Page 25 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
Still, the relationship already sells itself. Somehow, I seem to have pulled it off by accident. Steph totally believes we're dating. If I told her it was real, she'd probably buy it.
Thanks to that impromptu Q&A session, she also sees Jenna as someone who can hold her own—and that's high praise coming from Steph.
There's only one problem: I'm genuinely attracted to her. Strongly. How much of an issue will that be? Or am I grown-up enough to push it aside and deal with it?
"Hello?" Jenna snaps her fingers at me. "I'm asking a question. Are you even listening?"
My attraction to her will definitely complicate things, but maybe not fatally. Sex is off the table, obviously, so that should be that. Well… what if I simply kept my distance? Only called her in for family events?
No, that won't work. My mother and sister love to show up unannounced, and it has to look like she's living with me—even if she's sleeping in a separate room. Otherwise, suspicion creeps in, and suspicion is the first crack in any façade.
"Okay, if you're going to stare into space the whole time, I'm just going to leave."
"Wait," I say, jolting out of my thoughts and reaching for her wrist as she starts to rise.
Her skin is warm beneath my fingers—soft, fine-boned. For a heartbeat, the world seems to narrow to that single point of contact. She glances down at my hand, and so do I. The faint pulse fluttering beneath my thumb sends a charge straight through me.
It makes me feel primitive. Possessive. I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her somewhere private just to taste the sound she'd make when I kissed her.
Now is not the time. This is business. A serious offer. But how to phrase it?
Well… as my father used to say, "If you want the deal to go through, son, pick the bait they can't resist and dangle it right in front of them."
No one ever accused my father of subtlety, but he built an empire from nothing in thirty years. Hard to argue with results.
"How would you like a million dollars, cash?"
"What?" Her forehead creases.
I repeat, evenly, "How would you like a million dollars in cash—tax free?"
She peers at me, shoulders lifting cautiously. "I don't know. I guess I'd like it just fine—same as anyone else, I suppose."
"Would you like it enough to put up with me for the next few months?"
"I don't understand what you're asking me for exactly."
"That's because I haven't explained my offer yet."
I release her wrist and pull my iPhone from my pocket, opening a document and handing it to her. "Sign that, please."
She takes the phone and scans the screen. "This is a non-disclosure agreement."
"Yes."
Her gaze flicks back up to me. "Whatever you're going to tell me requires a non-disclosure agreement?"
"Yup."
"Why? Is it criminal?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Even if it were, NDAs aren't enforceable in those circumstances. You're signing it because I want to discuss something I'd rather not have out there—under any circumstances."
"Okay…" She scrolls down the short one-page document, eyes skimming the legal jargon. "What's this about exactly?"
"You'll know once I tell you, which I'll do after you sign."
"Hmmm." She takes her time reading, ignoring my increasingly obvious impatience. She's not about to sign anything she hasn't read thoroughly. Smart girl.
