4. Aspen

CHAPTER 4

Aspen

“Awedding?” I blurted two minutes after I’d settled into the private jet that Crossland had invited me on. “You want to hard launch our relationship at your best friend’s wedding?”

My head was still spinning from all that had transpired in the last week. Crossland and I had gone back and forth on some of the contract negotiations, like just how available I had to be, but we finally settled on a clear-cut three-month relationship, and I’d signed it.

Jesse’s lawyer looked over everything for me—after signing an NDA—and now I was officially Crossland McClaren’s girlfriend. He’d urged me to pack a bag for a quick weekend trip to Raleigh last night. What he’d failed to mention was that we were going to be attending his best friend’s wedding tomorrow.

“What’s wrong with that?” Crossland asked like he didn’t see the issue.

I stared at him where he sat across from me in the buttery soft leather seats. I fidgeted with the buttons, there were so many. Some that moved the seat back and forth and others that turned on a warmer and who knew what else. I’d never flown anywhere before, let alone a private jet where flight attendants were serving us champagne and French fries, brought in special just because Crossland knew they were my favorite snack, something he’d asked through text the night before.

I was way out of my depth here.

“I’m trying to wrap my head around everything,” I admitted. “And I’m just a little surprised that you want our first date to be your best friend’s wedding. So many people that you know will be there and we’ll be under the microscope, especially at the reception. Luckily, at the ceremony, all the attention will be on the bride and groom, but after?” I fiddled with a few strands of my hair, suddenly realizing something terrible. I snapped in my eyes to Crossland. “I didn’t pack properly. You didn’t explain⁠—”

“Aspen,” he said, his voice warm and commanding, causing chills to curl down my spine. “Relax,” he continued. “We’re going shopping today.”

“Oh,” I said, relieved.

I sat back against the warm, cushioned chair and glanced at the clouds out the window.

Was I really here? On a private jet with a billionaire who was going to take me dress shopping to be his date for a wedding?

Yesterday, somebody had yelled at me because I didn’t include their cream cheese with their bagel, and today I was here enveloped in all things Crossland, from his cedar and cinnamon scent to the sharp, clean, spacious private jet.

“Okay,” I said, focusing. “We need to get our story straight if we’re going to pass the wedding test.”

“Wedding test?” he asked, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Yes, the wedding test. Taking a date to a wedding is a huge deal. Love and commitment practically bleed from the walls, and if you bring a new date, then everybody will ask questions. And we’re going to have to behave as if we’ve been dating for a month. At four weeks, we should know each other’s favorite stuff—music, food, songs, treats. We should know how each other takes our coffee and what our bedtime routines are.”

Crossland’s eyes darkened, as if he was contemplating just how we would go to bed together. The images I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for the last week made my heart flutter. It was impossible not to think about it with Crossland, especially after he’d been so gracious and understanding with the deal. He made sure I was comfortable every step of the way and sex wasn’t even on the table, but somehow, it kept popping into my mind. I blamed his patience and charm, but his damn blue eyes and gorgeous body had a lot to do with it, too. And…ugh, everything about Crossland was appealing so far. Surely he had some flaw ready to creep out and hit me with a good dose of ick, right?

I pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the monumental task at hand.

This was a job for me and I always took my job seriously. Took anything that provided me with security seriously.

“Lucky for us,” I continued. “We have a two-hour plane ride in order to get all the details down.”

Crossland grinned at me.

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked.

“Seafood,” he answered. “More specifically, Dungeness crab.”

Picturing him tearing into seasoned crustaceans while wearing his ten-thousand-dollar suit made me giggle.

“Why is that funny?”

I waved him off. “Sorry, just the image of you getting crab all over your suit is hilarious.”

“I don’t always wear suits.”

I eyed the royal blue number he was in right now, and he rolled his eyes, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket as he crossed one leg over the other.

