Beginner's Guide to Gold-digging: Chapter 1

A Beginner’s Guide to First Impressions

Lily

“Presenting Crispin Eric Winfield IV, of the Boston Winfields, and his betrothed, Lily Arianna DiGiacomo of… The North End,” a perturbed, graying butler with stooped shoulders and a wispy beard announced as we entered the country club ballroom. He said it with a clear note of disdain in his voice and a blatant scowl on his face, and I tried very hard not to roll my eyes at this unprofessional chucklefuck.

“Stop rolling your eyes, angel,” Crispin said as he stood next to me, his arm wrapped around mine, clad in his black suit and tie combination, that bemused smirk he wore so well plastered onto his sculpted face. 

“Heh. Sorry,” I said. 

“No, you’re not,” he said, still grinning at me. 

I rolled my eyes again as we sauntered in together. I sashayed onto the brightly-lit ballroom floor flush with immaculately dressed partygoers, my white stiletto spike heels clicking on the floor and the long skirt of my crimson gown swishing about my ample hips. I managed not to let my eyes linger on any of the beautiful women prancing around me, and I managed not to glare at any of the men staring at the valley of cleavage my plunging neckline revealed. Instead, I simply wiggled a finger at them: specifically the finger carrying the diamond ring Crispin had put there two months prior. 

We took center-stage on the dance floor, and I reluctantly guided Crispin’s hands to my hips as the music swelled and a new dance began. 

Now, you may be wondering, dear reader, how does a sapphic trans woman such as myself find herself engaged to a man, dressed to the nines and displayed in public for a high society debut on Martha’s Vineyard? Well, there’s a perfectly logical explanation for it, I assure you. To elucidate, however, I must tell you the story of my fiance and I up until that point. Let me take you back in time…

Two Months Earlier

The early morning sun shone over my garden, a series of square and rectangular plots in my backyard. The air was cool and the dew gave a dampness to the grass that my bare feet adored while I gently showered my crops with water. Potatoes and onions and peppers were blooming before my eyes, and I harvested the ones that were ready and placed them in my wicker basket while I sang under my breath. “Heyy, waiiittt, I’ve got a new complaint, forever in your debt toooo your priceless advice,” I intoned quietly, a big, stupid smile on my ugly face while I wiggled my toes in the dirt, my baggy flannel covering my torso and hanging over my sweatpants. 

When the morning harvest was complete, I went over to the hutch where my rabbit, Void, was beginning to rub his face on the edges of his crate. I took his feed and put it in his bowl, then opened the hutch and scooped up the bundle of black bunny. “Hello, hello, my son,” I cooed, scratching him behind the ears as I lowered him down into the yard so he could scamper about for a bit. He did so love the summers when he could sleep outside: poor little lad always went a little crazy during the winters when he was cooped up. 

When he was done with his business, I brought him back to his enclosure with his fresh food and water, planted a kiss on the rabbit’s head before I picked up my basket and went back inside.

Rob was ambling downstairs already when I got inside, still wearing his heavy bathrobe even with the summer well upon us. “Morning, bro!” I beamed as I set my harvest on the table and began washing them in the sink. 

“Morning, kid,” Rob said, immediately reaching for the coffee and pouring himself a mug, eyes barely open. I rolled my eyes a bit at the ‘kid’ but honestly I was used to it. When your brother was a decade older than you, it came with the territory. His brown hair was messy with bedhead, and he grunted as he sat down at the kitchen table and started scrolling his phone. I, meanwhile, began chopping vegetables up for a hash, depositing them in the oiled, heated skillet and continuing to sing ‘Heart Shaped Box’ while I cooked. 

“Happy Saturday!’ I chirped as I put a plate of hash in front of him. 

“Mmm,” he grunted. Loquacious, my brother was not. 

“Any plans for the day?” I asked as I sat down at my end of the table. 

“Going on a date later,” he said. “Mack’s sister.”

“Oh damn, she’s wicked hot!” I said. “Good luck!”

