His eyes narrowed on me; and I could see that he was preparing to argue, so I cut him off.

“It’s because I’m a mess, okay? I’m a complete mess.”

“Everyone is a mess.”

“Not like me. This” —I pointed to my face— “I am crazy. I have severe abandonment issues and daddy issues and mommy issues. I’m not just shy. I’m petrified. And I don’t want to change. I like my life. I like having control over everything. I don’t want….” I swallowed and looked away, no longer able to meet the burning intensity of his gaze. “I don’t want you.”

“I know that’s a lie.”

“I don’t want you, Ronan,” I whispered harshly. “Not enough to change who I am.”

We stood there in silence, and I could feel his eyes on me. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as a war within me raged. I wanted to touch him, and I wanted to never see him again.

Just when the moment grew unbearable, Ronan turned away. He shuffled to the table we’d abandoned, pulling a bill from his pocket and placing it on the table. He paused there, obviously collecting his thoughts, then walked back to me. With measured slowness, he reached for my hand.

“Ronan, don’t—”

“I’m not asking you for anything. I just want to hold your goddamn hand, okay?”

My gaze flickered to his face, found his expression hard and determined. I nodded once and fit my fingers in his, ignoring the spark that traveled up my arm and the deep, fathomless swelling of want that choked my throat, making it impossible to speak.

He led us out of the bakery, down the sidewalk, across the two blocks, and back to my office building. We didn’t speak, and his hold on my hand was firm but not tight. If I’d wanted to, I could have removed myself, but I didn’t. When we stopped at intersections, he’d brush his thumb over my knuckles and between my fingers in a sweeping circle. The movement sent spikes of fluttering awareness to my lower belly.

But I couldn’t speak, and I could barely breathe. I still had the necklace in my bag, and I was still intent on returning it; but I knew now was not the time.

He didn’t let go of my hand until we were in the elevator, on our way up to the office. He stood on the opposite side of the carriage and wouldn’t look at me. The fury was back, the tortured and sorrowful rim around his eyes, and I felt like the biggest jerk on the planet because I had a part in putting it there.

When the doors opened, he waited for me to exit first. I walked in front of him, trying to figure out what to say, how to move us back to a professional space and away from Annie and Ronan. We needed to be Ms. Catrel and Mr. Fitzpatrick; we needed to work together.

I paid no heed to the receptionist as I walked past, but she stopped me.

“Oh! Ms. Catrel! Mr. Fitzpatrick! They’re all waiting for you in conference room two. You need to go there now, like, right now!”

I glanced at Ronan over my shoulder. His gorgeous face was marred with a scowl.

“Why?”

“It’s about the pictures,” she said, jumping to her feet. She looked at him, then at me, then at him again. Clearly, she expected us to know what she was talking about.

“What pictures?” he asked after a pause. “Did Brona publish pictures?”

“What? No. Not Ms. O’Shea. It’s the pictures of you and Ms. Catrel from today….” The blonde receptionist tsked then waved us over.

I shared another wary glance with Ronan, then walked around her desk, and leaned over her shoulder to see the computer screen.

Her next words were whispered. “See, outside the building. His arm is around you, and you’re laughing. And then these” —she scrolled farther down— “where you’re…well, you’re kissing.”

“What?” Ronan flinched then joined us behind her desk.

Sure enough, clear as day, there were pictures documenting my last hour with Ronan—well, everything leading up to and including the kiss. There were no pictures of us walking back to the building. I had to wonder if they just hadn’t been loaded yet.

But I couldn’t think.

I couldn’t process what this meant.

Dumbly, I asked, “And Joan? Joan has seen these?”

She nodded, “Oh, yes. That’s why they’re waiting for you in conference room two. You both need to go there right now.”

I straightened, my mind a mess, and blinked at Ronan.

He appeared to be baffled but not upset. Mostly just perplexed and surprised.

