9. Breaking the Ice

Colton

"Thank you for dinner," Jane says as we're getting up from our table. Overall, we had a nice time. I don't go on many dates. At least, not at places where we actually have to talk to each other, but it was Max's idea. He said spending some time together in a more relaxed setting would break the ice. I'm not sure about breaking the ice. Cracking it, maybe.

"That definitely was the best truffle pasta I've ever had." She closes her eyes and licks her lips, as if savoring the memory.

My Adam's apple bobs as I swallow hard, her earlier moan replaying in my head. My body warms at the thought, and I fight the urge to clear my throat.

"You're welcome. So, I guess we should go." I steal a glance outside. Paparazzi are waiting near the entrance, cameras at the ready, just like we knew they would be. This is a popular celebrity hangout, which is why we chose this restaurant.

"Um," Jane says, twisting her mouth as she notices them. "Should we . . .?"

I scratch my head. "Yes, I suppose we could hold hands," I state, but it comes out more like a question.

She nods and gives me her hand. It's as soft as I remember, but colder than mine. With a frown, I turn to her. "Are you chilled? Do you want my jacket?" I know it's the gentlemanly thing to say. She's only wearing a dress. A tiny, drop-dead sexy, form-fitting dress that has been messing with my head the entire evening.

"I'm good," she says with a sweet smile. "Let's go."

I open the door for her and catch her hand again once we're outside. As soon as we step foot on the pavement, paparazzi swarm toward us. I'm not that big of a fish compared to all the actors and singers living here in LA, but for some reason, they always want to take my picture. I'm tempted to shield Jane's face from their cameras and drill them with a death stare, as I usually do, but then I remember that we actually want this. So I pretend I don't see them as they call my name and ask who I'm dating. Max already spread the rumors that this was serious, and that we've been seeing each other in secret for months.

As we wait for the valet to bring my car around, a cold gust sweeps past us. The crisp breeze is unusual for June. Typical LA summers are a lot warmer, but the temperatures have dropped these past few days. Without thinking, I step closer to Jane and rub her arms to warm her up. Goosebumps erupt all over her skin. I was right, she was cold. I don't want her to catch something because she was out with me.

Her face flushes, and she raises her head to me. "Thanks."

I find myself frozen, captivated by the unique color of her eyes and the way they're gazing at me. I'm usually good at reading people, figuring out what they want. That's why I created such a successful matchmaking program. However, when I look into Jane's eyes, I see a lot of things, but it's like I don't have the key to decipher them. I can't seem to crack her code. Okay, maybe I am a bit of a nerd. Though I'm beginning to rethink my ability to even program right now. Reading Jane shouldn't be such a struggle.

"Here are your keys, sir," the valet says, and I snap my head toward him.

"Thanks." I slip him a fifty before taking Jane's hand in mine again to guide her to my car.

I turn the navigation system back on to lead me to her place. The action reminds me she doesn't have a car. "Do you have your driver's license?" I ask.

"Yes," she says, shooting me a curious glance. "But I'm not driving your car if that's what you're thinking. This thing is an engine of death."

I stifle a laugh. I'm not really that into cars, but I do love my Ferrari. Perfect for sliding into LA's torturous traffic. "It's not an engine of death. And that's not where I was going. But you'll need a car. You can't live in LA without one."

"Why not? I've lived in LA for five years without a car, and I've gotten by just fine."

I shake my head as I shift the car into drive. "How do you get around? Some streets here don't even have sidewalks."

"I walk and use public transportation. Ever heard of those?" she teases with a note of sarcasm.

Clearly, she assumes I'm some silver spoon guy who's lost touch with reality. If only she knew . . . Far from a silver spoon, I didn't even have food on my plate every day growing up. "Well, you'll still need a car. Unfortunately, my street isn't covered by the LA transit."

"I know. I've been there, remember? And I'm pretty sure that's on purpose. You know, to keep the poor out of your neighborhoods."

I scrunch my eyebrows. "Wait, how did you get to my house the other day?"

"Took the bus."

"We just established that no buses stop in my neighborhood."

"Then I walked," she says, wringing her hands.

My jaw clenches. "How far did you walk?"

"I don't know. Thirty or forty minutes."

I tighten my grip on the wheel. Why didn't I think of this earlier? I could have sent a car or picked her up myself. "I'm so sorry," I say, my throat like sandpaper.

"It's fine." She brushes it off. "I'm used to walking a lot. Plus, it's good cardio."

"I have a gym you can use, but please, no more walking."

She chuckles. "Like I said, I don't—"

"You need a car," I maintain, my tone calm but firm. Why does this woman insist on fighting me on every single thing? We have a contract that says I'm obligated to take care of her financially as long as she lives in my house. Having a car is just part of the deal. "Like I said, there's no sidewalk. You're going to get killed."

