My best friend, Donna, sits on my bed at Mr. King’s house, lounging luxuriously in her oversized sweater and leggings, looking more at home in my temporary home than I’ve ever felt. I guess it’s hard to feel at home when you don’t know how long you’ll be welcome. Especially since Mr. King has come back, I’ve felt one wrong word or move away from losing my job. Losing everything.

I called her over to help me pick out an outfit. Mr. King is supposed to take me “sightseeing” tonight, and I have been struggling to pick the right outfit from my miserable wardrobe. “What about this?” I ask, stepping out of my closet and showing her the turquoise strapless dress I’ve had since high school.

Donna makes a gagging face. “Please. Take it off.”

I sigh, stripping the dress and turning my back to her to keep rummaging through my closet.

“Still can’t believe you landed a job where you get paid to live in this fucking mansion,” says Donna.

“I’m grateful, but it feels different than you’d think. Like, it’s not my house. You know? I’m a guest. Worse, I guess, I’m an employee.”

Donna make a dismissive sound. “I don’t care what you call yourself. This is your room. You’ve got all this shit to yourself. I mean, come on, what difference does it make if you live here or if you’re working here?”

“The difference is if it’s your house, you don’t lose the bed you sleep in when you get fired.”

Donna looks thoughtful. “Well, do whatever it takes to avoid getting fired. Simple!” she says cheerily.

I smile. “I can always count on you for two things.”

“Oh?” asks Donna. “I’m intrigued. You know my favorite hobby is hearing good things about myself.”

I laugh. “I know I can count on you to be positive, and to be as crude as a sailor.”

“Fucking right!” she cries. “Speaking of crude,” she says slowly. “Have you seen it yet?”

“Seen what?”

“The billion dollar cock. Duh.”

“No, no, no,” I say, waving her suggestion away as if I have any power against it. “I’m not even going to start to go there.”

“Oh come on,” she says. “Mr. Billionaire has been back home for a couple days. That’s plenty of time for any self-respecting maid to get laid. Even a virgin,” she adds.

“Caretaker,” I correct.

“Okay, gardener, maid, plumber, whatever. Point is you should be plumbing his pipes. Trimming his hedges--okay, maybe not that one. He probably keeps the hedges trimmed nice and--”

“Would you…” I say through gritted teeth. “I am not going to plumb his pipes, whatever the hell that means--”

Donna makes a lewd gesture, twisting her hand like she’s revving a motorcycle next to her mouth while she jabs her tongue against the inside of her cheek, giving the illusion of… yeah.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, I forgot one thing I can always count on you for: the maturity level of a thirteen year old boy.”

Donna puts on a sweet face, resting her chin on steepled fingers and giving me a sugary smile. “Guilty!”

“Can you maybe give me some advice that doesn’t involve having sex with my boss to keep my job?”

“Okay, never use warm water to de-ice your car windows. It could cause them to crack from the rapid expansion.”

“You might be the smartest dumb person I’ve ever met,” I say, laughing.

“And you’re the most sexually deprived woman I know.”

“Is that a fact?” asks a deep voice from just outside my door.

I bulge my eyes at Donna, who points to me and raises her eyebrows so high they might fly off her head. I look down and see the boring white bra and panties I had on. Nothing else.

At the same moment, Mr. King lets himself in the room. He surveys the situation calmly, eyeing me without apology from head to toe and then pursing his lips in approval. “Nice,” he says.

Donna bursts out laughing.

I make a pathetic attempt to cover myself as I waddle back into the closet and slam the door. “Have you ever heard of knocking?” I snap. “Sir,” I add irritably.

“I don’t have a habit of knocking in my own house. No,” he says. From the sound of it, he’s right outside the--

The closet door swings open and he strolls confidently inside, helping himself to one more eyeful of my body as he passes. He looks over my wardrobe and grabs a black dress, holding it up to me and nodding in approval. “Wear this.”

As if he didn’t just walk in on me undressed and take his time admiring the scenery, he strides his way back toward the hallway, pausing briefly at the door. “By the way,” he says. “Keep that underwear on. It’s sexy as hell.”

He closes the door behind him and I look to Donna in disbelief, mouth hanging open. Her eyebrows are still halfway up her forehead.

“You didn’t tell me he was also Mr. Greek God. Holy shit, Aubrey. If you don’t plumb his pipes, I will.”

