Page 57 of Down & Dirty

Considering the way the night had imploded, unlocking a new facet to Cory Ellis—and my growing attraction to him—would have seemed far from likely. But here we were, with my son in his arms as I unlocked my suite door. The same suite I’d never even let Cory see until now, out of some sort of shame or feeling of unworthiness.

But the man had been everything I could have asked for tonight. Supportive, caring, thoughtful. Even self-sacrificing. I knew he had plans for us after that movie, and he’d ditched every one of them without a second’s hesitation. Whatever this issue was I had with letting him see how I lived, it was stupid and I let it go the instant he carried my son from that hospital room.

“Second door on the left,” I whispered, when he paused in the living room.

I kicked off my heels and tossed my bag on the kitchen table. The sparkly sequin clutch looked so out of place on the chipped Formica table, but the sight of it didn’t sting as much. Nothing like a trip to the ER to give you a renewed sense of perspective.

When I got to Micah’s room in time to see Cory on his knees, gently pulling the quilt over my son, I froze. The scene was so damn far from anything I’d ever imagined. His big hands were movingso intently, tucking the blanket in around his legs and adjusting it under his chin. He hadn’t heard me stop in the doorway, and before he rose, he brushed a curl from my son’s forehead with a sigh.

I managed to school the awe from my expression by the time he turned around to find me watching him. He startled, but then dropped his eyes to the ground with a bashful grin as he joined me in the hallway. He knew I’d seen him.

Leaving Micah’s door open a few inches, I turned to him. “I’m going to change. Give me one minute.” I slipped his suit jacket from my shoulders and held it out to him. He took it reluctantly, his expression falling a little. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen. I might have a couple of beers in the fridge.”

Even though I didn’t feel as anxious about Cory being in my home, I still found myself rushing to throw on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. I wasn’t sure if Cory was the type to snoop. But I got my answer when I found him sitting in a kitchen chair, a pair of beers open on the table in front of him, and his eyes locked on the bottle he was spinning in his hands.

“Say yes,” he said, his voice rough and low, as he looked up at me.

There was no confusion about what he meant. My shoulders dropped at the mention of it, though. I was sort of hoping the whole, child-in-the-hospital bit might have put him off this for at least the night.Keep dreaming, Sky.

“Cory, that is a very sweet offer. Honestly, two months ago I’d have thought you were joking,” he went to interrupt me, but I held up my hand to stop him. “But I know better now. I knowyoubetter now. And I know you mean well. But I don’t need you to do that. Things are okay. Getting paid by you for all this has already helped. You don’t need to do any more.”

He shook his head, and I could see the defiance build in him like a fire catching wind. “Just think about it. Getting hitched would solve a lot of problems. And nothing would really need to change.”

At that, I laughed. Even a fake marriage would require some adjustments to our arrangement. Living in different apartments, for one thing, would cause a few raised eyebrows, even in California, land of unconventional coupling.

I took a long pull from my beer, leaning my hip into the back of the couch. The one that was practically in the kitchen, it was so oversized for this small place. The whole premise was so far-fetched. Who gets married like this? For purely superficial, financial reasons? I was far from a romantic, or at least far from admitting just how romantic I was, but the whole arrangement felt a little sad to me.

“I just can’t imagine how that would be any better than what we have already. We can keep building the story with the press...” I faded out, remembering his plan for after the party. We’d missed out on the chance to kiss on camera. And that was a loss...strategically speaking, of course.

His brow bent into a harsh scowl. “It’s not just about that.”

“Then what? It’s about saving me?”

“Not saving you. You don’t need saving, Sky. I know that.” His eyes were locked on mine, and even in the shitty lighting of my apartment I could see the flecks of green and gold dancing in the hazel of his irises. “I know that,” he repeated, his voice dropping low.

The emotion in his eyes was too much, especially for a night that had already been emotional enough. Even if Cory wasn’t trying to play hero with my life, getting legally tied to the man in a marriage was a much bigger commitment than the six-month contract I’d signed. It hadn’t been without reservations that I’d agreed to that one, I sure as hell wasn’t going to agree to this madness the same night he offered it.

“I’ll think about it,” I stalled, looking at the shitty painting over his head as I drained the rest of my beer. I could feel his eyes on me, almost hear the argument on his lips. But thankfully, he gave it a rest.

“Okay.” He finished his beer, and got up to wash out the bottle. It was a small touch, but something about it lodged itself in the corner of my mind. The man was just so different from how I expected him to be.

“Thank you for . . . everything,” I said, walking him to the door.

He paused on the threshold, his expression thoughtful. “Don’t mention it.” He skimmed his hand lightly down my arm. Sparks of what I’d felt in the car when we’d kissed zinged through me, and a tiny part of me was hoping he was about to do it again. But then he leaned toward me, slowly and with a lopsided grin, and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“Goodnight Skylar.”

I exhaled in time to whisper, “Goodnight.”

And then he was gone.

Considering I’d only had one beer the night before, the headache I woke up with was truly unfair. But emotional hangovers are like that, and all the stress from the last twenty-four hours was pounding through my skull when my phone started to vibrate. I reached for it with a groan, glancing quickly down the hall to see Micah’s door still in the almost-closed position I’d put it in last night. My boy was a good sleeper.

The circus music kicked off again and I almost hit decline, but that only felt like delaying the inevitable, so I answered.

“Tommy.” It was seven-something in the morning, the man better not have expected a warmer greeting than that at this hour.

“What the hell is going on?”

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