26. JAKE

Patel knocks my suitcase into every corner she comes across. When I call her out, she shoots me a withering glare designed to shrink the balls of mighty men.

To keep mine safe, I follow her from a distance to the reception desk in the hotel next door. How was I supposed to know which building was the event venue and which one had the accommodations? They look the same, as does everything in this Hallmark town brought to life.

It's… something. If you want ham-fisted charm and magic, and believe in living in a pocket of stillness, shutting out the rest of the world.

Me? I prefer access to everything.

A man who appears to be in his forties mans the hotel reception desk. He's currently busy with another guest, so Patel and I wait in line.

"You need your own room," she snaps.

"I would certainly hope so."

"Let me handle this," she says, in a tone that heavily implies I've already messed everything up, so I need to step back. Ungrateful view of things, considering I'm the one here pretending to date her. Not out of the goodness of my heart, but as an unintended consequence, it helps her out, too.

The reception desk becomes free. Patel charges forward, and I think she's about to snap at him, too, but then I see her expression sweeten. It shouldn't impress me how good she is at that, switching modes based on her audience, but it does.

"We need another room, please."

"I'm sorry," says Ahmed, according to his name tag. "We're booked up."

"Are you sure? There must be something you could do."

"We're hosting an Indian wedding this week," he says to the woman wearing Indian clothes in front of him. "We are very busy."

Patel isn't fazed. Her skills have been honed by many disgruntled clients over the years. If you look closely, you see the very second she switches gears again. Her shoulders draw back. Stern Authority Patel is taking over.

"It's my sister's big Indian wedding," she states. "I'm part of the immediate family, so I'm asking as someone who has given you a lot of business this week, if you could find us another room."

The man chews on his lip, caught unaware by the change in direction. "Yes, but the whole block reserved for the wedding is booked. And any other room is for walk-in guests…"

Poor man, he's left himself open. She now knows there are free rooms. I sense she's about to launch an offensive and it will undoubtedly be applause worthy, but I need a shower.

I pull out my wallet, peel out a bill, and place it on the counter. "I need my own room." I put another large bill down. "For your discretion. If anyone asks, I'm sleeping with her."

Beside me, Patel jolts. "We are together," she says, jutting her chin out. "He's just shy."

I snort, unable to stop myself. Shy?

Ahmed takes my money and scrutinizes Patel. "Are you really the bride's sister?"

At that question, she looks a bit winded. "I can show you ID," she says with a wounded, defensive note. That particular tone is a first for me, and so was seeing her deal with her family. Patel in the outside world doesn't seem as indefensible as she is in the office. Why?

"No ID needed. It's fine." He goes to his keyboard, and after a bit of searching, a free room becomes available. After I process the rest of the payment on my credit card, the room key is given over. This week is going to cost me money, but if—once—I sign the whale, it won't matter. The numbers will work.

Turning around, I see Patel's hand remains attached to my luggage.

Sensing my attention in that direction, she says, "Trust me when I say you don't want to touch this handle. It has henna paste all over it. Let's go."

And with that, she's leading again. Fairly soon after, I watch her get disoriented by the signage. When I mention she's taken a wrong turn, she huffs at me before turning around. Still mad then.

As soon as we find the room, and I unlock it with my key, she barges inside before I can stop her. Letting go of the luggage, she spins around to face me. The motion makes the fabric of her traditional outfit float. It's a striking purple color edged in velvet, and full of embroidered flowers. The top looks to be more of a loose dress. The pants are straight-legged but also stitched with those blues, yellows, and pinks. This is the most color I've ever seen her wear.

She reminds me of a garden.

I can't stop looking. It ensnares me.

"Why are you really here?" she snarls. "Are you here to humiliate me as some sort of revenge plot for the bonus? Because if so, you can leave right now."

I sit on the bed and start taking my dress shoes off. "If you wanted me gone, you should have said something before I paid downstairs."

"What's your angle?"

I think about pushing her buttons since this is what we do to each other, but the woman in front of me is tense enough to unravel if I pull on the wrong thread. I don't care to deal with that. That's why I stop myself. Not because she looks tired.

"Relax, Patel. I'm obviously here for my own reasons, but they have nothing to do with ruining your week. Humiliating you is the furthest thing from my mind."

"So, why are you here?"

I smirk. "None of your business."

"You have to tell me!"

"I don't." I consider her slowly. "But you have my word. As much as it pains me, I'll pretend to be your adoring boyfriend for the rest of the week." My smirk widens. "Will you be able to handle that?"

She throws her hands into the air. "My family has already met you, so it's not like I can switch you out for anyone else now!"

I crane my head, glancing around.

"What are you doing?"

"Hm. Can't seem to find the line of men interested in taking my place"

She storms into the bathroom. I shrug off my jacket and unbutton the cuffs of my shirt, rolling them up. I need that shower, and I'm about to demand Patel come out of the bathroom, but then she's back. Her hands seem wiped of the drawings she'd gotten done on them. Shame.

She starts cleaning the handle of my luggage with a wet cloth.

Getting up, I tell her, "I can do that."

She doesn't stop, but goes down on her haunches to wipe the hard surface. "You don't want this to stain your clothes."

"Let me?—"

She rolls the luggage away from my reach and keeps going.

