“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” I ask as Brody moves toward the lobby.
“What do you mean where am I going?”
“Uh, the bungalows are that way.” I jerk my thumb toward the golf cart parking lot.
He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching mine, and then searching behind me. A secret is hiding behind those dark brown eyes, a mischievous secret.
“Right, just have to grab something real quick.” He takes off toward the lobby, a pep in his step.
What is he up to?
For the rest of the party, we mingled, Brody attempting to look like he was in love with me, while I held the team on my back by stroking his arm, holding on to him, and offering him compliments in front of his coworkers. All the while, he was a frozen mess in a cream linen suit that was completely drenched in sweat. I hope that’s the last time he plans on wearing it because the thing needs to be burned.
I lean against a pole in the lobby, wishing the time difference between here and California wasn’t so extreme. Otherwise, I’d be texting Hattie, letting her know how I not only infiltrated my way into the party, but into the actual wedding. What are the chances?
Not sure how happy she would be given I should be vacationing, but sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Brody comes back into view, rolling a suitcase behind him. He strides up to me and smiles. “Ready.”
“Ready for what?” I ask.
“Well, I figured we should talk, don’t you? Get our story straight given the fact that you just invited yourself to my boss’s daughter’s wedding.”
Perhaps he’s right. I’ll give him that.
“Fine, but what’s with the suitcase?”
“Wasn’t able to check in earlier. What bungalow are you?”
“Seventeen,” I say.
“Great.” He smiles. “I’m eighteen.”
“That’s oddly coincidental.” I eye him again but frankly I’m still jet-lagged and so tired from the day that I don’t have it in me to question him.
“Maybe they knew you were going to be a calculating shrew and put us next to each other.”
“Or maybe they knew you were going to be a sniveling weasel with no backbone and needed a strong woman to help you out.”
“I have a backbone,” he says as he follows me toward my golf cart.
“Says the guy who couldn’t take his linen suit jacket off because he was sweating so profusely, he knew his white shirt would be see-through.”
“It’s hotter than the devil’s asshole here. My body has not adjusted.”
“Maybe don’t wear a suit jacket to begin with.”
“It’s called being professional, maybe give it a try,” he shoots back as I get in my golf cart. He takes a seat right next to me and positions his suitcase on his lap.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask him.
“Getting a ride, what does it look like?”
“Where is your cart?”
“They have to charge it, so they’re delivering it to me tomorrow. Told them I would catch a ride with you.”
“Oh…” I put the cart in reverse and then take off down the plank bridge and toward my bungalow, the lush, night-dark landscaping alive with the cries of insects. We’re silent the entire time, which is appreciated because the last thing I want to do is make small talk with him. And I’m sure he doesn’t want to have this conversation with me while we’re driving by a bunch of bungalows that are most likely rented by wedding guests.
So I absorb the silence.
When we reach my bungalow, I put the cart in park, connect it to the charger, and then go to my front door, Brody following closely behind.
I glance over my shoulder and say, “Don’t you want to put your bag in your room?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he says. “We can talk first, then I’ll settle in.”
“We can always talk in the morning,” I say as I open my door.
“I’d rather not,” he says as he steps in behind me.
“Uh, please take your shoes off, I don’t want you tracking your dirt everywhere.” I slip off my sandals and line them up by the door with my other shoes.
He glances at the setup and rolls his eyes before kicking off his shoes and leaving them in disarray next to the door.
Ugh, men.
He then rolls his suitcase into the bedroom where he leaves it in the middle of the floor and then to my horror, flies back on the bed, hands behind his head.
“Uh, excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”
He bounces on it, testing the mattress. “Yup, this will do.”
Hands on my hips, I march up to the side of the bed and ask, “What do you mean this will do?”
“Ooh, did I forget to mention I was lying about my bungalow? Well, I was. I actually don’t have a place to stay…well, that’s a lie. I had a chair to sleep in, offered by a local, but this bed feels like a much better option.”
A horrified laugh pops out of my mouth as I round the bed so I’m right next to him. “This bed is not an option for you.”
He sits up on his elbows. “Sure as shit is. Do you really think it’s going to be wise for me to have to travel back and forth to a chair when I should probably be staying in a bungalow with my girlfriend?”
“Maybe I’m a prude and don’t sleep with my boyfriends before I’m married.”
“Trust me when I say, after seeing you in that dress tonight, they’re going to think you’re anything but a prude.”
