Page 38 of Come Here and Kiss Me

Ronan:We’re undecided at the moment.

Ronan:We haven’t started planning yet, but Brook might have some ideas. You should ask her at the event.

Lie after lie after lie.

I don’t fucking care at this point, though. It’s like fodder for a fucking gossiping magazine.

It was entertaining when I was younger, but now?

I don’t have time to check how I’m being judged. Or what they think of Brooklyn. They don’t know her like I do.

The thought resonates as Brook can be heard down the hall from my office.I glance at the clock. It’s past eight in the evening.Time got away from me, and I imagine she’s in need of attention.Especially if she saw the article.

Fuck all of them.

I hear her heels clicking first, and by the time I glance down at my phone and look up, I’m met with a gorgeous sight.

She’s wearing a colored shirt with a pleated skirt, looking every bit the part of the schoolgirl she’s trying to portray. Her outfit drives me crazy. It’s endlessly classic like an old movie that’s a timeless piece. Her blond hair is in low pigtails, hanging down the front of her shoulders, and when her eyes meet mine, she blushes just slightly.

“Was I drooling?” I ask her, tossing down my phone and not giving a damn that it vibrates with a message as it hits my desk.

She lets out a giggle and tucks a stray hair behind her ear.“A little.”

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“You want to make dinner with me?”

“You’re cooking?”

“Yeah, why do you look so shocked?” she feigns offense, and it’s comical.

“I didn’t know you knew how to use a stove.”

“We could order out… or I got one of those pizza kits.”

I smirk at her and debate going out. I debate being seen together.Then my gaze falls to her ring finger.I clear my throat, wanting to get this out of the way.

“Did you see the article?” I ask.

“I did. Aspen sent it to me.”

“And?”

“Is there any way your PI can figure out who took the photo?” She glances down, then back up at me. The photo got to her as well.

“More than likely not, but I’ve already emailed them the article, and they said they would get back to me.”

“You think it was my father or someone he paid?”

I hadn’t, actually.

“Perhaps,” I reply, wondering why she immediately assumes it was her father.

“I was thinking it was more than likely someone who was tipped off from the magazine.”

“Of all the scandals in the world, being engaged but not having a ring on isn’t even on the fucking list… I think this is more like a threat,” she says.

I study her expression. “Like someone saying I know it’s fake… and that’s what the scandal really is, you know?”

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