“Thanks. How about you?”

“Oh, just gonna relax. Read comics, might go to the bar or something.”

“Cool,” Rob said. “Just try not to get kicked out of this one, okay kid?”

“Pfft, come on, that’s not gonna happen again,” I laughed.

8 Hours Later

“Fine! This place sucks anyway!” I screamed as I slammed the door of the bar behind me. I grinded my teeth together, wrung my hands and spat on the door. 

Then I turned around, and winced at my own behavior. 

“Um… Lily DiGiacomo?” asked a petite redheaded woman clad in a knee-length blue skirt and a cream-colored sleeveless blouse, red lipstick adorning her mouth and bold mascara making her blue eyes pop, a diamond engagement ring on her finger and a ring of pearls around her neck. She was beautiful in a way that made me angry, though I shoved it down and attempted to compose myself. A warm fluttering filled my chest and stomach as I looked at her, and I didn’t know what to make of it; I didn’t usually go for girls who looked like her, at least not anymore. 

Next to her, holding her hand, stood an absolute BEHEMOTH of a man, something like six and a half feet of muscle clothed in a white button-down and blue jeans. My jaw dropped at the sight of him: holy shit, I thought some of my workers were buff, but this guy looked like he could tip over an ambulance if sufficiently motivated. 

I smoothed my short brown hair and leaned against the side of the bar I’d just been banned from. Another square on my bingo card; I was honestly starting to lose track of which ones would let me in. “Yes? May I ask who’s inquiring?”

“Kyle Duggan,” the man said, offering me his spare hand. “And my fiance, Rose O’Neil-”

“Duggan,” the redhead corrected. “Rose Duggan.”

The man (Kyle, apparently) raised an eyebrow and gave her a goofy grin. “I mean, it’s not official yet-”

“I’m trying it out, seeing if I can get used to it before the wedding,” Rose smiled. 

Ugh. Straight people. “Sorry, um, you caught me at a bad time-”

“Lisa and Rachel Schwartz recommended you and your crew,” Kyle said. “I’m looking to start construction on my new gym as soon as possible. We went to your office, and your brother said we’d find you here. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes everything is fine,” I said, looking at the ground so I didn’t have to meet this giant’s gaze, holding the comic I’d been reading until that jackass interrupted me behind my back. Something about him… “I, just, uh… Had a bit of an altercation there. Some guy started trying to hit on me and kept at it after I told him I’m gay. But everything is fine. When would you want to start? We don’t have any clients right now, so-”

“As soon as possible,” Kyle said. 

“And you can pay the advance?”

“I’m handling that,” Rose said, leaning forward and smiling brightly. Goddamn, those were some blue as fuck eyes. “The company I work for is investing in my fiance’s new business.”

“That’s… That’s something they let you do?”

“They do when it’s me, and I’ve just saved their asses from a hostile takeover,” Rose smirked. “Long story; I can tell you about it some other time. So. You interested?”

I was very interested. Our client-well had been steadily drying up these past few years since I started my social transition. Honestly, I would’ve kept the whole ‘I’m girl now’ thing private my whole life if I could have, but my boobs got too damn big for that to work. Given we were self-insured, and hormone replacement therapy was fucking expensive, I couldn’t exactly say no. I smoothed my hoodie and my short brown hair, then extended a hand. “Very interested. Let’s find a place to sit down and talk it out. A coffee shop, maybe- I haven’t been banned from as many of those.”

Kyle shook it first, and the grip of his hand around mine was a little too intense for my liking. Rose’s solid yet soft shake sent another weird feeling through me; I couldn’t describe what it was, but there was something I liked about how delicate her hands were. 

Either way, things were looking up. 

