“Very,” he says, his eyes serious.

Well . . . okay then.

Uh, let me just go, uh, get something so I don’t have to feel like a wilting flower under this man’s strong gaze.

I smile awkwardly and then head into the pantry to get some chips I saw in there the other day, as well as two bananas.

I don’t know what’s with the change of attitude on his end, but I’m going with it, because this is a Huxley Cane I could very much get along with. And given the man fell asleep with me on a pool float and then carried me upstairs to rest, I think I’m the Lottie Gardner he could get along with too.

“It doesn’t taste that bad after you scrape off the burnt parts,” I say, examining the sandwich.

“You realize this is your fault, right?” He takes a bite of his partially burnt grilled cheese.

“How is this my fault?” I ask.

We’re sitting at the outdoor dining set, a small bowl of chips between us, as well as pre-cut veggies from Reign. I must say, the personal chef thing is pretty nice, a luxury I’ll miss when this is all over.

“You left me in charge while you went to the bathroom.”

“I told you to check it in a few seconds to see if it was done and then to take it off the heat. You turned up the heat.”

“Something the supervisor should’ve been there to watch.”

I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair. “Keep telling yourself that, Hux.”

He sets his sandwich down and picks up his water. Casually, he leans back in his chair as well and looks out toward the pool. “Do you have any questions for me today?”

“I always have questions.”

“Fire away,” he says, looking way more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. Which means, he very well might be open to answering some hard-hitting questions.

Don’t mind if I do.

I rub my hands together and ask, “What was your first impression of me?”

He takes a sip of his water and keeps his gaze forward as he speaks. “First impression. Well, you were wearing leggings and a sports bra that made your tits look amazing. It was hard not to think right off the bat how hot you were.” He stuns me with his stare. “But then I quickly realized you were a lunatic.”

My mouth falls open in amusement. I poke at his arm and say, “And yet, you still asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

He scratches the side of his cheek. “Desperation does crazy things to a person.”

“Aren’t you a charmer today.” I bring my feet up on my seat and hug my knees to my chest, getting more comfortable. “Go ahead, ask me a question.”

Studying me, he tilts his head to the side and asks, “Your dream man, who is he?”

Color me shocked. Didn’t expect that kind of question to fall past his lips.

“You seem surprised,” Huxley says.

“Yeah, wasn’t expecting that. Almost thought you were going to ask me what my first impression of you was.”

“I already know that. You’ve been quite vocal about how I was a different man on the sidewalk and in Chipotle.”

Yeah, I have.

“Okay, then. My dream guy? Hmm . . . I’ve never really thought about it before. I know I want someone who cares for me, like Jeff cares for my mom. He thinks she’s an absolute queen and treats her like it. I’d also like him to have fun with me. We don’t have to have everything in common, but I’d love to be able to just let loose, have fun with him. But also, a man with a good head on his shoulders. I’m barely keeping my head above water, I don’t want someone I have to babysit, if that makes sense.”

He nods.

“And then, of course, the obvious—he has to be a killer in bed. I’ve had my fair share of bad lovers. I’ve paid my dues. Whoever I end up with needs to be able to get me off with barely trying.”

“Is that it?” he asks.

“I think so. You caught me off guard. I’m sure there are other things, you know . . . like celebrating my wins just as much as we celebrate his. Respect. The usual items.”

“Think you’ll ever find him?”

“Is that your second question?”

“Yeah, it is.” He props his chin on his fingers as he leans further into his chair.

“Will I ever find him?” I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe, if I’m lucky. I’ve never been a super-romantic person, so I don’t really give any of this much thought at all, but would I like to have a dream guy by my side one day? Yeah. I’ve seen my mom alone and I’ve seen her with someone who truly adores her. She’s so much happier, stress free. I want that for me one day. Not saying I need it now, but someday.” When our eyes connect, I ask, “What about you? Think you’ll find your dream girl one day, settle down?”

He doesn’t waver when he says, “Yeah, I think I will.”

“Care to elaborate on that answer?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

I roll my eyes. “God, you’re infuriating.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know what you want me to elaborate on. Do I think I’ll find her? Yeah, I fucking do. Do I think I’m ready for her? No. But life doesn’t really work like that, it doesn’t wait for when you’re ready. So, whenever she comes along, I know I’m going to scramble to figure out how to make her happy, to try to keep her.”

“Here’s a hint—don’t be a dick to her.” I wink at him. “That will give you a fighting chance.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Tired, I close Kelsey’s laptop and flop back on my bed. Since I spent a good portion of my day yesterday doing absolutely nothing, I figured I’d try to get some things done today before I go to Kelsey’s tomorrow morning.

But I’ve been working on the website for a good three hours now and I’m over it. I need a break.

Wow, it’s gotten dark in here. What time is it?

I wake up my phone to see it’s only four in the afternoon, so I glance out the window and take in the dark clouds and the early signs of rain.

A rare day in California when it rains.

My phone buzzes and I glance at the screen.

Angela.

My nostrils flare as I angrily pick up my phone and unlock it so I can see what she has to say. Honestly, she’s so delusional that she thinks she can just text me as if she didn’t fuck me over. Why I haven’t already blocked her number is beyond me.

Angela: Hey, girl. Didn’t get your RSVP for the reunion. Should I count on you coming solo?

Why would she just assume that when I had Huxley’s enormous rock on my finger?

Probably because she believes Huxley is way too good for me.

Which, yeah, she might be right about that. I’m not necessarily the dream girl he’s searching for, even though he didn’t describe her. I know I don’t quite fit into his high-profile life. I’m not an idiot, but for Angela to just assume . . .

What a wretched bitch.

Should I even bother with texting her back?

If I don’t, she’s going to assume she got the best of me and I don’t want that, so, out of pure anger, I text her back.

Lottie: Sorry, been totally busy with Huxley. Count us in for two.

There, that should set her fake-blonde roots on fire.

Smiling to myself, I lift off the bed—still in my robe from my shower earlier—and go to my closet. I throw on a pair of lace pajama shorts and matching bralette. It’s actually one of the more comfortable sets, and I’ve worn every color besides this white one so far.

My phone buzzes and I quickly read it, wanting to see the kind of snarky response Angela has for me.

Angela: Oh, you’re together still? Huh, I thought I saw him with someone else the other night.

What a fucking liar!

I’m not stupid enough to fall for that shit, nor am I insecure enough to even question Huxley’s intentions. He’s told me, point blank, I’m it while we’re in contract. And if anything, I know when Huxley talks business, he means it.