He’s not wrong…but that’s beside the point.
“You’re not staying here.”
“Pretty sure I am,” he says as he gets up from the bed and removes his jacket. He tosses it on the chair in the corner and then moves over to his suitcase. He lays it flat on the ground and unzips it.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I run up to him. “Don’t even think about unpacking.”
“Unpacking? Why do I need to unpack when my suitcase can hold everything? Just need my toiletry bag.” He snaps up a black bag and takes it to the bathroom.
“Uh, first of all, living out of a suitcase is barbaric, especially when hotels offer you all the accommodations for hanging up and putting away your clothes. Secondly, you’re not staying here, so there’s no need for you to take out your toiletry bag.”
He sidesteps me and heads to the bathroom. “I’m staying here and I’m due for a shower.” He sets his bag on the counter and then pulls on the back of his shirt until it’s up and over his head, revealing his impressively ripped chest.
Dear God.
Look at those pecs.
His shoulders.
Those arms.
His abs…
Who knew Brody McFadden was so…fit? Does Gary know this? Does Gary work out with him?
That makes me mentally chuckle. Gary doesn’t work out. I don’t think he’s ever worked out—
Brody takes his belt and pants off and deposits them on the floor along with his shirt, bringing me back to reality.
“What are you doing?” I ask, knowing exactly what he’s doing, but the large pecs slightly short-circuited my brain.
“Taking a shower, I told you that. Now you can either watch or you can go elsewhere, but either way, it’s happening.” He slips his thumbs under the waistband of his boxer briefs…wait, are those nude?
“You wear nude underwear?”
He smirks. “Didn’t want to show my panty line under the linen suit.” And then he starts moving his briefs down. I turn around with a screech just in time as I see them fall to the floor next to my foot.
I hear the rain shower turn on and the frosted glass door swing open and then shut.
How the hell is this happening?
“I…I told you you’re not staying here.”
“Heard you the first time, princess,” he says as I glance over my shoulder to catch his silhouette in the glass. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m sleeping in your bed tonight.”
Outraged, I turn around just in time to catch him bringing the soap down his body, to his…
I slap my hand over my eyes, as my mind sends me back to the make out session where I cupped him.
So big.
So long.
Dear God in heaven, the silhouette matches the imprint I can still feel in my hand.
I peek through my fingers just in time to see him rinsing off, his back to me.
Focus, Maggie.
With a shaky, less confident voice, I say, “There’s no way in hell you’re sleeping in my bed.”
“And how do you plan on enforcing that?” he asks as he lathers up his hair.
“Uh, by telling you no,” I say, my eyes traveling down his body. I can’t really see anything other than a shady outline, but as they travel lower, I can confirm there is a beefy stick of salami between his legs, and it has my mouth watering.
“What makes you think I’m going to listen to you?” he asks.
Great point. I don’t think he’s ever listened to me.
“I’ll call security,” I say. “Have you physically removed.”
He rinses again and then turns off the water. I spin around just in time for him to shamelessly open the shower door and grab a towel.
The audacity of this man.
“Go ahead, call security on your boyfriend. See what happens. I have no problem exposing you to the Hopper family. Pretty sure that won’t bode well for your business plans.”
Frustration thrums through my veins as I realize he’s right. I can ruin him. He can ruin me. It’s a tit-for-tat situation here, and I don’t think there is any way around it.
“Realizing that I’m right, aren’t you?” he asks as he moves past me, thankfully with a towel wrapped around his waist.
Doesn’t stop me from watching little droplets of water fall from his hair and cascade down his smooth, muscular back.
He bends down to his suitcase and starts tossing clothing to the side until he pulls out a pair of black briefs. His hands move to his waist and without warning, he rips the towel from his body, exposing his tight, firm ass and causing me to simultaneously drool and scream.
“Do you not have any decency?” I yell as I cover my eyes once again.
“Please, as if you haven’t been staring. Just making it easier for you.” He snaps the waistband of his underwear, letting me know that he’s all covered up.
I uncover my eyes, and he turns toward me, towering like the giant that he is as he picks up his towel, only to run it over his hair, sticking it up in all different directions.
“I was not staring.”
“Maggie, I saw you. The shower door is frosted, but I could still see what was happening on the other side. Your eyes were on me.”
“Uh, because I was having a conversation with you.”
He shakes his head and moves past me again to the bathroom where he starts brushing his teeth. “Are you getting ready for bed?” I ask.
“Yup,” he answers, mouth full of toothpaste.