“Now, I should tell you in advance,” Rose said as we walked down the street together, the sun not yet setting on the late spring day, “Since my company is investing, we’ll have to have a representative on-site as a point man. I’d do it myself, but I just got promoted so I’m busy, and Kyle is handling the business side of all this while he plans our wedding. The point man is an old friend of mine named Crispin. You’ll be working closely with him, so I hope you get along…”

Two Weeks Later

I stood inside my office doing squats while I waited for this point man, this ‘Crispin’ (ugh what a douchey name), to finally show up. By my office, I meant the second floor of my garage, but still, it was mine. I had a real oakwood desk with a real desktop computer stationed below my trans pride flag, while filing cabinets stuffed with contracts and old blueprints and building designs lined the walls.

My cell phone alarm sounded on my desk, and I rose from one last squat and savored the burning feeling in my core. I took a towel off my desk and dabbed my sweaty brow with it before reaching for my flannel and putting it over my shoulders. 

As I began to button it, I heard footsteps ascending the stairwell, and was soon greeted by, presumably, Crispin. He was tall, albeit not as tall as Kyle, and muscular, with broad shoulders obvious even through his suit; he looked about the same age as Kyle and Rose too, somewhere in his early thirties; he had shaggy black hair that was parted steeply to the right, a light natural tan, and green eyes… Eyes that were fixated on my chest as he walked up to me. 

His hungry smile didn’t exactly help matters, and my cheeks heated and my jaw set as I felt a hot, wet feeling, like some kind of boiling flood, pouring through me. The way he was looking at me… I’d seen it before on guys. It was always the same with them. They gaped and they gawked and they refused to take no for an answer. The only ones with any decency were already attached like Kyle. Still, it had never felt quite like this before. The boiling flood wanted to wash me away with all the bizarre, foreign emotions, and I froze as I tried to do my bottom button and couldn’t look away from those bright green eyes. They were nice eyes, objectively, but I didn’t need them on me, and I didn’t need them looking at me like that. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I spat. 

“Uh…”

“That was sarcasm. Don’t actually take a picture.”

“I didn’t think you were being serious,” he said. Damn, his voice was low. I hadn’t heard one that deep or smooth… Ever, probably.

“And yet you’re still staring at my boobs.”

“I’m not staring at your boobs,” he said firmly, but not averting his gaze.

“Oh really? And what are you staring at then? My sparkling personality?”

“No, your abs,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The flood nearly knocked me adrift, but I clung to my anger like it was a branch dangling from the side of the proverbial river. The water may have cooled a bit when he said that (guys who tried to see if I could ‘make an exception for them’ (ugh) were usually drawn to other parts of my anatomy) but it was still dangerous. It didn’t feel bad, but I still didn’t trust it. “What? Never seen a girl with a bit of muscle on her before? Do you disapprove?”

“No, actually, I’ve dated boxers. Lotta muscle on those ladies,” Crispin said. Then his eyes drifted upwards slightly, settling on my giant bazongas. “Though now that you mention it, you do have some quality-”

“Do not finish that sentence!”

He grimaced, but smoothed over his expression quickly. “Right. Okay, the room has been read. I’m sorry for staring, I won’t do it again-”

“You better not!” I said. “I’m a lesbian, so you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Duly noted,” he said as he gave me a thumbs’ up and finally turned his emerald gaze to the ceiling . “Like I said, I’m sorry- it was just kind of a reflexive reaction.”

“I'm not joking. Don’t look at me. Ever. I’ve gotten enough shit working in this industry as a woman, and I’m not putting up with it from a…,” rich pretty boy with mesmerizing eyes and a voice like smooth velvet, “a client.” 

“Wait," his annoyingly perfect smile faltered, “You genuinely don’t want me to look at you, at all?”

My cheeks felt a little hot. When he said it like that, the idea did sound a bit ridiculous. But I could hardly back down now- if I did, he’d have me pinned down forever. I stuck up my nose and said, “Yep.”

“That’s going to be rather difficult,” he grimaced while still looking at the ceiling, broad shoulders rolling. “We’re supposed to work together. Extensively. For the next several months.”

“I think you’ll figure something out

“Oh come on- you’re being unreasonable!”

