"I'll suck it up," I say stubbornly, resolve wavering.
He takes my hand and turns it palm up, thumb caressing my wrist. I can count the number of times we've touched in the last four years on one hand - the day we met, the one and only day I wore a skirt to the office, and today. I practically go dizzy from the sensation. My blood heats, setting my nerve endings and more, tingling.
"Penny." His voice is warm, hypnotic, and so, so tantalizing. "Don't quit. I know I've been a bear lately, and we've been slammed-"
"We've been slammed for four years Stockton," I interrupt thickly, blinking back the sudden moisture that arises behind my eyeballs. "I don't think it's going to go away."
He huffs out a laugh, a baritone rumble that turns my panties liquid, while his thumb continues its seductive pattern across my skin. My nipples pull into tight, aching points. I hate myself for wanting him the way I do.
"No, probably not," he admits. "But take a few days off. Sleep in. Go to the spa."
I roll my eyes hard. The fact that he even suggests those things as a possibility just demonstrates how little he knows me. "As if," I mutter as much to myself as to him. I might heap coals on his head for never stopping, but I'm no better. I can't stop, because my brain might explode if I do. I work as much to keep my overactive brain in check as I do because he demands it.
"So you'll stay?"
I risk a glance at him. His hazel eyes are soft, pleading. A hopeful smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Yes. No. The last of my resolve withers. His smile broadens when he sees I've caved and he squeezes my hand.
"So about my mom."
I shake my head. "Absolutely not."
"Penny-"
I cut him off with a raised hand. "Oh no, don't you dare Penny me. I am not going to be your pretend fiancée."
"C'mon. It's only for a few months. Just to give us some breathing room."
"You mean, you some breathing room."
"You too, you're the one that she bothers every morning." He crosses his arms, giving me that look again. "She'll take you out to lunch a few times, probably hire a wedding planner, and then we cut things off before the invitations get mailed out."
"I absolutely love that you can bring down parts of the Russian mob, but you can't figure out how to manage your mother."
He looks downright sheepish, which any other time would make my ovaries explode because it's damn cute. "I have a hard time saying no to her," he confesses.
I roll my lips together in a futile effort to stop a smile. She's not the only one he can't say no to, and it's time for me to exercise my leverage. Only this time, I'm going to ask for something so outrageous that he'll realize what a ridiculous idea a fake engagement is, and he'll come back to reality. "Okay fine. You want me to play your fiancée? I have conditions."
His eyes light and he spreads his hands. "Lay 'em on me."
He thinks he's won. I push down a giggle. "For starters, no more work on the weekends - for either of us. It's time to start leveraging the cybersquad."
He blinks.
I remind myself Stockton's an expert negotiator and to not take his silence for either agreement or refusal. "Second, we leave no later than six each day, and only come in when the alarm sounds."
He makes a noncommittal noise.
I rattle off the rest of my demands before I lose my nerve. "Third, neither of us see other people while this is going on. Fourth, I want the gaudiest, most obnoxious, most expensive ring you can buy. Fifth, you will defend me to your mother at all times. Sixth, you will wire ten-percent of your cash on hand to my bank account this afternoon." His eyes widen briefly, but his face remains neutral. "Seventh, when this is over, you will set me up with my own company in the location of my choosing. And lastly - no kissing, and absolutely no sex."
There is no way Stockton will agree to all that. None. Any one of those could be a deal breaker, but all of them together? Completely over the top. Outrageous. There's no way he'll agree to not working weekends, let alone a normal workday or delegating more to the cybersquad. And letting go of the revolving door of women? Impossible. Which is my point, because honestly, the guy needs to squirm a bit. Life has been too damned easy for him.
He stays still, staring at me for a full minute, not saying a word. Then he breaks into a grin that rivals a kid on Christmas morning who just got a new bike. "Great."
My brows knit together. That wasn't supposed to be his answer. "What do you mean, great?" My pulse takes off to the races. He can't possibly agree to that laundry list. There's no way. He's got enough cash in his bank account he could buy a small country. His assets alone rival the GDP of Luxembourg. Ten percent would allow me to buy a small city. Or four.
He shrugs. "If that's what it takes, sure."
I narrow my eyes. He never gives in this easily. "What gives?" I say, suspicion rising at his smug look. "What's the catch? Where's your counteroffer?" I've been in enough negotiations with him to know there's always a counteroffer. He makes a point of it.
A slow smile crawls up his cheeks. "Fine. You want a counteroffer? There will be kissing, and handholding and all sorts of PDA. Only in public, and only when the situation warrants. And," he holds up a finger, smile broadening as if he's just thought of something awful to torture me with. "The dress code you've so willfully ignored for the last four years will be enforced starting tomorrow. Ignore it at your peril."
"B-but your dress-"
"Ah-ah," he cuts me off. "Not done yet. You've wildly underestimated my mother's sleuthing abilities if you think that laying off at six and not working weekends will go unnoticed. Do that, and she'll fill those hours with bridge parties, fundraisers and dinner engagements. You'll wish you were working. In fact you'll be begging me to come into the office. Last- each of us gets a one-time pass on any one of those clauses except numbers three through six."
I mentally jump through the list again, then gulp. What have I missed? "I don't understand."
The playful banter drops from his tone of voice. "Because I know you value financial security above all else, and if you'd wanted to scare me away from a deal, you should have asked for much, much more. You're irreplaceable, Penny."
My toes warm at the weird compliment, even as the rest of me rebels. "I refuse to follow an ancient, patriarchal dress code."
He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'm giving you the moon, Penny. All I ask is a few more months of your time, and for you to dress like an employee not a goth girl on her way to a rave."
And just like that, he's turned the tables on me. Still, I won't go down without some kind of a fight. I know he expects nothing less. "Why the conditions? Isn't it enough I'm agreeing to be your fake fiancée?"
He flashes me his teeth. "Are you?"
"Just answer my question."
His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Because. I love nothing more than seeing you squirm." In the blink of an eye his expression goes from light to smoldering as he steps into my space again and tilts my chin with his finger. My stomach makes a slow, delicious roll. "And maybe, just maybe," his voice turns gruff. "I've been looking for an excuse to kiss you."