Page 80 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"You," I gasp. It's the attractive brunette from the bathroom—the one who was doing her makeup while I fixed my dress.
"What are you doing in my fiancé's office?" I blurt, glancing between them.
My eyes flick to Grayson, who looks surprised and… amused? Does he think this is funny?
"I guess I should introduce you," he says. "Jenna, this is my ex-fiancée, Marina. Marina, this is my beautiful and apparently extremely jealous current fiancée, Jenna."
"I'm not jealous," I snap, even though every muscle in my body wants to leap across the room and rip this woman's perfect hair right out of her head.
I mean, what are the fucking odds I'd run into her in the bathroom?
Of course, I hadn't even known she was at that event. Probably for the best, given how I feel right now—now that I do know.
Did she know who I was back then? Of course she did. She'd brought up Grayson and told me to be careful, for whatever fucking reason. Like I'd ever take advice from her.
The real question is—why didn't she tell me who she was?
Is there something going on here that I'm not aware of? Something Grayson has "omitted" to mention?
"It's lovely seeing you again," she purrs, her voice low and velvety, her smile soft and guileless. I don't buy the act for a second.
"I wish I could say the same," I shoot back. I glance between them. "Can you excuse me and my fiancé, please? We need to have a… conversation. Now."
"Oh, sure." She seems a little taken aback by my open hostility—probably because she's used to the fakery of high society, or because she expected me to pretend I wasn't bothered. Mostly, though, she looks amused.
She turns to Grayson. "I'm glad we had this little chat, Grayson dear. I'll leave you two lovebirds now to have your… conversation. We'll talk later, Grayson."
"Hmm," he murmurs, noncommittal. But he's not even looking at her—his eyes are locked on me, heat radiating from his gaze, that damn smirk curling his lips.
She brushes past me on her way out, fixing me with a superior little smile. It takes every ounce of restraint not to smack that smug expression off her face. Somehow, I manage to hold back.
As the door closes behind her, I take a sharp breath and turn on Grayson, my eyes blazing. "What the hell, Grayson? You say we have to sell this relationship, and then I catch you alone with your fucking ex? Are you kidding me?"
"Catch me doing what exactly?" He rises and strolls toward me, still wearing that infuriating smirk.
"Catch you talking—about God only knows what!"
"You could ask, you know," he whispers, wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me closer. "If you want to know what we were talking about, just ask."
"I don't care. Let go of me."
"No. You're cute when you're jealous."
"I am not jealous," I bite out.
"You are, and you wore those shoes for me. They're hot as hell. You're hot as hell."
"I didn't… Grayson, stop."
"Oh yeah?" He leans in, his lips brushing my neck, and the heat inside me shifts—anger melting into something else entirely. "You sure about that?"
"Let me go." I don't want to be turned on right now. Not when I'm this mad.
"No," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against my pulse. His eyes meet mine, dark and steady. "I don't want to."
I hold his gaze, torn between fury and desire, my heart racing. I don't know what to do with everything I'm feeling.
While I stand there, frozen, he leans in and kisses me—soft at first, then deep.
