“Other than offering a jaw dropping view,” I say. “The Fifth offers a unique experience you’re unlikely to find on any other rooftop in the city.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement.
“During the colder months, you can reserve a heated igloo, complete with fake fur blankets?—”
“Heated igloos? No way.”
“You have to see it to believe it. After the recent renovations, the owner went all out. The outdoor movie nights inside custom-built igloos for the winter months are a crowd favorite. Each igloo has a flat screen TV encased in a box, made to look like an old-fashioned 60s style television.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“When it snows, it gives a reverse snow globe affect.”
She shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”
“We’ll have to come back when the igloos are up.” The suggestion slips from my lips before I can think better of it.
She arches a brow as if to say,this fake relationship is temporary.Winter is a lifetime away.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, putting an end to the awkward moment.
“You’ve made big promises. I can’t wait to see if you’ve oversold The Fifth rooftop bar.”
“Here’s the deal,” I say. “If you’re not absolutely satisfied, we’ll give you your money back. No questions asked.”
She cracks up.
Making her laugh is my new favorite hobby.
I extend a hand.
She tucks her clutch under her arm and takes my hand.
Like every time I touch her, it’s like sticking my finger in an electric socket.
Chapter 28
My best resting bitch face
Harley
Kaz is debating with three other men about a recent draft for a team—a young guy from Sweden. I can’t remember if it’s Los Angeles or Las Vegas. Everyone here is well-versed in hockey. I’m not. The conversations go way over my head.
I’ll have to beef up my knowledge for my new position because it seems like I need to eat, breathe, and sleep hockey for any social events that require a fake girlfriend.
I drop my champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray and turn to face Kaz.
He stops talking, his blue eyes colliding into mine.
He’s so in tune with my every need.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say.
“All right. I’ll still be here, explaining to these guys why Las Vegas got it wrong with their pick.”
The men chuckle.
I make my way through the crowded terrace, packed with two hundred people who didn’t hesitate to drop an ungodly amount of money on a plate to support athletically gifted kids. I sail past a photographer corralling a group of six smiling, rich people for a photo.
