“Definitely not. Because it was insane,” I said, finally giving up on the dress. Maybe I could have room service bring me a sharp knife.
Chris scowled. “Just don’t charge anything to my card.”
“Don’t charge anything to my card!” I retorted hotly, jabbing a finger at him. “Because the fact is that in this relationship, you owe me money.”
Chris deflated slightly then turned on his heel and left the room.
I stomped into the bathroom. The tub was almost full. I was still trapped in my dress.
Fuck.
I sagged and stared up at the ceiling.
“Chris?”
He poked his head back in. He was shirtless, and his chest was just as amazing as it had been the first time I’d seen it.
“You called, dear wife?”
I rolled my eyes. “I need you to unbutton my dress.”
“Wow! We’re going to have our first wedding night after all! Maybe I will shower.”
“You better shower!” I said in horror.
“Just kidding!” He chuckled as he unbuttoned the back of my dress, fingers working deftly. “You need to lighten up. You’re a control freak.”
“You’re the control freak with your freak-outs about money,” I reminded him.
“Hey, like Kanye said, I don’t want no gold digger.”
“Asshole,” I muttered after he left.
The doorbell to the suite rang as I shrugged on a robe. I hurried out to get my food only to see Chris standing there chowing down on my fries.
“Absolutely not! Buy your own food,” I yelled, grabbing the tray and taking it to my room. “Fucking asshole.”
I set a timer on my phone before sinking into the hot bath. Forty-one days and twelve hours before I never had to see Chris Winchester ever again.
10
Chris
Grace was gone when I woke up the next morning, or rather afternoon. My phone was ringing.
“’Sup, Dana.”
“You have a romantic lunch date scheduled. Where are you?”
I yawned, rubbing my eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”
“There was a calendar invite,” she said impatiently. “Go pick up Grace. We’ll have cameras meet you at her office.”
I padded out to the living area of the suite after ending the call. Breakfast was sitting out. There were little cakes and an omelet under a heater. A bouquet of flowers had a ribbon that read, Congratulations to the newlyweds!
I rubbed my eyes. I had not been charitable last night. In fact, I had been an asshole. Grace had already passed my test. Why was I so hung up on if she had ordered room service or not? Really, I should count myself lucky that it was her I was fake married to and not some woman like Addison or my mom.
I put part of the omelet between two slices of toast, and I headed to her room. The bed had been stripped and the sheets rolled up neatly with the used towels for the cleaners. Two crisp twenty-dollar bills sat on top of the pile.
I felt like shit.
“Of course Grace left a tip.”
I resolved to make it up to her. Dana wanted us to go on some fancy lunch? Awesome. I was paying for everything, and I would buy her flowers.
Two hours later, after stopping by my penthouse to change, I stepped out of the town car in front of Grace’s building.
I buttoned my bespoke suit jacket, and the driver handed me the flowers. I had reservations at this nice French place—private balcony overlooking the skyline, the works. Grace was going to be pleasantly surprised.
But when I stepped off the elevator into her brightly lit office, she was visibly upset. Dana was angry, and Gunnar hovered around Grace guiltily.
“What did you do?” I snarled at him.
“It was an honest mistake,” Gunnar began.
“What happened? Grace, are you okay?”
She glared up at me over the top of her glasses. She was trying to be furious, but really she just looked like she was about to cry.
I swear, if Gunnar did anything to her…
“What do you care?” Grace shot at me. “Why don’t you go inspect your credit card statements?”
“Look, I know I was out of line, but I’m going to make it up to you,” I said determinedly. “I want our fake marriage to work.”
“It’s not fake!” Grace screeched at me.
I dropped the flowers.
“No I…no.” It was my worst nightmare—literally. I would have these dreams, especially after too much drinking and partying, that I had accidentally gotten married.
“I can’t…that’s not…you didn’t just say that,” I sputtered.
“There was a terrible mistake,” Gunnar said. “But I just want you to know, Chris, that it totally was not my fault.”