Jaws was an upscale seafood joint that Bridget couldn’t even afford to walk past. Letting out a shaky breath, she watched the publicist/dictator stroll toward the front door.
Miss Gore stopped and looked over her shoulder. The woman’s spine was straight as a nail under the suit. “Don’t be late, Bridget.”
Bridget did the only thing she could do in this situation that wouldn’t end with her doing a life stint in prison. She flipped the woman off.
With both hands.
Chapter Eleven
Chad had been stunned into silence when Miss Gore called and informed him Bridget had agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend. He’d been positive she would’ve laughed his publicist right out of town, and they’d be scrambling for another way to repair an image he’d been partly responsible for. Maybe he’d been right about Bridget all along, and she was no different than the other women who wanted to be with him for the attention.
That was a damn shame.
“You’re pacing.” Miss Gore’s voice grated on his every last damn nerve.
Chad stopped and stared out the window overlooking a manicured park that split the teeming avenue.
From the sectional couch, Miss Gore sighed. “You should be thrilled by this development.”
The only thing that thrilled him was the fact he’d get to see Bridget again without having to seek her out. How fucked up was that?
“I must say your place is by far nicer than Bridget’s. She has a thing for…color. Her walls are blue, red, and yellow. The pillows on her couch have every color of the rainbow in them. It was like being in an episode of Sesame Street.”
A slow smile pulled at his lips as he leaned against the windowpane and folded his arms.
“And she has a cat.” Miss Gore shuddered. “A cat the size of a small dog.”
Chad wasn’t big on cats, being more of a dog person himself, but apparently he found them more tolerable than Miss Gore. There was a knock on the door, soft and almost hesitant. He turned from the window and thrust his fingers through his hair. The clock on the wall said it was a minute till seven.
“You going to get that?” Miss Gore asked.
He shot the woman a look. “You invited her. This was your idea.”
“And that kind of attitude isn’t going to work. Get the door.”
Chad balked at her demanding tone and had half a mind to toss her out into the hallway. The only thing stopping him was that his life was on the line. Crossing the living room, he passed the kitchen and went into the foyer. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
Bridget.
Her hair was down, like it had been the night in the club, falling in waves around her face. A faint pink blush stained her cheeks, causing tiny freckles he hadn’t noticed before to stand out over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Since they were supposed to go out later or some shit like that, she was wearing another demure sweater dress in deep green. The black knee boots with their pointy toes seemed toned down for her, but she looked good.
She looked really good.
Bridget’s bottle-green eyes were focused straight ahead, but she wasn’t seeing him. “Sorry if I’m late,” she said.
“You’re not.” He stepped aside, and for the first time in a long, long freaking time, he felt nervous. “Would you like something to drink?”
“The strongest liquor you have,” she said, placing her clutch on the kitchen counter as she brushed past him. He inhaled deeply, lust stirring at the smell of jasmine. There was the color, he realized as his gaze fell to the clutch. The thing was blue, red, purple, and green.
Chad turned to the cabinet, but Miss Gore appeared out of nowhere. “I do not think alcohol is a good idea right now.”
Bridget’s spine stiffened as she turned to the woman. “If you expect me to go through with this, I need a drink. A really hard drink.”
Wondering if he should feel insulted or not, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of Grey Goose from the cabinet. “Tonight sounds like it’s going to be fun.” He poured Bridget a glass and handed it to her. “Can’t wait to get started.”
Bridget’s eyes narrowed on him as her fingers brushed his. She jerked back, and clear liquor sloshed over the rim, running down her fingers. Man, he wanted to lick that right off.
He doubted Miss Prissy would approve.
And, by the way Bridget was not looking at him, she wouldn’t, either.
Putting the vodka back, he closed the cabinet door. “So we’re doing dinner?” he asked, wanting to get this show on the road.
“We need to cover some ground rules first,” Miss Gore said, gesturing back to the living room like she owned the damn apartment. “Follow me?”
Bridget moved past Miss Gore, and he’d swear the temperature in the room dropped by the look she’d given the woman. At least they could bond over their mutual dislike of his publicist.
He watched Bridget sit on the edge of the couch, his gaze glued to that lovely ass of hers. He chose to stand back at the window, but this time the scenery was a lot more interesting inside his place.
“Before you say a word,” Bridget said, holding up a hand as she twisted toward Miss Gore, “I want your promise that this will only be a month.”
Chad’s brows shot up.
Jumping in before Chad could open his mouth, his publicist nodded. “It would be a little over a month—a few days. Basically until New Year’s Day.”