“Why? Because I said no to you? Do women not usually say that to you?” 

“What?!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“How did we even get on this conversation?!” He was looking at me again, an intense expression on his face, confusion and irritation and… And a bit of offense. He was actually offended by what I was insinuating. It was… Unexpected. 

It didn’t change anything, though. “You were ogling me!”

“I… Okay, fine,” he said, looking at the ceiling once again.

I blinked. “What?”

“Fine. If that’s how we get along, I will find a way to avoid looking at you, no matter how puerile I find all this,” he said, and even with his eyes pointed upwards I could see them rolling furiously.

My blinking increased in rapidity, “Okay then. Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” 

I grinded my teeth again, planting my hands on my hips as I marched over to him with my shirt still unbuttoned, letting my sports’ bra and six-pack show as I dared him to look at me like that again. “Fine,” I said with my most sickly sweet smile. “Let’s get to work. Shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” he groaned, turning around. 

I watched those broad shoulders of his roll as I followed him down the stairs. Ugh, this was going to be a long couple of months, I could already tell. 

“I’m Crispin, by the way,” he said as we descended to the first floor of the garage. “Crispin Winfield IV.”

“Wow. That has gotta be the most textbook douchey rich guy name I’ve ever heard in my life,” I laughed. 

“Yeah,” he growled, and his voice got even lower when he did that. Damn, that was almost impressive. “I take it you’re Lily?”

“What gave it away?” I deadpanned as we left the garage and entered the warm sunlight. 

“You’re exactly how Rose described you.”

I ignored the cold, painful prick that hit my chest when he said that. “Good. That’s just how I like it.”

Three Days Later

Crispin was, if absolutely nothing else whatsoever, good to his word. He left rooms when I entered, looked away when I spoke, and communicated with me entirely by text message. 

We were on-site at the lot, my brother Rob leading the crew in pouring the concrete foundation while I stood behind with my hands on my hips. Crispin was clear across the lot with a clipboard, scribbling down notes. Or possibly drawing what he thought my boobs looked like. Drawing his hands all over them, working them like clay-

As a forewoman, my job could be both hands on and hands off at separate points. At the moment, it was hands off. And I was feeling bored, and there was only an hour left in the workday before Rob and I could knock off and go home and get baked and watch professional wrestling, so I decided to have a little fun. 

I started walking towards Crispin, death in my eyes and a smug grin on my face and my hands on my hips. I wore one of my dozen hoodies over my tatas this time, but the attitude was exactly the same and that was all that mattered. 

Crispin looked up from his clipboard when I broached the ten yard line, and his face twisted with anger and frustration. I stifled a laugh: he was so damn grumpy it was frankly hilarious. He turned and started walking away from me, but I kept after him. 

We walked around the foundation in our hard-hats, him in his overpriced suit and me in my baggy hoodie and sweatpants, both of us in boots as I stalked after him. The site was in the North End, the water a few miles east of us and all other buildings and houses well over a hundred yards. He retreated deeper into the lot, me following him the whole damn time as he navigated around our workers. A row of them carrying two-by-fours wound up in his path, and he lowered himself like he was limboing at a professional level. Damn, he could get low. He cleared the limbo line with aplomb, and I did the same to keep the spirit of the whole thing alive. 

Finally, we completed a lap, winding up right back where we’d started. He turned around to face me, so instead, this time I turned around and walked away, laughing to myself the whole time.

5 Days Later

“Donuts! Go nuts!” I said as I walked up to my loyal crew carrying two boxes of Dunkies. Crispin hovered somewhere behind me, and when everyone had selected a donut from one of the boxes, I felt him approaching my back. Looming, no doubt thinking of grabbing my ass in one hand and my boobs in another and railing me from behind-

He reached a hand over my shoulder, and I grinned as I moved the box out of his reach. 

