cleared her throat. “Yes. Totally. Very true.”
“Well.” Angie’s brows rose. “I had no idea either of you felt so passionately about it.”
Patrick wandered in. “About what?”
All day, he’d been in hiding down at the far end of the house while people marched in and out of his home. The nail technician, hairstylist, facialist, and an aesthetician to handle the body treatments and waxing. A clothes stylist to explain my new wardrobe to me while I stood there like an idiot in my underwear. Along with a makeup artist to give me lessons in shading and so on. And this is when he decides to show up?
“Pubic hair,” says Mei.
Patrick blanched. “Forget I asked.”
“Don’t be so delicate,” chided Angie, rising to her feet and heading for the door. “We’ve all seen you in a merkin. At any rate, we’re done here for the day.”
“Bye.” Mei waved, while straightening the cushions on the big, plush modern sofa. “Okay, Paddy, it’s time for your daily update. I sent your mom flowers and received a full refund for the New York trip. The new personal trainer is booked for tomorrow and there’s some clothing from that designer I told you about hanging in your wardrobe. And Mary cancelled tomorrow night’s meeting.”
“She did?” he asked, tone aggrieved.
“Yes. Sorry. No reason given.”
He scowled.
“Do either of you need anything else?” Mei asked us.
“Just a printout of the Freisen script,” he said, leaning against the wall all cool and hot and disgruntled. Of course, his breathing and general existence was cool and hot.
“It’s on the office desk.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’m done. See you tomorrow!”
For the very first time ever, we were alone. Somewhat nerve-wracking. Patrick’s gaze skipped over me, taking in the day’s work. The team had done a good job. I still looked like me, just a slightly shinier version. His expression, however, remained a perfect blank. Completely unreadable. I might as well have tattooed a pony on my forehead for all he cared. Next, he crossed his arms over his chest, turning his attention to the view. It didn’t seem like he was able to relax fully even in his own home. Though that might have more to do with me being here.
While I knew he preferred me silent and submissive, I couldn’t possibly keep my mouth shut for six months. “What’s a merkin?”
“A pubic wig. They use them in sex scenes sometimes to cover your junk.”
“Huh.”
He said nothing more. The silence wasn’t wildly uncomfortable at all.
“We need to discuss the home situation,” I say, taking a seat on the couch. “The contract didn’t really cover that side of things apart from me not inviting anyone to the house or giving out the address, et cetera. Which is totally understandable. Your privacy needs to be protected and all.”
His brows drew in, but not a single word was uttered.
“If you’d prefer that I spent the evenings out or in my room—”
“You’re going to be living here for half a year, Norah. I don’t expect you to be in hiding the entire time. We’ll get used to each other.” The man did not sound convinced. Which was fine. It’s not like I’d been kidding myself. This was strictly a business arrangement. We weren’t going to be best friends or something.
“Okay,” I said.
His frown amped up to eleven. How could someone so handsome be so cranky? Living in a place like this, having everything laid out at his feet. Give or take the recent scandal fucking with his career and resulting in him having to turn his world upside down to incorporate me and this subterfuge. I believe I just answered my own question.
He sighed. And it was quite possibly the greatest and heaviest sigh of all time. No man had ever been so put upon. So misunderstood. “I’m messing this up. Let’s start again. Are you hungry?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t. But we need to get to know each other sufficiently well to sell this. So we might as well spend some time together and get that out of the way,” he said. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
I got up and followed him to the kitchen. It was nice, with a long white stone island/breakfast bar and a huge six-burner gas stove. A fridge full of vitamin drinks, fruit, and pre-prepared meals. He stared in at the contents, his brow a wrinkled mess. Still handsome.
“Chicken, beef, or vegetarian?” he asked. “Mostly it comes with a sweet potato mash and steamed broccoli, but the vegetarian