Page 35 of Fake it With Me

Speak of the devil.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to find Liza standing in the doorway of the boathouse. She looked sexy as hell.

Her clothes weren’t even remotely skimpy—just jeans and a simple t-shirt—but they showed off her curves in ways that made my brain short-circuit. Her hair was loose and hanging around her shoulders and she wore no makeup. Her tennis shoes were worn. Nothing about her should have said sexy, but damn, it did.

Maybe it had just been too long since I’d gotten laid. Maybe any woman would have this effect on me.

But I knew that was a lie. It wasn’t any woman.

It was her.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, more gruffly than I actually meant the question to be.

“I was bored and was wandering around the grounds when I saw this place.” She stepped inside, looking around at the boat, the tools, the organized chaos of my workspace. “I can go if you want to be alone.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous. I glanced toward the doorway, saw dark clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Storm’s coming,” I said.

“I know. That’s why I decided to go for a walk now. Figured I would be cooped up in the house for the rest of the day.”

“I thought you were working,” I said.

I went back to sanding, hyper-aware of her presence. She didn’t leave, just leaned against the workbench and watched me. I kept glancing her way when she wasn’t looking, drawn to her in a way I couldn’t control and didn’t entirely understand.

“What are you doing?” she asked after a few minutes. “I mean, don’t you have a whole operation? This feels very much in the manual labor category. Like not in the billionaire job description.”

I smirked. “This was my first boat.” I ran my hand along the hull, feeling the rough patches where the sanding hadn’t reached yet. “Had her for almost fifteen years now. She’s been in dry dock for a while, but I’m fixing her up.”

“Oh, cool. So you can sell her?”

I hesitated, then decided there was no harm in telling her. “Daisie is almost old enough to start learning how to drive a boat. I’m going to give her this one as a gift. Teach her on the same boat that taught me.”

“That’s the sweetest thing in the world. Sharing something like that with your daughter.”

“Yeah, well. I want her to love the water the way I do. Want her to have that freedom and the connection to the sea.”

“My father never shared anything like that with me.” There was a wryness to her voice, a dark humor that didn’t quite hide old pain. “In high school, he’d occasionally lend me his car when he was too drunk to drive.”

“Sheesh, Liza.”

“It’s fine. Ancient history. I guess my dad has always been a bit of a mess.” She shrugged. “But seeing you with Daisie and the way you think about what she needs is really special.”

I set down the sanding block and grabbed a rag, wiping sweat from my forehead. “I don’t know if it’s special or if I’m just trying too hard. Overcompensating for having a shitty ex-wife and knocking up the wrong woman.”

“You’re not overcompensating. You’re being a good father.”

“I want to be. I try every day.” The words came out raw, revealing just a little too much of my inner pain. “But I struggle with it. Wonder if I’m doing enough and giving her what she needs. And now everyone is questioning whether I’m even fit to take care of her. The court, Sasha’s lawyers, probably half the people at that yacht club.”

“They’re wrong.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. She said the words with total conviction. I didn’t get it. She didn’t know me. Not really. How could she sound so certain?

“I guess we’ll see,” I murmured and went back to sanding.

13

LIZA