“Keep your hands off his pipes,” I snap with more emotion than I intend. “I mean--nevermind.”

“He’s right. That dress will look cute. Especially with that sexy underwear beneath it,” she adds, waggling her brows suggestively at me.

“Shut up,” I say, but I can’t stop from grinning as I replay what just happened, even though I know my body isn’t perfect and he had plenty of time to spot the imperfections, he certainly didn’t seem to mind. My giddiness is only temporary though, because reality hits. Fast.

“Hey,” says Donna, sitting up from the bed and giving me a concerned look. “What’s up? You just went from giggling school girl to emo queen in about half a second.”

“Sorry,” I say, flashing a forced smile. “I was just wondering if I’d look as good in this dress as he thinks.”

Donna folds her arms. “Uh huh…”

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. I’ll just be here whenever you’re ready to stop bullshitting your best friend in the whole world. Your friend who shouldn’t have to remind you that she has always kept your secrets safe and talked you out of all the dumb things you’ve nearly done.”

“Dumb things?” I ask. “I hardly--”

“Remember when you got addicted to Candy Crush? You were trying to convince me it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to hit up your whole friends list on Facebook for extra lives. You spent like a hundred dollars on extra lives, and then you were even going to send that stupid request to Chase Masters. I mean come on.”

I slide the dress on, giving her a sulky glare. “Well. I’ll give you that one. I still don’t think it would’ve been… what was the phrase you used? Socially apocalyptic?”

“I know you didn’t think so. That’s why you need me here. To keep you in check, girl. So spill it. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I sigh. There really is no keeping anything from Donna. She has known me way too long. And she may have a slight point about saving me from some stupid decisions in the past, whether or not I’ll ever admit that to her. “I just really don’t want to lose this job. What if Mr. King and I hit it off or something? We’ll eventually break up and then I’ll get fired and I’ll lose this.”

“Okay. First of all, Mrs. Pessimistic, you have a call on line one. It’s from me, so don’t you dare let it go to voicemail.”

I roll my eyes. She used to always make me play this stupid game when we were kids, and it’s her old fallback when she thinks I’m about to do something really dumb. I put my hand to my ear, pretending to hold the phone. “Hello?” I say, giving Donna a dry look.

“Hi, this is reality calling. I just wanted to let you know that the whole point of dating a guy is generally to hope that you never break up. Have some faith, sour puss. Also, that guy is super hot, and if you don’t plumb those pipes--”

“Would you stop with the pipe plumbing!” I shout, slamming down the imaginary phone.

She mimics setting down her phone. “Rude. She hung up on me.”

“Donna…” I warn.

“I’m just saying,” she sighs. “You date the guy and hope it works out. Worst case, it doesn’t. Maybe he even fires you, but hey, you get an awesome experience and you get a new job. No biggie.”

“This isn’t just any job,” I say.

“What’s so special about it?”

“His mom,” I say quietly. “Her name is Roxanne. She’s sassy and crude and blunt, but she always leaves my mouth hurting from smiling so much.”

“Hmm. Sassy, crude, blunt. You mean exactly like your mom was?” asks Donna, softening her voice and giving me a sympathetic look.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I guess being here makes me feel like she’s not so gone. Or something,” I say, feeling tears building in my eyes.

Donna is on her feet hugging me before I realize she has stood. I lean into her, letting the emotion come freely and quietly thinking through what I should do.

“You’ll figure it out, Aub. You always do,” she whispers, patting my hair.

Two hours later, I’m wearing the dress Liam picked for me and making sure Roxanne has everything she needs to get through a night without me. Technically, Roxanne doesn’t need me at all, but I have to make sure she has the things she thinks she needs, or at least the things she wants me to think she needs. Mr. King keeps several people on standby for when I need to leave the house, but when I initially signed my contract, it was made very clear that the expectation is for me to be here as much as humanly possible. I guess going on a date--no, a trip with my boss is an acceptable exception, at least to Liam.

Sophie pouted a little, because she wanted to show me this new YouTuber she found tonight, but she got over it fast enough when I promised to watch later. And Roxanne… Well, she’s oddly invested in the idea of Liam and I hitting it off. She sits on the edge of her bed as I lay out her medicine and a glass of water. “You remember not to take these until you’ve eaten, right?” I ask.

