“Leon is one of those classic outdoors kinds of guys. A man’s man,” I say. Brielle’s head snaps toward me, but she doesn’t say anything. “He’s successful at the size he’s at, but he lets his emotions lead the way too much. He has no poker face, especially when he gets excited about something.”
“So, he’s kind?” she asks, a smirk playing at her lips as she eyes me in a challenge.
“Sure. He’s kind. But that doesn’t make for a good businessman.”
“Says who?”
The man who’s taught me everything I know about owning a successful business. My father. If it weren’t for his divorce some years back, he would have an empire in the media and advertising industry. Like the one I’m trying to build now.
Instead of saying any of that, I move on. “Pam is his wife. Like Leon, she’s apparently all about relationships and people. Except, unlike Leon, I get the feeling she doesn’t give anyone the benefit of the doubt first.”
“Smart woman,” Brielle says. “What about us? You said that they think we’re together, right? Should we have a story prepared?”
I hadn’t really thought about the optics of bringing Brielle to dinner tonight, but the idea of walking in with her on my arm sends a shock of possessiveness through me.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice deep. “We met at a party. I asked for your number, and like a good girl, you gave it to me. That was six months ago.”
A shiver runs through Brielle, whether from the skimpy dress or not, I can’t say. But I like to think it was for me. Not that it matters when she’s my employee and fake date for the evening.
We’re nearly at the restaurant when I pull over to the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Is it my imagination or is her voice breathier than it was before?
“I don’t show up early. It makes you look desperate and foolish,” I tell her. “Besides, we need to finish this conversation.”
Brielle wets her lip, my gaze glued to the peek of tongue poking out. When I lift my eyes to hers, I find her looking at me expectantly.
“How do you know I didn’t ask for your number?” she smirks.
“I wouldn’t have given you the chance,” I tell her.
She laughs like she thinks I’m kidding, and maybe I am. If I saw Brielle Collins just like this—a bright smile, humor dancing in her eyes, laughter bubbling up so easily—I would stay well clear of her. Someone like her could make a man want things he has no business wanting.
A few minutes have passed, so I maneuver back into traffic and pull up to the valet.
Time to put on a show.
Chapter 6
Brielle
Thediminteriorisbathed in a soft candlelight glow. Music is quietly playing in the background, almost too low to be heard over the sophisticated murmurings of the patrons. Everything is either white, gold, or glass as I glance around and take in the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been to.
Damian tells the maître d’ the name the reservation is under.
Apparently, Leon and Pam Vitale are already here. The maître d’ takes my long puffer coat and hands me a ticket, all without batting an eye. Everyone here is dressed to the nines, and I imagine my puffy jacket sitting on a rack surrounded by furs and designer coats.
I pull at my dress as my belly erupts in a flurry of butterflies. It reminds me of my freshman year of high school when I joined the drama club. I auditioned for a small part as the townsperson in the production ofOur Town. I bombed the audition so badly that they gave me the role of hay bale, where I had to sit in the itchiest costume ever in the back of the stage for ninety minutes.
With a too-quick breath, I squash down my nerves, offering Damian a tentative smile.
“It’ll be fine,” he reassures me quietly, like he can see the panic that’s growing inside of me. I appreciate his encouragement, until he adds sharply, “Just don’t screw this up for me.”
His haughtiness actually helps. I huff out a chuckle, stretching my mouth into a happy smile, and gaze at him adoringly. “I’m enchanting to be around. Can you say the same?”
“Enchanting, no. Tolerable… sometimes.”
I think he made a joke, but before I can process it, we’re coming to a stop at a table in the center of the room. A middle-aged couple grins at us with obvious delight. The man is weather-beaten, deep lines creasing his skin, but the twinkle in his eye shines too bright to notice anything else. The lady next to him looks chic and classy, almost in complete contrast to her husband’s rugged exterior. Her eyes aren’t twinkling though. They have a shrewdness about them that throws me off-balance, like she can see under my skin.
