- 9.
Ethan drove me to his place. I stood frozen at
the doorway, refusing to go inside. “Ashley will
be mad.” “You’re worried about her? Look at
<
yourself,” Ethan said, gesturing to my snow-
covered, mud–splattered clothes. Besides the
cut on my hand, I was a mess. “And look
around, Maya. Does this look like a place a
woman lives?” “You don’t live together?” “We
were never together.” Ethan tossed a document
at me. “Six months ago, she approached me
with a proposition. She wanted to avoid being
pressured into relationships with powerful men,
and I needed help dealing with pushy clients, so
we agreed to fake a relationship. Some clients
think they can get what they want by throwing
women at you. It’s disgusting, and Ashley helps
deflect that.” The contract clearly stated they
wouldn’t interfere in each other’s personal lives.
Ethan took my hand, gently cleaning the cut. I
noticed a row of unopened hand creams on a
shelf. My favorite brand. Ethan had bought the
entire set. “I talked to your coworkers today,”
he said quietly. “You don’t have a boyfriend.
You told everyone at the company picnic you
were single. You lied to me, didn’t you, Maya?”
“I didn’t lie.” “Then show me a picture. A picture
of you and this fiancé.” “We haven’t taken any
pictures together.” “You, who loves taking
pictures, haven’t taken a single picture with
your supposed fiancé?” “You’re right. I’ll make
sure to take one next time,” I said, trying to
sound nonchalant. Ethan let out a humorless
laugh. He braced a hand on the sofa, leaning
over me, his presence suddenly overwhelming. I
couldn’t move. Even through my sweater, I
could feel the warmth of his body. “I bought
your time, remember? Know what that means?”
“I’ll give you your money back, Ethan. I really am
getting married.” He trailed a hand down my
arm, stopping at my wrist. “If you’re getting
married, wearing your ex–boyfriend’s bracelet
seems inappropriate, don’t you think?”