“I’m used to traveling in style,” he said. “Especially if I’m going to a high-media-interest event, which Weston Rutherford’s wedding absolutely is. I enjoy being photographed in suits. It’s something I can control when other times I have no idea when someone is snapping pictures. But if I’m tearing into crab, trust me, I’m not wearing Armani.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“And yours?” he asked.

“Tacos,” I answered simply.

“Tacos?” he repeated, and I noted the raised brows like he was waiting for more. “Is that it? There’s no other specific detail to it, just tacos?”

I laughed softly. “Pretty much,” I answered. “I like all kinds, any kind. If it’s in taco form, I will eat it, but the best ones are the carnitas from my favorite street vendor who happens to frequent the corner only two blocks away from your club.”

“Good to know,” Crossland said, echoing my earlier words.

“How do you take your coffee?” I asked.

“That depends,” he answered. “If I’m at home, I like it with honey and creamer. If I’m out at a coffee shop, I like a flat white. You?”

“At home I drink it black,” I said. “If I’m at work, I like a double Americano with a little half-and-half.”

Crossland nodded. “Favorite type of music?” he asked before I could.

I blew out a breath. “That’s an incredibly complicated question,” I answered. “I listen to everything. One minute I could be listening to Taylor Swift and the next minute I could be listening to Hans Zimmer’s score for Pirates of the Caribbean. I love music. It’s an escape for me, and it used to be a luxury. My parents were always asleep during the day, so anytime I played music I would—” I cut off that sentence, shaking my head at how easily I’d been about to divulge my past to him. “Honestly, it depends on my mood,” I continued, hoping he wouldn’t bring up what I left out. “You?”

“I like electric when I’m working because the instrumental beats help keep me focused and if it’s for pleasure, I like anything as long as it has good lyrics.”

“Do you have a favorite?” I asked.

He tilted his head, thinking. “That varies from day to day,” he said. “But my sister Bristol sent me a song by David Kushner, and I’ve been listening to his songs on repeat lately.”

I quickly opened my phone and dove into the free music app I had on there, pulling up the artist and adding it to my queue so I could listen to his music later.

“Okay, what else,” I said thinking to myself, my knee bouncing slightly. “Are you allergic to anything?”

Crossland chuckled. “No, I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Me either,” I said.

“What’s your deal-breaker in a real relationship?” Crossland asked, diving into more serious waters. “I know that both of us have expressed not having many serious relationships, but if you were in a real one, what’s the line?”

I had to really stretch back and think about my last relationship to find an answer. It was that long ago, and it hadn’t been serious, but there was one key factor that made me end things quickly.

“I don’t want to feel unworthy or unwanted,” I admitted, and I didn’t like how it sounded out loud, but it was the truth. “Thanks to the way my parents raised, or didn’t, raise me,” I continued. “Feeling unwanted is sort of a trigger of mine. Feeling unworthy is even worse. The second anyone makes me feel that way, I’m out. I don’t have the time or the emotional capacity to deal with it. I’m already hard enough on myself as it is.”

Crossland’s Arctic blue eyes were sympathetic as he looked me over. “I can see that,” he said. “And understand it.”

“What’s yours?” I asked. “Is it someone asking for a commitment?” I joked.

“Anyone who spends time with me in that capacity knows commitment isn’t on the table,” he said, smiling at me. “Lying,” he continued. “I can’t stand it. I’m a big boy and can handle the truth. I’d rather handle any hardship, any horrible fact, over the sweetest of lies.”

He blew out of breath, closing his eyes for a few moments before returning them to mine. “And that goes way back,” he explains. “When my parents died and I had to take over my family’s empire, so many people came out of the woodwork trying to scam me out of money. And some of them were very good at it. Some of them succeeded by lying so well that I easily handed over millions to them.” He shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. That sting of the past evidently still lived with him.