“You know what he likes?” asks Roxanne, grinning mischievously. “He likes a woman who stands up to him. All these floozies he has been with in the past--they just roll over. They are so afraid of losing him they just say whatever they think he wants to hear. That’s not my boy. He wants a woman with character. A woman with principals.”

“Okay,” I say, smiling. “You do know this isn’t a date, right? He’s just showing me around town because I’m new.”

“Right. And you know I’m not old and decrepit, right? I’m just ninety two years old with a lifetime of wrinkles and hair whiter than Crisco.”

I laugh. “Maybe your hair is Crisco. God knows you eat enough of it.”

She pulls at one of her wispy hairs and licks her fingertips. “Most bland Crisco I’ve ever tasted, then. Call it what it is, dear. If it looks like a date, smells like a date, and feels like a date, then it’s a damn date.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling a nervous tingle run from my stomach to my fingertips. “It’s a date then. So how do I look?” I ask.

She motions for me to come to where she sits at the end of the bed, cupping my cheeks. “You look like the right girl for my boy. The right woman.”

I blush, looking away. “Well, they say the most important part is winning over the in-laws, right?” I can hardly believe myself. One minute I’m certain down to my bones I don’t want another guy in my life and now? Now I’m joking with Roxanne about becoming her daughter-in-law.

“See? Smart, too.”

There’s a knock at the front door, so I kiss Roxanne on the head and leave her, nodding to the caretaker waiting outside as I leave. I hear Roxanne start to lay into the woman as soon as she enters the room, asking her if she never learned to take her shoes off and whether she was born in a barn.

I pad barefoot through the house toward the foyer, where the knocking continues. Whoever is knocking must be impatient as hell, because they are pounding harder and harder with every passing second. I almost just turn to leave because the whole thing is giving me the creeps, except workers are always coming by the house to maintain or clean things up, and I don’t want to have to tell Mr. King I didn’t let a plumber in or something. A plumber, God. Just the thought makes me think of Donna’s stupid pipe plumbing and...

I open the door and my knees nearly give out when I see who it is. My first reaction is to slam the door in his face.

Jake’s hand grips the door, keeping me from shutting it. He wears uncharacteristically nice clothes: a dress shirt with a tie and his hair is combed neatly away from his face. If I didn’t know better--which I do--I’d say he was a respectful college guy, maybe someone who grew up with money. Except I do know better, and I try harder to push the door shut.

“Babe, chill,” he says, flashing an asymmetric smile. “I just want to talk.” Smooth skin with a faint scar running from below his ear to the bridge of his nose. Icy blue eyes. I thought he was handsome once. Now I only see the cruelty lurking just beneath the surface.

“Talk through the closed door then,” I grunt, still pushing. “And don’t call me babe, please. It’s over, Jake.”

A hint of the anger I’m too familiar with sparks across his face and he doubles his effort, pushing so hard on the door that I’m thrown back, nearly losing my balance.

He steps over the threshold, looming like some wild beast. “Now. Can we talk like adults? Or do you still want to play hard to get.”

“Jake…” I warn. “I don’t know what you want or how you found out where to find me, but you need to leave. This is my job, and I can’t afford to risk losing it.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, strolling into the foyer and looking around appraisingly. He has sharp, almost regal features with a somewhat prominent chin and a powerful nose. It’s a face that makes me think one of his distant ancestors could have been a king or aristocrat. The need to rule over those weaker than him definitely is in his DNA, though, and it’s the main reason I broke things off with him. He’s toxic, and he thinks everyone is weaker than him.

“Not bad,” he says. “So is that all I would’ve taken to get in your pants? You fucked some rich prick to get this job, but you wouldn’t fuck me after two months?”

“There’s a little girl who lives here. Watch your mouth,” I say through gritted teeth. That is the other reason I left. When Jake found out I was still a virgin, he thought it was his right to take it from me. He made it his mission, and giving that part of myself to a man who just wanted to claim it as a prize felt wrong in so many ways. “Just leave. I have the number for security and they can be here in seconds.” It’s a bluff, and he doesn’t seem to show any indication of buying it.

“Go ahead.” He steps closer to me, looking down on me. “It’d only take me seconds to do what I want to you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I say bitingly.

He pulls his hand back to hit me. I close my eyes, turning my head in anticipation and raising my arms. There’s a meaty thud and then a heavy thump, but I feel nothing. I hesitantly open my eyes and find Jake on his back, looking up at a very angry, very intimidating Liam King. Liam’s hands are balled into fists and he towers over Jake, who is massaging a rapidly reddening patch of skin on his jaw.

