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The great thingabout my job, a lot of people want to convince me they're cool. With a few texts, I score invites to three different parties. A club in WeHo. A celebrity's place in the Hills. A music mogul's Malibu mansion. He's recently divorced and courting a reputation as an open-minded single dude.
Perfect.
Terrifying.
Exactly what Imogen wants.
She trusts me here. And I can give her what she needs here. Everything she needs.
All week, my nerves spin. I'm a confident guy, most of the time, but this is way past my comfort zone.
Thursday, I barely manage to finish lunch. I skip coffee. I do everything it takes to keep my head on straight.
Then I get to Imogen's place and I see the anticipation all over her face, and my nerves fall away.
I lead her to the car and help her into her seat.
She smiles as I play Fiona Apple. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
"Of course," I say.
"Do I get a clue?" She drops her purse between her legs. "To where we're going?"
"One." I pull out of the parking lot. "Malibu."
"That's not a clue. That's an answer."
"Technically." How can I increase her anticipation without pushing her too far? "Somewhere you fantasized about."
"Somewhere I told you I fantasized about?"
I nod.
She presses her palms together, thinking. "Hmm." She looks to me. "No."
"Maybe."
"Maybe." She nods. "Malibu. The beach?"
"We're not playing twenty questions."
"Answer one question."
"If you answer mine first."
"Okay." She smiles. "Shoot."
"What are you wearing under that?"
ChapterThirty-Seven
IMOGEN
We flirt for the entire drive up Pacific Coast Highway. My boldness fades as we turn into a neighborhood.
We're moving toward the ocean, but there isn't beach access here. Is there? And I didn't tell him about any fantasies of sex in the ocean. Or did I?
