Page 87 of Win Big

“Hi. Good job up there.”

“Thanks.” We’re standing close together; closer than any others are. He bends his head. “I’ll come by your office in a bit, okay?”

“Sure.”

As I walk back to my office, I check my phone for messages or emails. Another email from that watchdog dude, telling me that they’ve completed their work and will be publishing their findings in a month.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous about this. Okay, I do know. I’m afraid they’ve found something heinously bad that I’ve done and will tell the whole world, and everyone will know I’m a complete fraud and have no idea what I’m doing.

Yes, yes, this is crazy, but that’s how I think. Imposter syndrome is real.

I can’t do anything about it, though, other than worry, which sometimes is an actual strategy I use to keep something bad from happening. I know that’s a waste of energy, though. So I distract myself with other work, reviewing the proposals that my assistant, Beth, has deemed worthy of my attention, out of the thousands we receive.

A while later, I look up at Wyatt’s voice saying, “Hey, princess.”

I smile as he saunters in, all big and beautiful, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Hey.” I push back from my desk and rise. “Did you write that little speech yourself?”

I meet him in front of my desk, and he sets his hands on my waist, frowning. “Why would you ask that?”

I suck briefly on my bottom lip. “Because it was good?”

“You think I can’t write a good speech myself?”

“That’s not what I meant.” I give his chest a little shove. “I was just asking!”

“Okay, okay. Yes, I did write it myself. I mean, I didn’t actually write it all down, I just thought about what I wanted to say.”

“Well, you did great.”

“Whew. So... where should we go for dinner tonight?”

“Uh . . . tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“I, uh, thought... well, I think we’ve done enough fake dating for the PR thing.”

“Fake dating?” His forehead creases. “You thought this was fake?”

I stare at him. “We both knew it was fake.”

“Was that fake fucking, too?” His voice is edged with annoyance.

I close my eyes. “No.”

“Everly. Look at me.”

I lift my eyes to his.

“I don’t care who sees us or what they say about us. I want to have dinner with you tonight.”

“For real?”

“Fuck, yeah. Look, maybe we had to go out on those dates, but I wasn’t faking the fun I have with you.” He pauses. “Were you?”

I slowly shake my head. I can’t lie. “No. I was having real fun.”

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