I smirk. “I’ve a feeling you wouldn’t suck, or I wouldn’t have offered you the position. But if you’d prefer something else, I can most likely find you a position with one of the large food distribution companies in the area. You’d have a short commute. But less family drama. And no risk of mixing business with our complicated personal situation.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course.” I lean back on the stool. “But I’m going to need to fill the position soon. Now that my father has warmed up to the idea, I want to make the pilot happen. You have two weeks to decide.”
She scoffs. “Do you get a thrill from putting deadlines on everything?”
“It’s how my life works.” I shrug. “Decisions delayed are opportunities lost. If you want something, you move on it. If you don’t, someone else will.”
“Save your alpha-male energy. I’ll think about it.” She stands, clearing her dishes.
I grab mine and join her at the sink. I load the dishwasher while she puts away the leftovers.
The domesticity is surreal.
I’ve lived in this house for three years, but I’ve never cleaned up after a meal with someone else moving through the space beside me, our paths crossing and adjusting without collision.
Peyton leans against the counter when we’re done. “This is so weird.”
I close the dishwasher and turn to face her. “Mmm?”
“Sorry, I can’t get over the two of us playing house.”
It is weird. Two days ago, I was scrambling to explain a stranger’s presence to my father. Now I’m loading her plates into my dishwasher and offering her a job.
“I know I pushed for this arrangement.” I need to leave the door wide open for her, make sure she knows there’s no lock on it. “But I also want to make sure you know you can change your mind.”
Her brown eyes search mine, still guarded, yet asking.
“If this becomes too much, or you meet someone real, or you decide you’re done, you can leave. Anytime.”
Her lips part, but I press on before she speaks.
“No questions, no guilt, no lawyers making it difficult,” I promise. “I’ll make sure the postnup protects your parents regardless of how or when we end this marriage. I won’t keep you in a cage the way Matt wanted to.”
Peyton’s throat bobs as she swallows. She takes a step toward me.
“I appreciate that.” Her voice is thick. “But I’m not going anywhere until this works for both of us. I made a deal, and I keep my word.” She’s fierce in her determination, and inconveniently attractive. “But thank you for saying it.”
She squeezes my arm. The contact is brief, but enough to burn. It sears through the fabric of my Henley, branding the skin underneath. It’s a mindless, meaningless gesture, but my body reacts as if I’ve leaned the Ducati too far into a corner I can’t pull out of.
She rights it for me.
Peyton drops her hand, whispering, “Goodnight.”
She slips out of the kitchen, padding upstairs to our bedroom, where I’ll have to join her soon.
I stay put, listening to her footsteps fade.
When did I start caring so much about whether she felt trapped?
And why is the skin on my arm still tingling where she touched me?
The questions have no answers. Or maybe the answers are too tricky to examine.
I rub the spot where her fingers were, staring at the empty doorway. My pulse is thrumming in my ears, a rhythmic warning I’m choosing to ignore. I told myself I was leaning into the curve. But this feels more like I’ve already let go of the handlebars.
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