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Hell if I know.
But now I wish I had—for my benefit. I also wish I could grab a minute alone with him to make sure we have our story straight.
I meet Nate’s gaze and try to read his blue eyes. Maybe I can find instructions for how we’re supposed to behave at an impromptu dinner with all these freaking people.
But I don’t find a code in them. Just a warm glint that makes me feel good. I manage a soft, “Hi.”
He returns my smile with one of his own. “Hey.”
That’s not a bad start.
But now I have to deal with others. When Ilene called me a few minutes ago, she didn’t mention who would be at dinner or I’d have researched the company on the walk over.
Ilene introduces me to Yasmin, who runs Less is More.
Right. She’s the one Machiavelli was in a tizzy over in the car the other morning. They market to kids and teens, and kids and teens love Nate. I also know they sponsor some Sunday Funday-style events in the city too.
For now, I say, “Pleasure to meet you, Yasmin. I so appreciate you including me.”
“Glad you could join us. Nate was telling us how you met,” Yasmin says.
He was?
Pie and all?
“Oh really,” I say, noncommittal.
Vance shoves a menu my way. “Take a look, Hunter,” he says.
For that, I don’t need a decoder ring—don’t talk about how you and Nate met. Vance doesn’t trust us not to botch our stories.
I spend a good, long time studying the menu just to stay busy, then I place my order when the server arrives with a bottle of champagne.
After he pours six flutes, Ilene lifts one. “Let’s toast to a great game this weekend and a great partnership.” We clink glasses, then she adds, “I come from a long line of celebrators. The Brancusos celebrate everything—business deals, birthdays, graduations, awards, blue ribbons in show jumping.” She accents that humble brag with a roll of her eyes.
“Ah, you’re a horsewoman, Ilene?” Nate asks, picking up on her unsubtle clue. “Did you do Grand Prix?”
“Yes!” They go on to chat about levels of show jumping competition, from the best breeds of horses to the toughest obstacles.
I watch, a little amazed by my fake husband. From how to fuck to how to impress my boss, Nate’s a total stud.
I’d like to return the favor and converse with the woman Nate was supposed to impress, so I turn to Yasmin. “Are you still doing the Sunday Funday events, Yasmin? Didn’t your company organize a bike scavenger hunt around London this past spring?”
We did a segment on the event on one of our shows.
Her brown eyes sparkle. “Yes! Only, don’t tell anyone, but I’ve forgotten already where the final prize was hidden.”
“I won’t tell a soul it was in St Dunstan’s then.”
Her eyes light up. “Ah, that was it!” She lifts her glass and tips it toward mine. “Thank you for keeping my secrets.” After she finishes her glass, she smiles curiously. “As I was saying, before you arrived, Nate was telling us how you met.”
Dammit. The table goes silent. They want to go down the romance road again? So much for my plans to impress her with my producer’s memory for fun London facts involving her company.
“That’s great.” I say casually. I don’t want to contradict anything that Nate may have already concocted. Maybe we met at a Lettuce Pray concert? Or after a football game?
“He said you met this summer,” Yasmin prompts.
I tug at my shirt. My pulse skitters when Nate reaches across the table for my hand, squeezing it.
Calming me.
“We met at a carnival,” he begins, smoothly taking the reins.
My nerves settle. He wants us to use the real story. I can do that. “It was in June,” I add.
“I was doing the dunk tank as a volunteer,” Nate continues, “for the LGBTQ Alliance in San Francisco. The one Jason’s involved in.”
I can picture the scene perfectly. Nate was playfully giving a teen a hard time. They market to kids and teens, and kids and teens love Nate. That sounds like my cue. “I remember you were egging on one of the teens,” I say. “He was taunting you and you were basically saying bring it on. After he knocked you into the water, you took the time to sign an autograph for him.”
Yasmin coos. “Oh, that’s so lovely. Taking a moment to do that.”
Yes! It worked. I scored points for him.
“And what brought you to the carnival that day?” Ilene asks me.
Well, Ilene, I was horny and trolling for dudes.
“I was finishing a meeting about a documentary we acquired on the most daring adventure sports, and I spotted the carnival after I left the production company’s studio. When I saw Nate in the dunk tank—” I hit the brakes, because what I thought when I saw Nate shirtless was that I wanted to get his shorts off too. “I was instantly taken,” I finish truthfully.
