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“Apparently, he’s serious about her.”
“I don’t believe it. She’s all wrong for him.”
“He did bring her home to meet Zelda. He’s never done that before.”
Someone gives a disdainful sniff. “So what? I don’t see a ring on her finger, and that means he’s still fair game.”
The sneer in her voice is unmistakable. Georgia.
“Good point.” One of the others trills a laugh. “Not that I see her giving you much competition. I mean, that outfit probably looked better after she fell in the fountain.”
I swallow hard.
Is it just me, or was I transported back in time to fifth grade recess, with Jordan DiGenovese sneering over my hand-me-down dungarees?
I’m hit with a strong urge to slink away and hide in a corner somewhere to nurse my wounds. Then I remember: they’re right. Not about my outfit, but the fact that Dash and I make a seriously unlikely couple…
Because we’re not one.
It’s all fake, remember?
It’s none of my business if there’s clearly some kind of Hunger Games-style competition to win the man’s heart—or other body parts. As far as I’m concerned, they’re welcome to him.
Just as long as I fulfil my side of the deal and walk away from this mansion of snootiness with my investment.
He wanted a fake girlfriend? I’m going to give it to him.
Squaring my shoulders, I grab a flute of champagne from a tray, and gulp it down. Then I stride back out to the party.
Dash is still surrounded by his fan club, so I cut through the crowd around him, throwing elbows in unsuspecting ribs to get through the pack.
“Oww!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I trill. “I just couldn’t spend one more moment away from my man.”
I fix Dash with a big smile, and he looks at me with relief clear in his eyes.
“I missed you,” he says, grabbing my hand and towing me out of the group. “Don’t leave me like that. I mean it,” he adds, dropping his voice so only I can hear. “They’re ravenous.”
“Awww, I thought this would be your dream,” I tell him with a smirk. “A hundred women all vying for your attention.”
“Not these women, not like this,” he looks around, so trapped that I have to laugh.
“Well, we better show them you’re off the menu,” I say, and reach up, pulling his face to mine in a public, showy kiss.
At least, that was the plan, but then Dash’s lips are on mine, hot and sweet from the champagne, and suddenly, it’s not our audience I’m thinking about.
It’s him.
His body warm against me, his hands splayed on my lower back. Dash pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth, and just like that, I’m melting. Greedy.
Hungry for more.
I clutch his shirt, breathless, our mouths exploring each other, my blood pounding hot in my veins. God, this man can kiss. And if I wasn’t in the middle of a crowd of debutantes, I would—
Oh. Right. Them.
I pull back, reeling. Dash still has his hands possessively on my back, so I duck out of his embrace. “I… I’m going to get settled in,” I blurt, cheeks flaming. “See you later!”
