My Fake Christmas Fiance (Kane Christmas #1) - Julie Kriss Page 0,15

as he drank his beer and squinted up at the TV mounted on the wall. “The Avs are doing pretty good this season.”

I stared at him. “Sam, you’re not appreciating the seriousness here. This means I’m getting married.”

“Sure, yeah. Only for a little while. And then you save the company.”

We looked at each other for a minute. “You might be a genius,” I said.

Sam shrugged.

“Seriously. I don’t think I can ever repay you.”

“You can repay me,” he said. “Can you get me a job?”

I was stunned. In all the years I’d known him, in all the years I’d worked at Kane, Sam had never asked for help. He came across as so surly and self-sufficient, I’d assumed, like everyone else, that he was an island.

But he wasn’t. He was keeping a lid on it, but I could see a faint gleam of worry in his dark eyes. He thought I might pry or make fun of him. He thought I might say no. And he needed work.

“Of course,” I said. “Sophie needs someone in the warehouse. Someone good.”

It was true. We’d been trying to fill the job for a month, since the last guy bailed on us. The warehouse needed someone reliable, someone solid who would come in on time and not goof off.

That guy was Sam. How had I never seen it before?

“The warehouse, huh?” Sam shifted on his stool. “I can do that. Do you think Sophie will mind?”

“Mind?” I blinked at him. “You two are friends, right? Why would she mind?”

“No reason.” He took a deep swig of his beer.

There was a second of silence, which was a little strange. But I brushed it off.

“Sophie won’t mind,” I said. “She’s been complaining about being understaffed. You’re in great shape and you’re reliable. She’ll probably practically kiss you when she sees you.”

Sam muttered something that sounded like “I don’t think so,” but at that moment the Avs scored on TV and the other patrons at the bar cheered loudly.

“You’re sure you really want this job?” I asked when the noise died down.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam said.

That was all the job interview I needed. “I’ll get you the paperwork. You can start when we reopen after Christmas Day.”

“Fine.” Sam cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

And that was that. Our heart-to-heart.

“You’re right,” I said, turning on my stool to see the TV. “The Avs are good this season. They’re aiming for a playoff run.”

Chapter 8

Penny

Here is something I learned about my fake fiancé: he wore boxer shorts to bed.

How did I know this? Because I encountered him in the hallway late at night when we were both on our way to the bathroom.

After he’d basically bailed on me earlier, I’d spent the evening alone. I’d showered, changed, raided Wes’s fridge (which contained lots of protein drinks and cold pizza), and worked on my laptop. When my eyes couldn’t stay open anymore—it was around nine thirty, I know, I know—I’d fallen asleep on my bed in the spare bedroom. I hadn’t heard Wes come home.

But he was definitely home, because when I woke up in the darkness to use the bathroom down the hall, he was right there. Wearing nothing but boxers.

We froze in the hallway, facing each other as if we’d never met before. As if we were two wild animals on the Arctic tundra, hoping the other one wouldn’t spot us. Too late, I realized I was wearing a sleep camisole and a pair of cotton sleep shorts that barely covered my ass.

Wes’s gaze fixed on me in the near darkness, moving down my body, but I was too distracted to be upset about it. I was too busy staring at his bare chest.

Oh, my gosh, it was a nice chest. Strong and hard, with a dusting of dark-blond hair on it that matched the hair on his head. I wondered what that hair felt like. I wondered what that flat stomach felt like. And his arms…I’d never seen his arms. Had they always been that gorgeous? With smooth biceps like that? Even his forearms were sexy. And then my gaze dropped to his boxers and—

“Penny?” His voice was almost a whisper, as if talking too loud would wake someone. It was a little raspy, too, and I realized we’d been standing in silence for at least a full minute, staring at each other. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure.” My own voice was a whisper, too, as I tried to drag my gaze up to Wes’s face. His blue eyes were fixed