The Spanish Love Deception: A Novel
The Spanish Love Deception: Chapter 5

You knew the universe didn’t like you all that much when, after an exhausting week that had been crowned with a catastrophic Friday, it started pouring down the minute you stepped out of the office.

“Me cago en la leche,” I cursed under my breath, looking out through the glass of InTech’s massive entrance door and taking in the dark clouds crowding the sky, rain falling from it almost violently.

Pulling up my phone, I checked the Weather app and discovered that the summer storm would probably hover over Manhattan for a couple more hours.

Perfect, just perfect.

It was already past eight in the evening, so staying in the office to wait out the rain wasn’t an option. I needed my bed. No, what I really needed was a can of Pringles and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. But that wasn’t a rendezvous I would be having today. Instead, I’d probably trick my stomach with whatever leftover veggies I had in the fridge.

A thunder rumbled somewhere nearby, returning me to the ugly present.

The rainfall increased, now gusts of wind veering the falling water from one side to the other.

Still in the safety of InTech’s entrance hall, I extracted from my bag the light cardigan I wore in the chilly building and covered my head with it in hopes that it would somehow act as a barrier between the rain and me. Thankfully, the bag I had grabbed that morning, even if not the prettiest, was waterproof.

Looking down at my beautiful and brand-new suede loafers—which, contrary to my bag, were gorgeous and unfortunately not resistant to water—I took in their pristine state one last time. “Farewell three-hundred-dollar shoes,” I told them with a sigh.

And with that, I pushed the glass door and stepped out into the dark and wet evening as I held my cardigan over my head.

It took me about five seconds under the rain to know that by the time I got to the C Line, I’d be completely and absolutely drenched.

Fantastic, I thought as I speed-walked under the unforgiving downpour. I only have a forty-five-minute commute to the part of Brooklyn I live in anyway. Time I’d spend soaked to my bones.

As I turned the corner of the building, another thunder roared somewhere above me, the rainfall increasing and turning my pace slower and clumsier, while more water fell heavily on top of my useless cardigan umbrella.

A gust of wind stuck half my hair to my cheek with a wet smack.

Trying to get the wet locks out of my face with my elbow, I kept hopping around, realizing quickly how bad of an idea that was.

My right foot slipped on a puddle, sliding forward, as my other leg remained rooted to the sidewalk. My hands, still holding the cardigan, whirled in the air as I fought to keep my balance.

Please, please, please, please, universe. My eyes closed, not wanting to bear witness to my own fate. Please, universe, don’t let this horrible week end this way.

My foot drifted one more inch as I held my breath before coming to a miraculous stop.

I opened my eyes. My legs were close to doing a split, but I was still standing.

Before I could fully straighten and resume my way under the rain, I noticed a car pulling up a short distance in front of me.

I knew someone who owned a vehicle in the same midnight blue.

Keep walking, Catalina, I told myself as I restarted my graceless hopping.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the passenger window roll down.

Without moving any closer to the vehicle I strongly suspected belonged to someone I was in no mood to interact with, I turned my body and zeroed in on the driver’s outline as I still held the stupid and wet piece of garment above me.

God-freaking-dammit.

Aaron was sitting inside. His body was leaning toward the copilot’s door, and while I could see his lips moving, I couldn’t make out what he was saying with the noise of the traffic, the wind, and the rain hitting the pavement with the characteristic force of a storm.

“What?” I shouted in his direction, not moving an inch.

Aaron waved his hand, probably indicating that I come closer. I stood there, squinting my eyes at him, wet as a drowned rat. He aggressively waved his pointer at me.

Oh, hell no.

I watched his scowl take over his expression as he mouthed a couple of words that looked a lot like impossible and stubborn.

“I can’t hear you!” I howled over the rain, still rooted to the spot.

His lips moved around what I assumed was something like for fuck’s sake. Unless he was telling me how much he wanted a milkshake. Which, judging by his scowl, I would not put any money on.

