“Can you blame them?” she says. “You’re persona non grata around here. They already have an uphill battle to impress Lanham with Ian’s scandal being so fresh.”
I nod. I understand, even though it sucks. This should be a pivot point in my career, and instead of having the opportunity to convince Lanham I’m his guy, I’m sitting idly by while everyone mistakenly assumes I spend my weekends cock-deep in cocaine and hookers.
“I got you a table,” she says as I button the sleeves. “And I think I sweet-talked the hostess into getting you into the same part of the dining room as The Sams, but she couldn’t promise anything.”
“She sound like the bribing type?” I ask with a grin. Movie cliché as it may seem, slipping a hundred or more to a ma?tre d’ is hardly unheard of around this part of town.
“No, she sounded young and flirty.”
My grin widens. “Say no more.”
Kate sighs impatiently. “Matt. That was your old reputation. If you go around flirting with a nineteen-year-old hostess, you’ll confirm what everyone thinks of you. Which would be an especially awful idea today.”
Something in her tone gives me pause. “Why especially today?”
Kate smiles smugly. “I called Sabrina.”
I freeze in the process of reaching for my jacket. “What?”
“This is what you’re paying her for. We need people to think you’re dating her seriously, but more important, we need the right people to think that. The whole reason you’re doing this is to convince people like Jarod Lanham that you’re stable and trustworthy. You need her there.”
I groan.
Kate tilts her head. “Why are you so resistant? Isn’t this the plan?”
I shove my hand through the sleeve of my jacket with less care than the expensive garment deserves. “I’m not resistant.”
Kate crosses her arms. “Yes, you are. Spill.”
“We’re not talking about this,” I mutter, heading toward the door.
Hell, I don’t even want to think about this. I don’t want to think about the fact that my stomach knotted at the thought of seeing Sabrina, not because of hate, not even because of want, but because after last weekend . . .
I worry I could start to enjoy her. Enjoy us.
To an extent I’ve always enjoyed what we have—the bickering, the sex. Definitely the sex.
But this past weekend, even around the frustration and exhaustion, there was something else there. Potential. Potential that the two of us share something deeper.
Sure, she wants me dead. And there were a handful of times I’d have happily strangled her. But counterintuitively, there was a strange easiness between us, too. Almost as though our mutual wariness of the other person and romantic entanglements frees us up to be our true selves. With each other.
I’m annoyed she’s coming to lunch. Not because I don’t want her there.
But because I do.
Makes sense, right? Crap.
“She’ll meet you there,” Kate says bossily, following me down the hallway toward the elevators. “Your reservations are at noon under your name. The Sams and Lanham have twelve thirty reservations, so your being at the same restaurant should seem coincidental instead of desperate stalker.”
I punch the elevator button and look down at her. “How the hell do you know these things? Not only that he’s in town and having lunch but also the when and where?”
She smiles. “As if I’d reveal my methods.”
“You’re damn good at your job,” I say as the elevator doors open.
“I know.”
I step inside and turn to face her. “I’m grateful.”
Kate rolls her eyes. “I know that, too.”
“Anything you don’t know?” I ask with a grin.
“What happened with you and Sabrina all those years ago?” she says hopefully.
My smile drops, and the elevator doors close, saving me from responding. As if I could.
I’m not sure I even know what happened.
14
SABRINA
Tuesday Midday, September 26
“You’re late,” I say, not glancing up from my phone as Matt comes through the front door of the restaurant.
“Does anybody like you?” he mutters irritably, crossing his arms as he stands in front of me.
I grin. “Lara does. She asked me to be a bridesmaid.” I can’t help it. Two days later, I’m still riding high on that one.
His gaze searches my face, and when he smiles back, I have the strange sense he gets what the invitation meant to me. “Yeah?”
“Yup.”
His smile gets wider. “Excellent. I’m one of the best men. Maybe we can walk down the aisle together.”
I purse my lips. “Actually, now that you mention it, it’s a church wedding. I’m pretty sure your skin will burn off if you try to enter the building.”
“Ha-ha,” he says drily. “Shall we?” He puts a hand at the small of my back and nudges me toward the desk.
Matt checks in with the hostess, who motions for us to follow her.
He extends a hand, gesturing for me to precede him. Amateur. I ignore this, instead looping my arm in his and tugging him forward.
“Say something charming,” I whisper.
“Your ass looks amazing in that dress,” he says under his breath.
I let out a low chuckle so that anyone watching assumes we’re sharing an intimate inside joke, but my words are chastising. “I said charming not horny.”
“Compliments are charming.”
“Sure. Compliments on smiles. Hair. A woman’s ass, not so much. No wonder you’re single.”
He glances down at me. “I’m not single at the moment. I have you.”
I open my mouth, ready to sling back a tart retort, but . . . I don’t have one.
I have you.
I know what he means. He’s hired me to pretend he’s no longer single. But for a moment, the idea that we have each other felt . . . nice.
“Thanks for coming today,” he says quietly. “I didn’t find out about Kate’s plan until after she already called you.”
I feel oddly disappointed that it was Kate’s idea to call and not his.
He puts his lips to my ear. “Say you’re welcome.”
His proximity sends a quick ripple of awareness down my spine, and the way I lean into him, just slightly, isn’t even faked, though I hope like hell he won’t know that.
“Here we are!” the hostess announces, motioning us toward the center of the room.
It’s not a great table, right in the middle of all the foot traffic, but for what we need it for, it’s perfect. It’ll be impossible to miss Matt’s bosses when they come in. Or for them to miss us.
“So what’s our play?” I ask, picking up the menu once we’re seated. “Cocktail with lunch to signal we’re on a midday date or iced tea to show your new responsible side?”
“Cocktail,” he mutters. “Definitely cocktail.”
I look at him more carefully, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just want a damn drink. And lucky for me, The Sams are of the Mad Men era, three-martini-lunch mind-set,” he says. “They’d be more skeptical if I wasn’t drinking.”
I continue to study him. He looks mostly the same as always. Impeccably styled blond hair. Blue eyes that can go from playful to guarded in the span of a single breath. His suit’s a dark navy today, the slim silver tie keeping the look modern and sharp instead of corporate dowdy.
But there’s a restlessness about him, alongside the weariness. Even as he studies the menu, I can tell his brain’s elsewhere.
“You’re nervous,” I say quietly, so none of the neighboring tables can hear.
His eyes snap up. “What would I be nervous about?”
“You tell me.” Normally I’d call him out on his mood swings, but instinct tells me to tread carefully. “This client. He’s important?”
“Kate didn’t tell you who it is?”
I shake my head. “No. Just said that Matt’s ‘girlfriend’ was needed, that it was important.”
“It’s Jarod Lanham.”
I blink. I don’t get starstruck by name-dropping very often, but even I can appreciate the wow factor of one of the world’s most watched billionaires entering the Wall Street sphere. “Well. Crap. He’s like . . . your spirit animal.”
His smile flashes, and I’m relieved to see that it’s a real one.