“Is that so?” I asked, bemused.
He took both of my hands, studying the rock on my wedding finger. “I would have bought you a bigger one.”
“Fuck off,” grumbled Patrick, slumping farther down in his seat.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” asked Jack, still holding my hands. Which was odd.
Patrick ignored him.
I smiled and slipped my hands out of his hold. “I take it you’re Jack?”
“The son of rock legend Angus Gilmour,” said Angie, looking down her nose. “Jack is best known for playing lead guitar in his father’s band before they had a very public falling out. After which he moved on to working with some of the biggest and best acts in the industry. His hobbies include trashing hotel rooms—”
“That only happened one time,” he groaned.
“Riding a motorcycle through the house.”
“I was twelve and Dad thought it was funny.”
“Right up until he found out you’d ruined his Persian rug.”
Jack slumped onto the couch beside me. “Tell me all about yourself, Norah.”
“Aren’t you even going to say a proper hello?” asked Angie.
“You always were my favorite stepmom, Angie,” said Jack. “You know that.”
“Mm.” Angie blew out a slow breath. “Dating your father was the second worst mistake I ever made. But it was the nineties. Things happened. You, however . . . what the hell did you think you were doing pouring liquor down Patrick’s throat and dragging him around strip joints until the small hours of the morning?”
Jack groaned. “It was a burlesque club Cole’s thinking of buying. Quite a cool place, actually.”
“Huh.” And I didn’t mean to say that in a judgy tone; it just came out that way. Oops.
“While I’m prepared to admit that the drinking may have gotten ever so slightly out of hand,” said Jack, “nothing of interest really happened, I swear.”
I opened my mouth. Then I shut it. Because that was the smart thing to do. Also, Patrick was watching me.
Angie, however, did not look impressed. I got to my feet and heading for the kitchen. I grabbed the Advil and a bottle of water and took them to my fake fiancé still slumped on the couch. “Take these. You need them.”
“Thanks,” he said. Voice about a thousand times deeper and more pain-filled than normal.
“I was really hoping you were getting me coffee,” said Jack as I retook my seat.
“Nope,” I said. “You can help yourself. Though I am a fan of your father’s music.”
“He’s an asshole, but his music is good.” Jack set his ankle on the opposite knee. “Cole said I’d like you. He was right.”
And all the while, Patrick watched me with interest. In all honesty, I had no idea what the hell was going on with him. But it didn’t matter. This was a business arrangement. Nothing more. So long as I kept telling myself that, everything would be fine.
While I’d been in some strange and ridiculous situations over the course of my life, standing in the middle of the pool in the water in evening wear with Patrick Walsh was a clear winner. The photographer stood at the edge, discussing lighting and whatever with his crew. And we waited. Turned out there was a lot of waiting involved with this sort of thing. Bringing an aesthetic and artistic vision to life did not happen fast. Now and then a stylist would call one of us over to touch up our hair or makeup. But that was about as exciting as it got.
“Are you okay?” asked Patrick, looking particularly dapper with his hair slicked back. That he could go from roadkill to hottie in a couple of hours was completely unfair.
“Just a little cold. And bored.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Over the years I’ve gotten used to it. Acting for the screen is one percent magic and ninety-nine percent waiting around, usually on uncomfortable sets in ridiculous costumes.”
“I think this qualifies as both.”
“Hopefully it won’t be much longer.”
I forced a smile. A positive attitude in the workplace being a good thing and all. “Is that suit ruined?”
“I’d say so. It’s a wool Brioni. Probably cost about fifteen grand.”
“Jesus.”
“Come here,” he said, floating me in his general direction with a hand on my lower back. Then my hands were on his shoulders and his arms were around me, our bodies pressed together. “You’re all gooseflesh.”
“The water is warm; it’s just the breeze.”
Movement was limited due to my Hervé Léger black column gown. Sleeveless with a square neckline, it had straps crisscrossing down my back. And the borrowed diamond necklace, earrings, and bracelet set came with its own security guard keeping watch. So much for the whole girl-next-door thing. Despite being drenched, we were high glamour.
“What message do you think they’re trying to send with this picture?” I asked.
“I honestly have no idea.” His expression grew thoughtful. “That we’re in deep water, maybe?”
I smiled. “How’s your hangover?”