me to disobey, and when I lift the glass for a sniff, he smiles like he knows he’s already won. Answering my previous question, he says, “I had this place renovated three years ago. If I’d known how good you were going to get with interior design, I’d have hired you.” The compliment warms me inside. I am good, and I know it, as does half of the city’s upper crust, but somehow, Ross saying it so casually is different from those accolades.
He takes the other half of the smoothie mixture and downs most of it, his throat working in a way that has me staring at him with decidedly non-breakfast thoughts in my head, and I have to remind myself to take a sip. I’m worried. Usually, people who drink green smoothies in the morning tend to be those who live on Vitamin Shoppe supplements alone, and I am not that girl. My breakfast usually consists of copious amounts of coffee darker than Satan’s soul and a single small, buttered croissant, just like Nana taught me. But before I know it, the glass is empty.
“Wow . . . this is delicious,” I comment. “What’s in it?”
“Mostly fruit. Apples, cherries . . . a little spinach for the vitamins, and willow bark. It’s a natural aspirin.”
“Willow bark?” I ask, and Ross nods, going over to the far end of the counter. He picks up some papers and taps them carefully into order. “What’s that?”
He doesn’t answer directly but instead takes a roundabout way I’m not used to with him. He’s usually so decisive and direct, but I can feel him hemming and hawing.
“Do you remember asking me to marry you last night?” He stares directly at me with the question.
Flashes of the night come back to me. Talking. Drinks. Dancing.
I swallow, nodding. That part, asking him to be my fake husband, I totally remember now. I remember right up to the dance floor, and then turning around to show him my moves . . . but not much else until this morning. “I remember.”
“Did you mean it?”
I can feel the heat creeping up my chest, my cheeks flaming hot as I try to decide how to answer that.
Yes? No? Maybe? It depends on how much fun you’re going to make of me for losing a fiancé I didn’t even love and how hard you’ll judge me for wanting to get married for my Papa.
He sighs and his eyes soften. “It’s crazy, I know. I spent the better part of last night hoping you would forget and that we could just pretend that conversation never happened. But you know what? It really does solve both of our problems.” He pauses to let that sink in. “That’s why I called Kaede last night and had him draw these papers up.”
“What are they?” I ask again, hoping for an answer this time.
“What you wanted,” he says, handing me the papers. “A non-disclosure agreement.”
“An . . . NDA?” I ask, my brows furrowing together as he nods and hands the stack of papers over.
It’s not that I haven’t had non-disclosure agreements before. A lot of my clients are very private, and they know inviting me into their homes or businesses means that I might be privy to things that they don’t want anyone to know. It’s professional courtesy to keep your mouth shut, but to put clients at ease, I have a standard NDA I offer which states that I’m allowed to boast that I redid their decor, but that’s it.
This isn’t one of those standard agreements.
“Come on, Ross. Is this really necessary?” I reply, my voice rising before my brain reminds me that loud noises are a really, really bad idea right now.
I read the NDA over, expecting some standard verbiage about sticking to our story and not throwing each other under the bus with the media and our families. But then I notice the rules on page two. “What’s this shit? I’m to obey you at events where your parents or members of the company might be present? You’re out of your damn mind. Oh-bay?” I lengthen the word, tasting its uncomfortable restraint. I’m not a woman who obeys anyone or anything, and Ross damn well knows it.
“Obey,” Ross repeats, smirking. “My folks are a little . . . traditional. I need to show that I’m strong and in charge. Looks better for me, you know? Don’t get caught up on the label. Just stick with the intent of it and we’ll