I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, why can’t you just call me sweetheart? Sweetheart is nice. Not the way you’ve been saying it, in that sarcastic, condescending, makes me want to punch you way. But if you changed your tone, sweetheart would definitely work.”
“Sweetheart,” he said in that sarcastic, condescending, made me want to punch him way. “Don’t ever try to punch me. You’d break your tiny little hand.”
Before I could come up with a suitable response, he continued. “Everything else looks okay.” He stood and placed the contract on the desk to sign. Then he held out the pen. “Your turn.”
Oh my God. I was actually going to do this. I was going to engage in a ruse with Rhys Morgan, pretending I was his girlfriend. Glancing between us, my doubts resurfaced that anyone would believe it.
“What?” he asked.
I wrinkled my nose. “No one will believe this.”
During my Rhys googling I’d come across photos of him with women. He had a definite type. Hair color, eye color, face—they all changed with every new woman but what didn’t was the long legs, curvy hips, generous boobs, and overtly glamorous style.
They were sexy bombshells.
I was so not his type.
“You mean because I’m a low, rough boxer and you’re a Fifth Avenue princess?” he said with a teasing smile.
“No.” I squirmed, not sure how to say it without coming across like I was insecure. I was not an insecure person. “I’m just… people are used to seeing me with men like your brother. He has a computer science degree and definitely makes more sense on paper. You’re more physical and you date women who are the absolute opposite of me.”
If Rhys heard the last part, he didn’t acknowledge it. “You think I’m a fucking moron because I don’t have a fancy college degree?” He crossed his arms over his chest and frazzled me on the spot with the heat of his glare. “I’ll tell you something, princess”—he said the word with such distaste, I longed for Tinker Bell to make a reappearance—“some of the smartest, most capable people I’ve ever met don’t have a fancy college degree from MIT.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just meant… I’m worried that people won’t buy the idea of you and me as a couple.”
“Well, sweetheart, I can sell anything.” He crossed the room to stop in front of me, forcing me to look up. His eyes smoldered so intensely, my breathing went bye-bye. Rhys trailed the back of his knuckles down my cheek and neck; a shiver skated down my spine. As if he’d felt it, his eyes danced.
His voice lowered, smoky and husky. “Don’t you worry about me convincing people I want you.” He bent his head to whisper in my ear, “I always put a hundred and ten percent into any job.”
Skin burning hot, sensations tingling in places they had no business tingling, I stumbled back from his overwhelming presence.
What the heck was that?
Avoiding his gaze, I nodded. “Uh-huh. Okay. Well. That is comforting to hear.” I pushed past him to the table where the contract sat and quickly signed. “I’ll make copies and have one couriered over for you for your records and then I’ll be in touch when I need you again, which might be soon because Jackson said Fairchild has been asking about—”
“Tinker Bell, you’re rambling.” Rhys cut me off.
He was grinning. Huge. Self-satisfied. Very, very pleased with himself for rattling me.
The big jerk. “If you’re done crowing, I’ll need your number.” I pulled my cell out of the small backpack I had with me and waited.
Rhys gave me his number.
“Okay. I’ve sent you a text so you have my number now. Text me your bank details. I’ll send the payment at the end of the first month.” I slipped my cell back into my backpack along with the contract. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll be awaiting your call, boss.”
I sniffed haughtily and moved to stride past him. “That’s an improvement on Tinker Bell.”
Just as I cleared his personal space, I felt a tug on my ponytail and let out a little squawk as my hair tumbled down around my shoulders. Whirling around, I glared at the sight of my ponytail holder dangling from his fingertips. “What the heck?”
He shrugged. “No one would believe I’d date a woman who wears a ponytail other than to work out. You have nice hair.” His gaze looked over said hair. “Why hide it?”
“Because,” I said, snatching the holder back, “I rode my bike