Page 24 of Wildest Dreams

“Yeah, but you aren’t. So I figured I’ll bring you along to make me look good. You’ll need to work hard at appearing unappalled by me. Friend me on social media. Like my shit. Post pictures of me. Maybe gush a little at my thirst traps.”

“You post thirst traps?” I scrunched my nose.

“What were you expecting?” He motioned toward his perfect body. “In-depth articles about post-Bronze Age colonialization in Greece?”

“And this needs to happen today?” Not that my schedule was packed with anything other than watching Grey’s Anatomy and pretending to look for a job.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “And make it convincing.”

I rolled my eyes. “I could strangle someone right now.”

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger.”

“Well, don’t stand so fucking close, then.”

His laugh, casual and careless, crawled beneath my skin. My stomach bottomed out. This must be how eagles felt when they dove sharply from the sky to snatch their prey. Kieran was right: on paper, he was probably more handsome than Rhyland. Still, I’d always had this irrational, unabashed attraction to theforbidden. To my brother’s best friend. Sylvia Plath had it right. We do desire the things that end up destroying us.

“Get ready to be smothered with eggplant and droplet emojis.” I snatched my coffee cup from the kitchen island, placing it in the sink. “I’ll play along, but I’ll be the most unhinged teammate you’ve ever had.”

“Remember, your paycheck depends on it,” he hedged me. “I’m the kind of man who’s fun to fuck and dangerous to fuck over. Remember that.”

“I agreed to this deal on the basis it was carte blanche. I ain’t changing my colors for you.”

“It’s just social media. Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” I countered, yelling.

He shook his head, amused. “You need to touch more grass.”

“And you need to stop smoking it.”

“I actually stopped three months ago, back when I retired,” he said brightly.

I wondered if the two were connected. If he used pot to numb whatever he felt about selling his time and his charm and his body to complete strangers. Then I pushed the thought to the periphery of my mind, reminding myself I wasn’t supposed to care, especially when he definitely didn’t.

“You need to start looking the part of an engaged woman.” Rhyland continued with his checklist.

“Oh?” I waltzed over to the wine room—because I had a wine room now, see—taking out a random merlot and pouring myself a glass without offering him any. It was five o’clock somewhere. Maybe even in New York. I hadn’t checked, since I was unemployed and living with a toddler. “What does an engaged woman look like? Should I start wearing modest dresses and a fancy hat and only touch people when I wear my velvet gloves? Be your little trophy wife?”

“You’re not a trophy wife, sweetheart. More like a punishment fiancée.” He smirked.

“I promise I’ll live up to the title.”

“Just a heads-up—this is not the best way to go about it if you want to ride my dick.”

“I said sex was on the table. I didn’t say I’d make any special effort to have it,” I clarified.

Rhyland paused, his eyes zeroing in on something behind me. I whipped my head around to find the oval dining table. Was he imagining… Of course he was. The horndog.

“My eyes are up here.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

“Yes, I know.” He rolled his tongue over his upper teeth. “They’ve been fucking me with greedy looks since I walked in here.”

Carnage. There was going to be carnage if he didn’t walk out of here in the next two minutes.

“Thanks for the task, the car, and the nausea-inducing conversation. Anything else keeping you here?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He reached for the third time into the briefcase, yanking out a small box and flinging it into my hands. “Open it.”

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