Holiday Hoax (Windy City Holidates #3)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

MIA

I race through my apartment, trying to put things away and look somewhat tidy. My collection of shoes discarded by the front door gets shoved into the tiny coat closet. I fold all the blankets and drape them artfully over the back of the couch. The dirty dishes that have accumulated in the sink are put into the dishwasher.

I hear a knock on the door just as I drop two rotten bananas into the trash can. I’ve changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater. I run my hands down my thighs to make sure no fuzz from the blankets is stuck to the fabric before answering.

“Hi,” I say as I welcome him inside. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” His cologne wafts deliciously behind him as he passes by me to enter. “How are you?”

“Good. Sorry the apartment is kind of messy.” I look around, noticing everything I missed. “I haven’t had company in a while.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He stands awkwardly in the threshold between the entry hall and the living room.

“Do you want to sit?” I point into the living room and lead him around to the couch.

He looks so out of my place in my slightly messy, colorful space in his perfectly pressed navy suit. He’s paired it with a white button-down shirt, slim navy tie, brown belt, and shoes. A lock of his blond hair has fallen free down onto his forehead. It’s the only thing out of place about him.

“Thank you.” He unbuttons his jacket as he sits, and I notice his hands for the first time. They’re so big, which I knew from shaking his hand before, but something about the sight of them hits different.

I shake the weird thought from my mind. I’m not going to start lusting over my friend’s hands like some weirdo.

“What did you want to discuss?” I drag my eyes up to his face.

“I told Derrick, my assistant, to RSVP to the dinner tomorrow night for two and he had questions.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, not really understanding the problem. “Which is bad?”

“No.” He shifts his weight and leans against the couch, throwing his arm along the backrest. “I just think we need to know a little more about each other.”

“That makes sense.” My stomach chooses the worst time to rumble loudly, expressing her displeasure at me for skipping lunch today. My cheeks heat as I look up at him, the look on his face clearly displaying that he heard. “Sorry. I didn’t have time for lunch today.”

“We should get you fed then.”

“Are you hungry?”

He checks his watch. “I don’t usually eat until I get home around seven or eight, but I could eat now.”

I watch as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, his thumb swiping over the screen until he pulls up a delivery app. Have hands ever looked as good as his do? The way his long fingers dwarf his phone while cradling it holds my attention.

How long has it been since I’ve had sex? Apparently too long because why else would I be lusting over this man’s hands? Get a grip on yourself, Mia.

“What keeps you out in the evenings like that?” I ask to knock my mind out of the gutter.

“Work.” He glances up at me with a boyish grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not very exciting, am I? That’s the first thing to learn about me.”

“That you’re a boring old man?” I tease.

“Hey now.” He smiles softly at me. “Go easy on me. What’s good around here?”

“The Greek place down the street is great. The Thai place is pretty good. I also love the sub shop.”

“Another thing about me, a rather important one, is that I’m severely allergic to coconut, so I avoid Thai and Indian food.”

“That’s scary.” I start cataloging all my food that might have coconut used as an ingredient, so I remember to toss it just in case. “Do you carry an epi pen?”

“Always.” He reaches in his jacket pocket and pulls one out. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

“I do. One of my nieces has a peanut allergy, so my sister made us all learn how to use them. Your life is safe in my hands.”

“Good to know.” He winks.

He. Winks.

It’s not a gross, smarmy wink either. It’s the kind of wink that sends butterflies racing through my body. This is not good. Luckily my stomach comes to the rescue with another embarrassingly loud rumble.

“Here, dinner’s on me.” He hands over his phone. “Order what you want and input the delivery details.”

“Thank you,” I tell him once I’ve ordered the food and hand him back his phone. I settle back into the corner of the sofa and look over at him. “Aside from the coconut allergy, what do I need to know about you?”

“I’m thirty-eight, I got my undergraduate degree and MBA from Yale. My hobbies include reading sci-fi novels and running.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a science fiction reader.”

“Really? What would you have expected me to read?”

“Business journals. Historical biographies.”

“Yes to the business journals but no to the biographies. I hated history.”

“My degree is in art history,” I reply with a laugh.

“Did you always want to work in a gallery?”

“Yeah. For as long as I can remember, I knew the art world was where I was meant to be.”

“Do you draw or paint or anything?”

“I do, although I’m not good at it.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” I smile at him.

“I seem to recall a very intelligent woman once telling me that art belongs to those who perceive it, which would presumably carry over to determining whether it is good or not.”

Oh, he’s good. Too good.

“She sounds brilliant.”

Our banter lapses into silence as we smile at each other. If one of us doesn’t speak soon, I’m going to start blushing again. Which is ridiculous because we’re not actually dating, we’re fake dating.

“Any other hobbies?” he asks.

“I do a bit of volunteering with Nico when he’s in town. I love the museums here, so I’ll go check out new exhibits as they pop up. I paddle board in the summer.”

He checks his phone as it vibrates on the coffee table. “The food is here.”