He grunted, something he no doubt did a lot around women. He’d come in with mussed hair and lipstick on his collar and complaining about his sore back enough times now that I’d figured out the specific flavor of straight guy he was: a complete and utter manwhore. It had happened so many times in such a short span that he was seemingly getting laid every night, a fact which pissed me off to no end. I mean, sure, he wasn’t actually flaunting it or anything (he’d looked so flustered when I’d pointed out the lipstick on the collar thing to him yesterday that it was weirdly adorable) but the evidence of manwhoring was still there. 

He took another step closer to me while attempting to reach the box of donuts. I felt the outline of his body against my back, and I got confirmation that yes, he was indeed packing some muscle. A surprising amount, from the feel of him (I’d assumed a trust fund brat like him would be soft in the midsection from never doing physical labor once in his life) but no, those abs were rock hard. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you Crispin?”

“Just give me a donut,” he whined. 

I stifled another laugh. Huh, his voice could pitch up after all. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have to look me in the eyes when you ask for one.”

He sighed, and then, to my shock and oddly to my disappointment, he backed away. 

I pivoted in my work boots and caught him as he sauntered away. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Elsewhere.”

“But then you can’t get a donut.”

“I already promised I wouldn’t look you in the eyes. Gotta keep my word.”

He didn’t look back as he said it; he simply kept walking until he found himself in the company of some of my workers- Ted, Pablo, and Vikki- and immediately started chumming it up with them. I grinded my teeth. He got along with everyone here except me. Our female workers even seemed downright charmed by his whole schtick. Pissed me off. Bastard wasn’t allowed to keep surprising me like this. 

I found myself muttering his name under my breath as I walked towards him with the box, coming up to him and then thrusting the box at him. He instantly looked away.

“Just take the donut, you douchebag,” I grumbled. 

“How am I supposed to pick one out if I can’t look?”

“Ugh, fine, I’m lifting the rule for ten seconds.”

“Awesome!” He said. Stupid adorable enthusiasm..

He turned, and once again, our eyes locked. His emerald irises were incredibly striking, and just like before I found it impossible to look away. My cheeks heated again, and I gulped, and I bit my lower lip. God, what a douchebag-

“Coconut! That’s the ticket,” he said, smiling, beaming, practically glowing. “Much thanks, Ms. DiGiacomo.” 

My words got stuck in my throat as a cold prickling sensation ate at my stomach lining. It didn’t abate until he finally, mercifully, ceased eye contact once more. 

One Week Later

Friday night came at the end of a long, hot work day, and I watched everyone clear out en masse. Rob was heading home without me: he had a hot date tonight, a lady-friend who was actually coming over for a home-cooked meal. My brother hadn’t actually asked me to make myself scarce, but it seemed like a nice thing to volunteer. 

The building stages hadn’t commenced quite yet, but all our materials were in place and all of our equipment was loaded into a few semi-truck trailers within the fenced confines of our site. I walked along the fenced boundaries, grinding weed flower into a fine powder and readying myself for a bit of evening fun. I’d limited my smoking to one day a week the past few years, normally Fridays. Now I just wanted to kill some time in an altered state of consciousness.

I came upon the tarp, desk, and chairs I’d set up near the front entrance, where, to my astonishment, I found Crispin sitting. To his credit, the second he saw me, he turned his chair around and faced the other way. 

“What are you doing here, Crispin?” I asked with a sigh as I sat at the other end of the plastic rectangular table. 

“Could you please just call me Cris? Everyone does.”

“You mean all your girlfriends do?”

“I don’t really have girlfriends.”

“Then what do you have?”

“Flings, mostly. One night stands. Hookups.”

“Wow. You really are a manwhore.”

“You’re Goddamn right I am,” he said. 

“You seem weirdly proud of that fact.”

“I have a healthy appetite, what can I say?”

“You mean you’re a pig,” I said, staring at his shoulders. God, those things were huge.
He shrugged those huge shoulders and said, “I’ve been called worse.”

I rolled my eyes. “Still haven’t answered my question. Why are you still here? It’s Friday night and quitting time was over an hour ago.”

