Page 36 of Gold Rush

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll live in my cubicle. Or crash at Kit’s.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “There are a lot of apartments you could afford on your salary.”

“But I’ll get the money as soon as we get engaged. So, in a few months, I’ll have to break another lease to move back in somewhere with a doorman and an outdoor terrace.”

“My apartment doesn’t have an outdoor terrace.”

I grimace. “Disappointing, but I’ll survive.”

She scoffs, then sips her soda.

I decide not to push the topic any more right now. “You can think about it. The story is, we started studying for the bar together. I was recently single, you were recently single, lot of late nights, yada yada. One thing led to another.”

“Yada yada is not going to work, Flynn. People are nosy. They will want to know a lot more than that. Where we went on our first date. Who kissed who first. When⁠—”

“People can want to know whatever they want,” I say. “Doesn’t mean you have to share it. You’re too accommodating.”

She leans forward, lowering her voice to a determined pitch. “If we are doing this, we are doing this, Flynn. It will be believable, and that will require details. Or else you can forget it.”

I hide a smile. I’ll probably never tell her this, but I admire Rory’s commitment. She never does anything partway or with reservation.

“If we were actually dating, would you want to tell every busybody that I took you to Maple & Ash for a steak and kissed you when we got ice cream after?”

“Well … no.”

“It’s none of their business. You’re too polite to say that, so just tell everyone we’re keeping those moments private or whatever.”

“Is that what you’re going to tell Kit?”

I have no fucking clue what I’m going to tell Kit. Considering that seemed pointless until Rory actually agreed to this. Which she still hasn’t.

“Does that mean you’re in?”

She reaches for her soda, using the straw to stir the ice before sucking a delicate sip. I track each move like we’re playing chess.

Rory has always been a worthy opponent. I’m not sure why we ended up adversaries, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t enjoy the strange dynamic we share.

Most people would describe Rory Kensington as predictable. In addition to being accommodating, she’s reliable. She shows up when and where she says she will. Early, usually, like she was for lunch today.

Yet she surprises me. Stomping around in her pajamas, holding a fireplace poker. Showing up at my office. And now, setting her glass down and saying, “I’m in.”

12

Iwipe the spotless counter for the fifth time in an hour, casting an anxious look at the clock while I rinse the sponge and wring it out over the sink.

He’s late.

Unsurprising, but not reassuring. Once Flynn arrives, once he moves in, I’ll be forced to act normal. Until then, I’m free to fret in the privacy of my own home while I remain its only occupant.

I can’t believe I agreed to let him move in. I’ve never lived with a man before. Well, except for my dad, in my parents’ huge penthouse. A very different situation for obvious reasons.

My apartment is a two-bedroom. It’s nice, but it’s not that big. I bought it, imagining inviting friends from work over, wanting to avoid the stunned, sometimes judgmental, expressions that appear whenever someone realizes I’m one of “those Kensingtons,” not anticipating I’d be rooming with Flynn Parks.

Flynn Parks. My fake boyfriend. Soon-to-be fake fiancé.

I can’t believe I agreed to this. And I did agree to it. He didn’t coerce or blackmail me. Temporary insanity, I guess. Flynn’s persuasive powers should be studied because I’m not even second-guessing. I want to do this, to act impulsively. To do something newsworthy and nonacademic. To take risks. A risk at least.