“You’re not sleeping here.” I stomp my foot this time, hoping that might get him to listen, but who am I kidding, it’s Brody McFadden.
He spits out his toothpaste and smirks at me but doesn’t say anything. When he’s done, he switches off the bathroom light, grabs a phone charger from his suitcase, and then plugs it into the outlet on one side of the bed.
“Hello, did you hear me?”
“The fish below us can hear you,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.” He hops into bed, plugs his phone in, and then gets comfortable. “I like to sleep naked, but given the way your eye is twitching, I’ll keep the underwear on just for you.” He fluffs his pillow. “The sacrifices I’m making—I should get an award.”
“Oh my God, I hate you so much,” I say as I storm over to my dresser and pull out my pajamas. I know there is no use arguing with him tonight. He’s not going to move and it’s only going to make me more aggravated, so I get ready for bed as well, taking my time so I can calm down. But unlike him, I shut the door behind me.
As I strip out of my dress and take care of my business, I try to think of a way to solve the problem currently lying in my bed, but nothing comes to mind. Absolutely nothing. There’s no way I can afford to pay for his own bungalow. I got this on a discount thanks to some hospitality contacts. It was a lucky steal, especially since the Hopper wedding is here this week. And creating a scene with him won’t be helpful either. I don’t like the man, but I’m also not a heartless bitch who wants to see someone’s career tank just because I can’t get along with him.
I finish brushing my teeth and then slip on my pajamas. When I look in the mirror, I realize a major problem.
The only pajamas I have with me are “woman on the prowl” lingerie sets. They’re comfortable to sleep in, but nothing I should be wearing around my brother’s best friend. This particular one is a coral lace cami set with a see-through stomach and lace bottoms. The bust area barely contains my breasts and the front of the torso flaps open.
Maybe I should grab a T-shirt…but I didn’t bring any to sleep in. This is what I brought. And it’s not like I can run to the gift shop. And there’s no way in hell I’m asking to borrow one of his shirts. Which means…he has to deal with this.
I look at myself in the mirror and note how great I actually look. Freshly washed face, wavy hair past my shoulders, my body bronzed everywhere. Okay…maybe this isn’t a bad thing. He wants to share a bed, then he can deal with this. He’s walking around in just boxer briefs, and there are no double standards in this bungalow, so…lingerie it is.
With a surge of confidence, I open the bathroom door and move around the bed. I feel it, the minute his eyes land on me and what I’m wearing because he shifts in the bed.
“Put that on for me?” he asks in a cocky tone. “You shouldn’t have, princess.”
“Don’t call me that, and don’t flatter yourself. I like feeling sexy when I go to bed.”
“Yeah…like to turn yourself on?”
I squint at him. “Can you not be a pig? God.”
“Just trying to get to know you better.” He turns toward me as I settle into bed. I take one of the king-sized pillows and I slam it between us.
“Don’t even think about crossing over this pillow. That’s your side and this is my side.”
“Don’t need to worry about me touching you,” he says as he lifts the pillow and settles it behind his head. “I’m here for business and nothing else. And if you considered yourself a businesswoman, then you would have the same attitude.”
I sit up and stare at him. “Are you questioning my business practices?”
“I’m just saying if you looked at this from a business perspective, you wouldn’t be putting up such a fight. You’d see this as an opportunity. I can help you and you can help me.”
“And how in fact can you help me?”
“Well, since I’m obviously in the know with Haisley, I can make sure to talk you up, support you in your new bridesmaid endeavor, be the doting boyfriend.”
“Uh-huh…and how does that make up for you sleeping in my bungalow on my vacation?”
“Listen, you’re the one who invited yourself as a date. You were the one who pulled the trigger on the fake relationship. I was just going to attend this wedding, hopefully have a few conversations with Hopper, but now you’ve turned it into so much more. And I can either be your assistant in this insane mission…or I can be your worst enemy. Take your pick.” He offers me an evil smirk that makes me want to scream.
“If you’re going to act like a dick, I’m going to act like a dick.”
“Yes, but it’s your reputation that you’re hurting. It’s your business. I can always find a new job, but can you really stomach the idea of losing the business you’ve been building since you graduated?”
Ugh, he’s so right and that makes him that much more annoying. Because I would never do anything to jeopardize my business. I have poured every ounce of myself into it and the thought of ruining it to prove a point to a man that I can’t stand is—well, it’s just not an option.