Rolling my eyes, I stepped closer. Very slowly. Almost ridiculously so, just so I wouldn’t slip and slide across the sidewalk again. Not in front of him of all people in New York City.

“Get in the car, Catalina.” I heard Aaron’s exasperation clinging to his voice, even over the furious and relentless rain.

Just like I had suspected, he hadn’t wanted a milkshake.

“Catalina,” he said as that blue gaze fell back on me, “get in.”

“It’s Lina.” After close to two years of him exclusively using my full name, I knew correcting him was of no use. But I was frustrated. Irritated. Tired. Soaked too. And I hated my full name. Papá—being the history nerd he was—had named both his daughters after two distinguished Spanish monarchs, Isabel and Catalina. My name being the one that never came back in trend in my country. “And what for?”

His lips parted in disbelief.

“What for?” he repeated my words. Then, he shook his head as he exhaled through his nose. “For an improvised trip to Disneyland. What would it be otherwise?”

For a long moment, I looked inside Aaron Blackford’s car with what I knew was an expression of genuine confusion.

“Catalina”—I watched his face go from exasperation to something that bordered resignation—“I am driving you home”—he stretched his arm and opened the door closest to me, as if it were a done deal—“before you catch pneumonia or almost break your neck. Again.”

Again.

That last part he had added very slowly.

Blood rushed to my cheeks. “Oh, thank you,” I gritted through my teeth. I tried to push down how embarrassed I was and plastered a fake smile on my face. “But there’s no need.” I stood in front of the open door, my wet hair sticking to my face again. I finally dropped the stupid cardigan and started squeezing water off it. “I can manage myself. This is just rain. If I’ve survived this long without breaking my neck, I think I can get home on my own today too. Plus, I’m not in a rush.”

Also, I have been avoiding you since you walked out of my office earlier today.

As I uselessly twisted some more water off my cardigan, I watched his eyebrows knit, regaining his earlier expression as he processed my words.

“What about the cat?”

“What cat?”

His head tilted. “Mr. Cat.”

The water must have been seeping through my skull because it took me an extra second to pin down what he was talking about.

“Your neighbor’s furless cat that you are not allergic to,” he said slowly as my eyes widened. “Ryan’s.”

I averted my eyes. “Bryan. My neighbor’s name is Bryan.”

“Not important.”

Ignoring that last remark, I couldn’t help but notice a line of cars forming behind Aaron’s.

“Get in the car. Come on.”

“No need, really.” One more car piled up. “Mr. Cat will survive a little longer without me.”

Aaron’s mouth opened, but before he could say anything, the blaring sound of a horn startled me, making me give a little jump and almost collide against the car’s open door.

“Por el amor de Dios!” I squealed.

Turning my head with my heart in my throat, I discovered it was one of New York City’s infamous yellow taxis. After a few years of living and working in the city, I had learned my lesson when it came to angry drivers. Or pissed New Yorkers in general. They’d let you know how they felt exactly when they felt it.

Proving my point, a trail of ugly-sounding words was thrown in our direction.

I turned back just in time to watch Aaron curse under his breath. He looked just as furious as the taxi driver.

Another nerve-racking honking noise—this time much, much, much longer—blared in my ears, making me jump again.

“Catalina, now.” Aaron’s tone was severe.

I blinked at him for a second too long, a little dazed by everything going on around me.

“Please.”

And before I could even process that word that had slipped out of him, a yellow blur was driving past us, gifting us with a ragey, “Assholes!” and blaring his horn with something close to devotion.

Those two words—Aaron’s please and that assholes—propelled my legs into the safety of Aaron’s car. With impressive speed, I found myself letting my body fall onto the leather seat with a wet thud and smacking the door shut.

Silence instantly engulfed us, the only sounds the muffled rattle of the rain against the shell of Aaron’s car and the dull roar of the engine moving us forward and into the chaos that was New York’s traffic.

“Thank you,” I croaked, feeling extremely uncomfortable as I fastened my belt.

Aaron kept his eyes on the road. “Thank you,” he answered, delivering that you with sarcasm, “for not making me get out and carry you inside myself.”

