If Love Had A Price

“Why do you look so spiffy?” Skylar’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“You used the word spiffy. Are you sure you’re seventeen?” Nate eyed her with equal suspicion.

“Don’t change the subject.” His sister leaned against the door frame of their kitchen and sipped her orange juice with a speculative expression. “Are you going on a date?”

Excitement shimmered in her eyes at the prospect.

“Sorry to crush your hopes, but no.”

Not in the usual sense, he added silently.

Nate straightened his collar, feeling itchy and uncomfortable in his pale blue button-down. He preferred the comfort of his old T-shirts, but Kris had mentioned Gloria was fond of the preppy look, so he’d dutifully dressed for the part.

He’d also put more effort into taming his tousled hair and applied cologne, even though he despised cologne almost as much as he did button-downs.

Skylar persisted. “Why not? You could totally get a date if you wanted to. My friends all have a huge crush on you.”

Nate suppressed a flinch. “Your friends are in high school. Are you trying to land me in jail?”

“I’m not saying date one of them. Ew, gross much? I’m just pointing out the fact that you are not without appeal.”

“Thanks,” he said wryly.

“I’m serious.” Skylar finished her juice, set it on a nearby table, and walked over to Nate. She circled him with a critical eye. “Hmm. I think she’d like you.”

Tension bunched in Nate’s shoulders. “No.”

He knew Skylar well enough to know what she had in mind, and he was not on board. He’d rather have his fingernails pulled off one by one than get set up on a date. By his baby sis, no less.

Someone get the pliers.

Skylar pouted. “You don’t know who I’m talking about.”

“No.”

“You’re around the same age, and she is so pretty.”

“No.”

A huff of exasperation. “Do you want to die old and alone?”

“I don’t need you matchmaking for me. I do just fine with women, thank you very much.” Nate wasn’t being arrogant; it was the truth. It took him less time to pick up a girl than it did for him to check out groceries at the supermarket. That was the way it’d been all his life.

Except for Kris, but she was a special case.

His heart rate kicked up at the prospect of seeing her in less than an hour, and he ran a hand through his hair until it—

Wait. What the hell was he doing? Racing heart and fidgeting with his hair? He was acting like a damn schoolboy with a crush.

Nate lowered his arm with a frown.

“Yeah, but you haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, and she only lasted six weeks,” Skylar pointed out. “Don’t you think it’s time to—”

“No.”

Her face crumpled into a scowl. “You need to expand your vocabulary.”

“You need to stop being so nosy about my love life,” he countered. “As much as I’m loving this conversation—” Not. “I have to go. Lunch is in the fridge. Do not order takeout, especially not from that sketchy place down the street. Remember what happened last time?”

They both grimaced, remembering the deceivingly delicious tacos that had sent them running to the bathroom all night long. Talk about Montezuma’s revenge.

“I won’t. Even though reheated chicken tastes like ass,” Skylar grumbled.

“Language.”

“Whatever, Steve Rogers.”

“Nice Captain America reference.”

Nate ruffled his sister’s hair on his way out, which earned himself another scowl. She hated when he did that.

That was what she got for bugging him about getting a girlfriend. You’d think Skylar would be busy enough with school, soccer, and her own social life, but she’d been nosing around his love life for years. He needed to find his “lobster,” she said, proving she watched way too many Friends re-runs.

Nate input Kris’s address into Google Maps and turned on the radio, flipping through several screechy pop hits, a maudlin eighties ballad, and a head-splitting metal scream disguised as a song before he settled on a tolerable indie-rock jam.

He’d canceled his Spotify subscription to save money, which meant he was always at the mercy of the radio gods, but sometimes the DJ powers that be threw him a bone.

Half an hour later, he arrived in Beverly Hills—the land of the rich, famous, and obscenely wealthy. Multimillion-dollar mansions, expensive cars, and tall, skinny palm trees flashed by as Nate maneuvered his old Honda Civic through the perfectly manicured streets. He loved his car, but he’d never been more conscious of how out of place it looked amongst all the Ferraris and Lamborghinis.

Still, nothing prepared him for the sight of Kris’s house. He’d known she was rich but holy shit.

Nate passed through the security gates, parked in the circular driveway, and stared at the enormous modern structure looming before him. It was all glass, gray stone, and white concrete, and it looked less like a home and more like a hotel. Two ultra-wide flights of stone stairs flanked the mansion, leading to the back of the property. The first level, nestled between the stairs, was a white marble rectangle framing a wall of windows and a set of intimidating double doors that looked like they could withstand a nuclear blast and wouldn’t be out of place in a spy movie. The upper levels were less neat—there were so many layers of roofs, jutting angles, and outdoor staircases he couldn’t discern how many floors the house had.

Nate’s phone buzzed with a new text as he tried to figure out whether that was an infinity pool on the second (third?) floor terrace.

Kris: Stop dawdling in your car. Hondas are not that nice, and you have a job to do.