“That wasn’t as bad as those who were telling me I shouldn’t become Bristol’s guardian,” he continued. “She was seventeen, but she was still my responsibility. And even now, as a grown woman, I still think she’s my responsibility.” A regretful smile played across his face, and he let out a strained laugh. “I even kicked out one of my own players years ago because I thought he crossed the line with Bristol.” He shrugged. “Turns out he didn’t, and years later they reconnected, and that same player is now married to my sister and plays for one of my best friends’ teams. It’s funny how life works out.” He cleared his throat, coming back to the present. “Either way, lying is it. I’d rather take a harsh truth than a lie any day.”

“I get that,” I said. “Especially the part about becoming your sister’s guardian. I was eighteen and had been working for the past three years. First, it was babysitting gigs, and then the minute I could legally get a higher paying, more consistent job, I did. I worked after school—sometimes during—as a server at this local café that was near our house. I could walk, so it made it easier to get more shifts. I saved up almost everything I made except for when I needed to pay the electric bill to keep heat on in the house in the winter or to feed us, never knowing when my parents would actually pay the bills or buy groceries. But once I turned eighteen, I had a good chunk of money saved up that I’d planned on using to get an apartment for Brecken and myself far away from them.”

I shook my head as emotion clogged my throat. I focused on the clouds outside of the window as I continued. “I didn’t realize the legalities of the situation. She was only eight, and I was a naïve teenager with a dream of escaping our tragic little home. I didn’t realize the legal battle that came with trying to take my baby sister out of our parents’ home. It didn’t matter how awful they were, they still had rights. It took all of my savings and a year of fighting them before they finally signed over the rights to me. But once that was done, I had her, and we were safe. We were hungry, but we were safe. After I got my feet underneath me, I could at least keep us fed. Then I worked a little harder, saved up a little more, and now look at her,” I said, beaming as I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture of Brec standing outside her dorm building. “She’s at NYU.”

For the time being.

“She looks so happy,” Crossland said as I pocketed my phone. “They made you pay for the rights?” he asked, sympathy coating his eyes.

I grimaced and nodded. “Yep, but it was for the best,” I said, even though my hands shook every time I thought about it. “I would’ve paid way more in legal fees if they wanted to drag it out for years, and I think in the end they knew I would win. They knew I would push and push and testify to their neglect and that I would never give up. Never leave her there with them. And hey, they wanted ten grand, so they got ten grand, and I…” I tried to catch my breath, the emotion surrounding the story swirling inside me.

“And you,” Crossland said. “Practically became a mother.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I had become a mother. Brecken had been eight, and it’d been hard. I’d been clueless on how to do things, but I at least knew how not to do them.

Crossland shook his head, and I could see the struggle written all over his features.

“It’s okay,” I said, and really meant it. “I’ve mostly healed from the past. Are there times it creeps back up and threatens to shatter me completely? Definitely. But more often than that, I’m just happy to be where I’m at today, and that’s with Brecken at NYU, regardless of how long I might have to work to keep her there.”

Crossland grinned. “You know three months isn’t really that long in the grand scheme of things or do you really think that you’re not going to make it to the end of this contract?”

I cringed slightly. “I don’t know why I keep forgetting I’m getting paid for this,” I said. “Part of me still feels like it’s not real. Like the rug will be ripped out from underneath me at any moment.”

Crossland leaned forward slightly, looking as if he might reach across and take my hand.

He didn’t. He held my eyes with his.

“It’s real, Aspen,” he said. “I promise. You saw the contract yourself and signed it. This is your job now, one that will hopefully help take some of that stress off of you by the end. And you’re already doing so well.”

I laughed at that and swallowed down the emotion that rose inside me with his words. He really meant it. I could tell that much, but it didn’t stop me from thinking that all of this would come crashing down on top of me. I’d lived that way my entire life, always waiting for the next blow to come or a new price I’d have to pay. I couldn’t change that, no matter how much I healed.

“We’ve only officially been together for two hours,” I said, smiling at him.

