I know I’m in trouble when I wake up in someone else’s bed. And by the sexy, spicy scent clinging to the pillows, I know it’s a male’s.

I roll over and wince—my head is killing me. I guess that’s where a night of buying shots gets you. Against my better judgement, I sit up.

Yup. Mistake.

In seconds, I’m hurtling across the room, wrenching open the door, and desperately searching for the bathroom. I make it just in time.

Soon I’m empty as my wallet before payday and curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor. I didn’t realize one person could throw up that much, but at least I got whatever it was out of my system.

Oh right. A night’s worth of blow job shots. My stomach churns at the memory. Why did I think whipped cream and tequila shots went together? Speaking of day-old dairy…

I turn my head and sniff myself. Gross.

I lift myself onto my hands and knees and begin peeling off clothes. The corset gives me some trouble, but I manage to wriggle free. When I’m down to my birthday suit, I crawl into the shower, sit up, and reach for the nozzle.

There are four.

I glare at the panel before me. Great, so this is one of those fancy showers that does everything from bath you to make you breakfast.

If only. I’m ravenous.

I choose a nozzle at random and twist. Water streams down from one of two showerheads and bathes me with warm water. A couple rounds of shampoo and conditioner later, and I’m squeaky clean and ready to explore—

Except that I don’t have any clothes.

By now, I’ve figured out that I’m in Archer’s apartment. Bits and pieces came back to me during my blessed rinse, and I remember inviting myself over last night—that, and the immaculately stocked bathroom complete with women’s conditioner and body wash (I try to push the implications of that out of my mind), mouthwash, extra toothbrushes, and face cream point straight to a type-A like Archer.

Ten minutes later, I step out of the shower, brush my teeth, towel off, and look around for a robe. One is hanging on the back of the door. I shake my head. I swear that man’s a mindreader.

The robe feels plushy and soft around me as I open the door and plod down the hall. I wouldn’t normally venture out in my current state, but I’m pretty sure Archer’s not here and I need water—like, yesterday.

Sure enough, the place is empty.

I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it to the brim. I gulp it down and then fill another. Three glasses later, I’m feeling much, much better, and my headache is subsiding. Now to attack this hunger.

I see a slew of takeout containers when I open the fridge—most looking past their prime. I scrunch up my nose.

Correction: some are way past their prime.

I close the door, knowing food’s a lost cause and begin looking around.

“Wow,” I breathe, noticing the place for the first time. Archer gets to live here?!

I know I’m on Fifth Avenue from the view of Central Park, and based on how high up I am, this has to be the penthouse. Everything is white or gray—boring! Definitely colors a serious guy like Archer would choose. It’s decorated with minimalist furniture, all sharp points and angles, except for the couch.

I walk over to it and slide into its depths. Leather, comfy, and soft—perfect. It also looks like the only piece of furniture that got any use. Overall, the apartment had an unlived-in feeling about it.

The elevator chimes and the doors glide open. Archer steps out; two bags in his right hand and a third in his left. It’s the one in the left that has me jumping up and walking toward him.

“Is that food?” I ask, my eyes still glued to that bag. The smell that’s coming from it is making my knees weak.

“Good morning to you, dear,” he laughs, heading into the kitchen. I follow like a dog, sniffing the air behind him. “I picked up a few things since I, uh, don’t really have a lot,” he says.

I grunt. “That’s an understatement, and what you do have has seen better days.”

Archer moves his eyes over me, taking in my robe and wet hair. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

My cheeks flare hot. “I smelled like whipped cream and tequila,” I plead. “Not my best morning.”

Archer shrugs. “I don’t mind. Make yourself at home.”

I watch as Archer unpacks coconut water, ginger ale, Tylenol, and rice crackers from the bags. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel this morning, so I got everything.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I gush, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. “But I’m ravenous, so I don’t think those rice cakes are going to—OH MY GOD.” I stop and stare at the fried chicken and waffles that come out of the third bag.

I stand up and fling arms around Archer’s neck. “Thank you!”

“It’s not a problem,” Archer says, trying not to laugh.

“No, you don’t understand, I love chicken and waffles.” I pull back and smile up at him. “Archer, I think I love you.”

Archer tenses underneath me. His smile slips.

I let go of his neck and retreat back to the counter. I think I love you? More snippets of last night flash into my head.

“Um, thank you for taking care of me last night,” I say. “I know I was a handful.”

Archer shrugs and turns away from me. He opens a cabinet and grabs two plates. “I didn’t want you to get into a dangerous situation. You were pretty blitzed.”

“Did I…did we?” I ask, unable to finish.