The visual of what he had just said caught me completely off guard. My eyes widened before then quickly narrowing at him. “And how in the world did you think that would be a good idea?”

“I was wondering myself, believe me.”

That answer did not make any sense. And for some reason, it made my cheeks heat up. Again.

Turning my head away from him and focusing on the almost-lawless array of moving cars ahead of us, I shifted awkwardly in my seat. Then, I stopped abruptly, noticing my soaked clothes made weird squishy noises against the leather.

“So …” I started as I slid to the edge, stretching the seat belt along with me. More noises followed. “This is a very nice car.” I cleared my throat. “Is it an air freshener that makes it smell all new and leathery?” I knew it wasn’t; the interior was in pristine condition.

“No.”

Moving my ass further up to the very end with yet another squishy sound, I cleared my throat. Straightening my back, I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, not when my mind was stuck on the fact that my soaked clothes were probably ruining the most likely expensive fabric underneath them.

This was a bad idea. I should never have climbed in his car. I should have walked.

“Catalina,” I heard Aaron from my left side, “have you ever been inside a moving vehicle before?”

My eyebrows wrinkled. “What? Of course. Why do you ask?” I queried from my position at the edge of the copilot’s seat. My knees were touching the dashboard.

He slid me a glance, his eyes assessing my stance.

Oh.

“Well, just so you know,” I added quickly, “this is how I always sit. I love watching everything from up close.” I pretended to be engrossed by the traffic. “I looooove rush-hour. It’s so—”

We came to a sudden halt, and my head and whole body were pushed forward. So much that my eyes closed on instinct. I could already taste the flavor of the PVC that covered the refined lines of the dashboard. The elegant details in the wood too.

Although it never did. Something stopped me midway.

“Jesus,” I heard being muttered.

One eye opened, taking in the delivery truck crossed in front of us. Then, my other eye popped open, too, and my gaze slid down, replaceing the explanation as to why my face wasn’t tattooed on the polished surface of Aaron’s dashboard.

A hand. A big one, all five fingers splayed across my collarbone and … well, chest.

Before I could blink, I was being pushed back, an array of squeaks accompanying the motion. Right until my whole back was flush against the seat rest.

“Stay right there,” came the order from my left as his fingers heated my skin across my drenched blouse. “If you are worried about the seat, it’s just water. It will dry off.” Aaron’s words weren’t reassuring. They couldn’t be when he sounded just as angry as a few minutes ago. If not a little more.

He retrieved his hand, the movement brisk and stiff.

I swallowed, grabbing on to the seat belt that now rested where his palm had been. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You won’t.”

“Okay,” I said, stealing a quick glance at him.

His gaze was on the road, shooting daggers at whoever had been responsible for that little mishap.

“Thanks.”

Then, we were moving again. The car was filled with silence while Aaron’s attention remained on his task and mine took the chance to scatter.

I surprised myself, thinking of Rosie’s words.

“I don’t think Aaron is all that bad,” she had said earlier today.

But why had that thought waited to seep in until right now? To sound so loud and clear in my head? It wasn’t like Mr. Sunshine here was being any nicer than he usually was.

Although he had sort of just saved me from the rain. And a good blow to the head.

Silently sighing, I cursed myself for what I was about to do.

“Thank you for printing out those papers for me, by the way,” I said quietly, fighting the impulse to take it back immediately. But I didn’t. I could be diplomatic. At least, right now. “It was very nice of you, Aaron.” That last part had me wincing, the admission feeling funny on my tongue.

I turned to look at him, taking in his hard profile. I watched the tight line of his jaw relax a little.

“You are welcome, Catalina.”

He kept his gaze on the road.

Whoa. Look at us. That was … very civil.

Before I could delve any more into that, a shiver crawled all the way down my back, making me shudder. I hugged my middle in hopes of getting warmer inside the wet clusterfuck that was my clothing.

Aaron’s hand shot to the console, changing the temperature setting and switching on the heating of my seat. I immediately felt the pleasant hot air brushing my ankles and arms, my legs growing gradually warmer.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you.” I faced him with a small smile.

