Page 54 of The Wild Card

He turns to face me, hands in his pockets. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Sir?”

“The girlfriend. The relationship.” He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve known you for six years, Jensen. You’ve always been closed off. Professional to a fault. I figured you’d die alone in that apartment with that cat you complain about.”

“Murphy’s not technically my cat.”

“My point is—” He pauses, glancing across the room at Emmie, who is laughing at something Margaret said. “She’s good for you. I can see it. You’re different tonight. Lighter.”

I don’t know how to respond.

I find Emmie in the crowd, watching her gesture animatedly while Margaret hangs on every word. The emerald dress catches the light. Her smile is bright, genuine, lighting up her whole face.

She’s not faking anything. That’s just who she is—warm, open, and effortlessly charming. She walked into a room full of strangers and made them love her in under an hour.

She walked into my life and did the same.

I’m heading back to Emmie when a hand claps my shoulder.

“Well, well, well.”

Foster. Of course.

He’s in a suit, drink in hand, grinning like Christmas came early. His eyes cut past me to where Emmie’s chatting with Margaret.

“Damn, dude,” he says. “The dress is… wow.”

“Foster.”

“I’m just observing. Objectively.” He takes a sip of his drink, still staring. “You know, when she showed up at happy hour, I thought okay, she’s cute. But this?” He gestures vaguely in her direction. “This is a whole different level.”

I follow his gaze—the emerald silk, the curve of her waist, the way her whole face lights up when she laughs. He’s not wrong. She’s stunning tonight. I’ve known that since she walked out of her bedroom and my brain stopped working.

I don’t need Foster pointing it out.

“Stop staring at her.”

His mouth quirks. “I’m admiring. There’s a difference.”

“There’s not.”

He grins, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax. I’m not going to steal your fake girlfriend.” A pause. “Unless you want me to. Because if she’s too much woman for you—”

“She’s not.”

“—I’m happy to take her off your hands. You know, as a favor. Between friends.”

My jaw tightens. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” He claps my shoulder again. “Come on. Let’s go say hi. I want to see you try to act like a normal boyfriend in front of our boss.”

Before I can stop him, he’s already walking toward her.

Emmie looks up as we approach, her smile widening when she sees me. Then she spots Foster and waves. “Hey! Happy hour guy.”

“That’s me.” Foster grins. “Though I prefer ‘devastatingly handsome work partner,’ if we’re being formal.”

“I’ll take it under consideration.” She’s already laughing, relaxed with him in a way that took me days to earn.