Chapter 8

EIGHT

Mina

The beautiful, cloudless day has turned my car into a sauna. It's so hot, I can barely breathe and I'm sweating under my arms, my boobs, and at my temples before I make it out of the parking lot. I hit every red light on the way to Red Stiletto, which gives the air conditioner a chance to stop me from melting, but by the time I find myself seated across from a bristly Nathan West, I'm almost half an hour late.

He's wearing a black T-shirt that clings to his upper body and offsets the mahogany in his dark hair. The glint in his eyes skews a little more summer forest and a lot less thorns and brambles, an improvement over our first meeting.

I think.

The Prince of Darkness is hotter when he's friendly and I'm not sure what to do with the way my lower belly clenches at the sight of him. Combine that with a dusting of scruff on the hard lines of his cheeks and jaw and I'm swallowing a sigh of appreciation.

Maybe I misjudged him at our first meeting.

Maybe he was having a bad day.

Maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt and a little grace on my part.

"I am so sorry, Mr. West," I say, breathlessly tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "I assure you this is not typical of me."

"Oh, come now, Hot Mess. I feel like I've heard that somewhere before."

And that might be the end of the grace I have for him.

If his snarky grin didn't make me bristle, the stupid nickname sealed the deal. I'm willing to put our bumpy start aside. He should be too.

"And please," he continues as if he didn't just insult me, "call me Nathan."

How can someone so pretty be this rude?

"I'd rather stick with Prince of Darkness," I retort with a sweet smile, then drop my jaw, realizing I'm in a business meeting…

…with a client…

…and after showing up half an hour late…

…I insulted him.

I clamp a hand over my mouth. "I'm so sorry?—"

"Let me guess." Nathan coolly arches a brow. "You can assure me this isn't typical?"

He's got me there and we both know it, but I won't give him the satisfaction of admitting it to his smug face. After pausing to place my order—the cheapest salad I can find because this place is expensive with a capital E—I slide my tablet out of my bag. A quick flip through the screens brings up the project I put the finishing touches on last night. "This is my mood board for your build?—"

Nathan's eyebrows imitate a rocket trying to break through the atmosphere. "Mood board?"

Great. He's one of those. A stick in the mud who rolls his eyes at all things creative. I bet he'll fight me at every turn. Second guess every color choice. Every fabric recommendation. Ten bucks says he'll struggle to grasp that the pictures I included are about the feeling and the vibe, not actual design suggestions.

Why hire a designer if you don't respect the craft?

But, rather than firing off another insult, I refresh my smile and do my best to explain.

"You know. Images, materials, and text that evoke the feelings and design I think are best suited for your home." I angle the tablet so Nathan can see the screen. "I'm thinking dark blues, soft grays, and warm browns. Take the richness of this library here and combine it with the serenity of this lake. And while your outward vibe suggested metal and glass accents like these—" I point to a picture of an ultramodern skyscraper next to a surprisingly pretty close up of barbed wire covered in frost "—there's something about you that calls for this greenery here. Something fresh and alive and…"

I trail off.

Nathan's just sitting there. He's not nodding or making any sounds of agreement or understanding. He's just…

…staring…

…his eyes hardening on the image of the barbed wire.

Really?

How did that offend him? Tell me he doesn't think he's a sunshine and daisies kind of guy.

I slide the tablet away. "If this is the wrong direction, I can scratch it. Start over with new ideas. New feelings. New everything if you'd like."

"No." He tears his gaze from the picture to lock on mine. Something intense swims between us. Something charged and uncomfortable and I like it better when his eyes look like thorns because whatever this is feels vulnerable and that's not good. I've watched enough movies to know being vulnerable with the villain leads to heartbreak.

"I hired you because I heard you're a hidden gem," he says, the intensity increasing. "I just wasn't prepared for you to see me so clearly after only one meeting."

I furrow my brow, expecting a trap. "But…" I prompt as I lean forward and cock my head.

"But what? I like it. Approval granted." Nathan waves a hand through the air. "Start shopping or designing or whatever it is you do at this point."

"I honestly didn't expect you to make things this easy," I say, reaching for my water. "You seem more…"

Cranky. Controlling. Egotistical.

I take a drink before I stick another foot into my mouth.

Nathan lifts a brow and gestures for me to continue. "I seem…"

Like the type of guy who wouldn't like hearing what I truly think of you.

Nope, shouldn't say that either.