Jake gets to his feet, eyes still set on me, but Liam keeps his body between the two of us as Jake stalks toward the door.

“Get the fuck out of my house, and get the fuck away from her. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you,” says Liam. His back is to me, but I can see the barely controlled rage flowing through him.

Jake scoffs. “If I come here again, I won’t let you sucker punch me next time, asshole. Hey, Aub,” he says, grinning maliciously. “Guess that answers the question of who you fucked to get this job. I guess I can’t take that V-card for myself anymore. No big deal, though. I’ll catch you again when this fucker isn’t around. We’ll get caught up.”

He shuts the door and I hear his footsteps receding away from the porch.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “He’s just--”

Liam rounds on me, hands carefully cupping my cheeks as his eyes bore into me, scanning me for damage. He runs his fingertips down my jawline and my neck, eyes flicking across my skin from my head to my toes before he finally seems content. “He didn’t hurt you. Did he?”

“No,” I whisper. “Thanks to you.” It feels good to have him fussing over me, and I’m flooded by a warmth and happiness like I haven’t felt in years.

He shakes his head. “C’mon. Let’s go take that tour I promised you. Get our minds off this shit.”

I follow him outside, barely able to put a coherent thought together as my past rushes up to meet me like an old, unwelcome friend. Images of Jake’s face contorted in rage. Memories of the floor rushing up to meet me when he had too much to drink. The way my mom’s hand looked so frail in mine when I sat at her death bed, taking care of her for the last time. I’ve kept it all pushed down so well that it rises up now with unexpected force, bringing tears to my eyes.

I try to discreetly dab at my eyes with the back of my hand, but Mr. King notices. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here now. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from him if that’s what you want.”

I nod, letting Mr. King carefully lead me into the fancy black car waiting in front of the house. He opens the door and guides me down into the seat.

“Mr. King,” I say as he sinks into the driver’s seat and closes the door. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful at all, but… I just want you to know I don’t have to be your problem. I can take care of myself.”

“First of all, call me Liam,” he says. “I mean, you can call me ‘sir’ once in awhile if you want. It’s kind of sexy when you do.”

I clear my throat, shifting uncomfortably and blushing.

He bites his lip, forcing his expression into something more serious. “But you work for me, sweetheart. You better fucking believe you’re my problem. Your paycheck has my name on it, and that makes you mine. He touches you, he touches something that belongs to me. And I don’t tolerate that.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “That’s really sweet of you,” I say.

He frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. I love being told that I’ve been purchased. It’s super sweet when a guy doesn’t want his property to be touched, too. You know, every girl’s dream.” I know I shouldn’t be talking to my boss like this, but my run-in with Jake has my nerves all bunched up and I can’t stop myself. Liam’s words remind me too much of the way Jake always assumed I was his property, too. Still, that was totally different. I shouldn’t assume Liam means it in the same way Jake did.

Liam laughs. “You’re not just mine because I pay you, sweetheart.” He says no more, but the fire in his eyes says all he needs.

I slowly tear my gaze from him and stare out across the driveway, feeling very much like a deer in the jaws of a wolf. I’m reminded of what Roxanne said about not rolling over for him, so I swallow hard and force myself to respond. “I should hope not. Because you don’t pay me nearly enough for what you’re implying.”

He barks a surprised laugh, gripping the steering wheel and half-turning his head to smile at me. “Jesus Christ,” he says, starting the engine. “She’s got teeth.”

“Yeah,” I agree, feeling myself enjoying this little game a bit too much. “Yes. They make it a lot easier to chew my food.”

He chuckles. “You know, as your boss, I could reprimand you for talking back to me.”

I lower my head, chewing nervously on the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry, sir. I got carried away.”

He narrows his eyes, pulling out onto the main road before glancing over at me again. “I’m fucking with you, sweetheart. But if you keep calling me ‘sir’, this tour is going to get very personal.”

“Sorry, s--” I close my mouth and then my eyes, wishing for a reset button to try this whole thing over again.

“Damn,” he says. “I thought things were about to get interesting there.”

“So,” I say quickly, desperate to change the subject before I burn alive from the combined effects of embarrassment and arousal. “Where are we going?”