“Could ask you the same question,” he said. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”

“Not tonight, no.”

“Well neither do I,” Crispin… Cris said. “And I don’t feel like going home.”

“Too lonely in your bachelor pad without a fresh conquest?”

“I live at my parents’ place, actually,” he said. “My dad and my step-mom travel a lot, so it’s just my siblings and I.”

“Hm. Same, actually,” I said, noting how smooth the back of his neck was. Did he shave it himself? Or did he pay someone to do that for him? 

“Just you and Rob, then?” 

“Yeah. Since our old man…,” I trailed off as unpleasant memories started bubbling up underneath the surface of my mind. 

He was quiet, didn’t probe or pry, which I have to admit I appreciated. 

“But yeah, Rob needed the house to himself tonight,” I said.  

“My younger brother and sister did too,” he said. “They like to throw big parties so they can pretend they’re still in college. My older sisters both have other plans, and… Uh…”

“You not get along with the younger ones?” I asked. I was genuinely curious: Cris had given off major ‘only child’ vibes in the time I’d known him, so to find out he was smack in the middle with two siblings on each side of him was surprising. 

“My little brother Preston is a complete jackass,” he said bluntly. “Claudia… Isn’t much better. Actually, she might be worse.”

“In what way?”

“Preston is at least upfront about being a prick. Claudia is passive-aggressive about it.”

“Ew,” I shuddered. 

“My thoughts exactly. Regardless, I don’t have any plans, and the girl I was supposed to meet tonight turned out to be married-”

“What?”

“Yeah, I saw her with her wife on social media,” Cris said, cracking his neck. “I’m a lotta things, but a homewrecker ain’t one of them. Marriage is sacred.”

Huh. “So what, you just figured you’d sit here by yourself and stare off into space?”

“Actually, I was going to sit here by myself and smoke weed. What about you?”

“... Pretty much exactly the same,” I said. On that note, I reached into my tote bag for my pipe… Only to come up empty. “Aw, dammit.”

“No flower?”

“No pipe.”

“I got one if you wanna share.”

“When we’re not even looking at each other? You wanna do an indirect kiss when we’re not even looking at each other,” I groaned. 

“I said nothing about an indirect kiss, you weirdo,” he scoffed. 

“Whatever.”

“Bring your chair over to my side, we can sit back to back. We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to.”

God fucking dammit, Cris, stop being so fucking REASONABLE. It’s annoying! I thought as I did as he said. I handed him the grinder and sat with my back to his, my head resting against his shoulder-plexes. 

He handed me back the pipe and said, “Ladies first.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” I rolled my eyes. 

“It is dead. I’m trying to resurrect it,” he retorted as I lit the pipe and took a big, deep hit.

The warm, delicious buzz filtered into my brain, and as I exhaled, I felt myself relax truly for the first time in weeks. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? You barely know me,” he said as I handed him the pipe.

“I know your type.”

He breathed out. “Lame.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s lame to say things like that. People are individuals. Or do you disagree?”

“Obviously I agree people are individuals-”

“I’m not though?”

I grimaced as he passed me the pipe. “Fine, you’re an individual. There. And I don’t know much about you. There. Happy?”

As I took another long, frustrated hit, he replied, “Reasonably. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No, actually, I don’t really say it to lesbians most of the time.”

“Pfft, yeah right-”

“Fuck’s sake, DiGiacomo.”

“Okay, fine. I believe you.”

He took a hit. “Good.”

We passed the pipe back and forth in silence for a few minutes before I decided awkwardly not making conversation was worse than awkwardly making conversation. “How long have you and Rose worked together?”

“We just started a month ago, actually,” he replied. “But we’ve been friends since high school. More or less.”

“More or less?”

“We lost contact for a while. Reconnected back in early May at a party. I was surprised to see her… At all, let alone…”

“Let alone what?”

“Well. Like how she is now, I guess. I knew her before.”