Dear God. A little help, here? Yours, Mina Blake.

"Let's say I don't make a habit of calling my clients The Prince of Darkness."

The last bit of warmth in Nathan's smile fades. I take it back. I definitely prefer the summer forest vibe to thorns and brambles. The way he's glaring at me makes me want to fidget—a nervous habit I can't quite crack. His scrutiny makes me feel electrified. Like I'm standing in line for an amusement park ride I'm not brave enough to try.

Like I'm falling, or flying, or…

"Maybe you don't see me as clearly as I thought," Nathan growls, jerking me away from wherever the hell those thoughts were heading. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Ms. Blake."

I almost tell him that isn't true. I happen to know a lot about him, thanks to Fallon's constant updates on his life. But our food arrives, and the moment passes. Silence sits strangely between us as we fiddle with napkins, seasoning, and silverware. Sharing a meal implies a deeper connection than we have and eating in front of a client I can't stand just feels weird. Especially when he's being oddly magnanimous today. Something tells me there's more to this meeting than mood boards and giant mansions, but I couldn't guess what it is. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it's just hovering a few feet off the ground.

I meet Nathan's eyes and glance away. Dig my fork through my salad, then look up only to glance away again when I discover he's staring. Tuck my hair behind my ear, untuck it, then tuck it again before stabbing aimlessly at a bite of chicken. This is almost as uncomfortable as our first meeting and that's saying a lot. I can't believe this is Mason Channing's cousin.

Though, Mason did say Nathan is going through a rough patch. And Fallon swears he used to be amazing. Maybe I should cut the man some slack.

Smiling awkwardly, I put my fork down and fold my hands in my lap. "I assume you have something more you'd like to discuss, since we're here, stuck eating together instead of at my office where you could make a hasty exit."

Nathan stares for a long moment, then scrubs a hand over his mouth and shrugs. "Our meeting overlapped my lunch. This kills two birds with one stone."

Nope. Not buying that.

There's an ulterior motive here and he's stalling. I'm sure of it. Maybe a little self-deprecating humor will lighten the mood enough to bring it out.

"I'm surprised you're willing to be seen with someone who isn't dazzling and spectacular," I quip, referencing Fallon's favorite way to describe Nathan's type. "From what I've heard, ‘hot mess' isn't exactly the company you keep."

A muscle in his jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. There's a flash of fire in his eyes. Did I hit another nerve? Talking to this guy is like tiptoeing through a minefield covered in Lego blocks…barefoot. And naked.

An image of a naked Nathan West flashes through my mind, all hard lines and taut muscles, glaring as he strides closer. My nipples pebble and I cross my arms over my chest.

Traitors.

Nathan leans on the table, those mercurial eyes on mine. His hair falls into his face, and he flips it away, one finger lazily brushing through the condensation on his glass. For a moment, I imagine that finger brushing my cheek.

I break eye contact to regain my sanity.

Nathan takes a long drink before, "Un-spectacular company is exactly what I'm looking for."

"Umm…thanks?" I swipe up my fork and hunt down a bite. Apparently, his ulterior motive is to kill any hope I have that this project will go smoothly.

"You know what I mean," he replies, brushing away my frustration like a bit of dust in the air.

I shove food into my mouth and chew ferociously to keep myself from another snarky response.

You need this job. You need this job. You need this job. Do not insult your client again, Mina!

"Someone down to earth," Nathan continues. "Normal. Someone who drives a Honda and lives paycheck to paycheck and wears cheap clothes. Someone boring. Someone safe."

And just like that, the slack Mason earned him runs out.

"Boring? Hey, yeah, that's not insulting at all. I feel so much better now. Thank you for clearing things up." I yank my napkin from my lap and drop it on the table, flagging down our waiter to request a to-go box. I didn't budget for lunch, but the leftovers will serve as dinner, mitigating the cost a little.

"Wait, wait, wait." Nathan puts his hand on mine and adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream. This hum of… something …roaring through my veins.

I'm falling again. Flying again.

I scowl until he removes it.

"I have a favor to ask of you." He might as well be flipping through junk mail, he's that nonchalant.

"Seeing as the favor I asked of you is the most expensive thing I've purchased for myself lately, I'm not sure what to make of that."

"Your favor put the idea in my head," Nathan says, and he's so detached I think he stopped blinking. "I could really use your help here."

