Page 9 of Capitally Engaged

I opened the back door, slid into the car, and shut the door behind me. What Jax meant by “working on physical touch” clicked as the car pulled away from the curb. I wheeled my head around in time to see Jax set off in the opposite direction. No cars stopped to pick her up. I settled into the seat as the driver merged into traffic, running my hand through my hair. This morning, my most intimate relationship was with my doorman. Now, I had an impending roommate, and more alarmingly, a fake fiancée, plus a potential solution to one of my future work-related ulcers, all in one Jax-shaped package. Who exactly was this brunette sorceress who had dropped into my life?

Chapter

Five

Jax

It turned out Preston’s apartment building was only a few blocks away from my sublet in Capitol Hill. I could tell the short distance confused my rideshare driver, but he gamely loaded up my few boxes and bags anyway, chattering away over the brief route. My stomach was in knots, so I tuned him out. I had concocted some outlandish plans to keep a roof over my head the past few years, but this one may take the prize for most rash. I hadn’t even asked if I’d have my own bathroom at Preston’s place, something typically at the top of my list of questions. After arriving, I stood on the curb, watching the driver unload my earthly possessions on the curb. I started to wonder exactly how I would get it all inside without being in anyone’s way when?—

“This is everything?”

I turned around to find Preston standing on the sidewalk with the handle of the luggage cart, like you would find at a hotel, in his hand. The afternoon sun revealed natural highlights in his chestnut brown strands. His frame was naturally lean, but when he leaned down to grab a box and place it on the cart, his shirt stretched tight, revealing toned muscles underneath.

“You’re here,” I said dumbly, as Preston moved another box onto the cart.

“Well, of course,” he said with a smile in the direction of the street as my driver shut the backdoor of his SUV with a thunk. “It’s not every day my fiancée moves in.” He directed his attention to the driver behind me. “Thanks for delivering her and her stuff in one piece.”

The driver nodded and waved, heading off to pick up his next passenger. I looked back at Preston, dumbstruck by his familiar and outward display of ourfakerelationship. I half expected him to call the whole thing off as I finished packing up my boxes this morning. His agreement felt reluctant at best last night. But every time guilt started to creep in, I thought about my dwindling bank account and resolved to make the best of it.

“Just practicing,” he said with a smile, loading the last of the boxes and bags onto the cart. “But seriously, is this it? Or will we need to make another trip later?”

I snapped out of it. It was good Preston wasn’t treating me like a coiled snake ready to strike, if we were ever going to pull this facade off.

“Nope, this is everything. I haven’t had a permanent address in over five years. The amount actually gets smaller and smaller with each move. Hope Lyric enjoys the crust of bread I shoved under her bed as I was leaving this morning.” For being out of the country, Lyric had managed to get on my bad side, micromanaging my treatment of her room through Estonia. Catty was not always my first nature, but fake, judgy mean girls brought out the worst in me. It might be nice having a male roommate for a while.

Preston pushed the cart toward the door of his apartment building, waving a fob while pressing a button, so the doors swung open automatically.

“I have keys and a fob for you upstairs,” Preston said as we moved through the lobby. He waved at the concierge behind the desk, heading toward the elevator and pushing the button to call the car. “I convinced them to give me a second fob for three months without adding you to the lease. We never talked about how long...”

“Three months seems like a good start. I don’t know what disgusting habits you engage in within the privacy of your own home yet. We may have to break up because of them.”

The doors to the elevators slid open and Preston wheeled the cart in, leaving a small space for me to squeeze between the side of the car and the cart. The age of the building meant the elevators were smaller than modern-day sizes, and I was forced right into Preston’s space.

Preston’s eyes met mine, his eyes darkening as they held my gaze. “Six,” he said in a husky tone.

“I’m sorry?” I said, wondering if he meant to counter for a six-month agreement for our fake engagement. I used a trial-size bottle of a designer shampoo I swiped from Estonia’s pile of mail in the living room last night, maybe the scent held more power in the wooing department than I expected.

Preston cleared his throat. “We’re headed to floor six. Can you hit the button?” He gestured to the button panel behind me with his chin.

Of course, get in elevator, hit floor number,thenelevator moves. Maybe the shampoo scent was having negative effects on me, instead of positive effects on anyone around me. I whirled around, smacking my elbow off the wall and finally managed to hit the button for floor six. The old elevator whirred to life, slowly lifting us into the air. The air around me thrummed with Preston’s proximity to my back. I was aware of the heat wafting off his body reaching my senses. I shivered, turning the motion into a larger body movement by adjusting the laptop bag slungover my body. Hopefully Preston bought it. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened on floor six. I exited, grateful to put some space between us.

We walked a short way down the hall and Preston unlocked the door to apartment 624. Pushing open the door, he gestured for me to enter, and I did, swiveling my head from left to right to take in my new surroundings. On the left, I found a bed tucked into the corner, an open backed shelving unit separating the bed from the couch. I continued my perusal, seeing a single doorway off to the right.

“Want to keep going so I can get this cart in behind you?” Preston asked. He and all my belongings were still half in the hallway. Taking a few more steps into the apartment, I moved toward the edge of the wall next to the entrance. I curled my head around the corner and found a small kitchen located on the other side.

“Where’s the rest of it?” I asked slowly, my brain not wanting to transmit the obvious answer.

“The rest of what? Your stuff’s all right here?” He gestured to the cart.

“That door way leads to...” I pointed at the door I had spotted on my way in.

“That’s the bathroom. There’s a closet back by the front door.”

“So, you live in a studio,” I said, sitting down on a couch that definitely looked more comfortable than it was.

“Yup,” Preston said, tucking his hands into his jean front pockets and tilting his chin up. “That a problem?”

“I just never expected . . .”

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