Neville blinked. "I... yes, of course. Did you need me to arrange a hovercar? Are we visiting a client, or—"
"No. I mean, let's go out."
Grayson held Neville's gaze, watching as confusion bloomed across his secretary's face.
"You and me."
The silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
Neville's lips parted, closed, then parted again. His head tilted to one side like a confused puppy. Grayson had to physically restrain himself from reaching across the desk to—
No. Focus.
"Mr. Maxwell," Neville said slowly, "I'm not sure I understand."
He looked so utterly bewildered, those ocean-blue eyes wide behind his glasses.
He really looked adorable like this.
"Let me clarify." Grayson cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. He adopted what Gloria had once disparagingly called his "briefing room voice." "I'm proposing that we engage in a mutually beneficial arrangement called Fake Dating."
The words hung in the air between them.
