“We should go to dinner at my favorite restaurants,” I say, paraphrasing while scanning the letter. “Not places you normally go. We need to take long walks and maybe see a movie. A concert wouldn’t hurt either, but we can’t sit in the company box with your clients. And we need to see bands that I like.”
“I need to find a country music group playing in New York City?” he asks.
“Yes. In fact, I should add that to my list too.”
“Your list?”
“Of all the things I want to do while staying with you.” I turn the page and read through the next section. My lips press together.
“What?” Gavin demands. He reaches for the folder, but I pull it away.
“This is sweet,” I say, still focused on Margaret’s instructions. “She writes ‘Gavin, please take this time to enjoy your newfound happiness. Let all thoughts about where you should dine, where you should be seen, what parties to attend, and what business or social connections to pursue fall away. Focus on your love for your fiancée. If you do that, one picture of you looking at the woman you love will tell the world everything they need to know.’ ”
I set the folder down. My imagination swirls with snapshots of our imaginary dates. But if we follow her instructions, what will that one photograph show? The truth? No, we can’t let that happen.
“I know it will all be staged.” I’m not sure if I’m telling my inner romantic, whom I haven’t heard from since the beginning of my marriage, or Gavin. Maybe both. “But I think Margaret makes a good point. This is your chance to makeover your social life. No one should have to live worrying about what parties to attend.”
“I don’t,” Gavin says bluntly. He raises his coffee mug to his lips, but pauses before he takes a sip. “I leave the worrying to Margaret and her team. Her assistant tells me about the hottest restaurants. My secretary works closely with my PR team to determine which invitations to accept. It doesn’t concern me.”
“Yes, it does. The fact that you have multiple employees determining where you eat suggests that it does worry you,” I point out. “When was the last time you made a reservation for yourself at a place you wanted to eat?”
He shrugs and sets his mug on the counter. “It’s more efficient to have someone else do it.”
“Well, I approve of Margaret’s makeover instructions.” I slide the folder across the counter to him. “We’re going to start implementing her plan tonight. You’re in charge of picking the restaurant. Some place quiet and out of the way where no one will go ‘Wow, there’s Gavin Black, the man featured in that hot computer ad.’ ”
“No one says that.” He takes the folder and opens it but doesn’t look at the makeover letter I mostly paraphrased for him. “It was a software ad. But no one recognizes me from that. People remember the watch ad that got written up in all the tabloids. I mean how many software designers can also model for print ads?”
“Only you.” I add a note of teasing reverence to my tone. “And yet, you remain so humble.”
“I know,” he says with mock sincerity. “It’s a miracle.”
I laugh as I slide off the stool. We’re on familiar ground here. I’ve teased him about his modeling career for years. Truthfully, I am in awe of his confidence. I watched other kids beat it out of him for years, and he came back so much stronger.
Gavin Black came back, not Terrance Montgomery.
I accepted his reinvention as necessary. Now, I’m starting to wonder about the repercussions. Like blackmailing women who pretend to be Alexandra.
But who am I to judge? I share my bed with a herd of cats and dogs every night. Those animals keep me moving forward, away from the ex-husband who tried to reshape my identity until I didn’t recognize myself. Maybe the new name, the money, and the silly watch ads are his version of cats and dogs?
Pulling open the door to the stainless steel fridge, I examine the contents. I skip over the traditional breakfast items, take out Gavin’s leftover miso soup from last night, and head for the microwave.
“I wonder if Margaret will change her instructions when Alexandra goes public with her story and those damn pictures,” Gavin murmurs.
His words are like an unexpected thunderstorm during a parade. He’s right. We’re fighting an uphill battle. As soon as Alexandra comes forward—and I have no doubt that she will—our “engagement” will face additional scrutiny.
“I’m guessing Margaret has a different playbook for defensive strategies,” I say.
He nods, closes the folder, and pushes it away.
“We should get started on her list before that happens.” He stands and heads to the coffee pot. “I’m going to take a shower. After that, let’s head out for a walk with …” He scans the expectant K-9 faces tracking his every move. “The herd.”
He turns to leave and the dogs, aside from Rocky, follow. “Sounds like a plan,” I call after him. “You’re in charge of the poop bags.”
“You really know how to bring the romance,” he calls back.
I hear the door to his bedroom close. A second later, Ava appears at my side. I’m guessing the others are waiting outside his door. I look down at her. “Do you want to break the news to him that there is nothing romantic about walking four country dogs down busy city sidewalks, or should I?”
Ava cocks her head and her Shepard ears stand at attention.
“You’re right,” I murmur. “He’ll figure it out himself. If he wants to create a pretend romantic atmosphere, we need to leave you guys at home.”
Ava places one paw on my lap. I move to brush her off, but she’s faster than me. Her second paw is on my leg before I can reprimand her. Instead of a sharp “down girl,” I cave and wrap my arms around her.
“This might have been a mistake.” I whisper the words against her fur. “What if our plan just makes everything worse?”
