Because it’s heavy.

My anxiety peaks as I realize we haven’t talked about any of our backstory. The only thing we’ve spoken about to each other is the contract and if I signed it or not. I had a lengthy conversation with his lawyer, who basically threatened my life with an NDA. I asked him if Kelsey counted in that NDA, and once discussed separately with Huxley—I was left out of the conversation—I was told no, she didn’t count, but then they made her sign an NDA as well. It’s been an ordeal.

“We haven’t talked about any sort of backstory.” I nibble on my finger, attempting to tamp down the bile starting to rise in my throat.

Kelsey cringes. “Ooo, I’d text him, see what time dinner is, when he plans on picking you up, and what your story is, because I doubt he’ll be thrilled about any slipup on your end. Didn’t he say something in the contract about committing to character?”

“Did he? Oh God, I should’ve read it better.”

“Did you not read the contract?” Kelsey asks, horrified.

“It was twenty pages, Kels. That’s far too much legal jargon for one sitting.”

“Jesus, Lottie. You signed your life away without reading it?”

“I got the gist of it.”

“Clearly not.”

I can taste the bile on my tongue now. “You’re not making my anxiety any better, you realize that, right?” I reach for my phone and shoot Huxley a panicked text.

Lottie: What’s our story? How did we meet? How did you propose? How far along am I? Should I be showing? Are we having a boy or a girl? What are the names of the people we’re having dinner with? Why on earth did I sign that GD contract?

I toss my phone down and sit at the two-seat oak bistro table. “This was a bad idea,” I say. “I promised to stay in character, and I don’t even know what the character is. I signed a contract, Kelsey.”

“Yeah, not going to lie, I have secondary anxiety for you.”

“That’s not helpful.” I pin her with a stare.

Knock. Knock.

“That’s the food,” Kelsey says, bouncing toward the door. “Put a pin in that anxiety. Spring rolls don’t go well with it.”

Does anxiety go well with any main dish?

As the door opens, I rest my head against the wall, but only for a nanosecond, because Kelsey’s startled gasp draws my attention. Frightened by what might be on the other side of the door, I hesitantly lean forward just in time to see a man carrying a few dress boxes and bags full of shoe boxes into the apartment. He sets them on Kelsey’s twin-size bed and then leaves as Huxley steps forward, looking rather expensive and quite serious. When his eyes meet mine, I’m met with a frown. Why the hell is he frowning at me?

“Can I, uh, help you?” Kelsey asks.

He turns to Kelsey, and his frown lightens as he says, “You must be Kelsey.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Huxley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, dear God,” Kelsey says, shaking his hand. She looks over her shoulder and whispers, “You did NOT say how handsome he is.”

I whisper back, “You might be whispering, but he can still hear you.”

Huxley chuckles and shuts the door behind him. His eyes roam the quaint four-by-four space. His neutral expression slowly changes into a displeased scowl with every second that goes by. He doesn’t seem too happy.

“This is where you plan on living?”

“Is there a problem with that?” I answer.

He steps in farther, and his critical inspection falls to the pillow bed on the ground. He toes it with his shoe. “And this is where you’re sleeping?”

“Isn’t it nice?”

Not answering me, he shuffles past the box tower, which precariously sways. “And where do you plan on putting these boxes?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Kelsey is going to organize everything. She’s a pro, remember?”

That judgmental cast of his eyes extends over our space one more time before he says, “No insult to her profession and skills, but I’d like to see how all of this is going to fit into this tiny apartment and the space still be livable. I see that Kelsey has already used some of the heights these taller ceilings have to offer, but I’ve seen your room and the disaster you’re capable of.”

Well, he came in fired up, didn’t he?

“Kelsey, care to put him in his place?” I ask casually. If anyone can figure out this debacle, it’s Kelsey. She’s a modern-day marvel when it comes to organization. She sees storage in ways other people don’t. If anyone can make it work, it’s her.

“Well, I didn’t think you were going to bring over this many boxes,” Kelsey says, looking less confident than me. “And then who knows what’s in those boxes and bags that Huxley just dropped off?”

“Kelsey.” I sit tall. “This is what you specialize in.”

“I know.” She twists her hands together and says to Huxley, “I don’t want you to think I’m not good at what I do, because I’m really good, but sometimes you also have to admit that a purge is necessary in order to make things work. I’m a minimalist, and I think we might have to purge some of your things first, Lottie, in order to make this work.”

“Purge?” I ask, flabbergasted at the mere notion of doing such a thing. “Do you realize I only brought the bare minimum with me? I didn’t even bring all of my clothes. This is what I need to survive.”

“I’ll take care of this.” Huxley pulls out his phone and starts typing away. “I’ll have Andre come retrieve your boxes.”

“What do you mean, retrieve them? What’s he going to do with them?”

Huxley glances up from his phone, one brow lifted, those sultry eyes burning through me. “Take them to my house.”

I shake my head. “No way, nope. Not a chance. I told you I wasn’t moving in with you.”

“Don’t be absurd. I have a seven-bedroom house. You could have a room for each of your boxes.”

“I’m not rooming with a man I don’t know.” I fold my arms over my chest.

We stare each other down, a line being drawn between us.

Would living with Huxley be easier? Sure, probably, but I don’t know the guy. What insane person would just move in with a complete stranger?

Not me.

And my sister would never allow it.

“You know, it might not be a bad idea,” Kelsey says.

Excuse me while I pick my jaw up off the ground.

Excuse me?

Not a bad idea?

“Kelsey,” I whisper in shock. “What on earth? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am.” She gestures to the boxes. “But one weekend of this and we’re going to hate each other. And look at him, he seems nice enough.”

“Nice enough?” I ask, completely floored. “Is that all the qualifications you need? Nice enough?”

“And he smells heavenly, and we know who he is, so if he tries to do anything, we can report him, and that would ruin his reputation. It’s obvious he’s going to great lengths to avoid that.”

There’s some truth to that, but still . . .

“What am I supposed to do—just live at this guy’s mansion?”

Kelsey smirks. “Uh, yeah. Seems like a dream to me.”

Leaning toward Kelsey, I whisper, “I don’t even like him.”

Whispering back, she says, “He can hear you.”

“You don’t have to like me to do business with me. Remember, this is nothing but a business transaction. The sooner you start thinking of it that way, the easier it will be to take the emotion out of it.”

I scowl at Huxley, who looks far too casual, rocking on his heels, hands in his pockets.

“He’s right,” Kelsey says. When I don’t respond, she continues, “What about this? Try it for a week, and then if you want to come back, my studio apartment is open to you, pillow bed and all.”

“You’re serious? You don’t want me to stay?”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Kelsey says.

“That’s what you say now, but tomorrow in the news, missing-sister reports circulate the Interweb.”

“You’re being ridiculous. We know everything about him. He tries one thing, and his reputation is ruined. Trust me, I’m good at reading people. He’s not stupid.”