His head snapped up. He scanned the house for a sign of her in the windows, but he couldn’t see shit through all that tinted glass.

His thumbs flew over his keyboard.

Nate: Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?

He sent the message flying through cyberspace with a smirk. Kris’s plan to ensure Gloria’s interest in him was devious and all too fitting for Hollywood. A role within a role. Very meta, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

Kris’s reply came just as swiftly.

Kris: If you’re not out of the car in thirty seconds, I will force you to wear salmon shorts and Sperrys on our next “date,” BOYFRIEND.

Ten seconds later, Nate was out of the car and ringing the doorbell.

He’d expected a maid or butler to open the door—this seemed like the type of joint that would have a butler—so when he found himself face-to-face with Kris herself, he chalked his speechlessness up to surprise.

Except he was more surprised by her appearance than he was by her greeting him.

Instead of designer clothes and heels, Kris wore a soft-looking white T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder and a pair of tiny green shorts that bared miles of smooth, tanned leg. She had no makeup on—or if she did, Nate couldn’t tell—and she’d twisted her hair into a loose, messy bun that begged him to unravel it and run his fingers through those thick, luxurious locks.

No longer an untouchable ice princess, but a girl. A ridiculously touchable, beautiful one.

Kris crossed her arms over her chest. “My eyes are up here.”

It was only then that he realized he’d been laser-focused on the lacy bra strap her shirt revealed.

Get it together.

He lifted his gaze and relaxed into his confident playboy persona the way he slipped on his favorite T-shirt. Smooth, comfortable, and so easy it was like breathing.

“Yes, I know. I’m well-acquainted with the female anatomy,” Nate drawled. “Every last inch.”

Kris stared at him a beat too long before she spun on her heels and marched through her foyer. “Good. You brought your A-game. Save it for Gloria.”

Nate shut the door behind him and followed her through the marble corridors and enormous rooms. She gave him a brief description of the spaces they passed—the indoor theater, the game room, the two-story living room—before they stopped in the kitchen, which was larger than the restaurant where they ate dinner the other day.

He ran his hand over the smooth marble of the center island. “So, where is the glorious Gloria?”

A soft chuckle escaped his throat when Kris’s nose wrinkled at his cheesy play on words.

“She’s with her trainer. She’ll be done in a half-hour, and she always comes to the kitchen afterward for one of her disgusting hemp smoothies.” Kris examined him from head to toe. “Good call on the shirt. She loves the Brooks Brothers look.”

“I always dress for the part.” Nate gave her his own once-over. “Speaking of which, should I be offended or flattered that you didn’t feel the need to dress up for our official debut as boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Neither, because this debut is as about as real as the Stepmonster’s breasts.” Kris hitched her shirt up on her shoulder, covering her bra strap, much to his disappointment. “And FYI, this is my yoga outfit. I didn’t have time to change before you arrived.”

“Yoga, huh?” His mind conjured up some very interesting images of Kris in the downward dog position.

She rolled her eyes as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Do you remember everything I told you?”

“Of course. I’m a pro.” Nate grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the island and bit into it. He chewed and swallowed before he asked, “Where’s your staff? I’d expected to see maids, butlers, footmen…”

Another eye roll. “You’ve watched too much Downton Abbey. This isn’t our full-time house, so we don’t have a full staff. Risa, the housekeeper, maintains everything for us. She has the weekends off.”

If this was her family’s secondary home, Nate couldn’t imagine what their actual home looked like. “Why do you need two houses in the same city?”

“What are you talking about? Our main house is in Seattle.” Realization washed over Kris’s face, and her eyes widened. “You didn’t know that.”

Shit.

“No.”

“It’s something you would know if we were actually dating.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Their dinner conversation the other night had been more topical than personal, save for their brief bonding moment over losing their moms, and they’d been so focused on getting the physical part of their plan right that they hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that they should know basic things about each other—like where Kris was from.

Nate felt a pang in his stomach that he attributed to the apple, not the fact that Kris was from Seattle and might leave soon.

“She’s not going to grill you about me.” Kris recovered, though a troubled look remained in her eyes. “We just have to act the part.”

“She might if everything goes according to plan.”

“We’ll worry about that later. For now, focus on getting her attention.”

Nate finished his apple and tossed it into the state-of-the-art, stainless-steel trash can. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Good. Because she’s coming.”

Sure enough, the sound of footsteps approached.

That was their cue.

Nate snapped into acting mode and leaned against the island, widening his stance while Kris pulled her bun loose and stepped between his legs. She looped her arms around his neck, and he rested his hands on her hips, resisting the urge to fist her hair in his hand and crush his lips to hers. That would make this scene believable for sure, but he didn’t want their first kiss to be fake.

Like he said the other day, he wanted her to want it. Beg for it.

Chalk it up to Nate’s innate competitiveness—nothing got his blood pumping like a good challenge, and he couldn’t think of a better challenge than melting the ice princess in his arms.

But work came first.

The footsteps got louder, and Nate’s pulse kicked up another notch.

Showtime.