CHAPTER 8
KAYLA
The midtown Korean restaurant smells like heaven. I close my eyes and inhale deeply.
“I love it here,” I murmur.
“So far we’ve walked in the door,” Gavin says. “You haven’t tried the food yet. You can’t possibly know if you love it or not.”
“Yes, I can.” I draw another deep breath. “I love everything about this place.”
“May I have your shoes, please?” the hostess asks. She’s smiling at me, but something in her eyes tells me I won’t be allowed to take another step if I don’t surrender my heels.
“Of course.” I slip off my black Louboutins and hand them over. I watch as she places the shoes in a cubby by the door. She can keep my purse too. I don’t care as long as I get to sample everything that comes out of the kitchen.
A waiter walks by with a plate of fried dumplings, and my mouth waters.
Imagine how many servings of dumplings a billionaire can buy. And he’ll still have money left over for dog food.
I abandon all thoughts of potential “mistakes.” Standing barefoot beside the hostess stand, I firmly believe I made the right choice by pretending to be my best friend’s fiancée.
“This was a great idea,” I say.
Gavin shakes his head. “It’s been a while since we went out to eat in the city, just the two of us. I’d forgotten what it is like.”
As we walk to our table, the hassle of wrangling four dogs through Central Park this morning fades into the background. I don’t need to worry about my pets right now. Gavin arranged for one of his assistants to pet sit while we enjoy a night out. I can focus on the tantalizing, exotic smells wafting from the restaurant’s kitchen.
I love living in the country. But oh how I’ve missed eating in Manhattan.
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’d like you to order for me,” I say, wiggling my toes. The plush carpet beneath the table matched the deep red drapes handing around our private booth.
Gavin looks over the edge of his menu. “You picked this vegetarian Korean place, after you vetoed every one of my selections I mig
ht add, so that sounds fair. But just out of curiosity, what is the wrong way?”
“I don’t want you to think that I will allow you to make any other decisions for the rest of our engagement.” I am counting on the fact that he will notice I said “engagement” and not “friendship.” There are times when he makes better choices than me.
“But you’re acknowledging my superior ordering skills?”
I set my menu down. “If I order for myself, I’ll ask for one of everything on the menu. I can’t decide. The smell of dumplings and stone rice bowls is overwhelming my common sense.”
“You know I’ve never been here,” he points out.
“I trust you to make good selections,” I say solemnly. “You will order the dumplings won’t you?”
He nods. “Steamed—”
“Are you crazy? They will be much better fried.”
He furrows his brow. “I’m getting the sense your trust in my ordering skills only extends so far.”
The waiter appears at the edge of our table, where the velvet curtains have been pulled back to offer a glimpse of the world beyond our space. Gavin smiles at our server and proceeds to order half the menu. We will have enough leftovers to feed us for a week. Our waiter leaves bewildered, but I get the feeling he is also aware there is a very large tip in his future. A bottle of organic Pinot Blanc arrives seconds later.
I take a sip of the overpriced white wine. “Delicious.”
“You’re an easy date,” Gavin says.
I take that as a challenge and shift to the question and answer portion of dinner. “What were your plans for this weekend?” I demand. “Before things fell apart with Alexandra and you escaped to the country to save Luna?”
“Eating lots and lots of meat.”
The waiter places an order of fried tofu dumplings on the table between us.
“I’m serious,” I say. I’m also regretting the single order of dumplings. One look at that plate of culinary perfection, and I know I could easily eat two servings without Gavin’s help.
“Work. I’m developing a new software,” he says. “Plus, there are a few investment opportunities that crossed my desk recently. I haven’t checked my calendar, but I suspect I was scheduled to appear at a charity function last night.”
“You suspect?” I select a second dumpling.
“Okay, I glanced at my calendar yesterday.” He takes a single piece from the plate and then pushes it closer to me. “I said yes to a charity that provides technology to underfunded public schools in the five boroughs.”
“A worthy cause. I’m sure they missed you.”
“I’ll send them an even bigger check. They will celebrate my absence.” He makes a move on the last dumpling but then wisely chooses to set his chopsticks aside and reach for his wine glass. “What about you? Did you have any plans?”
“A hot date.” I push the empty appetizer dish to the edge of the table as the waiter presents the stuffed shitake mushrooms. “But he wouldn’t have fed me like this. I’m starting to believe that accepting your proposal was a very wise move on my part.”
Gavin sets his wine glass down and leans forward. “Seriously? You had a date and you didn’t tell me?”
I point my chopsticks at him across the table. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend named Alexandra until Friday night. And no, I’m kidding. I didn’t have a hot date.”
He snags a mushroom. “Good, that would complicate … things. If you were seeing someone.”
“It would. But you’re the only man in my life right now. I tried dating after Mr. Mistake. It didn’t take long to realize another relationship isn’t a wise move for me. I’m still relishing my independence even if I do miss the sex. ”
“Not all guys are like your ex-husband.”
