Gold Digger

9. and why is that?

I’ll also cook for you. I don’t know if you cook or not, but I

can cook for you and save you the trouble. Free coffee,” I

added excitedly when the thought randomly crossed my mind.

How had I not thought of that? “Free coffee for two years.

Whenever you come in, whatever you want, however many

times a day. Pastries would be free, too. And, I know this is

going to sound a little silly, but hear me out. It doesn’t seem

like you’re the most...sociable person—”

“Excuse me?” he said in a low voice, cutting me off.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s the wrong word to use, but I

can help with that, too. I can be a good friend, if that’s

something you need or want. I can do—”

“Stop talking.”

The harsh tone he used was unexpected and shut me up

pretty quickly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, putting

his hands on the counter and leaning in.

I leaned back. “I’m not divorcing you, Jack.” I dropped my

head and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I hate myself

for saying this, but I’ll make trouble for you.” God, as threats

went, it sounded pretty weak even to my own ears.

He blinked at me a few times, and I thought maybe my

threat was working. “You’ll make trouble for me,” he repeated

in a detached tone, and I closed my eyes in defeat. He wasn’t

buying it. If one of us was going to make trouble for the other,

it would be him making my life miserable. He had all the

power. “Just out of curiosity, what kind of trouble would you

make for me, Rose? What did you have in mind?”

I looked up to see if he was making fun of me, but it was

impossible to tell anything from his stony face. When I

couldn’t give him an answer, he straightened up and pushed

his hands into his pockets.

“If I was planning on divorcing you why would I say the

things I said to Bryan? I came here to ask why your things

aren’t at my place, why you haven’t moved in.”

Oh.

“I...what?”

“You were supposed to move in when I was gone. You

didn’t. Even though this isn’t going to be a real marriage,

we’re the only ones who know that, and I’d like to keep it that

way. From everything you’ve said, it sounds like you don’t

want a divorce. If that’s true, we need to live together. Surely

you could’ve guessed that, especially with your cousin coming

around.”

That was not what I had been expecting to hear from him

at all. Had I spent almost two weeks worrying about nothing?

“You said, before you got out of the car...you said we

shouldn’t have done this and didn’t call or contact me in any

way for the entire time you were gone.”

“And?”

I found the strength to get a little pissed. “And what was I

supposed to think after that remark? Surely you knew I would

think you regretted your decision.”

“And you wanted to get married that day?” he retorted.

“No, but—”

“It doesn’t matter. Didn’t Cynthia call you about moving

into my place?”

Momentarily rendered speechless by his audacity, I closed

my eyes and barely managed to lift my hand high enough to

rub the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t get any phone calls.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I have work to do, so we need

to leave now.”

Meeting his eyes, I frowned at him. “What do you mean

we need to leave now?”

“I’ll help you pack a few things from your apartment and

then we’re going back to my place. You can get everything

else later.”

My frown deepened and I shook my head. “You can leave

if you want to, but I also have work to do, as you can see, and

I’m not going anywhere before it’s done.”

If he thought he could order me around just because we

were married, he had another thing coming. Before he could

come up with something else and piss me off further, I turned

my back to him and gently bent down to pick up the paint

roller, quietly wincing as I tried not to whimper or make any

other sound though my back was actually killing me. Just as I

started on the first wet roll, I heard some rustling behind me.

Not thinking anything of it—because, in my humble opinion,

if he wanted to leave, he was more than welcome to do so—I

kept painting. It was at a much slower pace than before, but I

was getting the work done, and more importantly, I wasn’t

backing down.

Only a few seconds later, his palm circled my wrist and

stopped my movements. I only felt the heat of his skin for a

quick second, and then it was gone.

Taking the roller from me, he put it back down and then

started to roll up his stark white—and extremely expensive—

sleeves. I’d always thought there was something irresistible

about watching a man roll up his sleeves, and Jack Hawthorne

was just so meticulous and thorough about it that it was

impossible for me to take my eyes away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked when he was

finally done and in the process of picking up the paint roller.

He gave me a brief glance and started painting. “Obviously

I’m helping you finish what you were doing so we can get out

of here faster.”

“Maybe I have other things I need to get done here.”

“Then I’ll help with them too.” I thought that was

uncharacteristically sweet of him—annoying, but in a sweet

sort of way.

“I don’t need—” Another quick glance from him had the

words dying on my lips.

“You look awful.” He gave me his back while I was still

staring at him in shock. “Didn’t you like how the professionals

painted it?” he asked.

Maybe he wasn’t so sweet after all, just plain old rude. To

be honest, that comment hurt a little. “Thank you. I tried my

best to look awful today—glad to hear it worked. Although, if

I had known you were coming, I would’ve tried harder. Also,

what professionals are you talking about? I’m painting the

place myself.”

That confession earned me another indecipherable look,

this one longer.

“Why?”

“Because I have a budget and I can’t blow it on things I

can easily do myself. Does it look bad or something?” I

narrowed my eyes and looked at the wall more carefully. “Do

you still see that damn red underneath?”

The roller stopped moving for two seconds, but then he

continued painting. “No. Considering you painted it on your

own, it looks fine. Is this the only wall you’ll be painting?” he

asked, his voice tighter.

“No. Tomorrow I’m starting on the rest of the place. I was

only going to do one more coat for the green then call it a

day.”

I moved forward, grabbed the small paintbrush, and dipped

it in the paint bucket that was sitting at the end of the counter.

“I’ll do the edges—it’ll go quicker.”

“No,” he replied in a clipped tone, blocking me. “You look

like you’re about to keel over. I said I’ll get it done.” Without

touching me, he pried the brush out of my hand.

“You don’t know how I want it done,” I protested, trying to

take the brush back.