Which only means one thing…it’s time to strike up a contract.
I can’t have him going rogue. I have to keep him in line and a contract is the only way to do that.
I flip the covers back and I walk over to the desk where I’ve set out my computer, some paper, and my favorite pens. Yes, I was supposed to be on vacation, but I like to have things readily available just in case there are any emergencies with my couples.
I bring the notepad and pen over to the bed just as he asks, “What are you doing?”
“We’re writing out a contract.”
“A contract?” he asks as he sits up now and leans against the headboard. I glance to the right for a brief moment, catching sight of his impressive chest once more and truly hating him for keeping up with his workout regimen. This would be so much better if he was at least clothed. “For what?”
“To keep you in line,” I answer.
“Me in line?” he points to his chest. “I’m not the one going around claiming to be people’s significant other. That was all on you. I was just trying to live my life. If anyone needs to be kept in line, it’s you.”
He’s never going to let me live that down. “Fine, then because I don’t trust you. You just waltzed in here, made yourself at home with no regard for my wishes. Ever think that this might be my sanctuary and I don’t want it disturbed by your smelly man shoes and unkempt suitcase scattered across the floor?”
“No,” he says flatly. “Ever consider that I didn’t want you as my charming girlfriend during this trip? How do you know I don’t have a girl back home?”
“Because Gary asked me if my friend Hattie was still single. He wanted to set you up.”
“Why the hell would he ask that?” Brody says with a curl to his lip. Never realized how much he wasn’t into relationships until now. Between what Haisley said and now his total distaste at being set up with Hattie. He would be so lucky. Hattie is a real catch.
“Gary asked that because he’s moving on with his life and he wants you to settle down so he can do couples things with you.”
Brody clutches his chest. “Aww, that’s sweet.”
“Ew, stop that.” I shiver. “I don’t need you awing over my brother.”
“You know, it’s okay for guys to have close friends. You have Hattie, let me have Gary.”
“Gary is a simpleton,” I say as I write “Maggie and Brody Contract” at the top of my piece of paper.
“I can agree with that, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be loved.”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s get this done so I can get some sleep and forget about the fact that I have to share a bed with you.”
“Once again, by your doing.” He props his hands behind his head and smiles at me.
“You’re really annoying, you know that?”
“I actually find myself a bit of a delight.”
“Number one,” I snap. “There will be absolutely, and I mean zero sexual interactions between Brody McFadden and Maggie Mitchell.”
“Thank God.” He blows out a heavy breath. “No offense, but you just don’t do it for me.”
What.
An.
Asshole.
I look up at him. “Yes, you made that quite clear at Gary’s wedding.”
And that smug look he was just sporting falters. Guess we’re not as unflappable as we thought we were.
“Maggie—”
“Don’t,” I say, holding up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I chalk that night up to a drunken mistake that will never, and I mean, never happen again. So, let’s move on.” I hand him the pen and offer the paper to him. “Initial here. No sexual conduct at all.”
He doesn’t initial. Instead I can feel his eyes on me.
Not liking him studying me for too long, I say, “Just initial it, Brody.”
But he doesn’t move and if that isn’t the most infuriating thing…
“But what if we have to be intimate?” he finally asks.
“What do you mean?” I look up at him and, when I meet his soulful brown eyes, I see that look. I then recall with such clarity what it felt like when he gently pushed me against the wall before he kissed me. It was so thrilling.
Invigorating.
A feeling I’ve been chasing ever since.
“I mean we have to pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend, and that will require a level of intimacy.”
Oh…right.
“Off the clock,” I say. “Nothing sexual. That is your side of the bed, this is mine. Respect it. And also, respect the use of a bathroom door. I don’t need to see you fondling yourself in the shower.”
“Enjoy that, did you?” he asks, that smug look coming back in full force.
“Just initial,” I nearly yell.
Smirking, he initials next to the rule and then I snatch the notepad back. “Moving on. Number two.” I write as I talk out loud. “Under no circumstances whatsoever will either party try to humiliate or embarrass the other on purpose. Including but not limited to, reciting personal stories about one another that might be the least bit embarrassing, attempting to undercut one another in front of the Hopper family, or degrading each other despite the hate they hold for one another.”
“You really think I’d do that?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say as I initial and then hand him the notepad.
“You know way more embarrassing things about me than I know about you.”
“Yes, but Gary knows more about me, and he’s one text away. I don’t need you phoning a friend for material. No embarrassment.”
