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“There you go. Apparently, we’re a winning sleeping combination.”
He grunted. The man was not a morning person.
“Do you think us having slept together will change things?” I asked.
He just looked at me.
“I still respect you. Just in case you were wondering.”
“You’re getting way too much mileage from this,” he grumped.
“You still want pancakes?”
At this, his crankiness eased. Truly the way to a man’s heart remained through his stomach. “Yes, please.”
Renee and Tom had left early this morning, having ascertained that I was not out to hoodwink their son or break his heart. As much as I liked them, it was kind of a relief to have them gone. Since I was like ninety percent certain that Mei knew Patrick and I weren’t a couple (my acting skills really weren’t that great), the house was the one place I didn’t have to pretend. Or pretend hard, at least.
Our next appearance was at the launch party for a new brand of vodka. The owner was a big-name actor Patrick was friends with and had been in a film with a few years back. If you haven’t heard of Cole Landry, I don’t know where you’ve been. Having made movies for almost thirty years, the man was the gray-haired fox of action adventure films. And he kissed my hand. Talk about swoon.
Patrick reclaimed my limb with his usual frown. “Leave her alone, Cole. She doesn’t even like you.”
“I do like you,” I countered.
Cole grinned and said in his sexy husky voice, “Of course you do. I’m very likable.”
My knees went weak.
Patrick just looked to heaven.
We all paused and pasted brilliant smiles on our faces as the event photographer appeared. Patrick slid an arm around my waist. As per Angie’s instructions, I made sure the engagement ring was visible. And then we were done and could relax once again. Mostly.
Lots of shiny people were in attendance. Quite a few familiar famous faces. And both males and females watched my date with lust and avarice in their eyes. The party was being held in an exclusive nightclub in East Hollywood all done in ’70s décor. I lived in fear of the heels on my Saint Laurent black leather mules getting caught in the shag pile carpet. For this event, the stylist dressed me in jeans and a black silk tie-neck blouse with my hair in a slick ponytail. The Loewe leather clutch and diamond solitaire earrings were rather splendid. Lord knows what it all cost.
“Let me guess,” said Patrick. “You’re a fan of his?”
I had the good grace to look ashamed. Just a little.
“She’s not a fan of yours?” asked Cole.
Patrick sighed. “Not as much as she is of you, apparently.”
Cole laughed his ass off. He even did that attractively. Then he grabbed a drink off the tray of a passing waiter. “Nor, drink this. Tell me what you think.”
“She didn’t say you could call her that.” More frowning from Patrick. “I don’t even call her that.”
I took a sip. “It’s very good quality.”
“How can you tell?” asked Cole, one brow raised.
“Because in a vodka, soda, and lime, there’s nothing to hide the liquor. If it’s crap, you can taste it,” I said. “But this is smooth, with just a hint of flavor. I like it.”
Patrick stole my drink and took a sip. Apparently we were the kind of couple who shared.
“Did I pass your test?” I asked.
“You did,” allowed Cole. “Why don’t you dump this fool and we’ll blow this joint. I’m not one for marriage, but I think we could have a lot of fun.”
“Tempting.” I pretended to think it over. “But I only just won over his parents. It would be a shame to undo all of my hard work so soon.”
“Isn’t Renee terrifying?”
“Yes.”
He mock shivered. “Gorgeous, but terrifying. I’ll never forget the day she visited the set. Being so afraid and yet turned on at the same time was a complete revelation.”
I tried not to laugh at the expression on Patrick’s face. It didn’t work.
“Stop talking about my mother,” said Patrick, his brow furrowed. “And stop fucking hitting on my fiancée.”
Cole clapped him on the back. “Glad you could make it, Paddy. It’s damn good to see you. And Nor, I’ll have my assistant give you my number. Just in case you change your mind.”
I gave him a finger wave. “Thanks.”
Cole strode off to socialize with his other guests. There had to be a couple of hundred people in attendance. Though most seemed too busy checking out everyone else to actually have a good time. I don’t know. There was just a cool-table mean-girl vibe to the room that I hadn’t encountered since high school. It can’t be easy enjoying a conversation when you’re constantly on the lookout for someone more important to talk to. Talk about a daunting level of fakery. And while many people watched us, few approached. No wonder Patrick didn’t have many friends, if these were the people he had to choose from.
