“Am I overdressed?” I ask as the car pulls up in front of a building in Hell’s Kitchen, Maison Noir etched on a gold plate next to a nondescript wooden door. The nearly thirty-minute drive through the typical Manhattan traffic was unnerving as I attempted to ignore the sizzling electricity between us.
“Are you kidding me?” Julian leans toward me when the driver steps out. “I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you yet. You look incredible.”
“We’re alone,” I remind him with a trite smile. “You can drop the act.”
My door opens, allowing me a brief reprieve from Julian’s intensity before he rushes out of the car himself, hurrying to catch up.
“What makes you think it’s all an act?” His hand rests on the small of my back as he leads me toward the building.
Now that we’re on display, I pass him an enamored look, doing my best to give off the impression I’m head over heels in love with him. I can play his game just as well as he. A minor in theater not a wise choice, Mom? Well, I’m about to put all those acting classes to use.
“Let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is, Julian.” My voice is sickly sweet, a complete contradiction to the words I speak. Facing him, I stand on my toes, my lips hovering near his. I sense his composure crack when I exhale, my breath ghosting over his mouth. His grip on me tightens, his jaw clenching. His reaction gives me an added boost of confidence.
“And what is this, Guinevere?”
“Two people who agreed to have dinner to discuss the potential of entering into a business arrangement.” I move my lips along his jawline, every inch of him seeming to harden as I lean into the crook of his neck. “Nothing more.”
I linger for a moment longer, then abruptly pull back, swaying my hips as I head into the restaurant without waiting for him. I can sense the heat of his gaze on me and silently thank Chloe and Nora for their dating advice. I still have the upper hand. That’s exactly what I need if I’m to get through tonight without this guy becoming number four. Officially.
When Julian finally joins me, he acts as if he weren’t about to slam me against the wall and kiss me in a way Trevor never did. I hoped he’d be on edge and out of sorts, just like I felt when I first saw him stroll into Chloe’s apartment. Instead, he’s as collected as I remember him from our first meeting, an air of authority in his voice when he gives the ma?tre d’ his name.
“Of course, Monsieur Gage,” he says in a thick French accent, winking. There’s a hint of familiarity between the two. I wonder if Julian brings all his dates here. Worse, I wonder if he’s proposed this sort of arrangement to other women in the past. I have no reason to believe he hasn’t. Why does my chest tighten at the idea of me being another one in what I can only assume to be a long list of women?
“Guinevere?” Julian’s voice cuts through. I dart my gaze to his, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Certainly, darling.” I grit a smile and step toward him.
As we follow the ma?tre d’ into the dining area, I focus my attention on the décor in an effort to ignore the warmth emanating from Julian’s hand resting just above my waist. The place is all dim lighting, intimate tables, and mirrored walls, making the room appear bigger than it actually is. With it being New York, space is at a premium, but we’re tucked away in a corner, giving us privacy, which will prove useful for our discussions.
Once we each have a glass of wine in front of us and have placed our orders, I pull my phone from my clutch and open the “notes” application, scanning the points I’d typed out earlier.
I look at him, my expression serious. “First, if I’m to agree to this, I’d like to establish boundaries. Obviously, there will have to be a certain level of physical contact, but there needs to be a line. Sex is absolutely out of the question.” I look down, my face heating, the confidence I’d felt earlier dissipating now that we’re getting into the nitty-gritty of what will and won’t be permitted in our fake relationship. “I’d prefer we not—”
“Guinevere,” Julian’s soft voice interrupts as his hand grabs mine. I snap my eyes to his, an innate response my brain has somehow learned in only a few days’ time. “Put the phone away.”
“But—”
He brings my hand up to his lips, his gaze unwavering. The seconds stretch as he nuzzles against my knuckles, but doesn’t kiss them. Regardless, the roughness of his unshaven jaw against my flesh causes a tingle to trickle down my spine. Then he looks out of the corner of his eye, as if trying to tell me something.
As cautiously as possible, I shift my gaze toward the entrance of the restaurant, my breath hitching when I see Trevor walk in with Theresa, his hand on the small of her back as they’re led toward a table. He holds out the chair for her, something he’s never done for me, at least not that I can remember.
“How—”
“Don’t you want him to think we’re together? Considering he appears to have moved on, as well.”
“I suppose, but—”
“Then you need to put the phone away. People who are into each other don’t spend dinner on their cells. We’ll have this discussion, which appears to be extremely important to you, but we’ll do so without the talking points you’ve already made notes of. Like I said, dating is simply a game. The ref just blew the first whistle.”
Doing my best not to look at Trevor to see if he’s noticed me sitting here with Julian, I pull my hand away, discreetly pushing my phone back into my purse before reaching for my wine glass, swirling it.
“I still haven’t agreed to anything,” I remind him.
“I think you just did, baby doll.” He winks.
“I—”
“You could have easily ignored my request. But you didn’t. So that tells me there’s a part of you, however small, that wants Trevor to think we’re together.”
I raise my glass, taking a sip of the full-bodied red, allowing it to warm my stomach. It’s robust with a hint of spice, the perfect pairing for the filet mignon I ordered. If Julian’s treating me to dinner, I may as well take advantage and go for the gold.
“What I want Trevor to think and what he actually does are two different things. Yes, he was jealous when he intercepted the flowers you sent. However, as I pointed out during our conversation, he did accuse me of only dating you to make him jealous. So, regardless of what I agree to, that will always be in the back of his mind. That we’re only together for a juvenile purpose.”
“Juvenile?”
“Yes. Juvenile.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. My expression remains amorous, as if I’m murmuring my deepest desires to this intriguing man. “Even you must admit it’s something you’d do in high school. Your smart, studious, perfect boyfriend breaks up with you, so you get back at him by dating the school flirt. The one who seems to go through women like toilet paper. The one who could get any girl he wants, but he somehow decides to clean up his act with the theater geek. I’ve already seen that movie. Hell, I lived that movie in high school. I’m not sure I’m interested in a sequel.”
Julian’s gaze remains resolute, unaffected by my outburst. When he brings his hands in front of his face, he tents them, his fingers brushing against his lips in quiet contemplation.
“Then perhaps we should forget about my original proposal altogether.”
My mouth grows slack as I cock my head at him. “Forget about it?”
I’m not sure what my end game was, but I didn’t expect him to call it quits before our meals even arrived. And I was really looking forward to that steak. Did I overplay my hand? I wish Chloe and Nora were here to tell me what to do.