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“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me? You want to know if I sleep with married women too?”
“Did your parents raise you to be a little lady?”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He didn’t flirt back. “It is. The excellent posture, the tailored clothes, the small-talk skills … you reek of class.”
“Good nose, Mr. Journalist. I grew up in Scarsdale.”
He whistled. “Whew, so your umbilical cord was basically made out of hundred-dollar bills?”
Grace laughed, not the least bit offended. Scarsdale, New York, was a notoriously wealthy town, and her family had fit right in.
“It was pretty much like you’re thinking. My dad’s family is old money, and my mom’s family is even older money. Athletic participation translated into tennis, golf, or horseback riding. And forget about that pesky process of deliberating on where to go to college. Cornell alumni dominated the family tree on both sides.”
“And you never questioned it?” he asked as their lunches were served. “You just swallowed the prepackaged life?”
“You make it sound like I was a robot. But yeah, I guess I went with it. But I also liked it, you know? I didn’t know anything else. And while I’m glad I don’t live there now, I can’t say I regretted any of it. It was a good childhood.”
Jake slid one of his ravioli onto her plate and then sampled her pasta. Grace blinked a little in surprise. Greg had hated sharing food.
“Come on, not one little moment of rebellion?” he asked. “Tell me you at least have a microscopic tattoo, or went to prom with a boy who rode a motorcycle …”
“I painted my nails navy once. Does that count?”
Jake groaned and topped off her wineglass. “You’re worse off than I thought.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Were you the boy on the motorcycle that took the nice girl to prom?”
“Nah. But I did look pretty cool picking Leslie Kalutz up in my parents’ station wagon, if I do say so myself.”
Grace fanned herself. “Wow. Well, I’ll sure be putting that in my article under the ‘sexy moments’ section.”
A strange expression flashed across his face, and he dropped his gaze to his plate, stabbing at a piece of ravioli.
“Did I say something wrong?” The question was out before she could rethink it. Twenty-something years of being a chronic people pleaser was a hard routine to shake.
“Not at all,” he said, giving her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You were doing your job, focusing on the article. I, on the other hand, had forgotten all about it.”
Grace ordered the butterflies in her stomach to evacuate, but they stayed put. She had him exactly where she wanted him—where she’d been on the debacle of that last date. She should feel elated.
Instead she felt … flustered. Maybe a little longing.
Meanwhile, Grace 2.0 was taking notes on all the things she was doing wrong. The list was massive, and they hadn’t even hit dessert yet.
“You have to admit, it’s only fair,” she said, smiling to put him at ease. “You had me practically swooning on the last date.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, come on—you read my article. You know I fell just a tiny bit before I caught wind of the game.”
He helped himself to more of her penne. “Tell me something, Grace … I imagine you’re doing this whole dating article for the same reason I am. Boss’s orders … but is this fake dating interfering with the real thing? I mean, is there someone for real, someone you’re seeing because you want to? Not because you’re getting paid to?”
“Definitely not,” she said decisively.
“Aha,” he said, pointing his fork at her. “I knew it. I’m your shield.”
