Page 42 of This is a Kissing Book

“And I don’t see any evidence of lost manuscripts or priceless pieces of art hidden in the floorboards.”

Unless it’s the one Aiken was talking about.

Gripping my elbow, Linc ushers me toward a hallway as I watch new money and old money intermingling—confirming my assumptions about the kind of party the son of a billionaire would attend.

The hallway is mercifully, relatively quiet.

“You should’ve told me to wear my feather-covered bell-bottoms and non-coordinating glow-in-the-dark shirt made out of tissue paper.”

“Do you own those?”

“Absolutely not. But really, why are we here?” I demand.

He opens and then closes a door, shielding his eyes as if he saw something that he can never unsee and is desperate for a packet of bleach wipes. “Because this is the kind of thing that requires two people.”

I only briefly saw what was behind the door and cannot imagine a world in which Linc would entertain doing that with me, especially after he dated Iva.

Iva Katz, the famous actress, to be clear.

She started as an adorable child star with a cutesy catch phrase, developed into a beautiful young woman featured with the hottest heartthrobs, and then, perhaps gripped firmly in the clutches of fame, decided that playing the Baroness in the saga titled “Mutant Harems of Love Mountain” was a good idea.

But who am I to judge? I’m a self-avowed “The Sweetheart Report” addict.

Even underneath all that makeup, she’s undeniably gorgeous.

“We need two people, how? Why?” I ask when we reach the door at the end of the corridor.

“Please be the lookout.”

I’m torn, unable to easily say no to his polite use of the word please. “That’s the third time in our entire relationship⁠—”

He tilts his head in question.

“I meant that’s the third time in our hate-tionship that you’ve said please, so, sure. I’ll be the lookout. I like polite Linc.”

Whether I’ll get a polite Mr. Sullivan on Monday is TBD.

Giving me a nod like we’re two commandos in enemy territory, he slips through the door. I stand with my back to it, keeping time to the beat of the music and running through scenarios.

If a team of security guards approaches and questions me, I’ll plead the Fifth.

Should the neon gorilla on stilts try to stampede, I’ll trip him.

If Aiken appears, I’m running. I’ll bust through the wall if I have to. I don’t care if that foils Linc’s plans. Our host is an unhinged circus person whose brain seems to be broken, given what I heard about his viral demo channel.

Only a few women, looking for the bathroom, make their way toward me, and must decide that one person, me, doesn’t form a substantial line, so the loo must be elsewhere.

It’s been almost three minutes and I fear Linc abandoned me when the door opens. He gives his head a shake. “That wasn’t it.”

“It might be helpful to know what it is.”

“You’re clever, what’s the one piece missing from the Fairfax Collection?”

I frown, itemizing the art in my mind, but don’t reach an answer before Iva calls out, “Thanks for stopping by, Linc-y. Always a pleasure. Bring your girlfriend again next time.”

She wouldn’t get an award for that performance, because the way she said girlfriend tells me she knows that’s not who I am to Linc. Not that I’d want to be.

Ew. Gross.