“Hmm. We can take the tour in a little, but I think if you’re going to be my employee, I should get to know your skillset better.”

“My skillset?” I ask.

“Yeah, you know. Strengths, weaknesses, turn-ons, that kind of thing.”

“Did you just--”

“Here,” he says quickly, yanking the steering wheel and swerving into the parking lot in front of a convenience store. “I just need to run in and grab something. Wait in the car.”

Before I have a chance to object or even comprehend, he’s jogging inside the store. I notice a long line at the counter and figure it’ll be a while before he gets back. I try to calm myself down a little. Everything has been happening so fast since he came back. It’s all threatening to make me lose focus on what’s really keeping me sane, which is this job and his mother. As cantankerous as Roxanne is, she has been like a tether keeping me anchored to the memory of my mom. Before I found her, I was becoming more and more lost every week. I guess it’s selfish of me, but I’m afraid of losing my connection to her because of how far I might go spiraling out of control if I do.

So no matter how good he looks in that suit. No matter how sexy his voice is or how I get tingles across my entire body when he calls me sweetheart, I can’t let this become a thing. I have to be firm and stop acting like a lovesick little girl. This man is my boss. I need to keep him happy, but not too happy. Yeah, that should be easy.

The door swings open and a slightly breathless Liam hops in holding the strangest assortment of items. He tosses a pack of women’s razors on my lap, a bottle of hairspray, a deflated beach ball, and then he shakes out two lipsticks from his sleeve. I frown down at the items and then the line inside. “Did you steal this?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You have billions of dollars and you steal what, like thirty dollars worth of stuff? How do you live with yourself?”

“See that’s the thing. The object of the game is for you to get the items back inside without them realizing they are stolen. Get it? You have to un-shoplift them. If you’re going to work for me, you need to be resourceful enough to pull this off.”

I glare at him. “I’ve already been working for you for two months. Why do I have to prove this now?”

He grins. “Maybe I’m trying to decide if you’re qualified for some more delicate aspects of the job.”

I clear my throat. “Well, what’s to stop me from just walking in and explaining this?”

“You’d lose the game, for starters. You’d also be admitting that you’re an accomplice in a crime.”

“Accomplice? I hardly think--”

He shrugs. “You look a lot like a getaway driver from where I’m sitting.”

“Getaway driver? I’m not even driving!”

“Yeah, I noticed that. You’re terrible at this.”

I shake my head, failing to hide the hint of a smile creeping across my face. “You know what? Fine. Give me that,” I say, snatching a tube of lipstick he had plucked from my lap and started to mess with.

I open the door and stand, reaching under my dress to tuck the lipstick tubes in the elastic of my panties. I try not to pull my dress up too much as I do, but Liam seems to be enjoying the effort immensely. He’s leaning across the center console, not showing any shame in watching. I breathe out a frustrated sigh. Operation: “Don’t make the boss too happy” is off to a horrible start, but in all honesty, the game sounds fun, and I’ve never liked losing.

I tuck the package of razors under my bra and add the beachball too. Then I sort of palm the hairspray can, pressing it against the side of my thigh and hiding it with the fabric of my dress as I walk stiffly in, hoping none of the merchandise is jiggled loose as I walk. I try not to make eye contact with anyone as my heels click across the linoleum so noisily that Liam can probably hear it from the car. I imagine every head turning to watch me awkwardly waddle toward the makeup section.

I do my best at casually glancing over my shoulder before plucking the lipsticks from my underwear and shoving them back on the shelves “Sorry, whoever ends up buying these. I bathed, I promise,” I whisper.

I walk, slightly less uncomfortably now, to replace the hairspray. I’m pulling the razors out from under my dress when a hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Miss. You’re going to need to come with me,” says a stern, matronly woman.

I turn toward her, mouth wide with shock and hand still clutching the razors I’ve half pulled from the neckline of my dress. “This isn’t what it looks like. See, I’m actually putting these back.”

“Uh huh,” says the lady, pulling me toward the back of the store by the arm.

“Can I just explain?” I plead.

“You can explain to the cops when they… what the?” she asks, turning her head toward the entrance of the store, where Liam is…

Oh my God.

Liam apparently followed me inside, and now he’s undoing the buttons on his dress shirt. His suit jacket is already on the ground, and he’s walking toward us looking every bit a model coming down the runway. Each button reveals more and more tanned skin and smooth, muscular skin. The woman’s grip on me softens completely as she stands, as in awe as I am, watching Liam’s strip-tease.

