“Such as it is.”
I followed him silently past the velvet dividers up to the forbidden second story, casting wide-eyed glances up and down the halls.
“Is that a Degas?” I asked, curiously referencing the one painter I happened to know. It was hung side by side with a finger painting of a splotchy butterfly.
Marcus glanced back at the wall. “No, that was me when I was seven. The Degas is the one hanging beside it.”
Smartass.
With a rueful grin, I followed him out a set of glass-paneled doors to a tiny balcony nestled against the side of the house. We leaned against the curved stone and clinked glasses under the stars, toasting our great deception as the befuddled masses scurried below.
After a few moments of peaceful silence, punctuated by occasional sips of champagne, he spoke in a low murmur. “Do you know why I hate coming to these parties?”
“I thought you would love mingling with the über wealthy socialites of the world,” I said.
Or he had a Gatsby complex. I’d ask about that at a later time.
He shot me a look, but his face softened into a smile as he fixed his eyes on the people below. “Because they’re dull and boring.” The smile lingered, relaxing the lines of his face into something I could only describe as stroke-able. “Not tonight.”
For whatever reason, I warmed to hear it. It was like those two words, not tonight, carried us through—exempting us from all blame and putting a perfectly fitted cap on a crazy evening.
I leaned down against the stone beside him, bringing my arms even with his as I peered over the edge. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He cocked an eyebrow and tilted my way, offering me a hand. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I accepted. “Yeah, the agency told me who was hosting the party.”
“Ah, you’re with the agency. Model or actress?”
I smiled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He laughed. “Actress.”
“Yes. I’m Rebecca.”
He shot me that movie star smile. “Rebecca is a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
He gave me a quirky half-smile. “So my girlfriend’s name is Rebecca.”
I shook my head, still grinning. “All three of them? That’s quite a coincidence indeed.”
“You can’t listen to Mr. Takahari or the rumors floating around. I’m not always surrounded by two or three women.”
I took a sip of my champagne. “I’ll try to remember that.”
For a moment, a shadow passed over his face. When he looked at me again, it was sharper, appraising—but still with a hint of a grin. “Mr. Takahari was certainly taken with you.”
“He seems like a sweet old man.”
“He’s never been called that before. Not ever. And he’s never been taken with anyone.”
I shrugged, shivering slightly in my thin dress. “I’m glad he liked me. Who is he?”
“He’s a very important client of mine.”
He shrugged off his jacket and placed it around my shoulders in a single, fluid motion. An intoxicating smell rushed up around me, and I pulled the jacket a little tighter as I sipped my champagne. Who in the world would ever believe this story, were I to tell them? Perched with a billionaire at the top of the world. Surreal didn’t begin to cover it.