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Before we could flee, one of the suited guys walked up to us. Broad-shouldered and muscular, he was probably the best-looking of the three hunky guys. Silky brown hair was parted along the side, and his cheeks were angular and smooth, like they had been chiseled out of marble by one of the Italian masters.
The cheeks widened in a perfect white smile as he extended his hand. “Rogan Holt. One-third of HLS Security. You must be… Amirah Pratt?”
I shook his hand—his very large, warm hand—and began to panic. He thought I was someone else. His dark eyes were boring into me with such intensity that it almost convinced me Iwasthis Amirah Pratt woman.
It caught me off-guard. I had a whole big backstory invented. I was even tempted to test-drive my posh Londoner accent.
That’s right. I can do a flawless English accent. Tell your agents.
I should have corrected Rogan. It would have been smarter to tell him I was someone else—either my real name, or a made-up one. But with his hand totally enveloping mine and his smile melting my heart, I found myself nodding along with him.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holt,” I said in my normal voice.
He finally let go of my hand. “Please, call me Rogan.”
“Only if you call me Amirah!”
He pointed a finger at me and said, “You’ve got a deal.”
I grinned from ear to ear. I didn’t even need to fake it. This Rogan guy wasgorgeous. I would be whoever he wanted me to be if it meant he kept looking at me like that.
Maurice introduced himself as Maurice (way to get creative, buddy) and they shook hands. Then Rogan gestured with his beer. “Just wanted to say hi, and welcome you to the suite. Help yourselves to the food and drinks. We can talk business later, if you’re interested. We heard you might be in need of our services.”
“Oh, I need allkindsof servicing from you,” I blurted out.
Maurice elbowed me in the ribs.
Rogan chuckled at that, then dipped away. Both of us watched his suited frame walk across the room and down into the seats overlooking the basketball court.
Maurice sighed. “What a shame.”
“What is?”
“What a shame that man is straight. I would let him dowhateverhe wants to me.” He glanced at me. “Dirtier things than you.”
I laughed and turned to the food. “You don’t know how dirty I am.”
“I bet you’re a prude in bed.”
I gasped in mock offense.
We helped ourselves to the buffet. I scolded Maurice when he tried to pile his plate high with food. We were supposed to be high-class guests, not starving aspiring actors who had conned our way onto this level. We got drinks from the bartender—a wine for Maurice, and a beer for me—and walked down to the seats overlooking the court. Music pumped through the arena as both teams—Lakers in purple, Bucks in green—ran down the court, one of them dribbling the ball.
“These are way better than our other seats,” I said, craning my neck to look up at the nosebleeds. They were so high up I almost expected cloud tendrils to drift by. “Aren’t you glad we’re here?”
Maurice was already stuffing his face with a second pulled-pork slider. “Do you know who Amirah Pratt is?”
“Someone who looks like me, apparently.”
Maurice swallowed his food and said, “She’s that girl on the new Netflix show. The one set in Victorian England, with all the sexy times. Amirah Pratt isfamous. They’re going to figure out you’re not her.”
“I don’t see you complaining,” I muttered as he shoved two more pieces of food in his mouth.
While he chewed, he pulled up an image on his phone. The woman on the screen was wearing a multi-layered Victorian dress that probably took an hour to put on. Her face was pale with makeup and her hair was done up in a tower of elaborate ringlets. Shedidlook like me, in broad strokes. Tall, blonde, and slender. At least, Ithoughtshe was slender. It was tough to tell with the hurricane of silk wrapped around her lower half.
“Look at all that makeup,” I pointed out. “They have no idea what she looks like without it. I can totally pass as her. Just act like we belong. Emphasis onact.”
Maurice opened his mouth to argue—or to shovel more food inside—but then stopped when two men walked down the steps next to us. It was the other two suited guys. They collapsed into the seats across the aisle from us, lost in conversation.
