Escorting the Billionaire (The Escort Collection 1)

Steady girl, I thought. Unfortunately, I felt anything but.

* * *

James didn’t stare, or even really look at me, on the ride to the restaurant. Kai averted his eyes as well, which I took as a good sign.

“Are we going to stay together?” I asked James. He was staring at his phone, tapping out messages on it impatiently.

“We should,” he said. “That way, we can hear each other’s answers and stay on the same page.”

“Okay,” I said. I was feeling almost sick with nerves, and I realized it had to be worse for him. “Are you normally affectionate with your girlfriends in front of your family?”

“No,” he said, reaching over and grabbing my hand. “So we should be.”

Kai pulled the car expertly up to a street in the North End and double-parked out front. He opened the door and smiled without looking at me.

Apparently James had given him another talking to.

“See ya later,” I said to him anyway, smiling at him warmly and flagrantly violating the rules.

James grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Behave,” he said.

“That’s what I’m here for,” I said innocently.

He pulled me to the front of the restaurant: Le Ciel, read the sign, in fancy script.

“French?” I asked.

“My family’s old school,” he said, stopping to adjust his tie.

“Let me,” I said and fixed the knot. “Remember, we’re in love.”

He gave me a small smile; behind it, I thought I saw his temples pulse. He was stressed. I reached for his hand again and squeezed it. “Let’s go have a drink,” I said.

“Let’s stay drunk for the next two weeks,” he said and led me through the door.

Then maybe we’ll end up in bed, I thought, ignoring the clench of desire that tore through me at the thought. I looked at James as we walked through the door: tall, steel-grey hair, powerful shoulders, a square-cut chin. He was expensive looking.

He was also totally clench-worthy.

I heard him suck in his breath as he took in the restaurant; it was wall-to-wall fancy people, probably all related to him in one way or another. I suddenly wished I wasn’t wearing cubic zirconia. A waspy-looking woman with a white-blond bob was already heading for us. She was wearing a classic Chanel pink suit and a string of pearls.

“Is that your mom?” I asked James through the fake smile I’d plastered on.

“Yep.”

“She’s petrifying,” I said.

“Absofuckinglutely,” he said, and I saw that he’d plastered on a smile, too.

She reached us before we were ready for her, before we’d even had a chance to catch our breath.

“James,” she said, reaching out and giving him a hug, careful not to get makeup on his suit coat.

“Mother,” he said, and he did not sound friendly, even though the fake smile was still in place. He pulled back and grabbed my hand. “This is Audrey Reynolds.”

“Mrs. Preston,” I said, holding out my hand to her.