His head turned, and he searched my face with a skeptical expression.

It was almost as if he were waiting for me to add something.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t let all these thank yous get to your head, Blackford.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He lifted one of his hands from the wheel. And I swore there was a hint of humor in his voice. “Just wondering if I should enjoy it or if I should ask if you are okay.”

“That’s a good question, but I don’t think it’s one I can answer.” I shrugged my shoulders, fighting the snappy comeback rising to my tongue. I sighed. “Honestly? I am soaked to my bones, and I’m hungry and tired. So, I’d enjoy it if I were you.”

“That bad of a day?” That tiny pinch of humor was gone.

Sensing the start of another shudder, I burrowed myself in the heated fabric of the seat. “More like a bad week.”

Aaron hummed in response. It was a deep sound, a little like a rumble.

“This might not surprise you, but I have been close to murdering a few people this week,” I confessed, taking the truce I had imposed as a green light for venting to him. “And you are not even at the top of the list.”

A very light and very subdued snort came from him. Truce and all, I guessed I was allowed to admit that I liked it. It made my lips bend in a smile.

“I …” He trailed off, considering something. “I don’t know how to take that either. Should I be offended or grateful?”

“You can be both, Blackford. Plus, there’s time until the day is over. You can still claim your rightful place as the number one person who awakens my most murderous side.”

We stopped at a light. Aaron’s head turned slowly, and I was caught off guard by how light his expression was. His ocean eyes were clear and his face more relaxed than I’d ever seen it. We stared at each other for two or three long seconds. Another shiver curled at the nape of my neck.

I blamed the wet clothes.

Without missing a beat and as if he had eyes on the side of his head, he turned to the road as the light changed to green. “I’ll need directions from this point on.”

Puzzled by the implications of his request, my head spun in the other direction. I took in the layout of the wide avenue we were driving through. “Oh,” I murmured. “We are in Brooklyn.”

I had been so … distracted that I had forgotten about telling Aaron where I lived. Although he wasn’t too off track. Or at all.

“You live in this part of the city, right? North Central Brooklyn?”

“Yeah,” I blurted. “Bed-Stuy.” I confirmed with a nod of my head. “I just … how did you know?”

“You complain.”

What? I blinked at his explanation.

He continued, “This way okay, or should I turn?”

Clearing my throat, I stumbled over my words. “Yes, stay on Humboldt Street, and I’ll let you know when to turn.”

“Okay.”

I gripped my seat belt, feeling a little too warm all of a sudden. “So, I complain?” I mumbled.

“About the commute,” Aaron answered calmly. I opened my mouth, but he continued, “You have mentioned that it takes you forty-five minutes to get to the part of Brooklyn you live in.” He paused thoughtfully. “You rant about it almost every day.”

My lips clipped shut. I did complain but not to him. I pretty much vented to everybody else. Yeah, half the time, Aaron was somewhere around, but I never thought he was interested in what I had to say if it didn’t concern work. Or if it concerned me.

He shocked me by asking, “Who’s made the top besides me then? The list with the people you might have wanted to murder this week.”

“Huh …” I trailed off, surprised that he was interested enough to ask.

“I want to know my competition,” he said, sending my head swiveling in his direction. “It’s only fair.”

Was that a joke? Oh my God, it was, wasn’t it?

Studying his profile, I felt myself smiling warily. “Let me see.” I could play this game. “All right, so Jeff”—I counted with my fingers—“my cousin Charo”—a second finger—“and Gerald. Yes, definitely him too.” I let my hands drop to my lap. “Hey, look at that; you didn’t even make the top three, Blackford. Congratulations.”

Frankly, I was genuinely surprised myself.

I watched how his brows furrowed.

“What’s the problem with your cousin?”

“Oh, nothing.” I waved my hand in the air, thinking of what Mamá had said. What that Sherlock Holmes wannabe had said about not replaceing photographic evidence of my made-up boyfriend. “Just some family drama.”

