I feel like I’ve had my knees knocked out from under me. My mother can be direct, even mean, but this feels like a low blow—even for her. I’m used to her undermining my career or criticizing my fashion choices, but I don’t know why it hurts so much to hear her insinuate I might ‘move on’ from Owen. Yes, he’s technically my fake fiancé, but she doesn’t know that. And Isaac left me! But maybe it was my fault—maybe I am too much work. Maybe I do always fall a little short.
I let my hand fall from Owen’s grip; this wasn’t fair to him. He signed up to wear a suit, eat some tuna tartare, and pretend he’s known me for more than twelve hours. But as soon as our hands part, he reaches around my waist and tugs me to his side, his fingers digging protectively into my hip.
“Liv’s company, RootDown, is the fastest-growing startup in the wellness space, with over 800,000 members, and is on track to triple its valuation in the next five years. She led the design overhaul that improved member retention by nearly fifty percent.” He looks down andkisses the top of my head. “She was also recognized with the Ada Lovelace Award for Innovation in Human-Computer Interaction—something only a handful of people in her field have achieved, and no one at her age. So you’re right; she has me enamored because she’s badass. But also, because I respect her, and it’s a bit shortsighted not to give her the credit she deserves.”
My mother’s eyes go wide, but I hardly notice because I’m staring at Owen. No one, and I mean no one, has ever defended me to my mother. Spenser tried when we both lived at home, but he always backed down when my mother’s claws came out. I do not know how Owen figured all that out about me, but it sends a warm surge through my body. Owen’s hand is still digging into my hip, and he hasn’t broken his stare with my mother. I slide my hand around his waist, under his suit jacket, and turn into his chest. He looks down at me and strums his thumb over the ruching on the side of my dress, his breathing elevated.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I whisper.
He nods, “Yeah, Button, I do.”
Chapter 8
Owen
“Liv, I’m so sorry,” I whisper as soon as the valet disappears to get my car. She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t let go of my hand either—still clutching it like she has since we walked out of the ballroom. I remind myself it’s just part of the act, a performance until we’re out of sight of her parents and their curious friends.
I can’t believe I spoke to her mother like that. But that same instinct I felt in the bar last night—that primal need to protect her—came rushing back the moment Marlowe Arden started picking her apart. From the way she wore her hair—those gorgeous, soft curls she called “messy.” To what she ate—I thought she might actually slap Liv’s hand. To her career, which, from what I learned earlier, thanks to a deep dive on Google, is nothing short of exceptional.
My rental car appears over the rise of the driveway, and I wait while the valet holds the door open for Liv as she tucks her dress inside. After tipping the guy, I hurry around to the driver’s side. I glance at Liv, but she’s just staring straight ahead. I’m ready to beg for forgiveness, call her an Uber, or even go back inside and apologize to her parents—whatever it takes to get her to talk to me again.
“I’m starving,” she says, turning to flash me a wry smile, like I hadn’t just insulted her mother within minutes of meeting her. “Want to go get pizza in North Beach?”
“Um…” I stammer, “Yeah, I do.” And I ease the car out of the yacht club parking lot and head across town.
“How did you know all that about me?” she asks as we walk away from the late-night pizza stand. She’s balancing a slice of pepperoni on a plate and wearing my suit jacket. I like the way it looks on her.
I take a bite of my slice before shrugging, “Google?” The fact was, I spent so much time looking her up online this afternoon that I felt like a creepy stalker.
“Why?” She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and I worry that she also thinks I’m a creepy stalker. But the look in her eyes—something like hope and maybe gratitude—allows me to answer.
“I guess I wanted to make sure I was prepared for tonight. Before meeting a potential client, I do as much research as I can to make sure I come across as interested and well-informed. I was meeting your parents and people who would obviously know the specifics of your life.”
Liv nods, but the light in her eyes fades just a little. Her smile doesn’t quite reach the corners of her mouth. I clear my throat, suddenly unsure. “But I also meant what I said to your mother.” I glance at her, trying to read her face. “You’re…you’re the most fascinating person I think I’ve ever met.”
“Your newest client, Senator Langford, was raised in a cult, practically kidnapped her three younger siblings to raise them herself, and now she’s the Democrats’ best shot at the White House,” she counters.
“Like I said, you’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever met,” I say, taking a bite of my pizza to keep from saying too much. Liv seems content with that, and we fall into step again.
“Is the Eli you were visiting in my apartment Elijah Thorne?” she asks when we reach what looks like an abandoned lot turned parklet—string lights stretch between two buildings, casting a soft glow over benches and picnic tables.
“Yeah, he uses a pen name.” I nod towards a small table in the space. It’s buzzing with people eating pizza or ice cream, couples leaning close on benches, families enjoying the rare warm evening.
“Huh,” she muses, taking a seat. “A Pulitzer winner in my building. I thought he was some weirdo holed up in there doing Nigerian prince scams or in the witness protection program.”
I let out a genuine laugh. “Eli is complicated.” I take a sip of my soda. I rarely share details about my clients’ lives, but then again, I never offer to fake date a stranger either. However, something about Liv—the way she carries herself and the little sly glint behind her eyes—makes me want to tell her everything. Hell, she could probably get me to believe she was a Nigerian prince. “Eli had a rough childhood, and then success came fast. I think he hasn’t figured out how to reconcile the two.”
“Who you thought you were and who you end up being?” Liv says. And I nod. “I get that.”
“He just needs someone who believes in him. I want to be that for him,” I say.
“Well, I’ll be nicer to him at the mailbox now that I know he’s not some creepy dude watching internet porn from his penthouse.”
I almost choke on my soda with a surprised laugh, and it pulls a smile from Liv. Suddenly, all I can think about is how to make her do it again.
We watch the delightful chaos in front of us for a few moments—kids darting across a makeshift stage at the back of the lot, dogs sniffing each other, people laughing loudly. Liv pulls my jacket tighter around her shoulders and leans into me, slightly, almost without realizing it. For a second, I almost wish her mother were here to give me an excuse to slip my arm around her.
“So your mom.” I begin cautiously. “Is she always…”
