Oh my God. My stare widened at her, my eyes almost popping out. She just shrugged at me, as if that wasn’t TMI to share. He’d probably figured it out on his own after this morning, but still.
Another chortle but more amused. “Can you be a good girl and tell me if she is listening to our conversation?”
“She absolutely is.”
I wanted to cry.
“Well, Gabriella, if you really want that date, you gotta ask me yourself.”
Asshole. I shook my head, as if he could see me.
“Va bene. Ciao.”
Zoey silently screamed at me, her face that of a puffer fish again.
Panicking, I cleared my throat. “Mr. Zappa…”
“Fab,” he insisted.
God help me. “As you wish, Fab.”
“Yes, Gabriella?”
His calm, taunting tone made me want to strangle it in his throat. “Would you…like to…come with me to the…” I couldn’t believe I was propositioning an escort to come with me to the Indie Publisher Association Award ceremony.
“Come with you where?”
You know exactly where, you treacherous, gorgeous, Italian James Bond. I cleared my throat again and took a deep breath. “A boring literary event that poses as a masquerade at the Peninsula hotel tonight at eight. I understand if it doesn’t interest you or if you’re busy because it’s such a short notice—”
“What are you doing?” Zoey mouthed.
I had no clue, but I hated this whole situation, and I just wanted it over. That Fab boy was a douche, and I had a feeling if he agreed, on top of spying on us, he’d make my night a living hell.
The long pause on the other end of the phone was nerve-racking and exasperating. Like he was actually deliberating whether he should accept. Like he wasn’t sent to do exactly that.
Fuck it. I didn’t want to do it anymore. There must be another way to call Fletcher on his shit.
“I’d love to,” he said.
Zoey raised a hand for a high-five, but I ignored her and ignored the thump of my heart. Like he might have said no, and now we were excited that he didn’t? Of course he was going to accept. He was being paid by Fletcher to do it.
It’s just a theory. What if his interest in you is genuine?
That outrageous assumption freaked me out more than the possibility of Fletcher sending a spy to Brighton.
When I didn’t say anything for a while, Zoey spoke for me. “Thank you, Fab. Do you have the hotel address?”
“I’ll pick her up at seven-thirty if she gives me hers,” he said. “We’re supposed to be dating, not two strangers meeting for the first time at a hotel.”
“Good thinking. It’s the penthouse of the same building where Brighton is.”
Great, now he’ll see inside my place, too?
“Dress code?” he asked. Very professional.
“Black tie please and a mask.”
“I’ll be there. Can’ wait to see you in that black dress, Gabriella.” I almost saw his wink.