Meanwhile, I was twisting my fingers together and worrying my bottom lip and trying to plan a graceful exit strategy from Davidson & Croft. There was no way, no way on a cold day in Hawaii, that I was going to keep working here. Not after that. Not after my co-workers had seen pictures of me kissing a client. I was…. It was the worst kind of unprofessional behavior.

“There you are.” Joan’s voice roused me from my panicked planning. I didn’t even get two seconds to prepare before she was on us. “You two need to come with me.”

Insinuating herself between Ronan and me, she grabbed both of our elbows and pulled us forward down the hall.

“Joan,” I croaked, “I can explain.”

“No need, dear. It was brilliant. You are both brilliant.” She glanced at me and gave me something resembling a smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

“What?” I blurted, my wide eyes moving from her to Ronan. I found him looking at her in plain confusion. He was obviously just as befuddled as I was.

“The pictures. The laughing, the hugging, the kissing. It was all brilliant, though I wish you’d talked to me before putting your plan in action. But it’s fine. You’re perfect. You’re exactly what we want for Ronan’s image. Ian can’t believe he didn’t consider it before now. It makes complete sense, given your background. You’re the perfect candidate—you meet all the criteria.”

It was my imagination, I know for a fact it was; but I felt the world tilt, pitch to the side, and I heard the sound of a thousand screaming tea kettles in my ears.

“Wh-what?” I breathed, shaking my head, trying to bring Joan and Ronan and the hallway into focus.

Joan had no choice but to stop because my feet had stopped moving. She glanced at me with an expression that displayed her bemusement and gave me a once-over.

“Are you feeling well?”

“What do you mean I’m perfect? Perfect for what?”

She blinked at me. Her gaze flickered to Ronan and then returned to move over my face in a shrewd examination.

At length she said, “I mean that little act you two put on over the last hour was perfect. You, Annie, are perfect to act as Ronan’s fictional date, partner, and love interest for the foreseeable future…obviously.”

Chapter Nine

@RonanFitz: So this is Twitter. Can’t say I’m impressed.

@Tomsouthernchef: @RonanFitz Oh, go drink some prune juice, Granddad.

*Ronan*

For the second time in the space of a week, I felt like kissing Joan, and it wasn’t because she was such a handsome specimen of a woman. Seemingly, she was becoming my very own fairy godmother; I wasn’t yet sure if this was her intention, but I’d roll with it anyway.

Annie had gone very, very quiet ever since Joan announced her misunderstanding that we’d planned and staged our earlier interactions, that we’d planned for Annie to pose as my fake girlfriend. Her worry was written all over her face. In a way, I could understand her obvious reluctance since I’d been sending her gifts all week, and she probably thought I was some sort of obsessive psycho.

I’ll admit I’d been coming on a bit strong, but I was in New York all alone and had a lot of time on my hands. For some reason, over the past few days my mind had kept wandering to Annie, hence the gifts. So yeah, it was a combination of boredom and spending way too much time thinking about her lips and that lush little body of hers. I wanted in, and my dick thought presents would be the way to get there. God, I could still taste her on my tongue, could still hear the tiny moans she made, the way her breathing stilted and became sexy little pants.

I could also still taste the bitterness of her rejection. It hadn’t just caught me off guard; it had pissed me off. She didn’t want to change; she said she liked hiding in her comfortable little world, and yet the way she kissed me said otherwise. Now all I could think about was rattling her cage.

We followed Joan into the conference room where Rachel and Ian were waiting. Rachel wore a big, encouraging smile while Ian’s face was schooled into an expression of grudging respect with a dash of cynicism. Perhaps he suspected those photos of me and Annie weren’t so much staged as they were perfectly real.

I sat down on a chair, and Annie took the one beside me. Her movements were slow and awkward like she was in a daze, and when she placed her hands in her lap, I could see that they were shaking. I didn’t like seeing her like this. I knew she was reeling from the fact that pictures of us shoving our tongues down each other’s throats were currently making the rounds on the World Wide Web. And now I wanted to kill the Internet just for making her feel that way. I’d always been protective of the females in my life, but this was coming on so quickly it was almost disconcerting.