She sighs. "Fine."

"Good," I say, relaxing into my seat. "Besides, you'll need a vehicle to take care of all the wedding preparation."

"Wait," she says, turning to me. "There's going to be an actual wedding? With the dress, the flowers, and everything?" When I cast her a side glance, I see pure shock on her face. "I don't do weddings," she adds.

Funny. That's almost word-for-word what I said to Max when he told me the plan, but I'm not letting it show. "Well, you signed a contract."

"I signed a contract that said I'll marry you, not that I'll hold a wedding ceremony with you."

"Do you want to take it to court?" I ask.

Crossing her arms, she lets out a huff and sinks back into her seat.

"I'm sorry," I say with a sigh. "I admit, I was taken aback by the news myself. But it makes sense. People need to know about our marriage, see us together. Otherwise, this whole thing is pointless. Don't worry, though. You can choose everything. I've never had big dreams about my wedding." I wink at her, trying to ease the tension.

She raises her eyebrows. "As if I have? Please. I don't exactly have a binder full of cut-outs from bridal magazines." Her voice falters. "This was never in the cards."

I clear my throat. "We'll hire a wedding planner, and Agnes will help you out. We'll do something as low-key as possible, with a small guest list."

Not that I have many people to invite in the first place. There are only two people I consider real friends. Wade, who's a footballer in London, and his brother Andrew, a soldier. Andrew has a wife and two kids, and Wade recently got engaged to Roxy. So, that brings the total to six people. Of course, Max and his girlfriend will be there, alongside Agnes. Definitely not a big crowd, though I'm sure Max will find enough people to invite so our wedding doesn't look like the left-out kid's birthday party. Like all my birthday parties growing up. Luckily, I do have enough acquaintances in the business world to populate my wedding, and I know a few people on my street too.

"Okay," she says, pulling me out of my calculations. "As long as I can choose the flavor of the wedding cake, I'm good." A smile curls at her lips, and damn, it's beautiful. "Wait, there will be a wedding cake, right?"

I fight the urge to grin. "It wouldn't be a wedding without one."

She nods in satisfaction. "Glad we're on the same page."

"And yes, you can choose the flavor," I add.

"Then it's a deal," she says, turning to me and flashing a radiant smile.

Instead of replying, I focus on the road. One more look at that smile, and I might send us barreling into a ditch.

I drive on in silence until I reach her street, trying to refrain from wincing when I stop in front of her shabby apartment. It's painted a dull charcoal and looks like it could collapse at any moment. Leaning on the wall at the street corner are two guys wearing dark hoodies, looking exactly like they belong here. It's definitely not worth the astounding amount of rent she's paying for this place.

"Thanks," Jane peeps, opening her door. "We—"

She cuts herself off, clearly not expecting me to have gotten out with her. I know we're not actually dating, but saying this looks unsafe would be an understatement. I need to make sure she gets in okay. This girl is crucial for my career, after all.

"Well." She wipes her hands on her thighs, and I force myself to keep my eyes on her face. "Thank you. I had a good time. Text me about our next outing, and—"

"Can you move in tomorrow?" I blurt without thinking.

She frowns. "What?"

My eyes flit between the run-down building and the guys skulking at the corner. She can't live here any longer. "This looks like a dangerous area. Plus, if the paparazzi find out, it'll be a thing . . ."

As if I actually care about that.

She bites her lip, peering at the building. "Oh, okay." She pauses, then says, "Sure. But won't it mess with the entire timeline? We were supposed to date for a while before moving in together."

"Screw the timeline. We'll make it work," I growl.

"Okay," she says with a nod.

"Good. Does 2 p.m. work? Will that leave enough time for you to pack?

"Yep, perfect. See you tomorrow, then."

"Yes," I say, swaying on my feet. "The movers will be here at two to pick you up and move your boxes."

She shakes her head. "Oh, that's not necessary. I don't have that much. I can take a bus to your house or an Uber."

"Two o'clock. The movers will be here," I say, shaking my head in return as I march back to my car.

Her shoulders slump as she rolls her eyes in exasperation, but she breaks into a smile. "You're unbelievable."

I open the door and climb back in. "See you tomorrow."

She waves at me before turning to her building and pushing her door open. Max was right. This date did "break" the ice. Maybe living with Jane won't be so bad after all.

As I wait for her to get inside, I call Mike, my company's head of security. I know that providing surveillance in a shady street in Downtown LA isn't in his job description, but he always jumps at the chance for extra hours. And if he can't do it, I'll keep watch myself. There's no way I'm leaving her here without protection.