"Richard," Vic says smoothly. "This is Harper. She's... a friend. Harper, this is Richard Francis."
Richard looks up from his phone.
"Charmed," he says, shaking my hand. "Any friend of Victor's is welcome. Though I have to say, I didn't realize Victor had friends who attended clubs."
"I don't," Vic says. "Which is why this is such a rare occasion."
I bite back a laugh.
The bartender appears, and Vic orders a scotch. "And for you?" he asks me.
"Vodka soda. Extra lime."
"Practical.”
"Hydrating."
"After four tequila shots?"
Richard clears his throat. "So, Harper. How do you know Victor?"
"We met on a plane," I say. "I assaulted him with tomato juice."
Richard blinks. "I'm sorry?"
"It was an accident. There was turbulence. And a beverage cart. And my terrible volleyball instincts." I accept my drink from the bartender. "His shirt cost two thousand dollars."
"It was a very nice shirt," Vic agrees.
"It was an insane shirt."
"You have strong opinions about my wardrobe."
"You have twelve identical shirts organized by season. Someone needs to have opinions."
Vic's mouth twitches again—that almost-smile that makes my stomach squeeze, and Richard stares at us like we're speaking another language.
"Right." The suited businessman checks his watch. "Well, I should probably head back to my hotel. Early meeting tomorrow." He stands, extending his hand to Vic. “I’ll have my secretary send the paperwork on Monday, Vic. And it was lovely meeting you, Harper."
"You too."
The moment Richard is out of earshot, I turn to Vic.
"Was I convincing?"
"You were perfect. He looked genuinely confused, which means he stopped talking about market trends." He takes a sip of his scotch. "Thank you."
"Thank you. Now about that photo?—"
"Right." He nods at my phone. "How do you want to do this?"
"I don't know. I've never done a scavenger hunt photo with the hottest person in Vegas before."
He pauses. "You're very generous with that title."
"You've clearly never looked in a mirror."
The words are out before I can stop them.
