Except I’m already fighting the urge to lean closer, to ask what put that shadow behind his eyes, to smooth away whatever’s causing the tension in his shoulders. So maybe I’m not as safe as either of us thinks.
“This is crazy, Mitchell.”
“Crazy’s relative.”
“Not this relative.” I stand up, putting some distance between us before I do something stupid like reach for him. “I can’t just drop everything and fly to Minnesota to meet your parents.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s insane. Because we work together. Because—” I gesture helplessly. “Because what happens when your family asks questions? When they want to know how we met, how long we’ve been dating, what our plans are?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s your master plan?”
“You’re good at thinking on your feet. I’ve seen you handle reporters who’d eat their own young for a story. My family’s nothing compared to that.”
He’s not wrong. I can spin a narrative out of thin air when I need to. It’s literally my job.
But this isn’t some media crisis or damage control situation. This is Mitchell Drake asking me to step into his personal life, to pretend to be something I’m not, to spend five days in close quarters with a man who already makes me forget why mixing business with pleasure is a terrible idea.
“No.”
The word comes out firmer than I feel.
“No?”
“No. Find some other woman to play pretend with. There are plenty of them out there who’d jump at the chance.”
“I don’t want some other woman.” His voice drops, that dangerous edge curling through it, quickening my pulse. “I want you.”
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with possibilities I don’t want to examine too closely.
“Mitchell—”
“Think about it.” He pushes off my desk, backing toward the door. “Five days of excellent home cooking. A chance to see me get roasted by my siblings. An all-expenses-paid vacation to scenic Minnesota.”
“It’s December. In Minnesota.”
“Good point. I’ll throw in a very nice winter coat.”
Despite myself, I feel my mouth twitching toward a smile. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
He reaches the door and turns back, hitting me with the full force of that lethal charm. “Just think about it, Clare. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Famous last words.
Maybe it’s the look in his eyes that softens me, but I find myself saying, “I’ll think about it, but it’s probably a no.”
After he leaves, I stare at my computer screen, but the numbers blur together. My mind keeps circling back to his question.
What are your Christmas plans?
The truth is, I don’t have any. My mom will send a generic text on Christmas morning, my dad might remember to call if he’s not too busy with whatever his current obsession is, and I’ll spend the day pretending that being alone is a choice rather than a consequence.
Five days with Mitchell Drake’s family. Five days of warmth and laughter and belonging, even if it’s all pretend.