His eyes go to where her hand rests limply on my shoulder. He grins, lunging forward to grab my arm and yanking me away from the woman. “Run!” he shouts.

In my hurry to follow, my shoes fly off and I realize he left behind his expensive jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. We both charge out of the store at full speed, him laughing and me making a noise between a scream and a sob. He opens the passenger door and practically tosses me inside, and as soon as I land I realize I still have a deflated beach ball in the back of my bra.

Liam hops in the driver’s seat, revs the engine, and pulls out just as three store employees emerge from the exit, shouting for us to stop.

I pull the beach ball free and hold it up for him to see. “I forgot to put this back,” I say quietly.

“Damn,” he says. “I guess I’ll have to take you back there sometime.” His shirt is still mostly unbuttoned, and I can clearly see the ripples of muscle across his torso, including the perfectly defined set of abs running from his strong chest to his navel.

“What were you doing?” I ask.

“Creating a distraction to bust you out of there,” he says.

I bite my lip, fiddling with my hands in my lap, not trusting the swirling emotions in my chest. I’m so desperately afraid of falling for this man and risking my job, but I’m starting to become more and more afraid of letting him pass by. I’ve waited so long to give myself completely to a man, and some stupid, romantic voice in the back of my head is telling me maybe it was because I was saving it for a guy like Liam.

“So,” says Liam as we drive down the main road through town. “Here’s everything.”

“I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to take me out,” I say with a small smile. “You don’t even seem to know much about this area.”

“Guilty,” he chuckles. “I’ll be straight with you. I’ve got some shit going on with my ex-wife and I really needed to have a good time to take my mind off it. And sweetheart, you’re giving me a hell of a good time already.”

“I see. So I’m your property and you’re just using me to take your mind off your ex-wife. I feel so honored, Mr. King.”

“You can make anything sound unpleasant if you try hard enough.”

“Fair point,” I say, “but you’re not making me try very hard.”

He barks a laugh. “Let me put it this way. I have enough money to do just about anything in the entire fucking world that I want to do right now. And what did I decide to do?”

A tingle runs across my skin and I smile. “Me,” I say quietly. “I mean, I didn’t mean you decide to like, do me.”

Liam grins. “Says you. Besides, your boyfriend thinks I already did,” he says.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. That was Jake. We dated a couple months ago, but I broke up with him.”

“Did he always treat you like that?”

I look down, feeling my words all fail in my throat. Liam’s strong hand grips my thigh reassuringly, as if to tell me I don’t need to answer. His skin against my bare leg feels intoxicatingly good, and within seconds, I feel my core heating and throbbing as my mind pictures his hand sliding slowly up my thigh, pushing my dress up as he goes until his fingers brush against my panties.

I am briefly lost in the fantasy until a faint moaning sound snaps me back to the present. I clap a hand to the base of my throat, eyebrows furrowing as I try to replay the last few seconds and figure out if that moan just came out of my throat or if I imagined it. Without turning my head, I sneak a peek at Liam, who is grinning so wide I know I didn’t imagine it. I just fucking moaned out loud because he had his hand on my leg.

Oh my God.

“Wow,” I say quickly. “Did you hear that deer outside? Crazy…”

“Yeah, those damn, moaning deer. They are a real problem. Sounded like that one was in the car with us.”

“Yep,” I say, eyes glassy as I stare forward, wondering if this will be the moment that flashes before my eyes on my death bed. The moment that slowly killed me from the inside out. Death by embarrassment. Tragic. It’s apparently an epidemic when Liam King is around.

“We should probably be getting back,” I say.

Liam gives me an odd look. “It hasn’t even been an hour.”

“I know,” I say. “I just don’t really leave Roxanne and Sophie alone for much longer than this to get groceries or run other errands. I’m starting to worry about them.”

“Damn,” he says. “She knows how to reverse shoplift, and she actually cares about doing her job well. You’re quite the catch.”

“I don’t think of it as a job, Mr. King.”

“That’s the right answer.”

“It’s the truth, I mean, I--”

His phone rings and he glances down, grimacing, “Hold that thought, sorry. I should take this.”

I watch him suspiciously, remembering the woman I saw him with at the restaurant. They didn’t exactly look to be on the best terms--considering she slapped him and all--but she was very pretty, and I can’t help wondering if that’s the kind of woman he’s really into. Maybe I’ve been completely misreading the signals he has been sending me.

