Fletcher angles toward me. “Let’s put our stuff down, then how about a dance?”
“Certainly.”
I follow him toward a prominently placed table at the front of the room. Of course, he’d be seated near the podium since he’s the keynote speaker. I leave my clutch on the pristine white tablecloth beside my place setting as Fletcher chats with an older couple. Fletcher sends me an apologetic smile, but I’m fine just glancing about, taking in the general splendor.
My gaze scans the space but freezes on a familiar form striding through the door.
Leo?
My throat goes dry. Dressed in a fitted tuxedo, the man looks like a hundred daydreams followed by a thousand heartbreaks. Those wavy brown locks gleam beneath the chandelier. Sadly, my inspection is cut short by his angling away. Like Fletcher, he seems comfortable in his tux as he moves with athletic grace toward a group of guys by the archway. I try not to observe how Leo’s tux is perfectly sculpted to his form, making the other men seem like they scraped pieces of their suits from their grandpa’s closet.
Why is he here? A few in his circle are speaking animatedly, but Leo, while engaged, doesn’t seem to share their excitement. He turns, his gaze drifting across the room until landing on me.
I know the exact second recognition hits because his head rears slightly back, then he leans forward as if the movement will give him a clearer view. He takes a slow sweep of my figure, and my skin burns at every place his gaze touches.
He says something to his friends and moves toward me, determination marking his steps. That is, until he spots Fletcher, who has just rejoined my side.
Leo slows his stride, his gaze hooking on my date and holding. “Fletcher, good to see you.” The tight lines framing his eyes seem to counteract his greeting.
Standing side by side, the two men couldn’t be more opposite. Fletcher is polished perfection with his smooth jawline and center-parted hair, while Leo’s charm lies in the rebellious tousle of his dark locks and roguish, two-day stubble.
Fletcher’s smile is faint. “Ah, Remington. Chief was just looking for you. We weren’t sure you’d show up tonight. You’ve been kind of scarce since theincident.”
Remington? Who … what? My stomach dips. Why did Fletcher call Leo by another name? And what incident is he talking about?
As questions dance upon my parted lips, Fletcher places his hand on the small of my back—a move Leo doesn’t miss—and says, “Greta Carlton, have you met Remington Mathis?”
Mathis? Didn’t I just hear that name somewhere? But my brain has clicked off those mental tabs and is overheating with this new information. I narrow my eyes and tilt my head to the side. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” I cross my arms and take my time studying the imposter before me. “He doesn’t look like a Remington.”
Fletcher laughs as if everything I say is comical. “Well, that’s his name. What else should we call him?”
Oh, I can call him some interesting things. No wonder I couldn’t find him this past year. He gave me a fake name! What else is phony about him? I’m questioning everything now.
For being caught in a lie, Leo doesn’t recoil. If anything, with his confident posture and steady gaze, he seems emboldened. “Greta, I?—”
I face Fletcher, cutting Leo the Liar from the conversation with a cold turn of my shoulder. “Are you ready to dance?”
My date flashes a smile. “Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 8
Fletcher leadsme through a horde of couples and smoothly pulls me toward him, sliding his hand in mine while the other settles on the bare skin of my back. Shouldn’t I have some kind of response to this man’s touch? Where’s a good outbreak of goosebumps when you need it? I’ll settle for a heart palpitation or two. Unfortunately for me, nothing. My thoughts are on Leo. Remington. Whatever. My mind’s knotted like a hundred strings of Christmas lights that I don’t have the energy to untangle. Why did Leo give me an alias? What’s the point? Unless he didn’t want me to know who he really was. Does that mean he never intended to keep our date? His apology at The Memory Bank seemed so genuine.
Fletcher squeezes my hand. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Greta.”
My smile’s wobbly. “I appreciate being your second choice.”
He chuckles. “I feel foolish for not asking you first.” He twirls me while his words spin in my brain. Events like these call for a certain charm, and he certainly has it.
Come on, internal butterflies. Any second now.
I catch sight of Leo just as his gaze flicks my direction. I adopt a nonchalant expression, as if his lying ways don’t bother me.His mouth curves into a smile that should earn him a lump of coal.
Our silent exchange is cut short by a group of women surrounding him like he’s one of the options up for bidding.
I fight an eye roll and look up at Fletcher. “Have you known, uh, Remington long?” I want to ask if Fletcher’s sure his friend is not a con artist. Okay, I kind of need to chill and remember I’m an adult. Mostly. I attempt to be anyway. Maybe Leo has an explanation for his multiple personalities.
“I’ve known him all my life.” He nods at an elderly couple beside us and returns his attention to me. “Certainly you’ve heard of the Mathis family.”