“Fine by me,” he says.
“Number three, we are to stay boyfriend and girlfriend throughout the entirety of the wedding week with an addendum for possible dates after in order to secure any business deals that may come of this. No wandering eyes. No flirting with others. You are mine, and I am yours until we both agree that the contract has been terminated.”
“You’re mine?” he asks with a raised brow. “Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, directed at me.”
“Consider yourself blessed,” I say as I hand him the notebook.
Before adding his initials, he asks, “Does this include possible business dates in let’s say…a month from now when Hopper chooses my proposal and there’s a celebratory dinner, which would require your presence?”
“Yes. Any post-wedding parties or dates that fall under what we accomplished during this week are required until we can come up with a fake breakup that favors both parties.”
“Fair,” he says and signs.
“Number four.”
“Jesus, how many are there?”
“We need to cover all bases here.” I poise my pen on the paper. “Number four, our story. Brody McFadden and Maggie Mitchell both agree upon the story that we’ve known each other for a few years, but my twenty-first birthday was when sparks began to fly for us. Gary is happy that we’re together and we’re quite serious. We haven’t moved in together yet and there are no wedding bells in our future right now, but Brody considers Maggie to be the moon and the sky, and nothing and no one will ever compare.” I hand him the notepad to initial, but he just stares at me.
“Why am I the one with the giant crush?” he asks.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask as I brush my hair behind my neck and stick out my chest. His eyes fall to my breasts and then back up to my eyes.
“No, it’s not obvious.” My eyes narrow as I stare him down. Such an asshole. “Also,” he continues, “Do you really think I’m that easy?”
“Yes,” I answer and tap the page. “Sign.”
But he doesn’t, instead he adds in his own writing. “And Maggie can’t think of another set of pecs that would ever compare to the set Brody McFadden has under his crisp, pressed shirts. Nor does she want any other penis in her life because the penis she has been given is more than enough for her. Sometimes she gags—”
I swat at his hand. “Do not write that.”
“Already done. Should I draw a picture to go with it?”
“No doodling dicks!” I shout. “This is a serious contract.” I snag the notepad from him, annoyed that he ruined my perfectly written contract. “Ugh, your stupid handwriting made this ugly.”
“Wasn’t aware we were going for a handwritten masterpiece. Are you competing with the Declaration of Independence?”
“Are you not taking this seriously?” I snap at him.
“Oh no,” he says in a sarcastic voice. “I’m taking this the most seriously.”
“Why do you have to be such an ass all the time?”
“Why do you have to be uptight all the time?” he counters.
“I am not uptight.”
“Says the girl who lined up her skincare by height.”
I glance over him at the bottles laid out on the bathroom counter. “That’s not being uptight, that’s just being visually appealing.”
He sighs heavily. “Is there anything else you need to add, or can we go to sleep?”
“There should be five, it’s a better number.”
“Uptight…” he whispers.
“That’s not being uptight, that’s being anal-retentive.”
He drags his hand over his face. “How about ‘Maggie is required to loosen up.’”
“And ‘Brody is required to not be an asshole.’”
“Fine.” He takes the notepad from me, writes the final rule, and then he initials it. Finally, he drags a full line under the rules, signs and dates at the bottom, and hands it to me before sinking back down on the mattress. “Now, please turn off your light so I can get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
I sign and date the contract as well and then store it away for safekeeping. I go back to my side of the bed where I open up my nightstand drawer and pull out my vitamins. I pop open my water bottle and one by one, I start swallowing them.
“What are you doing?” he grunts out.
“Taking my vitamins.”
“Shouldn’t you do that in the morning?”
“These are nighttime vitamins.” I swallow the last one and put my vitamin case back in the nightstand drawer. Next, I grab my lip scrub and I rub it on my lips.
“What now?” he asks.
“These lips aren’t soft on their own,” I say, making sure to really rub it in. “They require a mask at night.”
“Jesus,” he mutters.
Next, I uncap my lotion.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, lifting up to look at me.
“Uh, excuse me, but you signed a contract that said you weren’t going to be an asshole.”
“And you signed one that said you weren’t going to be uptight.”
“This is my routine,” I shoot back at him.
He drapes one of his beefy arms over his eyes. “Because you’re uptight.”
Ignoring him, I smooth my lotion over my hands, turn off the light, and then snuggle into my pillow. “Don’t forget, this is my side. That is your side.”
“Trust me, I’ll have no problem remembering that little detail.”
