“RYAN?”
The man jumped to his feet the second I walked over, all smiles. I beamed back and leaned in for the obligatory kiss on the cheek. It was then that I noticed he faltered slightly.
“It’s Cameron, actually.”
Cameron? I froze. Then why had I written the name Ryan on the inside of my palm just to remember? I’d thought myself so clever at the time—even though I was still desperately scrubbing it off as the taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant.
Who was Ryan? The pilot? The ice sculptor? Was he the caterer I’d been trying to get a hold of for—
NOPE! No work! You made a vow!
“Cameron, of course.” I tapped my head like it was the silliest thing in the world. “Sorry, I was just on the phone with my brother Ryan in the cab.”
Great—now I have a brother. Better write that down on my hand to remember it too.
I flashed an apologetic smile, and leaned over as I sank into my chair so he could see just the tiniest hint of cleavage. Everything was forgiven.
“Oh—I didn’t know you had a brother,” Cameron said brightly as he sat down as well.
“Baby brother.” I smiled sweetly, as if remembering all our nostalgic times. “Just turned eighteen—he’s out celebrating.”
And it’s my brother’s birthday.
“Gosh—eighteen.” Cameron shook his head, leaning casually towards me. “That seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”
I nodded quickly.
“Sure does.”
In reality, eighteen had only been four years ago for me. But I had long since stopped telling people my real age. When you worked in PR, age meant experience. Experience meant currency. I had been ‘twenty-nine’ for as long as I could remember. It was just easier that way. It helped that I had one of those faces. A face that could pass for whatever you needed it to.
“So, Cameron,” I flashed a seductive grin, eager to move the conversation past my fake family, “what are we drinking?”
As if on cue, a waiter appeared with a bottle of Margaux—expensive vintage. I leaned back in surprise as it was expertly poured. First the restaurant, now this? Was this guy seriously loaded and I’d just failed to notice because I only ever saw him at the gym? It was always hard to gauge a guy’s social standing in sweatpants. A one-time dinner to impress me was one thing, but the wine was too pricy for just that. It was a serious gesture. The kind that I’d grown accustom to seeing another man make. A man who went through bottles of Margaux like they were—
NO WORK! Do not even THINK of him! This is YOUR night!
“This is wonderful,” I said charmingl
y, taking a delicate sip. “First growth?”
“You know it?” Cameron looked surprised, then pleased. “Yes, I believe it is. Pairs well with the soufflé, or so they tell me.”
Wrong.
“At any rate, it’s supposed to be uncannily dry.”
Wrong again.
Somewhere across town, a certain billionaire—who shall not be named—was shaking his fists towards the heavens, not really knowing why.
I smiled again and took another sip.
“Like I said—wonderful.”
“I’m glad you like it. In fact, I’m glad you even agreed to come out tonight.” His hand reached tentatively across the table and rested upon mine. “You always seem so busy. Whenever I see you at the gym, you’re almost always on the phone.” He laughed nervously. “I learned to tell you were coming by the sound of your ringtone.”
Ah yes, the phones. There were four of them. All with a different number. All with a different purpose. All four of them were currently stuffed inside my purse, locked on vibrate.