Aaron seemed to consider that for a long moment, in which we drove in silence. I used the time to look out the passenger window, watching the blurry streets of Brooklyn through the droplets running down the glass.

“Gerald is a prick,” came from the man in the driver’s seat.

Eyes wide, I looked over at him. His profile was hard, serious. And I didn’t think I’d ever heard Aaron curse.

“One day, he’ll get what he deserves. I’m shocked that hasn’t happened yet, if I’m being honest. If it were up to me …” He shook his head.

“If it were up to you, what? What would you do?” I watched a muscle jump in his jaw. He didn’t answer, so I averted my gaze, letting it fall back onto the passing traffic. This conversation was pointless. And I was too drained of energy to attempt to have it anyway. “It’s all right. It’s not like it’s my first rodeo with him.”

“What does that mean?” Aaron’s voice had a strange edge.

Trying not to pay attention to that, I answered as honestly as I could without getting into too much detail. I didn’t want Aaron’s pity or compassion. “He hasn’t been exactly pleasant and agreeable ever since I got promoted to team leader.” I shrugged, clasping my hands in my lap. “It’s like he can’t compute why someone like me has the same position he does.”

“Someone like you?”

“Yeah.” I exhaled heavily through my mouth, my breath fogging up the glass of the window for a couple of seconds. “A woman. At first, I thought it was because I was the youngest team leader and he was skeptical about me. It would be fair. Then, it also crossed my mind that he might have an issue with me being a foreigner. I know a few of the guys used to make fun of my accent. I once overheard Tim call me Sofia Vergara in a mocking way. Which, honestly, I took it as a compliment. Having half the curves or the wit that woman has wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not that I’m unhappy with my body. I’m okay with being … the way I am.” Normal. Plain. And I was. Everything about me was pretty standard where I came from. Brown eyes and brown hair. On the shorter side. Not thin, but not fat. Wide hips but rather small bust. We were millions of women that fit that description. So, I was … average. Not a big deal. “It wouldn’t hurt, losing a couple of pounds for the wedding, but I don’t think whatever I’m doing is working.”

A sound came from my side, making me realize that I had not only overshared, but I had also rambled my way out of the topic at hand with Aaron, who didn’t even compute small talk.

“Anyway”—I cleared my throat—“Gerald doesn’t like me being where I am, and it has nothing to do with me not being an American or me being younger than him. But that’s how the world works, and it will work that way until it doesn’t anymore.”

More silence followed my words.

I peeked at him, curious to know what it was that he was thinking that kept him from lecturing me or telling me that I was whining or if he did not care what I had to say. But he only looked mad. Again. His jaw was all bunched up, and his brows furrowed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the intersection that signaled my street. “Oh, take the next right, please,” I instructed Aaron, taking my eyes off him. “It’s at the end of that street.”

Aaron followed my directions in silence, still looking like he was bothered by something I had said. Thankfully, my block came into view before I was tempted to ask.

“There.” I pointed with my finger. “The building on the right. The one with the dark red front door.”

Aaron pulled up and stationed the car on a free spot that had somehow been magically waiting right in front of my door. My gaze followed his right hand as he killed the engine.

Silence engulfed the confined space of the vehicle.

Swallowing hard, I looked around. I tried to focus on the characteristics of the brownstones of this borough of Brooklyn, the few trees scattered along the street, the pizzeria on the corner—where I usually picked up dinner when I was feeling lazy. Or just hungry. I focused on everything, except the way in which the silence pressed on me, the more I waited inside the car.

Fumbling with my seat belt and feeling the tops of my ears heat for no reason, I opened my mouth. “All right, I’m going to—”

“Have you thought about my offer?” Aaron said.

My fingers froze on my seat belt. My head lifted very slowly until I was facing him.

For the first time since I had placed my drenched ass inside, I let myself really look at Aaron. Study all of him. His profile was lit by the dim glow coming from the few lamps perched on my street. The storm had somehow died, but the sky was still dark and angry, as if this were just a short pause and the worst was yet to come.