“I’ll go down and get it. If you want, you can grab a couple of glasses of water, or I have a bottle of white wine in the wine cooler underneath the island.” The glasses are on an open shelf, so I don’t bother pointing him in their direction.

On the way down I’m able to jump in the fast elevator, thank fuck because my damn stomach won’t stop growling. Heat radiates from the bags along with the most delicious scents. Unfortunately for me, I’m stuck on the slow elevator for the journey back to my apartment. For a moment I consider pulling out a piece of pita bread for the ride just to make my stomach hush.

“Dinner’s here,” I call out. As soon as I enter the room, I’m met with the sight of an angry Viking god holding a glass of wine in one hand and my list of ways to earn extra money in the other.

“What is this?” His voice is low and almost growly.

“A list of ways to make money.”

“Selling foot pics?” He prowls around the island and takes the bags from me. “Or panties?”

Part of me wants to melt into the floor at the fire in his eyes as he looks at me. The other part, the sane, rational, bra-burning feminist part wants to scream fuck the patriarchy and his bullshit attitude. So I straighten my shoulders and cock an eyebrow.

“And?” I give a careless shrug. “It’s an honest way to make a living.”

“It’s dangerous.”

I give a disbelieving laugh. “How so? No one would see my face, and I’d use a P.O. box.”

His brow furrows. “You’re seriously considering it.”

“We should eat before the food gets cold.”

“I have a rule for us.”

“A rule for us?” I cross my arms. “Let’s hear it.”

“We need to treat each other as if we’re really dating.”

“Yes, that’s the whole point.”

He holds the list up between his fingers. “I take care of what’s mine, and no girlfriend of mine will be selling panties or foot pictures for something I can give her.”

“I’m not going to let you pay my bills.”

“Then I’ll tell Nico.” He pulls his phone out.

“No.” I lunge for his phone, but he holds it out of my reach. “Don’t tell him anything.”

“Why? I know he’d help you in a heartbeat. Don’t tell me it’s because you don’t want to burden him and Stella while she’s trying to get a handle on her lupus.”

“Okay. Just put the phone down and promise not to say anything to either of them.”

His lips flatten into a thin line, but he eventually nods.

“When my dad had his heart attack, his hours got cut way back. Mom’s been working more, but it hasn’t been enough, so I’ve been picking up the slack here and there for them. They would only accept my help if I promised not to tell Nico or my sisters because they have families to care for.”

“So just because you’re single, they think it’s okay to take your money?”

“No.” I shake my head vehemently because I don’t want him to think less of my parents. “They wouldn’t have taken my money if they knew that I was already struggling.”

“If you’re struggling and don’t want your family to know, at least let me help,” he implores me. “I have more money than I’ll ever need.”

“I’m not taking money from you.”

A growl of frustration reverberates from his chest. “Are you always so stubborn?”

“Yes.” The annoyed look on his face is actually kind of adorable, so I cut him a break. “I did let you buy dinner tonight though.”

“I’m buying all our meals.”

“I can handle that.”

“And any incidentals.”

That’s up for debate, but my stomach growls again, so I push my reluctance aside in order to dig into my dinner. He looks at me as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to piece together. The fact of the matter is that I don’t want to be something he has to solve.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks in between bites of moussaka.

“How much I hate that question.” I smirk at him. “But I’ll answer it anyway. I just want this to be a mutually beneficial arrangement for us.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a half smirk. “Follow the rules, and it will be.”

I scoff and glance away because that made me tingle in places that have no business tingling. The last thing I need to do is get a crush on the billionaire I’m fake dating. Especially when he is my own brother’s brother-in-law.

Long after Ian has left, my mind is still reeling with the echoes of his words. Accepting financial help from him is out of the question. I’m honestly surprised he even offered.

What’s more troubling, though, is my body’s reaction to his anger over finding my list. Why did seeing him get protective turn me on like it did? I’ve never been into guys with a possessive bone in their bodies before. Hell, half of my exes would have been just fine if I wanted to explore outside of the relationship. I always told myself it was great to be with open-minded men, even if I’m a serial monogamist.

I roll onto my side in bed, looking out the window at the city lights dotting the horizon. The tingle I felt when the word mine left Ian’s lips continues to linger in my body. But I refuse to relieve the growing ache.

Nope.

Not happening.

I will not be masturbating to thoughts of the sexy as sin billionaire I’m fake dating. We’re just friends. Acquaintances really. The only reason we would have crossed paths is because of our siblings being married to each other.

It doesn’t matter that his eyes crinkle when he laughs or smiles. Or that his forearms are as sexy as his hands. In fact, I bet his hands are soft. Billionaires all have soft hands, I bet, probably from earning their money off the hard working backs of their employees.

I should just lump Ian in with all the other people of the same net worth as him. Elon Musk, gag . The Koch brothers, shiver . Jeff Bezos, cheater. Bill Gates, I stop at that one. At least he gives to charity. I wonder if Ian does, and if so, I wonder which ones.

Instead of counting sheep I fall asleep listing billionaires and why they suck. All in an effort to remind myself not to catch feelings for the one taking me to dinner tomorrow night.