Page 19 of Keep Me Close

Cheyenne

Knox carries my suitcase while I take the overnight bag and try not to think about the fact that I’m moving into this man’s home. Even if it’s temporary and our relationship is fake.

It’s still happening.

He stands close enough for the heat of his body to radiate through my sweater without us actually touching. Somehow, that feels even more dangerous. Like all it would take is one shift and suddenly there’d be no space left between us at all.

The doors of the elevator slide open, revealing his sprawling penthouse with its floor-to-ceiling windows. It hits me all over again that I’m not sneaking in with his parents’ keycard at ten o’clock at night. I’m actually moving in.

The place is all dark wood, polished stone, and sharp edges. It’s gorgeous in a way that doesn’t need to try too hard.

Just like him.

And now I’m stepping into the middle of it with my duffel bag and drama.

“You can take the guest room.”

I trail after him as we pass by the kitchen and living room before turning down another hall. Even the way he moves through this place is different than it was in the hotel. He’s more at ease here, like the space fits him in a way that makes me painfully aware it doesn’t fit me at all.

He pushes open a door and steps aside so I can enter first. The room is beautiful, with pale-gray walls and a king-sized bed. There’s a private bathroom with a window that overlooks the city.

He nods toward the room across the hall. “Mine’s right there.”

I glance into his bedroom, barely able to suppress a shiver. The space separating our rooms feels much too narrow.

I set my bag on the bed before turning toward him. The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Are you sure about this? I can always find a different hotel. Maybe something outside of the city.”

There’s the briefest hesitation as emotion flashes across his face. It’s there and gone before I can name it. Not annoyance exactly. Or even reluctance, which I was prepared for. It’s something heavier. As if he’s already regretting the decision.

“No, it’ll be fine.”

“Knox—”

His expression hardens. “You’re safer here.”

I glance around again, suddenly feeling small in the massive space. It makes me acutely aware of how much room he’s making for me. How much of his life I’m stepping into for reasons that have nothing to do with him and everything to do with the mess that followed me to Chicago.

“There’s a Railers event this weekend,” he says, neatly changing the subject. “Some charity thing. We can debut this new relationship there.”

My stomach flips. “Already?”

It’s not just the idea of cameras, press, or gossip sites photographing us together that makes my nerves jump. It’s the idea of pretending Knox and I are intimately involved. Of standing beside him, smiling for pictures, and letting people believe he’s mine while trying not to think too hard about how nice it might be if it were actually true.

“It’s the best way to sell this relationship. Plus, even if your mother hates the idea, I’m sure she’ll blast it all over the internet.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, as if we’re discussing practice schedules instead of a fake relationship that feels all kinds of dangerous.

“Knox…” I hesitate, trying and failing to find my equilibrium. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

His gaze sharpens as his attention turns penetrating.

When he remains silent, I force myself to continue. “I hate that I’ve dragged you into this mess.”

“You didn’t drag me into anything, Hollywood.”

Maybe not literally. But it still feels like I’ve shown up with all my problems and expected him to rearrange his life around them. He didn’t ask for this fake relationship that now includes me sleeping across the hall from him and walking into a charity event on his arm. For all I know, he’s seeing another woman. Or, at the very least, had plans to take someone else.

“Maybe I should just go back to LA and honor the commitments I made. Then I’d be out of your hair.”