The Spanish Love Deception novel Chapter 42

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“What in the f—”

A fit of coughs prevented me from finishing that, the mouthful I had been chewing on getting stuck in my throat and not moving anywhere.

Aaron was coming. To my apartment. In one hour. Which was an hour before we had agreed he’d pick me up.

Grabbing some water from the kitchen, I looked around, taking in the chaos. “Mierda.”

I shouldn’t care; I knew I shouldn’t. But Aaron seeing this? Hell no. I’d rather choke on another cookie than give him ammunition against me. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.

I placed the glass back on the counter, and without losing a second more, I put myself to work. One hour. I had sixty minutes—and knowing Aaron, it wouldn’t be a second more or less—to fix this wardrobe mayhem.

And just like that, it took me the whole hour to leave the apartment presentable enough, so when the doorbell rang, not only had I not had any time to change into something that didn’t make me look like a human-sized Furby, but my frustration had also only increased.

“Stupidly punctual man,” I muttered under my breath as I stomped toward my apartment door. “Always on time.”

I buzzed him in.

Fixing the messy bun atop my head, I tried to cool off.

He’s helping you. Be nice, I told myself. You need him.

A knock on the door.

I waited two seconds and took a deep breath, readying myself to be as nice as I could manage.

Grabbing on to the handle, I arranged my expression into a neutral one and threw the door open.

“Aaron,” I said in a clipped tone. “I …” I was about to say … something else, but whatever that was vanished. Along with that neutral expression I had been going for. My lips parted, jaw hanging open. “I—” I started again, not finding any words. I cleared my throat. “I—hi. Hello. Whoa. Okay.”

Aaron stared back at me with a funny look while I simply blinked, hoping that my eyes hadn’t grown too big in my face.

Although how could they not? How couldn’t any pair of eyes not grow two sizes bigger at the sight of what was in front of me?

Because that wasn’t Aaron. No. Nuh-uh. Before me was a man I had never seen before. A version of Aaron that was different from the only one I knew.

This Aaron was … drop-dead gorgeous. And not in an easy on the eyes way. This Aaron was elegant. Classy. Sleek. Attractive in an overwhelming ladies and gents, grab your fans kind of way.

Shit, why did he look like that? Where was the Aaron in dull slacks and a boring button-down that I had black-listed and filed under do not touch? How in the world had it taken me nothing more than a single look at him to stutter like a schoolgirl?

Blinking, I found the answer right in front of me. That enormous and lean body that I shouldn’t have been noticing this much was clad in a black suit. No, it wasn’t a suit. It was a tuxedo. A freaking tuxedo that belonged on a red carpet and not in the door to my apartment in Bed-Stuy, if you asked me.

Nothing about him belonged here with me. Not his midnight hair, not the crisp white shirt and bow tie, not that deep blue gaze that surveyed me and my reaction, not the freaking movie-star tux, and certainly not those dark brows that were drawing together on his forehead.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked in a breath. “Is this a joke? What did I tell you about trying to be funny, Aaron?”