The Spanish Love Deception

Chapter 79

Aaron’s expression assembled into one that was all business. “Option A is, you fly home alone. As much as I advise

against it, it remains an option.” Hearing that from someone who wasn’t me sent a shiver crawling down my arms. “I

have no doubt that you will be fine. But that doesn’t mean it’s your easiest route to … whatever you want to

accomplish.”

“I don’t want to accomplish anything.”

“That’s something neither of us believes. But it’s okay. Either way, you do have a second option. And unlike with

option A, if you decide to go with option B, you won’t be on your own. You’d be bringing backup.” He placed his palm

against his broad chest. “Me. You know better than most that a challenging project needs the right kind of backing and

support to succeed. So, you take me, and I’ll do exactly that. You don’t have to face anyone alone. You are giving

them exactly what you promised to them.”

Something lurched against my ribs. And I almost had to rub a hand against my chest to appease it.

“By bringing me as your plus-one and boyfriend, which is a part of this whole thing you very conveniently omitted

telling me about, you tackle the problem at the source—showing up alone and single. As easy as that.”

Aaron Blackford had impeccably delivered his pitch. Straight to the damn point.

“Easy? You are crazy if you think this is going to be easy,” I murmured. “If you can barely put up with me most of the

time, imagine an army of Linas in all sizes and shapes. For three days straight.”

“I’m prepared.”

The question was, was I? Was I really prepared to take the leap and potentially risk history repeating itself?

But then Aaron spoke again, “I’ve never been scared to work for something, Catalina. Even when all odds are against

me.”

The way those words hit me was close to making me gasp for air. As if that statement had carried extra weight and

taken a swing at me.

I’m being stupid.

No. I was decidedly crazy if what was about to leave my lips was any indication of the level of how much I had lost my

wits. But hell, it wasn’t like I hadn’t agreed to this before.

“Okay,” I pushed out. “You have been warned—twice. Now, I guess you are really stuck with this. We are stuck with

this, you and I.”

“I wasn’t the one calling it off, Catalina.” He was right; I could give him as much. And then he said, “You were already

stuck with me.”

I averted my eyes, not wanting to expose how that made me feel. “Whatever you say, Blackford. I just hope we don’t

screw this up.”

“We won’t,” he declared firmly. “Or are you forgetting that when I put my mind to something, I never fail?”

I blinked, a little terrified of that last declaration. Oh hell, it would take a certain level of confidence, perhaps even

madness, to pull this off anyway.

Ignoring how I could almost feel the relief lifting some of the weight off my shoulders, I finally let my gaze roam outside

the car.

“This is not my street.” I did not recognize the area where we were parked. “Where are we?”

“Picking up dinner,” he said, pointing out the window at a food truck covered in a colorful pattern that intertwined

luchador masks with floral motifs. “This place has the best fish tacos in the city.” NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

My stomach grumbled at the thought of fish tacos. Any tacos would obtain that reaction, frankly. But fish tacos? They

were my guilty pleasure.

“Fish tacos?”

His dark eyebrows knit together. And I was so hungry that I could have kissed that frown. “You like them,” he stated

rather than asked.

I did. “I actually love them.”

Aaron nodded as if he wanted to tell me, See? “You might have gushed over them to Héctor a couple hundred times,”

Aaron commented casually. To which I blinked. A couple million times rather than a hundred. “How many will you

take? My usual order is three.”

His usual order?

“Three sounds good,” I confirmed rather absently while my mind wandered away, picturing Aaron coming here as a

regular. Ordering his three tacos. Sauce dripping off his otherwise spotless fingers. Perhaps some out of the corner of

his otherwise unamused mouth.

Stop it, Lina, I scolded myself. Tacos are not sexy. They are messy and sticky.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he unfastened his seat belt.

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