losing all of it.
She changed for work into a charcoal skirt and an aqua sleeveless blouse, hoping she didn’t look as awful as she felt. She had no idea what she’d say to him now. Maybe, “Hey, I know we almost boned, but I got scared because I’m an emotional kindergartner, so do you mind if we just get fake-engaged instead?”
The drive to the bakery and then to Carter’s was short, but thankfully gave her enough time to think of a plan of action. If heavy and shameless groveling was, in fact, considered an actual plan.
His house was ultramodern; the standard Southwestern adobe tile roof and white stucco didn’t interest Carter. Instead he’d designed a three-story building with sharp angles of steel, glass and countless windows. Five stone columns reached from the ground to the top floor, the middle floor cantilevering out into the air over the floor beneath.
It wasn’t really her style, but it was very expensive and creative, the latter of which probably most appealed to Carter. He’d always been a little bit of an odd man out, never quite fitting into the crowd. In high school, he’d carried a briefcase instead of a backpack. That fact had subjected him to a fair amount of ridicule to the point where Alexa had to step in a couple of times, except it never seemed to matter to him. If people made fun of her, she would have switched to a backpack, but the next day, Carter doubled down and added a pocket watch to his briefcase. It was one of the reasons she liked him so much. He was always himself, and there was a lot of comfort in that for her, especially in a place like Vegas where everyone wanted to be something else.
His house doors had smart locks and her fingerprint was already programmed in, so she let herself in without ringing the bell. It was a much better idea to not give him a chance to slam the door in her face before he could hear her best groveling.
She stepped into his foyer, a wide-open space with dark wood floors and an enormous modern brass light fixture hanging down from the high ceiling. Just as she headed in the direction of the kitchen to set down her bags, a youngish girl in her twenties tiptoed down the suspended staircase, silver stilettos dangling from her hand. It was clearly the commencement of a walk of shame.
When the girl saw Alexa, she froze mid-step, eyes wide with an arrested expression on her face.
“Don’t worry,” Alexa offered. “We’re just friends.”
The blond-haired girl blew out a relieved breath. “Thank God.”
The two exchanged another brief smile before she bolted toward the front door, taking a moment to slip on her shoes before she opened it.
The girl had her hand on the knob when Carter appeared at the top of the steps. Looking from his guest to Alexa, his eyes shuttered, as if he couldn’t handle the sight of what was happening.
Alexa attempted to rein in her rage, because Carter had every right to seek out someone else last night since she’d basically left him high and dry. Except, wait a second, no, he damned well didn’t because she’d given him a fucking amazing blow job.
More importantly, had it meant that little to him that he could turn around on a dime and sleep with someone else? They had been best friends for over fifteen years and their actions last night had changed everything.
Her heart stopped for a second at the thought that he might be seriously dating that girl, but he would have told her and she wouldn’t have been sneaking out the door at first light.
So basically she was just pissed again. The door closed shut behind his late-night date.
“It’s not what you think,” Carter began, holding a hand up as if to halt her train of thought.
Alexa was a power player and she’d spent years perfecting her poker face, which was just what she gave him.
“What you do is your business, Carter,” she said, meeting his eyes as he came down the steps. “We’re just friends.”
Jaw ticking, he crossed his arms over his bare chest and stared her down but she didn’t give anything away.
“Alex, you can pretend you’re not pissed all you want because far be it from me to presume that last night meant anything to the man-eater of Vegas, but I promise nothing happened. You fucking know me better than that. Now would you like to tell me why you’re skulking around in my house so early?”
“You know why I’m here,” she threw out, walking briskly into his expansive kitchen, where slate countertops and butter-colored eco-friendly wood cabinets lined the space. She sat her purse on top of the island along with the bag of pastries and fruit salad she’d picked up from his favorite bakery, vaguely irritated that she’d brought breakfast for a person who at the very least slept in the same room as another woman. “And since you now seem to be in a position to owe me a favor, I’m very glad I did stop by so early.”
“Nothing happened,” he gritted. “She was here when I got home—”
Alexa raised a hand. “Like I said, your love life is not my business.”
“Right, how can I forget that we’re just friends,” he mocked. “Your lips are wrapped around my dick every day.”
A bolt of heat shot up Alexa’s spine, which enraged her because she wasn’t interested in revisiting last night. She might not want to do it again, but it had meant something to her. A whole hell of a lot, in fact. Clearly, he didn’t feel the same way, which felt a little like a vise mercilessly squeezing her insides and jiggling them around at the same time. Additionally, she did not at all appreciate his sarcastic tone considering what he’d done, sexual penetration or not.
“Well, apparently that wasn’t enough of an evening for you,” she said, kicking herself for not being able to hold it back. “Nevertheless, it’s for the best because you’re going to have to pose as my fake fiancé.”
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