her address already. Right now, I feel like an ass for pretending I don’t. The longer this goes on, the worse I feel about lying to her. But it’s only a few more minutes. I’ll make sure she’s safe, and then I can take off back to Florida and, from there, move on to London for business next week. I can finally stop thinking about her.

Because I’ll be able to stop thinking about her.

I’ll be able to focus and forget all about the way her huge blue eyes filled with tears she bravely blinked back when she found out she’d been left behind. And when her eyes glowed with pride and love already when she talked about her farty dog. I’ll be able to forget all about how she’s clearly one of those people who wears her heart where it counts and gives it to the whole world, even though she knows it’s going to get beat up, disappointed, and hurt. I already know that too. I know what she’s giving up for this. I also know she is good straight down to that heart-of-gold soul that so few people have.

I pay the cab driver, even though Weland fights me on it. I don’t let her win. I give the guy an extra forty bucks, and she raises a brow.

“Don’t you usually pay after the ride?”

Right. Yes, I guess a person does generally do that. I still have to go back to the club and get my car.

There’s a beat of silence in the backseat of the cab. She looks at me, and I look at her. There isn’t any expectation. Not on my part. Not on hers. It’s not this heavy, weighted silence. That’s why what she says next is so weird.

“Do you…uh…want to see my place?”

“See it?”

“Inside,” she replies.

“Oh.”Fuck.I need to say no. I need to politely decline and tell her to have a good night. I need to get back in my rental car, getback on a plane, and get far away from here now that I know my contract is in no danger of being broken and my company is safe. “Sure.”

Her eyes widen. “Sure?”

No,notsure. The opposite. I mean the opposite. I need to tell the cab driver to wait for me while I walk her to her door and come back and… “If you’re sure.”

“I think I’m sure. For like tea. And talk about dogs. And a change of clothes that don’t smell like old milk and nasty booze.”

I think she smells fine, still like the sea breeze. And I like that her hair is just a little bit frizzy at the roots, where it got a good soaking. I hate that it happened, but it didn’t change the fact that this woman is gorgeous and adorable.

My heart does a strange blip that feels like my pulse is going all wrong. Probably because it is. I swear thud-a-bump shouldn’t be a thing. It should be ba-bump. Ba-bump. But it’s not. I can hear my heartbeat racing in my ears, and it sounds an awful lot like bad decision making.

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