“True. And logically, I know that. But I don’t trust myself to know the signs yet. After most first dates, I was convinced the guy I met for dinner or drinks has the potential to become a controlling scumbag. Then I would reflect on how crazy that sounded. But what if I dated the guy for a while, fell for him, and then he tried to cut me off from my friends and take control over every choice in my life?”
“Kayla, look at me, not the mushrooms,” Gavin demands.
I glance up from the food and meet his dark eyes. In the dim light, he is picture-perfect. His jaw line alone would make me consider purchasing one of those expensive watches he models.
“To hell with logic, Kayla. You have the right to walk away from every date.” He sneaks another mushroom. “I think you should give yourself more credit. You’ll know the signs next time.”
Only if I remain hyper vigilant.
“You’re trying to distract me from the food,” I say.
He nods, his mouth full of stuffed deliciousness. Then he sets his chopsticks down. “You don’t need to worry about finding another guy for a while now that you have me. I’m your perfect date.”
Aside from the no sex rule, I think.
“Who else would order most of the menu?” he adds.
“Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about dating this weekend.” I push the second empty appetizer plate aside and reach for my wine. “I planned to stay in with my dogs and search for teaching positions. Instead, I get to make a list of things to do with my new fiancé.”
Or not do.
I think the little voice in my head is drunk. Half a glass of wine into the evening, and that pesky inner voice wants to break the rules. My conscience is a lightweight. Or maybe that’s my common sense—or both.
“You can work on your plans for Kayla’s Home for Misfit Dogs.” Gavin draws the next plate to his side of the table and helps himself to the assorted pancakes. “Is that why you wanted to return to teaching? To help cover the costs?”
“I liked teaching. But yes, I wanted a job to help turn my idea into a reality. The settlement from the divorce will run out eventually,” I say. “But I don’t need to worry about that anymore thanks to you. What do you think about The Gavin Black Pet Sanctuary?”
He cocks his head and presses the tips of his chopsticks to his lips as if mulling it over. While he’s distracted, I sneak the last leek pancake.
“I like it,” he says finally. “But I think Kayla and Gavin’s Pet Sanctuary is better.”
I set my chopsticks down and reach for my wine glass. “That has a nice ring to it.”
But what happens when the engagement ends?
“You’ll do all the work, of course. I’ll be your financial partner.” He rests his forearms on the table and leans toward me. “I think of it more as a testament to our friendship. One I would have supported even if you hadn’t said yes when I knelt before you and proposed.”
My eyes widened. “Tell me more about how you got down on your knees.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. I’ve held his hand before. I’ve memorized the soft feel of his skin and his firm grip. But the skin-to-skin contact feels different.
This is a fake date. It’s all an illusion. This man was never on his knees in front of me.
Wait. That’s not true. He was on one knee in the vet office. And look what happened. I agreed to pretend to marry him.
He runs his thumb across the back of my hand. The movement draws me back to our intimate dinner. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with dumplings. All my fears come rushing back. And suddenly, sitting barefoot in a New York City restaurant with my billionaire fiancé seems like a disaster waiting to happen.
Gavin’s cell phone vibrates against the wooden table. I quickly withdraw my hand and reach for my chopsticks.
“It’s Margaret,” he murmurs. “Sorry, I need to take this.”
“Might want to hide under the table,” I say. “I’m pretty sure the management here objects to cell phones at the table. They might confiscate all of your electronic devices and leave them with your shoes.”
“Is this an emergency?” Gavin demands, ignoring my warnings about the restaurant rule
s.
The waiter approaches our table and I decide to play offense. “He’ll be off the phone soon. I promise. And those pancakes! Wow, they are amazing. I can’t wait to sample the next item.”
While I babble at our server, Gavin issues a quick, “I understand. We’ll talk more when we get to your office.” Then he slips his cell into the breast pocket of his sports coat just in case the waiter tries to take it. “We’ll need the check and everything else wrapped up to go.”
“Yes, sir,” our server says, and then he rushes off.
“We’re finishing our date at Margaret’s office?” I ask. “I’m not crazy about ending every meal with your publicist.”
Gavin doesn’t smile. His lips remain pressed together in a tense frown.
Oh no. It’s happening.
“What did Alexandra do?” I whisper.
“Margaret wouldn’t provide details over the phone.”
I nod and slide out of the booth. Then I head for the shoes, leaving Gavin to pay the bill and gather our doggie bags. I hadn’t expected the next threat so soon. But it’s probably better this way.
Once Gavin retrieves his shoes, we head for the door. He’s carrying three large to-go bags in one hand. His free arm wraps around me, drawing me close against his side as we walk through the door. The unexpected contact sends mixed signals to my nervous system.
In another world, at another time, I would surrender to the feel of his muscular body. I would let my imagination paint a picture of Gavin in bed with his arms stretched overhead and his abs on full display …
Gavin transformed from a thin, nervous teen into a freaking model of male perfection when we were twenty. I’ve had fifteen years of practice admiring Gavin from afar while treasuring his friendship.
But you’re not far from him now …
He draws us to a stop on the sidewalk. I scan the street for his driver, knowing the black town car must be nearby.
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