Archer goes still. “No, East, we didn’t sleep together,” he says. He plates the takeout and slides a helping across the counter. I dig in greedily. “Although you were begging me to,” he adds.

I choke on a waffle. “What? No way. You’re lying.”

Archer takes a bite of chicken. “You thought it was a good idea last night. I was fending you off at the end there.”

Wait a second…didn’t Archer say that he wanted me to remember the first time we sleep together?

I groan. “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t be. And never say never.”

“Hey, now. Take it down a notch, Stratton,” I say, pointing my finger at him. “I’m only in a bathrobe and we don’t want things to get too heated.”

Archer smirks. “You know, you don’t have to wear only that bathrobe…”

My eyes bug out, and he holds up a hand. “Whoa, East. Now you take it down a notch. I meant you could have your wardrobe here.”

I narrow my eyes. “You mean move in?”

Archer leans onto his forearms. “Yeah. Move in with me,” he murmurs.

I sit still for a moment, processing what this means. In the end, I come up with nothing, other than a million reasons to say yes, and only one to say no: I’m falling for Archer. Somehow, I don’t think moving in with him will help that go away.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, picking at my waffle.

Archer sits back and sighs. “Are you still mad at me?”

I shake my head. “No, not at all. Drinks helped, and we both know where the other is coming from. It’s more that I’m…” I break off.

“What?”

“Well, it’s a big decision,” I say, sidestepping the scary thing I was about to say. Although I’m not mad, I still don’t know where we stand. Are we friends? Partners? A business agreement? I thought I knew, but after learning that I threw myself at my fake fiancé last night, I wasn’t so sure…

“You have a lovely place,” I say, getting up and moving around the apartment. “The view is beautiful.”

Archer nods. “It’s not bad. I’m barely home to enjoy it.”

“Pity,” I say, moving into the living room. I pause at the fireplace to peruse the mantel. “Where are all the pictures?” I ask.

Archer joins me. “What do you mean?”

“Loved ones, family trips…you know, that stuff. They go on the mantel.” My eyes dart around the room. “In fact, there are no photos anywhere. It’s all so…barren.”

“Barren?” Archer repeats.

“This place doesn’t feel loved,” I say, throwing up my hands. “It feels ignored. You’ve gotta live in it, decorate it, spruce it up with a little bit of color!”

Archer frowns. “What’s wrong with the colors I have?”

“White and gray are not colors, take it from an artist. They’re the quintessential blank palette.”

“Maybe you could change that.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen your apartment, East, it’s burning with…personality,” he says, a smile playing at his lips.

“Archer!” I say.

Archer crosses his arms over his chest. “I have no idea how you manage to fit all that crap—”

“It’s not crap, it’s art.”

“—into one studio apartment.” He takes a step forward. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to this place,” he says quietly. “Paint, remodel, buy new furniture—I don’t care. Just make it yours, East.”

Make it mine?

I sweep my eyes around the apartment—all 3,000 square feet of it, if I had to guess. Boy, that is one tempting offer.

I step back, widening the space between us. Being close to Archer is not on my to-do list right now, which is why I needed to weight the pros and cons of moving in with him. The biggest pro is that I get a gorgeous penthouse to live in and paint, and believe me, that is a HUGE pro.

But the biggest con is falling for a billionaire who only sees me as a campaign prop and still drives me up the wall most days.

Tough choice.

“I’ll think about it, Stratton,” I say, “but don’t hold your breath.”

Archer shakes his head and moves back to the kitchen. I can tell it’s not the answer he wants to hear, but too bad. I have to be a tough cookie for my own good.

“I’ll call Kelsey and have some of your clothes brought over,” Archer says, opening the coconut water and pouring a glass.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I say automatically.

Archer pauses and stares at me. “So you’d rather walk outside in a bathrobe.”

“On second thought, thank you,” I add.

Archer snorts. He offers me the glass of coconut water, and I go to town on that sweet nectar.

“You’re quite the catch, East,” he says, watching me with a badly suppressed smile. “I couldn’t have asked for a more graceful, poised, well-dressed fiancée.”

“Fake fiancée,” I correct after coming up for air.

Did Archer just flinch?

I gulp down the rest of the water and wipe my mouth with the sleeve of his robe. “All you get is a hungover, robe-clad fake fiancée,” I say.

Archer cocks an eyebrow, purses his lips, and sets his eyelids at half mast. It’s the sexiest smirk he’s come up with yet, and I’m not embarrassed to admit that my heart did a little flip. He leans in and lowers his voice to what I can only describe as a growl. “I’ll take what I can get.”