There were worse things than cohabitating with your client turned fake boyfriend, right?
I chewed the lipstick from my lower lip and shot a nervous glance at Reid. I hadn’t exactly brought cocktail attire to his apartment, but I did own at least four Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses. I threw on a white one and added my fake green crocodile heels and prayed that my hair would stay in the tight bun I’d fastened just above my neck.
I even added makeup.
A real effort took place!
I think it probably helped that Reid had some of the best bathroom lighting I’d ever seen. It was the type that made you look half your normal size as well as tan, something I’d never been accused of in my entire life. If anything, my paleness just made me more invisible.
“You look good,” Reid muttered in a hoarse voice once we were walking toward the restaurant. I’d pretended to be busy checking my messages in the cab while he stared longingly out the window, probably wishing he could simply jump out of the car and be done with the whole charade. It’s not like it had been a cakewalk for me either.
I was going to have to line up TV interviews, do a press release, and try to appear shrewlike while also enamored with him while filming. Just the thought of it had my head aching. Granted, it was my job, but he was adding a crap load more work onto what I usually had to do, and all he needed to do was smile and wave. To add insult to injury, I was going to be in the spotlight as well, and it’s not like I was comfortable with it, not even a little bit.
I sighed. At least he was easy on the eyes.
But his personality left much to be desired.
“Thanks.” I held my head high as he opened the door to Barbour, a high-end bar and grill in Upper Manhattan.
A couple exited the restaurant, nearly colliding with me in the process. I barely managed to sidestep them when someone else ran into me from behind.
“Sorry,” I managed to croak out.
Reid frowned, then pulled me firmly against his side. “Seriously, people can be so rude.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine; it happens . . . often.”
“What? People being rude to you?”
“No.” Because at least then they would see me. “People not watching where they’re going . . .”
He nodded and ushered me through the door. I stopped at the hostess booth, but Reid kept walking, so I followed him back. We walked through black velvet curtains and into a large room with a table set for eight.
Max was already seated, a beautiful girl with short, dark-blonde hair by his side, her smile captivating and fun. She was wearing a miniature black cocktail dress and had some killer leather wrap bracelets on her left wrist. I always noticed jewelry—thought it said a lot about a person.
Her jewelry screamed fun.
Not pretentious, or even psychotic, which was the most surprising thing of all, considering she was marrying Max.
As if reading my thoughts, he jerked his head to the side and made eye contact with me. “Well, well, well, the fake orgasm girl. Glad you could make it.”
He stood.
A guy sitting next to him choked on his drink while a girl with blonde hair launched herself across the table and patted him on the back, spilling water in his lap. He screamed, then jerked away, only to bump his knee on the chair and fall to the ground.
“So.” Max barely gave the scene a second glance as he yawned and continued talking. “The accident waiting to happen, aka the bastard on the floor, is Jason. Don’t ask him about his black eye, he’ll just get pissed.” He stood and made his way over to me. “Also, the one causing said accidents, that’s Milo. She’s my ex–best friend.” He whispered in a low voice, “My fiancée gets that title now.” He blew the girl in the black dress a kiss. Her response was to swat it out of the air and grab a giant glass of wine, tilting it back until it was gone. Smart woman.
“And this”—Max wrapped his arm around me—“is Colton.”
Colton stood and offered his hand. “Milo, the accident causer’s other half.”
I nodded and shook his hand. “Great to meet you.”
“So.” Colt crossed his arms. “Fake orgasms? Do I even want to know? And what the hell does Max have hanging over your head that he forced you into our monthly get-together?”
“Oh.” I took the drink from Max’s hand. “I doubt you’d believe me.”
“You’d be shocked what I’d believe where this one’s concerned.” He nodded to Max. “Also, I’d start with the hard stuff right away. Wine won’t work when he’s in the room.”
“Please.” Max sniffed. “I’m standing right here and I make your freaking sun shine, Colt. Just remember, I helped you win your wife. Without me you’d be a lonely bastard with blue balls.”
“Let’s leave his balls out of it.” Milo rounded the corner. “Hey, I’m Milo. Are you Reid’s date?”
“Uh.” I shifted uncomfortably in my heels. “Kind of.”
“She’s his roommate,” Max added helpfully. “And his publicist.”
“Oh.” Milo frowned. “Is that normal?”