We found ourselves pretty much in the dark, so I couldn’t be sure if his eyes were the deep shade of blue that usually told me he was serious and all business—which I hoped wasn’t the case—or that lighter blue that preceded a battle. The only thing I could notice was how his shoulders seemed tense. A little wider than usual. They almost dwarfed the otherwise spacious interior of the car. Hell, looking at him now, his whole body seemed to do exactly that. Even the distance between his seat and the steering wheel was overly wide to accommodate his long legs. So much that I bet a person could easily fit in there.

By the time I found myself wondering what he would say if I jumped on his lap to test my theory, Aaron cleared his throat. Probably twice.

“Catalina.” He drew my attention back to his face.

“Do you …” I trailed off, a little shaken by the fact that my mind had taken me to Aaron’s lap. I am ridiculous. “Do you want to pee or something?”

Aaron frowned and rearranged his body in his seat, angling it toward me. “No.” He looked at me weirdly. “I’ll probably regret asking this, but why do you think I want to?”

“You are parked in my street. In front of my building. I thought maybe you needed to use the bathroom. And I hoped it wouldn’t be number two, honestly.”

I watched his chest inflate with a deep breath and then release all the air out.

“No, I don’t need to use the bathroom.”

His gaze studied me, as if he couldn’t figure out why I was there, inside his car. And in the meantime, I wondered exactly the same thing.

My fingers finally made work of the seat belt, snapping it free as I felt his eyes boring holes into my side.

“So, what’s your answer?”

My whole body froze. “My answer?”

“To my offer. Have you thought about it? And please”—dammit, that word again—“stop pretending you don’t remember. I know you do.”

My heart tripped, tumbling down for a horrifying second. “I’m not pretending,” I murmured, doing exactly what he had asked me not to.

But in my defense, I needed to win some time to figure this out. How to … deal with the situation. And more importantly, to figure out why.

Why was he offering? Why was he insisting? Why was he going through the hassle? Why did he think he could be the one to help me? Why did he sound like he meant it? Why …

Just why?

Expecting a sarcastic comment, or a roll of his blue eyes at me playing dumb, or even him to retract his words because I was being difficult on purpose and he never had patience for that, I braced myself. But of all the things I expected him to go with, he went with the only one I wasn’t ready for.

A defeated sigh left his lips.

I blinked.

“Your sister’s wedding. I’ll be your date,” Aaron said. As if he’d be willing to repeat himself as much as he possibly could as long as I gave him an answer.

Or as if he were offering something simple. Something that would obtain a straightforward answer that didn’t require much consideration. Something like, Would you like dessert, Lina? Why, yes, of course. I’ll have the cheesecake, thank you. But Aaron’s offer was everything but simple and as far away from cheesecake as one could get.

“Aaron”—I shot him a look—“you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

How about everything? “Well, for one, you are you. And I am me. This is us, Aaron. You just can’t be,” I repeated. Because he couldn’t be.

“I’m perfectly serious, Catalina.”

I blinked. Again. Then, I laughed bitterly. “Is this a joke, Blackford? I know you struggle with that, and let me tell you, you shouldn’t go around, making jokes without a real feel of what’s funny and what’s not. So, I’m going to help you here,” I looked at him straight in the eye. “This is not funny, Aaron.”

He frowned. “Not joking.”

I kept staring at him for a long moment.

Nope. No. He couldn’t not be joking. He couldn’t be serious either.

Bringing my hands to my tangled and wet hair, I shoved it back a little too briskly. I was ready to get out of here. And yet, I remained rooted to the place.

“Did you come up with any other options? A better option than me?”

Both his questions hit the mark I assumed he’d aimed at because I felt my shoulders fall in defeat.

“Do you even have any other options?”

No, I did not. And the fact that he was being so blunt about it didn’t feel all that great either. My cheeks heated, and I remained silent.

“I’m going to take that as a no,” he said. “You have no one.”

And that felt a little like a kick to the stomach.

