Page 98 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
That thought hangs there, heavy and dangerous.
It's not about wanting to check on her, I realize — it's just wanting her. Wanting her presence. Her voice.
No, I tell myself. It's not like that. I just want to make sure she's okay. That's all.
But I'm not stupid. I know what it means when a woman starts affecting my moods. I can't afford that kind of weakness — not now. Not with this arrangement.
Because if I'm not careful, I'll start believing the lie we've both been selling.
And that… would be the most dangerous mistake of all.
From the start, everything about this ruse with Jenna has been dangerous.
It's like alarm bells have been ringing in my head since the first time we kissed, touched, or fucked—and every time, I brushed them aside. Acknowledging them would mean I'd haveto do something about them, and I'm self-aware enough to admit I don't want to. Not yet.
About thirty minutes later, I call Jenna to confirm the paparazzi are gone. I also offer to pick her up, but she says she has last-minute errands to run.
"You need to delegate better," I tell her.
"I know." She sighs. "I'll do that someday—but not today."
Then she hangs up on me.
Brat.
After failing to focus on work, I give up and head over to the symposium venue early, hoping she's already there.
I'm one of the first to arrive, though there are already half a dozen guests milling around.
Huh. Guess everyone's early today.
They're clustered near the walls, admiring the intricate graffiti patterns covering the warehouse concrete.
"Grayson!" calls Fiennes, a European restaurateur with a notorious art collection. "This place is excellent—dripping with imagery of the American dream. What on Earth gave you the genius idea to hold your symposium here?"
"Well," I say as I approach, "let's just say my event planner has a very creative streak."
"Ah yes, I read about that." His eyes glint with mischief. "I hear congratulations are in order?"
"I didn't know you read gossip magazines," I reply dryly. I hadn't realized the news had spread that far.
"Gossip magazine? It was page two of The Times this morning. A full spread on your love affair."
"You're serious?"
He nods.
Strange. I didn't tell Liam to push it that far.
"Anyway," Fiennes says, gesturing toward an impressionist mural of children in a park, "this is a great venue."
"I'm glad you like it," I say. "I'll let Jenna know her efforts are appreciated."
"Please do. Pass along my congratulations to her as well."
He's not the only one impressed. Even those who say little are clearly captivated—taking in the layered imagery, the ambient lighting, the natural sculptures placed perfectly within the industrial setting.
She really outdid herself. Everything ties together into one cohesive experience—nature and mankind merging seamlessly against raw, urban architecture. Genius.
