Faking It with the Frenemy

“You won’t have to do much on the school front. It’s a great place.”

“I agree. And thanks for the recommendation. I wouldn’t have known where to start without you.” And it’s true. Just because I’m a billionaire now—which sounds really weird—doesn’t mean I know everything that goes along with being one.

He checks his watch. “She should be here soon.”

I glance down at mine. Five till. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“She’s always early. One of her many good qualities.”

Right. But she still likes this kind of restaurant. Wonder if she drinks mimosas and nibbles on smoked otoro slices piled on toasted bagels for breakfast. Or maybe not. She could be one of those gluten-free weirdos.

“Don’t be negative,” Dane says. “It’s going to work out. I didn’t make that idiotic bet with my father for nothing.”

He keeps talking about that bet, but won’t tell me exactly what it was. It could’ve been solving a multivariable calculus problem. To Dane, a lot of things are idiotic.

“Or get him drunk. The man’s as immune to alcohol as I am.” A hard, competitive gleam flashes in Dane’s eyes. “Although he’s gotten a bit less immune in his old age.”

“Great job beating your ol’ man.”

Dane doesn’t seem to notice the sarcasm. “He deserved it. And it’s not like he needs his assistant. He’s going on a trip soon.”

In my peripheral vision, I note the hostess bringing a woman in a burgundy dress toward us. Dane shifts in his seat, his expression saying, Finally!

I paste on the pleasant, courteous and entirely meaningless smile I’ve perfected over the last decade with Geneva’s parents. Even though I’m not too crazy about this setup or the super-fancy assistant of Dane’s father who likes to be wined and dined at a restaurant that calls tuna otoro, I owe her some courtesy.

The hostess stops. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.” The assistant turns to us.

My brain stops for a moment as I take her in. She seems unbelievably familiar, but I can’t quite place her. Her eyes are stunning, like warm, dark honey, her cheeks high and smooth. Her soft hair frames her gorgeous face perfectly and flows down her shoulders. The burgundy dress hugs all the dips and valleys of her body, the curves of her incredible breasts, the flare of her hips. Her arms and legs are long and shapely, as elegant as a ballet dancer’s.

Hot lust clenches around my throat, even as my head warns me she isn’t who I think she is. She is more than Salazar Pryce’s assistant.

She smiles politely. “Hi, Dane…and…” Her smile fades away as hostility infuses her otherwise angelic face. I almost expect her to bare fangs at me. “Wyatt?”

The smart voice in my head crows, Told you. But where have I met her? At Sweet Darlings? At Vi’s school? And why does she sound so mad? I don’t recall offending a gorgeous, polished brunette recently. Or…anytime.

“You two know each other?” Dane’s eyebrows are pinched together.

“Yes,” she says.

“Uh,” I say at the same time. “I don’t think so…”

She looks down at me, full lips pursed. I have this insane urge to rub the pad of my thumb across them, make them pliable and relaxed.

Yeah, try that and she’ll bite it off.

A derisive smirk twists her face. “Kimberly Sanford.” She almost spits the name at me.

A physical slap wouldn’t have stunned me more. “Kim?” Whoa. She was pretty in high school, but she didn’t have this kind of smooth sophistication. No wonder I didn’t recognize her. City life must be good for her.

And just like that, I know this is the beginning of a clusterfuck.

Chapter Three

Kim

Everything inside me bristles at Wyatt’s utter lack of recognition, and then surprise. It freakin’ sucks to feel so insignificant that I don’t even merit a couple of brain cells in his thick skull.