“I’m your best friend. That’s literally my job.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Daniel doesn’t have to care about your animation dreams or remember that you mentioned them once but he does.”
“It’s still a terrible idea.”
“Oh, absolutely. This is going to blow up in your face spectacularly.” She picks up her wine glass. “But at least you’ll get paid for it.”
I giggle. “You’re supposed to talk me out of bad decisions.”
“No, I’m supposed to support you through them.” She clinks her glass against mine. “To terrible ideas and the money that makes them slightly less terrible.”
“To terrible ideas,” I echo.
We drink, and then Gretchen leans back against the couch. “So when is the first event?”
“Thursday. Investor dinner at the Four Seasons.”
Her eyes light up. “Fancy. What are you wearing?”
“I have no idea. I don’t exactly own ‘billionaire’s girlfriend’ clothes.”
“Then we’re going shopping tomorrow. No arguments.”
“Gretchen …”
“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right. You’re about to walk into a room full of people who will judge you for everything from your shoes to your nail polish. You need armor because, well, you need to show those rich motherfuckers exactly what you’ve got.”
8
Daniel
I’ve been to a hundred of these events, maybe more. I stopped counting years ago when investor dinners and charity galas became another part of running a company. It’s always a performance, forcing smiles, shaking hands, and pretending I care about champagne and small talk. But tonight feels different because tonight, I’m bringing Bailey.
I arrive early, which is unlike me. I usually arrive on time, make my rounds, and leave as soon as possible. But tonight, I need the extra minutes to settle my nerves.
The Four Seasons library is quiet and private. I asked them to hold it for me until Bailey arrived because the last thing I need is photographers catching us before we’re ready.
I stand at the window, watching the city lights blur into rivers of gold and white below. My reflection, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo with a straight tie and carefully combed hair, stares back at me in the glass. I look every part the perfect CEO everyone expects me to be.
Except my hands won’t stop fidgeting in my pockets.
I pull them out and flex my fingers before shoving them back in again. This is ridiculous. I’m nervous about a fake datewith an employee I’ve already slept with. The absurdity would be funny if my career didn’t depend on this going well.
The door opens behind me.
I turn around to see who’s entering.
And I suck in a breath.
Bailey stands in the doorway wearing an emerald-colored dress. The deep green silk skims her curves without clinging, falls to just above her knees, and shows enough shoulder to be elegant without being obvious. Her dark hair is pulled back on one side while falling in soft waves over the other shoulder. She’s wearing minimal jewelry and just enough makeup to make her eyes look impossibly large.
She’s absolutely stunning.
Not in the polished, artificial way of the women who usually attend these things. There’s something real about her. Something warm. Something that makes me confident that every other person in that ballroom will look like they’re trying too hard compared to her natural beauty.
“Is this okay?” She touches the dress self-consciously. “Gretchen said emerald, but I wasn’t sure if it was too much or not enough or—”
“You look perfect.”
The words come out more honest than I should allow.
