Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(16)

“You absolutely saw us together,” I say with a sly smile.

Georgie winks. “Got it.”

There. Right there. That’s why I sought out Georgie Mulroney. The woman’s not a gossip, but she is a part of the gossip chain when I need her to be.

Matt’s and my shopping excursion will be all over the social scene rumor circuit by lunch.

She gives me a quick kiss goodbye and waves at Matt. “So nice meeting you. We should all get together sometime!”

“Absolutely, I’d love that,” Matt says agreeably.

After waving goodbye to Marly and Georgie, I lead him into the fitting room area. It’s coed, and unlike my high school memories of the Gap, the salespeople aren’t worried about groping happening in their changing stalls.

Stalls isn’t even the right word. There’s an entire room, complete with a small love seat, chair, chilled water bottle . . .

Since I know the routine already, I step into the room Monica points me to, listening with a smile as I hear her rattle off a list of twenty items for Matt to try on.

I’ve got about twenty of my own items to try on, so I kick off my ankle boots to get to work. I pause once I’m down to my bra and underwear, sipping my champagne as I debate between trying on the dresses first or a fabulous tweed skirt with a bit of flounce around the hem to keep it from looking dowdy.

I’m reaching for the skirt when the door to the dressing room opens. I whirl around, expecting it to be Monica entering without realizing I was in here.

It’s not Monica.

Matt shuts the door with a quiet click that belies the irritation in his gaze. “You planned this.”

I take another sip of champagne and try to pretend that my heart’s not beating in overdrive at being nearly naked in an enclosed space with him. “Planned what?”

“You knew I’d be waiting outside your apartment today. You knew I’d tag along. You planned everything. Don’t deny it.”

I roll my eyes and set the champagne aside on the table. “Why would I deny it? This is what you’re paying me for.”

“So that interaction with that Georgie chick—”

“All planned,” I confirm. “Georgiana has her finger on the pulse of New York society, and she’s aware of my . . . occupation. She’s exactly the person we need to spread the news organically about our relationship—Honestly, Cannon, are you even listening?” I ask in exasperation, since he’s clearly checking me out instead of paying attention.

His eyes return to mine. “You should have told me. Let me in on your plan.”

“I did tell you.”

“Yeah, after we got here,” he says.

“I don’t know why you’re so irritable about this,” I murmur, inspecting one of the dresses on the hanger and ignoring how vulnerable I feel at my near nakedness.

The dress is pulled from my hands and tossed onto the back of a chair, the hanger falling to the floor.

“Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not one of your moronic clients to be handled,” Matt snaps.

“I know that. But you’ve got to trust—”

His hand slips around my neck, tilting my face up, and my breath catches. Damn him.

“No hookups, remember?”

“I know,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. “But I can’t think when you’re dressed like that.”

“I’m not really dressed at all,” I mutter.

His smile is strained. “Exactly.”

I don’t reply, but the sound of our breathing says plenty all on its own.

Want.

Need.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, fighting for self-control. It’s always been this way around him, which is the very reason I set up my rule in the first place. I may not be a believer in all things lovey-dovey, but even I know that the combination of pretending to be Matt’s girlfriend while also sleeping with him is dangerous.

My brain knows this. My body? Wants him. Always.

I’d been so sure that spending more time with him would cure my attraction to him—that being forced to deal with his arrogance on a regular basis as his faux girlfriend, with the constant exposure to all his flaws, would rid me of any desire for the man.

So far . . . my plan’s not working.





7

MATT

Saturday Morning, September 23

I’m not sure what annoys me more. That Sabrina’s been one step ahead of me the entire time, and I didn’t have a clue, or the fact that I want her like crazy, even as I know that, too, is probably part of her plan.

Or maybe not, I amend as I study her expression in the mirror’s reflection. Five minutes ago, she looked smug as can be after she ensured our “relationship” made it onto the socialite gossip chain.

Now she’s both mad and turned on. Probably mad because she’s turned on.

I can relate.

“Get out.” She says the words calmly. All the heat comes from the lethal warning glint in her eyes.

“Okay,” I murmur, letting my lips almost touch her ear but not quite. I tell myself to release her. To honor our agreement, but my damn body won’t obey.

She hisses out a little breath at the contact, even as she arches toward me, her body belying her words. “Seriously? You can’t go one month without sex?”