I tried really hard to keep the hurt off my face—I did. Because I didn’t want Aaron Blackford to get a glimpse of how pathetic and silly his words had made me feel.

How lonely I must be when my only option was a colleague who didn’t even like me all that much in the first place.

But he wasn’t wrong. And as much as it hurt to admit it, at the end of the day, I had no one else. Just Aaron Blackford. He—and only he—completed my list of options. In a world where I’d consider taking him to Spain as my made-up boyfriend, that was.

Unless—

Oh my God. Holy shit. Did he notice—understand—what happened back in my office? That I accidentally told my mother that my boyfriend’s name was Aaron?

No. I shook my head. No way. Impossible.

“I don’t understand why you are doing this,” I told him with what I was sure was the most sincerity I had ever spoken to him.

He sighed, the air leaving his body almost softly. “And I don’t understand why it’s so hard to believe that I would.”

“Aaron”—a bitter chuckle left my lips—“we don’t like each other. And it’s okay because we couldn’t be any more … different. Incompatible. And if we barely manage to share a space for more than a handful of minutes without bickering or wanting to bite each other’s heads off, why in the world would you believe this was a good idea?”

“We can get along just fine.”

I bit back another laugh. “Okay, that was actually funny. Good job, Blackford.”

“Not joking.” He scowled. “And I am your only option,” he shot back.

Maldita sea. He was still right about that.

My back leaned against the closed passenger door as he continued delivering blows, “Do you want to attend that wedding alone? Because I’m the one who can fix that.”

Ugh, he truly believed I was that desperate and resourceless.

Yes, a voice said in my head. Because you are both those things.

I shook my head, desperation inflating inside my chest and pushing me to consider this crazy alternative that involved him.

“Okay,” I said very slowly. “Let’s say I entertain this ridiculous idea. If I accept your offer and let you do this, what’s in it for you?” I crossed my arms, noticing how my still-wet clothes were sticking to my skin. “I know you, and I know you don’t do stuff just for the sake of it. You must have motivation. A reason. A goal. You must want something in exchange; otherwise, you would never help me. You are not that kind of person. At least, not with me.”

Aaron’s head reared back, almost unnoticeably, but I was sure I had seen it. He was quiet for a long moment, and I could almost hear the wheels in his head turning.

“You could do the same for me,” he finally said.

The same? “You’ll need to be more specific, Blackford. Is your sister getting married too?” I paused in thought. “Do you even have siblings? I don’t know, but, well, I guess it doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. Is there a wedding you want me to go to as your date?”

“No,” he answered. And I didn’t know if he was talking about having siblings or not. But then he added, “Not for a wedding, but you could be my date.”

Be his date?

Why did it sound so … so … different when it was him asking me? Why did it sound so freaking different when Aaron was the one needing someone and not me?

“I—” I stopped myself, feeling self-conscious for a reason I didn’t understand. “Do you need a date? Like”—I pointed a finger at him—“you? A woman to be your date?”

“I don’t intend to show up with a chimpanzee, like you suggested. So, yes, a woman.” He paused, that scowl taking shape slowly. “You.”

My lips snapped closed and then opened back up, probably making me look like a fish. “So, you want me”—I pointed at myself—“to pretend to be your date?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I interrupted him, the question bursting out of me.

“No, I don’t.”

I watched his eyes close for a heartbeat, his head shaking once.

“Not even a casual someone you are seeing?”

He gave me another shake.

“A fling?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Let me guess. No time for that?” I regretted it as soon as it had left my lips. But frankly, I was curious. So, perhaps, if he answered, I wouldn’t regret the question completely.

His shoulders shrugged lightly, his back relaxing slightly. Just as if he had accepted that he’d have to give me an answer or I’d press for one. “I have time, Catalina. Plenty of time in fact.” Even in the darkness of the car, I saw those ocean-blue eyes of his pin me down with an honesty I hadn’t been prepared for. “I’m simply saving it for someone who’s worth it.”

Well, that was incredibly smug. Sort of conceited too. And shockingly, kind of … sexy.

