“You mean there’s more to it than cornering me into matrimony and eating a fancy dinner with your fancy friends?”
But that last bit didn’t make much sense, did it? Not now that they were in Harlington, where the “fanciest” restaurant in town was a Chili’s.
“You’re joking with me. That’s new. Usually you’re frowning at me.” Her smile was tentative. She leaned back on the bed, the pair of leggings making her slim legs look a mile long and the oversize pink sweater hiding her petite curves. She looked comfortable and relaxed, which was as crazy as the fact that he felt the same way.
Stefanie didn’t like him—he’d have lost a bet that she’d smile at him let alone propose to him even if it were up to them to repopulate the planet. There were a million strings attached to the proposal, and it was an arrangement for the greater good, but...shouldn’t they both be more on edge?
She picked at a thread on the quilt rather than look up at him. “Does this mean we’re becoming friendly instead of mortal enemies? That someday I could be more than a job to you?”
Ah, hell. Surely she didn’t think that. He didn’t consider her an enemy—he liked her.
He cared about her safety.
And about her as a person.
“I only ask because we need to make this marriage look real if we go forward. How good of an actor are you?”
His face scrunched at the question.
“Can you hold my hand in public? Open a door for me? Be a gentleman? I don’t think the public would believe I’d fall for someone who didn’t do those things.”
“Who cares what the public thinks?” he barked, stung at her accusing him of not knowing how to treat a woman. He was accustomed to protecting—to watching other people’s backs. That was why he brought up the rear whenever they walked anywhere together.
“Do it for Chase if you can’t do it for me.” Hurt flooded her eyes.
Did she really believe he found her so unsavory? Emmett wouldn’t stoop to defend himself aloud, but his thoughts went there. He was doing this for her. So that she could come out here to...do whatever she was doing.
“You owe me the truth,” he reminded her. But when she took a breath, presumably to tell him, he held up a hand. “Not here, though. I’m hungry.”
Stefanie had never set foot inside a Chili’s restaurant until today. It wasn’t that she was too good for a burger and fries; it was that there wasn’t much of an opportunity to go to a chain when there were hundreds of other unique restaurants to choose from. Any man she’d dated had endeavored to impress her with meals that had cost hundreds of dollars.
Emmett didn’t apologize for choosing a restaurant that had nary a word of French on the menu. She appreciated being treated as an equal and not catered to like some spoiled rich girl. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was stubborn or because he knew her better than anyone else, but the latter seemed impossible. They barely knew each other at all.
Once they were settled in with their drinks—wine for her and beer for him—and a bowl of warm tortilla chips and a dish of salsa, Emmett gestured with a chip for her to speak. “Go.”
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