I decide to let him get back to driving. I know I should be having fun with this situation, but it seems unlikely considering the fluttery feeling in my stomach whenever I remember the way Brock looked at me. Also, there’s still a lot of pressure on my shoulders.

I don’t want to trip up in Vegas, and make a fool of both of us. I want to be convincing. I have to make his ex believe that we are madly in love, even if I’m not the usual type of girl he goes out with.

A thought occurs to me. What happens if he decides at the end of the weekend that I didn’t do a job worthy of the huge amount he’s offered me? He seems to be genuine, but I really should get something in writing. I wish I knew a lawyer. He seems smart enough to know how to create loopholes…and he did say he is a tough negotiator, but he didn’t negotiate hard with me at all.

This part baffles me most of all.

Is my company really worth that amount of money? He doesn’t even know me, but he’s willing to offer more money than I could hope to make in seven or eight years. How could he possibly thinks he’s getting the better end of the deal?

This girl must have really hurt him if he’s this desperate to prove to her he is over her. If she turned him down, she must be one of those uppity girls. I can’t understand how he thinks a girl like me will make a woman like her jealous.

Me? I look down at my good outfit—skinny jeans, knee-high riding boots, a thigh-length blue cardigan. What’s so special about me? My hair is thick and pretty enough, I guess, but brown. Plain brown, just like my eyes. And I’m too curvy. I’d give just about anything to be able to wear a button-down blouse without worrying about a button popping off and taking out somebody’s eye. Average height, average looks. Average just about everything.

Not like him. He’s special. Which tells me she must be very special, whoever she is. Maybe he’ll tell me, or better still, I’ll snoop around online and find out for myself. I need to know who I’m up against. Just the thought of being up against anybody—especially a girl who made a deep enough impression on him to warrant the sort of scheme I’m getting myself wrapped up in—makes my heart race a little.

As long as he puts things in writing, that is.

* * *

“What took you so long?”

The sound of his voice, not to mention the irritation in it, makes my head jerk up.

He’s waiting on the second floor, looking over the living room with his hands palm-down on the banister. He’s just as sexy in a black sweater and jeans as he is in a suit. The way the cashmere—and I’m betting its cashmere—wraps itself around his thick arms is darn near miraculous.

But he’s so brusque, the part of me that’s not drooling get pissed off. Still, what did I expect? Roses and a seat by the fire? This is a business arrangement. I close the door slowly. “It took as long as it took to get here,” I explain with a shrug. “Have you ever been to Red Bank?”

A muscle jumps in his clenched jaw. He looks mad at something. “No. It’s not exactly a place I’ve had on my bucket list.”

“I don’t think it’s on anybody’s bucket list.”  

His expression softens. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was concerned.”

“Why?” I ask curiously. Either he’s the most possessive man in the world, or there’s a reason for him to be so anxiously over-the-top all the time. I realize I’m trying to analyze him like a case study out of one of my textbooks and chide myself. I’m doing this for the money. After the weekend, I’ll never see him again.

His hands tighten on the banister. “Maybe I was just worried you wouldn’t keep to your end of the bargain.”

“If this is going to work you need to cut down on the caffeine and chill. I always keep my word.” I stare into his watching blue eyes. “Always.”

He smiles slowly. “Thank you.”

When I start wheeling my suitcase toward the stairs, he jogs down to meet me. “Here. I’ll take care of that for you.” He lifts it with ease.

I follow him up to one of the guest rooms, striving not to trip over my feet as I stare at his firm butt. Holy moly, what a view.

“Why did you pack so much?” he asks, putting the suitcase on the bed. “I told you I’d buy everything you need for the weekend.”

“That’s very generous of you, but maybe too generous, because it made me feel bad. I brought a few things I thought might be worthwhile—”

He waves his hands almost like he’s shooing away a fly or a bee. “No, no. I want to start you fresh. In fact, you have an appointment with Veronica at Bergdorf in twenty minutes.”

My head starts spinning. “You set up an appointment for me at Bergdorf?” I gasp.

“Yes, I have an account there. Veronica is my personal shopper. She has an excellent eye. I’ve already sent her the rundown of what you’ll require. She only needs to see you, take a few measurements, and fit you up with the necessary clothes.”

“You—uh—don’t want to see these things before you pay for them?” I must look completely confused. I certainly feel that way.

He shakes his head. “No. I trust her.” Then he moves forward and ushers me from the room and down the stairs with a firm but gentle hand on the small of my back.

The pressure is light, but I’m keenly aware of his touch.

In a kind of daze, I watch his large hand snake past me and hit the button on the elevator panel. I haven’t had the chance to ask him about putting our agreement in writing yet, but I don’t even know how to broach the subject. I stand there staring at the closed elevator doors.

“Have fun,” he says cheerfully when the doors open. “Enjoy having somebody take care of you for once.”

It’s like he already knows me. How can he make a statement like that and sound so sure of himself, and be so right? “It’s just that I thought you would be coming with me,” I admit. Truth is I’m intimidated by the thought of going on my own.

He grins wolfishly. “I have work to do. Otherwise, I would.”

I step onto the elevator and stop just short of asking why I didn’t go straight to the store instead of stopping at the penthouse. I don’t exactly love the sensation of being shuffled back and forth. Only when the doors are starting to slide shut between us do I get up the nerve to ask, “Should I call if the shopping runs a little long?”

His eyes snap blue fire, but a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “No.”

Then the doors shut on him.