He leaned back in his seat, cocking a brow at me. “Four weeks, Aspen. Four marvelous, bliss-filled weeks.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Is that part of the deal now? Am I supposed to lay it on thick and make you look good?”

He scoffed at me. “I don’t need you to lay anything on thick to make me look good, sweetheart. I do that fine on my own. And trust me, if this was an actual relationship? You would be more than blissful.”

I laughed again, surprised at how much laughing I did around the billionaire who had employed me to be his girlfriend. It was nice, even if it was all fake between us.

We spent the rest of the plane ride answering more questions, all about our likes, dislikes, dreams, right down to how we met—which was an embellished version of the true story about him spotting me at the bar in his club.

I still felt very out of place, but by the time we landed, there was a common connection between Crossland and myself. The questions we asked each other had genuinely felt like a first date as opposed to a job interview, which is what it should’ve felt like, but it was easy with him. And I didn’t know if that was because the stakes were off the table, knowing this wasn’t a real relationship and I didn’t actually have to uphold anything except for what we agreed to in the contract that took the pressure off, or if it was because he was just genuinely easy to talk to.

He was smart and funny and playful and just this side of restless. The last one was the most surprising for someone with as much as he had. His wealth ensured he could do whatever he wanted to do, but I think it was the insurmountable options that he had at his fingertips that made it hard to figure out what exactly he wanted to do next.

A black SUV waited for us on the tarmac and staff loaded our bags into the back before a driver whisked us off to an equally luxurious hotel, guiding us into a penthouse suite with more than enough rooms for the two of us. I could’ve brought Brecken and Jesse and their friends if I wanted to. It was four times the size of my apartment, but I was proud of myself because I didn’t let my jaw fall on the floor.

After the staff member left our bags in the primary bedroom and headed out of the room, Crossland headed into the living space, shedding his suit jacket, and neatly laying it over the back of the couch. He poured himself a drink and then sank into the couch, leaning back against it.

I hesitated for a moment in the middle of the room, wondering where exactly I should go, but then Crossland patted the space right next to him on the couch, and I headed over, settling down beside him.

“I thought we were going shopping?” I asked, a little nervous about what I was going to wear to this wedding. The way Crossland and his friends had been dressed at the poker game, I was sure that it wouldn’t be a backyard barbeque event, which was the extent of the suitable outfits I’d packed.

“Oh,” he said, setting his drink down on the coffee table before us. “Shopping comes to us.”

I raised my eyebrows, utterly confused.

He smiled sweetly at me and glanced at his watch. “In about ten minutes,” he continued. “Our styling team will be here with options for you to pick out and try on.”

“You know,” I said, shaking my head. “I really am trying to go with the flow here, but is it showing on my face every time I’m shocked by how your world works?”

Crossland laughed, pressing his lips together. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times like he was trying to come up with the correct response.

I rolled my eyes. “Great,” I said. “I’m so going to blow this for us. No one is going to believe we’re an item. No one will believe that you’re with me⁠—"

“Hey,” he said, reaching across the space between us. He slid a comforting hand down my arm. “That would be the other way around. No one would believe someone as amazing as you would have the patience for someone as obnoxious as me. And you’re doing great. I promise. I think it’s only me that can tell when you’re surprised by something. I’m sure no one else will be paying that close attention.”

Was he saying he was paying close attention to me? And why did that notion give me butterflies? Of course, he was paying attention to me. I was his employee, his investment, his ticket to winning a bet for fuck’s sake.

“I get it,” he continued. “My world is completely ridiculous sometimes, but having the stylists come to us is just easier sometimes. It helps us avoid the circus of paparazzi or other people tracking us down.”

“I’ll try to do better,” I said. “At schooling my reactions.”

“You don’t need to,” he said. “You’re already perfect.”

Ten minutes later, as promised, a multitude of stylists stormed into the penthouse, staff rolling in racks upon racks of clothes—dresses, gowns, rompers, pant suits, shoes, bags, and jewelry—everything I could ever want or need for this weekend and more.

