Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Wade looks like he wants to argue, but his parents are already whispering to each other, clearly intrigued by this new development. I flash Wade one last smile before practically dragging Asher inside.
“Thanks for the save,” I whisper as soon as we’re out of earshot.
“No problem,” he replies, sounding far too amused. “You were convincing.”
“I’ve had practice,” I mutter under my breath as we make our way through the grand lobby of the resort. Every inch of the place screams luxury, from the marble floors to the crystal chandeliers, but all I can think about is how we’re supposed to survive a week here, pretending we’re madly in love.
We reach the room, and the door swings open to reveal a suite straight out of a magazine. Huge king-sized bed, plush furniture, and a balcony with a view that would take my breath away if I weren’t already preoccupied with the fact that we have to share a room.
“Oh no,” I say, staring at the singular bed that dominates the space.
“Oh yes,” Asher replies with a grin that’s way too smug for my liking.
I whirl around to face him, hands on my hips. “Don’t get any ideas, Hawke. I’ll take the couch.”
“You’ll hurt your back,” he says, already walking toward the suitcase I dropped by the door. “Take the bed. I’ll survive.”
“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch. I’ll just—” I stop mid-sentence, realizing there’s no way I’m winning this argument. The couch looks about as comfortable as a pile of rocks.
With a sigh, I give up and flop down onto the bed. “Fine. But if you snore, I’ll smother you with a pillow.”
“Duly noted,” he says with a laugh as he starts unpacking his things.
Once we’re both somewhat settled, I realize I should probably warn him about the biggest obstacle we’re going to face. “You know, it’s not Wade or his parents you have to worry about,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows.
“Oh?” He glances at me with that annoying smirk again. “Who’s worse than Wade?”
“My grandmother,” I reply seriously. “She’s old school, and when I say old school, I mean she’ll ask you more questions than an FBI interrogation. If we don’t convince her that we’re madly in love, this whole thing will fall apart.”
He pauses, mid-motion, fingers stilling over the zipper of his duffel. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to mine, that maddening glint of amusement flashing in his eyes like he’s already two moves ahead of me. “So,” he says, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk, “you’re saying I need to charm your grandmother?”
“Exactly,” I reply, arms folded as I lean against the vanity, watching him like I don’t entirely trust him not to turn this into a game. “She’s actually the one pushing hardest for the Wade engagement. If anyone’s a threat to this whole charade, it’s her.”
He whistles low, then leans back casually against the dresser, all relaxed muscle and infuriating confidence. That same cocky grin spreads across his face like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Charlotte, sweetheart,” he says, and I swear that word has never sounded so dangerous, “I’ve got this. Old ladies love me.”
I roll my eyes hard, but the smallest smile tugs at the corner of my mouth despite my best efforts to keep it buried. “You better really hope so. Because if Nana Peg smells even a hint of bullshit, we’re done for. She’s got the kind of instincts that could rival your background check database.”
He lifts a brow, clearly delighted by the challenge. “Excellent. Nothing I love more than impressing sharp women with high standards.”
“You’ll fit right in then,” I mutter, trying not to laugh. “Just remember—if she figures out we’re faking, you’ll be the one she blames.”
He winks, slow and deliberate, like it’s some sort of secret weapon. I groan internally. This man is going to be the death of me. It should be illegal to look that good in black jeans and a plain T-shirt. I mean, honestly. The sleeves cling to his biceps like they were sewn on him, and when he leans down to grab his bag, I have to turn away or risk staring. Again.
“Don’t worry,” he says smoothly, slinging the bag over his shoulder like he’s about to stroll into combat. “We’ll make sure Grandma thinks you’re head over heels for me.”
I laugh—actually laugh—and he grins like that was his plan all along. “She’s more perceptive than you think, Hawke. She’s like an elegant bloodhound in pearls. She’ll know if something’s off.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Well then,” he says, voice low and playful, “I guess we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t feel like we’re faking.”
My heart stutters in my chest, a single, traitorous beat that takes me by surprise. I roll my eyes again, quickly, hoping the movement masks the sudden flutter in my stomach. “Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving him off and turning back toward my suitcase. “Let’s just survive dinner without triggering any family alarms.”