Having her touch my stuff is disconcerting. It's—intimate. There's a twinge in my chest (and farther down). Intrusive thoughts threaten. I am too aware of the bed behind us, so I force myself to think if it wasn't for the whale, Tarun, I wouldn't be standing here.

Patel finishes with her cleaning. "I don't even have time or energy to figure out why you are here, but for this fake-relationship to work, we need to get our story straight. If we don't, no one is going to believe us. I thought the plan was to meet up here and strategize, but then you had to waltz into the middle of the ladies' party, which, by the way, thanks for that! You know I hate not being prepared."

"My fault was it?"

"Whose else would it be? I gave you clear instructions!"

"You know, I figured your family would be insufferable since you're going through all this trouble to lie, but they seem nice. Makes a person wonder."

My judgement isn't subtle. I hate people lying when they don't have to, especially to the people they claim to care about. My father did it so well.

Patel looks like she's about to slap me. "Sorry, Mr.Perfect, but I'm not interested in your opinions about my family. For the record, if I didn't need you, I wouldn't have picked you."

"Oh, are we still pretending you had options?"

"I'm leaving this conversation!"

"Great. I've been wondering how to kick you out."

She turns to go, but then stops herself. "Stay here. Don't leave the room."

"Should I bark? Can you give me a heel, boy?"

Not acknowledging my words, she barrels on. "My family will be relentless. Prepare yourself. We need to be natural. You have to know stuff about me. Little details. How did we meet? What's my middle name? What do you like about me?"

"You look good in purple." What? Where did that come from?

Her eyes widen.

I'm practicing," I rush out. "Believable, wasn't it?"

"Do better. Pretend I'm all you think about." She works her mouth with her teeth.

Why is she doing that? She needs to stop it. "Guess I'll have to brush up on my acting."

"There's going to be a lot of guests—and a lot of attractive women." She crosses her arms. "No pursuing anyone else."

My eyebrows come together. What is she on about? "You're the one who has been on that dating app. If anyone should need that warning, it's you."

Her cheeks flush harder, clearly out of irritation, but I can't help but think she glows. Her eyes are full of passion as her words snap at me. "Like that's any of your business. I can do whatever I want!"

"You can't. This week you are mine. Act accordingly."

"Tsh," she squeaks. "If you think you can speak to me like?—"

I push in closer and am delighted when I see her on the verge of pushing back at me. I lean further forward. She steps back. I step forward. It's a small hotel room, and soon I've got her pushed against the wall. My palm finds the wall beside her head.

Why am I doing this? Maybe because Patel today hasn't been—herself. She's been acting uncertain and—if I wasn't wrong—nervous and scared? I much prefer the look on her face now. She is seconds away from kicking me in the balls. Before she can, I pull myself away.

At the same time, her phone rings. She fishes it out.

"You have pockets?" I say with surprise.

She spares me a cursory glance. "Most Punjabi outfits don't, but I had mine made custom… two years ago."

She goes to the bathroom again and chats on the phone. A few minutes later, she comes back, visibly unhappy.

"What is it?" Did her family already realize the relationship is a fraud? The hair snuggle must have done it. If she'd given me some indication we were supposed to kiss—that she would allow me to kiss her—I would've grabbed her and?—

I scrub a hand over my face. The flight exhausted me. My mind is going places it doesn't belong. Though I suppose it might happen sooner or later. I'll have to kiss her, won't I? An unrelated buzz hums through me.

"My sister," says Patel, bringing me back to the present. "Tomorrow morning, she's booked a bridesmaid tour and wants you to come along. I tried saying you have work to catch up on, but she won't take no for an answer. If we try to resist, she's going to find you and drag you along. Sorry."

"It's fine." I shrug. Based on his very public social media, Tarun isn't landing here until tomorrow night. Just like Patel, my work login access is revoked, so my afternoon is open.

"Thanks," she says stiffly. "I'll send you an email tonight. Some facts about myself that a boyfriend should know. Study it. You can—also—send information about yourself. I guess I should pretend to care, too."

"An email?" I whistle. "You know how to get a man going."

"Yes, because that's my one true goal in life."

"Best to have some unachievable ones to keep motivated."

She glares at me.

I glare back, wondering whether she'll leave if I start taking my clothes off. I go to unbutton the top of my shirt.

"We both know if you could commit your life to a spreadsheet, you would."

I've undone two buttons and Patel hasn't noticed. If I cared at all, it would be a bit of an ego killer. Instead, she's enjoying this tirade about my love of numbers.

She clutches at her chest and moans. "Oh, data!"

That sound goes straight to my cock.

I turn away from her, facing the window.

That moan of hers. And being together in a hotel room?—

I'm standing here about to get hard, and she's still babbling on. If she moans again?—

She can't moan again.

"Patel," I say, forcing my voice to stay even. "You've started boring me."

She makes a much better noise of offense.

"Shouldn't you go back to your party? Run along now."

"Run along?! If you think?—"

"You'd rather stay in a hotel room with me? I suspected as much, but fair warning, I'm getting nake?—"

The door is yanked open. Right before she leaves, she tells me, "You are the worst!"

Then silence.

Only after I've waited a few moments longer do I feel safe enough to turn around. Looking down at the obvious bulge in my pants, I mutter, "What the fuck?"

Judging by what just happened, this week is going to be a huge fucking disaster.

Great.