“Oh, man,” I said as I looked through the racks of gowns. “Jesse would love this.”

“Did you want me to fly him out?” Crossland asked, and it was such a casual inquiry that my heart melted just a little.

“He’s holed up in his studio right now,” I answered. “But thank you.”

“What do you think of this one?” I asked minutes later after trying on a black gown.

“Beautiful,” he said, looking up from where he’d opened his laptop on the coffee table. “But not the one.”

I agreed with him, nodding before I headed back into the primary bedroom to try on another one.

What kind of life was this? I literally lived paycheck to paycheck, buried in debt and always short on groceries…and here I was surrounded by elegant gowns that cost more than my car and with a fake boyfriend offering to fly my best friend out just for me?

How was this my life? And why did I feel guilty for enjoying it?

After a few hours of shopping inside the penthouse, I had more than enough outfits to last me the weekend and a stunning, dark blue gown that would complement the tux that Crossland was going to wear in the wedding.

And after a quick dinner, the whirlwind of the day caught up to me, and I was more than ready for bed.

I grabbed my PJs out of the suitcase in the bedroom, quickly changing into them before heading out, finding Crossland still hunched over his laptop.

“Do you ever stop working?” I asked. He’d worked half the time that I’d been shopping, only pausing to say yes or no to an outfit. There were more yeses than noes, but I actually liked his honesty. He stated what he wanted, when he wanted it.

“Not really,” he said, looking away from his laptop to give me his full attention. That was another thing I liked. He never ignored me or tried to split focus. If I said something, he looked at me and listened—really listened—and it was something I was absolutely not used to. “Kind of comes with running the family empire,” he continued, then shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal to be running numerous companies. “I don’t really have a steady set of hours, but because of the income streams, I do have the ability to be super flexible about when and where I answer the constant influx of questions.”

“That must be difficult,” I said.

“How so?” he asked.

“Well, I have a steady set of hours regardless of whether I work a single shift or a double. I know at the end of my shift, I get to go home and check out. But that’s not really your life, is it? Do you ever get to check out, Crossland?”

He considered that for a moment. “Not in my world. But hey, that’s a small price to pay for all that I’ve been given.”

I smiled back at him, lingering near him even though the bed was calling my name. I liked how humble he was, especially because I had expected him to be overly confident and entitled thanks to the money he had, but he wasn’t.

“Do you want me to take the guest room to the left of the primary or⁠—”

“Primary,” he said, as if it wasn’t even a question. “You get all set up in there and I’ll take one of the extra rooms.”

“Okay,” I said. “And we need to be ready to leave at nine a.m.?” I asked, wanting to be extra sure about the time.

“Yes, my team will be over here to help us get ready, unless you’re against that?” he asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you want to do your own hair and makeup or not wear makeup at all, it’s completely up to you. I normally have the team come because that’s usually what…” His voice trailed off.

I smiled down at him. “That’s usually what your model and movie star friends expect?” I asked, using the term friend because it fit better than employee after the short time we’d spent together. Maybe that was his ability to make me feel comfortable in out of my comfort-zone situations, but it was true all the same.

“I can cancel⁠—”

“No, please don’t cancel. I want to look my best to impress your friends. It’s our hard launch, anyway, isn’t it?”

Crossland grinned. “I can’t wait to see you in that dress,” he said.

A flush raked my body, and I hesitated, a sudden rush of regret swarming me that he’d created the no-touching rule. I couldn’t help it, he’d been nothing but kind to me, and there was no denying how damn attractive he was. I let myself explore that sensation a little more, simmering in that need that coursed through my body while I looked at him. I wanted…

Nope. That instinct was enough to have me turning the opposite direction.

“Good night, Crossland,” I called over my shoulder.

“Good night, Aspen,” he called back, just as I was shutting the double doors to the bedroom.

I sank into the lusciously enormous bed and fell asleep wondering how the hell I would be able to deny the intense attraction for the next few months.