Page 95 of Cakes for the Grump
It will have to do since Luke is downstairs waiting by the car. Taking one final look at my reflection, I think again it will have to do since the man has given me no indication of where we are going, despite me asking him more than a few times.
His answer:
LUKE
Surprises are good for you.
No. What surprises get me is pairing a fit and flared yellow sundress with functional white sneakers and thick socks. No way am I wearing heels if I don’t know how much walking tonight will entail. Anything over half an hour and my flat-footed feet complain, so this is what he gets. At least my cleavage is plumped by a great-fitting bra.
Downstairs, Luke is reclined against the door of a wildly expensive luxury car, texting on his phone. I’m reminded of how busy everything must be for him so close to the conference. To take a few hours out to practice must mean selling our relationship to Intel is an imperative step in his merger plans. I’ll have to treat it seriously, too. Full commitment ahead.
When he sees me approaching, Luke Abbot pockets his phone. He is dressed in a black shirt open at the collar, and perfectly fitted trousers that are cinched with a leather belt. Rich, gorgeous, a touch dangerous-looking. It’s true commitment to my craft that my heart thunders in reaction as his fake fiancée. If becoming a chef starts wearing down on me, perhaps a foray into acting would not be remiss.
He holds the passenger door open for me. “Fiancée.”
I tip my head at him. “Fiancé.”
“You are beautiful, Rita.”
“Oh. Ah, thank you. You too.”
“Shall we commence this date?”
“Let’s.”
When Luke puts the top down of the car so we can soak in the sun, I am thrilled. My hand sticks out of the window, playing with the wind. Having never owned a car, it strikes me how lovely it is to have the freedom to drive anywhere you want. We encounter many roundabouts he lazily maneuvers, caught in a steady amount of traffic amongst taxi cabs, motorcycles and mopeds. A few people gasp when they catch sight of our car. It must be an especially rare brand, not that I would know.
I wave at a couple. They wave back.
“You haven’t changed your mind about this? Helping me? Even after last night?” asks Luke when we stop at an intersection, watching me from the corner of his eye.
“I haven’t. You left early in the morning. Couldn’t sleep?”
“I could not. It was hard.”
It. Not him. There is no reason to take his words literally, even if goosebumps break out over my arms. Uselessly, I try rubbing them away.
When we are back on the highway, Luke clicks a button and the roof of the car closes. He thinks I’m cold. I should protest, but then I’ll have to explain the reasoning behind the goosebumps.
“You still haven’t told me where we are going,” I complain.
“Patience, darling.”
Woozy warmth arrows through me. “Darling?”
His hands tighten on the wheel. “I figured if we were together, I would call you that. Is that okay?”
“Only if I can choose a name for you. How about…” I change my tone, make it higher. “…my precious?”
A laugh bursts out of him. “Nothing kills a mood like a Gollum voice.”
“Don’t kink-shame me.”
“Oh, are we discussing bedroom preferences? I didn’t realize we’d gotten comfortable enough to do that.”
“A fake fiancée should know if their significant other is into sucking toes. That information might be instrumental in making sure your deal goes through at the conference.”
“For the record, no. But if you want me to suck yours, I am available.”