Whoa. I shook my head. Nope. The only S-word Aaron Blackford could ever be thought of was … sarcastic. Scornful. Secretive. Stoic. Maybe even sour. But not sexy. Nope.

“Is that why you don’t have a date already?” I managed to ask him next, feeling the need to sound indifferent and cold. “Because your standards are as high as the sky?”

Aaron didn’t miss a beat. “Is that why you have no one to take to that wedding?”

“I …” I wished that were the reason instead of plain stupidity and being a compulsive liar with no instinct of self-preservation. “It’s complicated. I have reasons.” I let my hands drop in my lap, keeping my eyes on the section of the console in front of me.

“Whoever claims to act without having a reason pushing them to do so is lying.”

“So, what’s pushing you to do this?” I asked him with my eyes still on the dark and smooth material that adorned the interior of the car. “What pushed you to ask me, out of all people, to pretend to be your date?”

“It’s a long story.” Even if I wasn’t looking at him, I heard his exhale. It sounded as tired as I felt. “It’s a social commitment. I can’t promise you it will be fun, but it’s for a good cause.” He paused for moment, in which I didn’t speak and I limited myself to take in the scarce details he had given me. “I’ll tell you everything—if you accept, of course.”

My head shot in his direction, and I found Aaron’s blue eyes already on me. They were filled with a little challenge. And a little expectation.

He was baiting me. Offering me an insight into Aaron Blackford’s unknown—and presumed to be nonexistent—personal life. He knew I’d want to know.

Well played, Blackford.

“Why me?” I asked him, being drawn to the light like a stupid fly. “Why not anyone else?”

His gaze didn’t waver when he answered, “Because if all these months we have worked together have taught me anything, it’s that you are the only woman I know crazy enough to do something like this. You might be my only option too.”

I wouldn’t take that as a compliment because it hadn’t been one. He had just called me crazy. But shit. Something about it—about the way he had said it, about this bizarre day and this unexpected turn of events in which I had found out he also needed someone, just like I did—seemed to wear me down.

“You do know that you’ll have to fly to Spain with me for a whole weekend, right?”

A simple nod. “Yes.”

“And in exchange, you want just one night? One single night of me pretending to be your date?”

He nodded again, and this time, something solidified in his stare. In the way his jaw was clamped and his lips formed a flat line. Determination. I knew that look. I had argued against that look on many occasions.

Then, he spoke, “Do we have a deal?”

Have we really lost our minds?

We gazed at each other in silence as my lips played with the answer, moving wordlessly until they didn’t. “Okay.” There was a big chance we had really lost our minds, yes. “Deal.”

Something flickered across Aaron’s face. “Deal,” he repeated.

Yep, we have definitely lost them.

This deal between us was uncharted territory. And the air was suddenly thick with something that made it hard for me to take in a full breath.

“All right. Okay. Good.” I brushed a finger over the surface of the impeccable dashboard. “So, we have a deal.” I inspected an imaginary dust particle, feeling my anxiety rise with every extra second I spent inside. “There’s a mountain of details we need to discuss.” Namely the fact that he’d need to pretend to be the man I was supposedly dating and not just my wedding date. Or the fact that he’d have to pretend he was in love with me. “But we can focus on you first. When is this social commitment I’m helping you with?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at seven p.m.”

My whole body came to a halt. “Tomorrow?”

Aaron shifted in his seat, facing away from me. “Yes. Be ready at seven. Sharp,” he remarked. I was so … out of it that I didn’t even roll my eyes at him when he continued shooting orders, “Evening gown ideally.” His right hand went to the car’s ignition. “Now, go home and rest, Catalina. It’s late, and you look like you could use some sleep.” His left hand fell heavily on the steering wheel. “I’ll tell you everything else tomorrow.”

Somehow, Aaron’s words registered only after I closed the front door to my building behind me. And it was only a few seconds later, right after Aaron’s car roared to life and faded away, that I allowed myself to really process what it meant.

I’d be going on a date tomorrow. A fake date. With Aaron Blackford. And I needed an evening gown.