“I think it’s a pretty straightforward process, wouldn’t you

agree? Sit down before you—”

“Keel over. I got it.”

It was tempting to stand upright the whole time as he

painted my wall, but he was right—if I didn’t sit my ass down,

I was about ready to pass out. Since the chairs hadn’t arrived

yet, the only thing I could sit on was an old stool I had found

in the back room and had cleaned just that morning.

After a few minutes of quiet where the only sounds you

could hear were the traffic outside and the wet sounds of the

paint roller, I couldn’t take it. “Thank you for helping, but Mr.

Hawth—”

He stopped and turned around. Even with a paint roller in

his hand, he looked attractive, not that it was any of my

business. An attractive jerk didn’t hold much appeal.

“Jack,” he said quietly. “You need to call me Jack.”

I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It...it still feels weird. I

just wanted to say that I can’t stay in your apartment, not

tonight,” I added quickly. “I’m really tired and I need to go

home, shower, and...it really isn’t the best time for me to pack

and move my clothes. Give me a week and I’ll—”

“Do you want to stay married?” Nonchalantly, he leaned

down and dipped the roller into more paint. I didn’t reply; it

wasn’t necessary—he knew the answer. He got back to

painting and spoke toward the wall. “Good. We’ll go to your

apartment and I’ll wait for you to grab a bag. If you don’t want

your cousin to create problems down the road, you need to get

rid of the apartment as soon as you can.”

I gritted my teeth. I knew he was right, but that didn’t

mean I liked what he was saying. I still thought letting him

know my thought on the matter was a good idea. “I don’t like

this.”

That got him to look at me. “Really? I’m so surprised to

hear that. And here I was having the time of my life.”

My lips twitched, but his face was unreadable—as always.

I shook my head. “I’m glad I was able to provide that for you,

and I know you’re right. It’s just that...I have a million things

to do here in the upcoming days, and packing my stuff on top

of all those things...I’m not sure I’ll have the energy. So, since

I’d be more comfortable in my own space, how about I’ll keep

paying my rent at least for another month or so and go back

and forth while I’m working on the coffee shop and move

slowly—”

“That’s not gonna work. You can pack whatever you’ll

need for a few days, and I’ll send some people back to your

apartment to pack your furniture.”

Send some people? What the hell was he talking about?

“I... The furniture isn’t mine. It’s a one-room studio

apartment, a very small one. All it has is a Murphy bed, a

small couch, and a coffee table, basically, and none of it is

mine. Also, I don’t need someone else to pack my stuff. I’ll do

it myself.”

“Good. Then after we drop by your place, we’ll head back

to my apartment. In the next few days, you’ll bring the rest of

your stuff.”

Just like that, I was out of excuses, so I closed my mouth

and gave myself permission to sulk in silence for a few

minutes. It lasted until he picked up the small paintbrush and

started on the edges.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jack stated quietly with a

slight touch of anger tinging his voice.

My elbow was on the counter and I was resting my head

on my palm when he spoke up. I opened my eyes to check his

progress.

“It looks good from here. Again, you don’t have to do it,

but thank you.”

His movements with the brush faltered for a second, but he

didn’t stop. “I’m not talking about the painting. I’m saying I

don’t know how to do this with you. I don’t know how to be

married.”

I stared at the back of his head, blinking and trying to

make sure I’d heard him right. I took my time trying to figure

out how to answer. “I’ve never married a stranger before

either, so I think we’re on the same level here. I’m hoping we

can figure it out together along the way. Can I suggest one

thing, though? I think it would make our lives easier.”

“Can I stop you?” he asked, glancing at me over his

shoulder.

Did he mean I talked too much? “You’d have to try and see

for yourself, but I’m pretty sure you can’t, so I’ll just go right

ahead and share. You’re not very talkative, and that’s okay. If I

tried, I could talk enough for both of us, but even though we

won’t be in each other’s faces all the time, we’re gonna have

to figure out a way to...communicate, I think. I don’t think I’d

be too off the mark if I said you seem like a guy of very few

words.”

He turned to look at me with an arched eyebrow, and I

gave him a small smile and a shrug before continuing.

“It’s gonna be difficult to get used to each other. This

whole situation is awkward and new. Plus, living with you is

going to be...to be honest, a little weird for me, not to mention

the fact that you’re gonna have to live with a stranger in your

apartment, too. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as I

can. I’ll be spending most of my time here, anyway, so I think

you’ll barely notice my presence. And we’re helping each

other out, right? You get the property and the every-now-and-

then fake wife, and I get two years in this amazing location. I

promise, I’ll do my part.”

His eyes holding mine, he gave me a small nod.

“Despite what you saw tonight, I’m pretty easy to get

along with,” I continued as he focused on dipping the brush

into more paint. “You won’t even know I’m in your home. I’ll

be wherever you need me to be when you need me, but other

than that, I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

I was having a really hard time keeping my eyes open.

“What are you worried about then?”

Instead of explaining further, he shook his head and turned

back to the almost finished wall. “This is almost done. If there

is nothing else to do, we should leave.”

“There are a million things to do, but I don’t think I have

the strength to lift my finger, let alone do anything. I’ll get my

things from the back then we can go.”

“Your ring,” he said as I pushed myself up, his back to me.

“You’re not wearing it.”

“I...” I touched my finger where the ring was supposed to

be. “I left it at home because I’m working here. I didn’t want

to lose it or damage it with all the work I need to do.”

“I’d prefer you to wear it from now on.”

He didn’t turn back and look at me, but I did notice the

band I’d bought him was on his finger.

“Of course,” I mumbled quietly before going to the kitchen

to get my things.

The number of times Jack Hawthorne smiled: none.