Hidden Hollywood

She flushed pink all the way to her neck. “Of course. I don’t know the first thing about boats. Tell me more about Dat Cloud.”

He stifled a groan. More boring shit. What did you think it would be like impersonating your twin? Jake had a damn boring job, though the lifestyle wasn’t bad. He told her what he could remember about Dat Cloud, including the impressive fact that the top-secret underpinnings of their application still hadn’t been replicated successfully anywhere. Though those motherfuckers at competing firms tried. She was all smiles and enthusiasm, so he went on with Dat Cloud’s uses both domestically and abroad. He was putting himself to sleep.

Dammit. He’d wanted to teach her a lesson. A big reveal to show her that lowly bartenders were just as good to hang with as gold-plated guys, but she was proving to really like the glitter. That automatically put her out of the running for his brother. Jake had his share of gold diggers. With a perverse sense of justice, he decided not to tell her who he really was at the end of the date. He wasn’t a fan of beauty queens looking for the next ladder up to money. Oh, yeah, he’d looked her up. She had multiple tiaras to her name. He hated that whole pageant business. It made women obsessed with their looks. He didn’t have to look any further than his own beauty-queen mom bailing on her six kids for greener pastures as a prime example.

She was chattering on now about her dreams of travel. He’d seen more than enough of the world and was happy to plant himself in the sleepy small town of Clover Park.

“Though I confess I haven’t made it west of the Mississippi,” she said, leaning forward in a conspiratorial whisper. He stared at her soft pink lips. At least they looked soft and probably tasted sweet. He forced his eyes back to hers. “Maybe I could visit you one day in California and see Dat Cloud headquarters.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “That was presumptuous.”

“Why the hell not,” he said, shoving a microscopic piece of prime rib in his mouth. It came like that, all tiny thin slices in a tiny white ramekin. Most of his plate was white space. “Easy enough with my private jet.”

Her light blue eyes widened. “Where do you like to travel?”

“Wherever the wind takes me,” he replied dryly.

She tossed her light red hair over one bare smooth shoulder. Raw lust shot through him. He shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to focus on the fact that the dress was probably silk, some expensive designer number. He preferred flannel shirts, worn tees, and ripped jeans. He and Hailey were nothing alike. What was he doing here? Why couldn’t he keep away from her?

But his body knew. It was an itch that wouldn’t let up, no matter how much he tried to deny it. He couldn’t deny her requests to go to weddings, though he made a big deal of it, like it was a hardship on account of the monkey suit and all that lovey-dovey business he had to sit through. The first time she’d asked, three months ago, he’d said she’d have to make it worth his while in an admittedly piss-poor attempt at flirting. She’d countered that she’d only asked him out in a professional capacity and offered cash up front for his time. Feeling like a fool for his uncharacteristic awkwardness with a beautiful woman, he took the cash. And kept taking it for two more weddings and three platonic blind dates whenever she snapped her fingers. He should probably see a shrink or something. Clearly he was insane to want someone that he didn’t even like.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear in a self-conscious gesture.

Except maybe he kinda did like her.

“That must be nice to have no limits on travel like that,” she said, daintily slicing a piece of chicken. Her manners were polished, her movements always graceful and poised. Everything about her said upper-class beauty queen. “Just wherever the wind takes you,” she said dreamily. “I’d definitely head to Paris and then Italy, Spain, ooh, maybe Morocco too.”

He inclined his head. “Been to all those places.” And worse.

“Tell me all about Paris,” she said.

“I’d much rather hear where you’ve traveled.” He was sick of hearing himself brag about Jake.

She flushed pink. “It’s nothing special.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She started chattering about Connecticut, a trip to Atlantic City when she turned twenty-one, and a field trip to Washington, DC, with her eighth-grade class, all places within driving distance. Strange. He would’ve thought with all the pageants and money she’d won, not to mention her fancy designer duds, she would’ve done a lot of luxury travel. A tickling of unease went through him. Could she afford to pay him for wedding dates and blind dates all in the name of her business? Was that tax deductible? She paid him in cash, and he stuffed it in a shoebox on the top of his closet. To give it back meant admitting he couldn’t stop hanging around her, and he’d confess only with a knife to the throat that he took out those other women for a purely platonic blind date just to make her jealous.