"And you chose to insult me as your opening salvo," I shoot back. "That's a bold move."

"Says the woman who called her client The Prince of Darkness to his face."

Well, hell. Neither of us look very good here. Time to hunt down the last drops of patience in my body.

"We do bring out the worst in each other, don't we?" I take a deep breath, convinced I'm going to regret my next statement. "Tell me about this favor."

Nathan crosses his arms and scowls. "I want you to pretend to date me."

The restaurant is busy. Customers talk and eat while music plays gently over speakers. The murmur of servers taking orders blends with the chaos of the kitchen. Behind me, a table of young businessmen erupts in laughter.

Surely, I misheard the man across from me.

I lean closer. "I'm sorry, you want me to what, now?"

"Pretend to be my girlfriend." There's no hint of shame or embarrassment. No ‘please.' No ‘thank you.' No explanation. None of the things you'd expect from a normal human being. You know, the kind with a soul.

"Why would I do that?" I shake my head and hold out my hands as a better question comes to mind. "Why would you want me to do that?"

Nathan mumbles something about his family, work, and an ex-girlfriend, then nods like it's a done deal. "Your accidental text the other night sets it up perfectly. Benjamin believes there's something going on between us and I'm asking you to roll with it. We'll just make things more public than we originally thought."

"You want me to roll with it." I prop my elbows on the table and my chin in my hands. "Like you did? When I asked for my favor?" I ask sweetly.

"Exactly." Nathan looks smug. He clearly doesn't remember what an asshole he was that night.

That's fine. I'm happy to remind him.

"No." I sit back, folding my hands in my lap, too proud of myself for my own good. "I will not pretend to date you."

Nathan's lips part. His brows jump. His head cocks and his eyes narrow until they smolder into mine. "I thought you were going to roll with it."

"Right. Just like you did." I laugh as realization tightens Nathan's jaw.

"Funny," he says with a sneer that doesn't look funny at all. "In case your memory is as chaotic as the rest of you, I did pretend your idiotic text was meant for me."

"You sure did. For a spectacular and dazzling amount of money. No ‘good guy' points for you on that one. But let me see…" I drum my fingers on the table and the way Nathan's eyes lock with mine makes me feel alive for the first time in a long time. I lean closer, hoping to grab hold of the feeling. "What could you do to make me more inclined to consider this idiotic idea of yours?"

I grin, pleased for throwing not one, but three of his words in his face. Maybe I should consider a villain era of my own. I'm better at this than I should be.

"Subtlety isn't one of your finer points, is it?" Nathan leans in and I can't help myself, I lean even closer, drawn into his orbit like a sun-diving comet.

"Atta boy," I retort with a sly smile. "Keep insulting me. That'll convince me to pretend to be your girlfriend, for what? One night? A week? Longer? What are you asking for here?" I swipe my water off the table, sit back, and take a dramatic draw on the straw while Nathan scowls.

"Longer."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"We negotiated sixty percent off your design fee for my text to Benjamin. Let's make it twenty instead."

I snort so hard water comes out my nose. "That's a joke, right?" I ask, choking on the rest of my drink. I grab my napkin and cover my mouth as I cough, then pull it away when Nathan doesn't laugh. "You're joking?"

"I'm the villain, right? Why would I joke about something like this?"

Right. Duh. Rich assholes never joke about money. How silly of me to hope an offer that offensive wasn't real. Too bad I need every dollar I can get my hands on, or I'd storm out of Nathan West's life forever. No amount of money is worth this kind of humiliation.

But Mom is.

I do some quick math in my head, then bring Nathan back into my sights.

"Seeing as anything less than a hundred and ninety percent of my original price is clearly a joke, you can see why I'd wonder." Adding that much money to our contract would mean I could pay off Mom's treatment and still have a little left over for myself. Not enough to get me out of that crappy apartment, but a start.

Nathan sits back, folding his arms. His eyes narrow as thoughts tick across his face. For a moment, I wonder if he's about to say something profound. Something that helps me see the man Mason expected me to meet when he gave his cousin my name.

But then Nathan smirks, and I remember who I'm dealing with. "You realize that means I'd be paying you to date me."

"Seems appropriate," I reply with a smirk of my own. "As that's the only way anything would happen between us."

"And is basically illegal," he counters, his eyes narrowing wickedly.

I summon every villainous thought I've ever had—most of them centered around people like him—and let them linger in my smile. "No, that's prostitution and trust me. We're fine. You don't have to worry about us having sex. Ever."