You should be ignoring his signals, reminds a small voice in the back of my head. Being near Liam makes it almost impossible to think of how getting in a relationship could ever be bad. He’s handsome, charming, successful, and the way he stepped in to protect me from Jake still has my stomach fluttering just to think about. Yet he’s my boss. If I let anything real develop between us, there’s really only one realistic way this ends, and that’s with me losing the job and the guy.

But maybe. Just maybe things could work out between us and I could have both. It’s a foolish, reckless hope, but it’s too hard to ignore, and I worry that it’s gaining more and more control over me by the minute.

“What is it,” he demands into the phone. It’s not even a question. It’s a statement, a command. Tell me. “Okay,” he says.

I watch his fist gripping the steering wheel, fingers squeezing hard until his knuckles turn white. “Okay. Yeah. Got it. Loud and clear,” he drops the phone into a cupholder and I can see his jaw muscles flexing and relaxing.

“Everything okay?” I ask hesitantly.

“Depends how you look at it,” he says. “If you’re the glass is half full type, you could say things are just great, because it sounds like I pretty much have a month to find a good, wholesome wife to convince a judge I’m not a billionaire playboy who shouldn’t be raising a daughter by himself. If you’re the glass if half empty type, well, you could say things are shit. Because I only have a month to find a woman who will agree to marry me.”

“Wait, who is trying to get Sophie taken away from you?” I ask.

“My ex-wife,” he says.

I wait for him to say more, but he’s apparently not in a sharing mood. “Well,” I say, thoughts churning. “What if you pretended? You know? Just get some woman to agree to pretend to marry you. I’m sure you could sign a contract and protect yourself. Then once the judge is off your back, you and the woman could go your separate ways.”

He half turns to me, cocking an eyebrow. “You volunteering?”

I laugh too loud and too suddenly. “God. No. I mean, it would make sense and everything since I’m already staying at the house, but,” I laugh again, shaking my head. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s a terrible idea.”

“No,” he says, squinting out over the road. “No, I don’t think it is.” He looks at me and a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “I think it’s a fantastic fucking idea.”

“Oh,” I say, suddenly seeing where his thoughts are going. “No way. I wasn’t talking about me.”

“You said it yourself. It’s just temporary. You play along, I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your effort. Nothing complicated. As soon as the judge gets off my back, you’re free to go. Simple as that.”

“I really think this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have said anything,” I say. My heart pounds in my chest and it feels like the car is spinning around me. “I hardly…”

“Fine. Let me make it simple for you. Pretend to marry me or you’re fired.”

“You can’t,” I blurt.

“Oh?” he asks. “Why can’t I? Because you can sue me for wrongful termination? Go right ahead. I’ll forward your information to the team of fucking lawyers I have. I’m sure they could work your case in.”

I cross my arms, looking at him like I’m seeing him for the first time, maybe the way other people in his business do. He’s ruthless. He can be charming and sweet, but when it comes down to it, Liam King gets what he wants, no matter the cost. I don’t think men rise to the heights he has on pure charm alone. It takes a man with bite behind the smile to conquer corporations, and now the full weight of his will is focused on me.

“Pretend to marry me,” he repeats.

I shake my head, looking out the window, clenching my jaw to hold back from saying the dozens of suddenly nasty things that are popping into my mind.

“I know how this sounds, but you’ll be taken care of.” He smirks, somehow managing to turn the charm back on like he didn’t just blackmail me. “Besides, Aubrey King has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? There’s no woman I’d rather have be the fake mother of my daughter.”

Even though he’s joking with me, and even though I’m furious, a small part of me is tempted by the idea. God knows I could use the money, but this could also be a chance to get in something resembling a relationship with him where there is an end date, and that end date doesn’t involve the kind of hard feelings that would lose me my job. It could also send a really clear message to Jake that I’m taken and there’s no point in still trying to win me back.

Agreeing might also be my only chance to make him pay for forcing my hand like this. If he fires me, it all ends. I walk away from Roxanne and the last link I have to my mother. I leave behind Sophie who has become like a daughter to me. And of course, I leave Mr. King behind, and all the fantasy filled dreams he has already fueled in my mind. It may not be my proudest decision, but I close my eyes and mutter the words. “Fine. I’ll pretend to marry you.”