“Kaede. Abigail. Archie?” I nod, and he finishes, “And you and me. No one else, deal?”

“Deal. You do know it’s two weeks until the wedding, right?”

“Of course. You told me approximately halfway through your second mimosa . . . at least, the second I saw you drink,” Ross says.

We’ve reached a stalemate. This is it . . . do it or don’t do it. I’m not sure how it all got so carried away with such a crazy-ass idea. But here I am. And here Ross is.

I swallow thickly, still tasting the sweetly fruity smoothie and thinking the bitterness of coffee seems better suited for the moment. “Are you sure you want to do this? With me?”

In answer, Ross opens what I assume is his junk drawer and pulls out a pen. He signs on the last page with a flourish, initialing each of the other pages before turning it around to me. “I already called Kaede and told him I had personal biz to deal with today. I figure we can get you a proper engagement ring. Something that suits you better than that gaudy as fuck monstrosity Colin gave you. So . . . you in?”

I pick up the pen and slash my signature at the bottom. “Fine. But our relationship will be on my terms.”

“Fine,” Ross says with a chuckle as I initial the last page and shove the NDA back to him. “Let’s pretend this is on your terms.”

He’s got a huge grin on his face, and I hold in a groan, knowing better than to doubt him. He’s going to make me pay for this scheme. We might be friends afterward, but damn if he isn’t going to have some good ammunition to hit me with after a fake marriage.

*

I roll into work just after three in the afternoon, thankful that Archie can keep the train chugging in my unscheduled absence. We don’t always work weekends, but this is an industry where we meet when clients are available and source when stores are open, so a Saturday in the office isn’t unusual. He’s on the phone when I come in. “I’m so sorry. She’s with a client today. Can I help you with something or give her a message?”

God, he’s good. He even sounds sincere, which is a feat, considering the hairy eyeball he’s giving me as he looks me up and down suspiciously.

I set my bag down on our communal worktable, and unburdened, I feel the heaviness of my new engagement ring in my pocket.

I’ll hand this to Ross. At least he was polite enough to not make me go ring shopping in the same hoochie-mama dress and heels I wore to Club Red last night. That would’ve been one hell of a walk of shame, even if it was to a fancy jewelry store. Instead, he calmly lent me one of his T-shirts, some sweatpants, and even a pair of flip-flops before he drove me back to my place. Fifteen minutes later, we were on the road to do ring shopping, and after quick success with a fawning shop assistant, Ross dropped me at work so I can get some things done today.

Of course, as soon as I open the door to my office, I’m greeted by none other than Abi, who’s got the world’s biggest shit-eating grin on her face as she shoves her laptop onto the table. Guess she was getting some work done while stalking, I mean waiting, for me. “Whoo . . . Russo, last time I came into work at three in the afternoon after a drunk and disorderly night, I was walking like that cowboy on TV, James Bennett, when he took a flyer off a bull’s back and did the splits in the dirt. Hee-hee.” Her voice pitches painfully high for the sound effect.

“When’d you start watching rodeo?” I grumble behind my sunglasses, wishing that somehow, my hangover would magically go away. Even with a chaser of two Midol with lunch, my brain’s hurting . . . although that could be the situation I’m in.

Archie, of course, overhears us. “Girl, you don’t need to be into rodeo. That video went viral, making everyone into James Bennett,” he says, making hungry sounds. “Which I could be . . . balls deep, if he played for my team. Too bad he got himself married. Lucky bitch to ride that cock every night. I wonder if the bull-riding made him a bit . . .” He holds his bent finger up, looking at it contemplatively.

I shrug, not digesting anything they just said and too exhausted to give Archie a rebuttal for his dirty comments. “Please tell me that the world hasn’t burned down while I’ve been out.”

“Out?” Abi asks, giving me that damn Vulcan eyebrow of hers again. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I don’t respond to the hook and she continues. “Last time I saw you, you were literally hanging on my brother as Ross was leading you out of Club Red, and you didn’t answer your phone this morning. Soooo . . . can you give me the PG edited version? He’s my brother, so I don’t need all the gory details.”

Archie slaps Abi’s arm, psshawing. “Then gee-tee-eff-oh if you don’t wanna hear. I live for this shit, and Virgin Violet ain’t usually got any good stories to tell. Something tells me that’s not the case today. So spill all of those filthy, dirty details to Daddy Archie, girl. You owe me good sex stories, remember?”

“Nothing to edit,” I reply, pinching the bridge of my nose as I start tapping that spot behind my ear I read helps with headaches. “I was drunk, and he took me back to his place and put me to bed. And before you say it, there’s no double meaning in that.”

Even though I’m telling the truth, it’s hard not to blush as I think of what I saw and some of the thoughts that have been running through my head all day. Because, damn it all, Ross is sexy as hell. And not just in that cute, older guy way I used to think. No, he’s all grown up now . . . all over.