A passing waitress glances over in surprise, takes stock of Nathan, then looks sorry for him. Not me, the woman who's being asked for a ridiculous favor. Him, the man who can ask that favor without blinking an eye. I get it. He's pretty and I'm raving about prostitution. But if she'd been around for the rest of the conversation, she'd drop her tray in his lap to high five me.

"A hundred," he says, chewing his lip in defeat. "We'll call it a favor for a favor."

"I have to pretend to like you, so your favor is bigger than mine. A hundred and twenty percent."

Nathan's eyes harden. His smile dies. He stares just long enough to make me uncomfortable. "Fine," he says in a voice that isn't. "A hundred and twenty percent."

I reach across the table, and we shake on it. "When do we start?"

"My family is throwing a party for my birthday. I'd like you there." A smile lifts Nathan's lips and for one brief moment, he feels like sunshine. Like eyes closed, sitting on the beach with nothing to do but breathe and let the waves crash and recede, crash and recede…

"You should do that more," I say before I think better of it.

"Do what more?"

"Smile. You have a nice one and it makes you so much easier to be around."

And just like that, black clouds boil over the horizon, the ocean churns and the sun disappears. "Careful, Hot Mess. It's not too late for me to change my mind."

As much as I'd like that to happen, I promised myself I'd take every financial opportunity that came my way. No matter how outlandish or bizarre. Mind you, I was thinking bizarre might be something along the lines of professional pet food taster or water slide tester, not fake girlfriend to a rich asshole. But here we are.

"I'm sorry. Those are inside thoughts," I say, tapping the side of my skull. "They won't make their way outside again. When is this birthday party?"

Nathan's smile reappears, but there's no sunshine in sight. This is one that belongs to a villain.

He makes a show of checking his watch, then sits back, looking…mildly concerned?

No.

No way. That's giving him too much credit. The Prince of Darkness wouldn't look concerned. Why would he, when he always gets his way?

That look right there is smugness.

"Well Hot Mess, I kinda hate to say it, but we've got roughly four hours. Party's tonight."

"Four hours?!" My jaw drops. "You want me to pretend to be the kind of date you bring to a family gathering and all we have is four hours to prepare? Are you insane?"

Nathan sits back, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me like I'm a money hungry bottom feeder. "In my defense, I didn't expect you to agree so fast. I thought I'd have to dangle money in front of you for a couple days at least, but you just snapped it right up, didn't you?"

Tutting in disappointment, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "I hate to break it to you, but some of us have to accept creepy financial offers to afford our boring, Honda-filled lives."

A slow smile warms Nathan's face. "After this conversation, I've realized ‘boring' is the wrong word to describe you."

"Yeah?" I lift my chin. "How would you describe me?" I brace for a barrage of insults. Chaotic. Frenzied. Master of Disaster. Coming from him, it could be anything.

But Nathan is as unpredictable as ever.

"You're fascinating," he replies, surprising us both.

There's an undercurrent to the admission, one that threatens to pull me in, pull me close, pull me under. I break eye contact and switch to safer ground. Facts. Data. Not whatever the hell that was.

"I'll call my assistant and have him clear my schedule," I say with a resolved sigh. "We'll spend the rest of the afternoon learning to pretend we like each other."

"That's gonna take more than one afternoon," Nathan murmurs, then checks his phone. His brows furrow as he reads a text, then shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. "Shit."

"Everything okay?"

"I have to go." He pulls his napkin out of his lap and places it on the table.

"You have to what?" Shock raises my voice an octave or two. The businessmen at the table next to us look sorry for Nathan. How is everyone at this restaurant misjudging our situation?

"The timing isn't ideal but…" Nathan smiles gently as he reads another text. "This is important." He waves his phone as if that explains everything, then lifts a hip to slide it in his pocket. "I have to take care of it."

"What could possibly be more important than this?"

"Believe it or not, there are more important things than figuring out the best way to lie to my family." He stands and pushes in his chair, gripping the back to lean close. "This shouldn't take long," he says. "As soon as I'm confident everything's under control, I'll give you a call."

I watch in shock as he turns to leave.

"At least tell me what to wear!" I call out and he pauses long enough to toss me a pained look over his shoulder.

"Come on, Hot Mess. It's not that hard. It's a birthday party. Look it up on the internet if you have to."