“Before what?”

“You know. Before.”

“In what way?

“In the same way as you.”

I took a slow, steady hit, the intoxication clouding my mind. “Wait, Rose is trans?”

“Yeah. You didn’t know?”

“Not in the slightest,” I said, amazed. 

“Fair enough. And honestly, I was shocked when I found out. I had no idea she was a girl. But she was pretty guarded when we were kids, so that was probably deliberate on her part.”

Ever more full of surprises, this one was. “And Kyle?”

“Didn’t know him until I saw Rose on his arm. He’s a lucky guy.”

“Why? You got the hots for your old school buddy?”

“No, but I got eyes. She’s beautiful, and she’s always been a good person. So he’s lucky.”

I leaned into him a bit, tilting my head. He slouched so I could rest it on his shoulder, which was… Shockingly comfortable. He was very warm, firm, and big. 

Heh. There was probably a dick joke in there somewhere. 

“But yeah, Rose got me a job at her company, but she realized it would look bad for her to get promoted to management and then immediately hire an old friend, so I told her to start me with the crappiest detail she could find.”

“Wow. You really know how to sweet talk a girl, Winfield. No wonder you get laid so much,” I deadpanned. 

“Look, DiGiacomo, you do realize my job here amounts to making sure you don’t go over budget or commit any blatant safety violations, right? And seeing how you and your brother are, you know, competent and shit, I haven’t actually been doing much of anything.”

“So it’s boring?”

“No, I can honestly say it’s not. It’s slow, but it’s never boring.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re here,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. 

I took a puff as he said it, and wound up coughing through most of it in sheer shock. When I recovered, I said, “Uh… Thanks, I guess. You’re… Well, you’re not boring either.”

“Why Ms. DiGiacomo, I do believe you just gave me a compliment,” he said with a cheeky edge to his tone. 

“First time for everything,” I said, matching his tone.

“I’ll smoke to that,” he chuckled. 

The conversation lulled from there, but to my astonishment, I found simply sitting there with him wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It wasn’t bad at all, sitting there, watching the sunset with my back pressed to his and my head resting lazily on his shoulder.

Two Weeks Later

I sat behind my desk inside my office going over expense reports. This was not good. We were already over budget, and Rob had nearly wrecked his car last week in a collision and our insurance wasn’t paying for it. The money had to come from somewhere, and the exact amount it would cost… Was the amount of money I needed for my flight to Thailand in three months. 

Fuck. 

“You up there?” Crispin’s unbelievably low voice carried up the stairs. 

“Yes, I am,” I groaned. 

“Cool. There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said as his footsteps began sounding against the wooden stairs.

“What happened to not looking at me?”

“I think I’ve found a workaround,” he said, and I suppose he had. 

He was wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night. 

“Douchebag,” I said automatically.

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

“Be that as is it may-”

“What do you want, Winfield?”

“I was getting to that,” he said, pulling up his seat and man-spreading in it. 

“Then get to it.”

“I’m going to say something now, and you’re probably not going to believe me-”

“Is it that you’re actually a lost prince of a mythical kingdom and you’re here to take me on an epic adventure to save the world?” I monotoned. 

“What? No.”

“Is it that you’re actually a plant from a rival construction company and you’re going to destroy my business?”

“Also no.”

“Is it-”

“Fuck’s sake, are you gonna let me finish or not?” he said, finally taking off his ridiculous sunglasses. Fuck, his eyes were green. Objectively, those were some very green eyes. That was part of the reason I couldn’t have him looking at me directly- I’d wind up staring at those eyes non-stop, like I was lost in them, and the thought of that made me want to retch. 

I snorted. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, this is going to sound ridiculous-”

“What, you? Ridiculous? Inconceivable.”

“Oh my God!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” I said, unable to keep my laughter bottled at that point. 

He raked a hand through his charcoal locks, looked me square in the face with those stupidly green eyes of his, and said, “I need you to pretend we’re engaged.”