“Sometimes,” I admitted. “It doesn’t stop those days where you feel like a fraud, though. Sometimes I get this unshakable feeling that I accidentally sneaked into a place where I don’t belong, and any moment someone is going to discover me, kick me out, and make me move back to my home town to work at the local burger joint forever.” I laughed, like I often did when I was talking about upsetting feelings. “Then it’s easy to wish I ended up somewhere else, somewhere safer, where I didn’t have those thoughts so often. But it always passes in the end.”
“Safer,” repeated Rafiq. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the choice. People assume there are safe choices and so they give up on their dreams in exchange for it.”
I nodded sadly. “I’ve lost a lot of friends over the years because of it. I understand the impulse. I just… I don’t share it.” The memory made me sad.
As if he could sense it, Rafiq said, “Evie, you’re braver than any single person I’ve ever met. Don’t be ashamed because you don’t share that impulse. It’s people like you who make a difference in the world. You’re stronger than all of them, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. You refused to let your dreams die.”
I lowered my fork slowly, stunned and moved by his kind words. Something in me wanted to believe he was just messing with me, but nothing in his voice or expression suggested he was being anything less than sincere.
“Thank you,” I replied quietly. “I don’t feel that way a lot. It’s nice to hear.”
Rafiq nodded at me and smiled. “My father will love hearing about your artistic strength. You’ll be perfect for this.”
“When will I meet him?”
“He’s coming in from the Middle East on his jet sometime tomorrow. He’s a very busy man with a constantly fluctuating schedule, which is why it’s important for us to maintain the appearance that we live together. It’s just easier to do it than to fake it. He could show up at any time, but I know he has plans to return home at the end of the week.”
“So we only have to pull this off for a week?”
“Give or take,” said Rafiq. “And then you can return to your gallery a richer woman, and hopefully find some of that stability your creativity needs to flourish.”
I loved the sound of that, and smiled. “I think we can definitely do business, Rafiq.” I raised my water glass and he clinked his whiskey against it with a half-smile. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” he replied with a smile.
We were interrupted when the bistro’s social photographer arrived, beaming from ear to ear, and offering to take a photo of us to remember the occasion. I was surprised, but Rafiq seemed to expect it, and he scooted his chair over next to mine.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to his body, his head resting against mine. “Smile, darling,” he said to me. “This will be one for the scrapbook.”
I tried to ignore the sparks shooting through my skin when Rafiq touched me, and smiled at the camera, leaning against him as if he really was my lover. The photographer directed us with annoying little hand waves until he liked the way we were posing, and then rapidly clicked a few photos with his bright flash.
The photographer seemed pleased with the results, and Rafiq handed him a hundred-dollar bill, asking for a copy of the best photo. The photographer promised to have a print ready by the time we left, and came through on his offer, presenting Rafiq with a beautiful eight-by-ten copy of the portrait in a white envelope as we reached the doors.
“Can I see?” I asked, trying to slip the envelope from his grasp.
He pulled it away teasingly as he led me out the front door of the bistro. “Darling, I’m going to get it framed for you, don’t spoil the surprise.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “If you say so, darling,” I repeated. It had been a long time since I had used a pet name on anyone but Joel, but I figured I should start practicing now, before it really mattered.
Rafiq chuckled and offered me his arm, leading me back to the town car and helping me inside.
“The penthouse, please, Ahmed,” said Rafiq to his driver through the intercom. Ahmed didn’t reply, but pulled the car away from the curb and into traffic.
Rafiq sighed and threw an arm on the back of the seat. “Thank you for doing this for me, Evie,” he said. “You’re wonderful for it. I’m going to make sure all my rich, art-loving friends get familiar with your work.”
I blushed and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Well, wonderful and broke… I’m not totally selfless in helping you. It’s not like I’m a nun, here.” I laughed.
“No… no you’re not,” said Rafiq lowly.
Something in his voice sounded different, and when I looked over to meet his eyes, I saw lust blazing in them. His gaze wandered slowly and deliberately down my face and body, like he wanted me to feel it.
My heart stopped in my chest. Even though part of me hungered for his gaze, the moment was all wrong, and my stomach tied up in knots.
Rafiq reached over with his right hand and placed it firmly on my thigh, half-covered by the blue cloth of my dress. His touch sent electricity through my skin, and I gasped in surprise.
“Rafiq,” I panted, “what are you doing?”
His hand was sliding up my thigh. “I know you find me attractive,” he said, leaning his body over toward me. “And I certainly think the same of you…”
With my forearm, I pushed his chest back and tossed his hand off my thigh. He made a grunting noise as he fell back against the leather seats, blinking in surprise.
“Good God, are you kidding me?” I said angrily, pulling down the hem of my skirt. “I thought this was a business arrangement!”
Shock and confusion painted Rafiq’s face. “It is a business arrangement, but it doesn’t have to be limited to that. Why should it?”
“Actually, it does,” I said firmly, crossing my arms. I slid away from Rafiq on the bench seat, as close to the other door as I could get. “And you’ll do well to remember that, or this won’t be an arrangement at all. I have no problem going back to being a starving artist, Rafiq, I’ve done it for long enough. It’s your choice.”
Rafiq’s silence was filled with anger, and it made the interior of the town car tense. I was sure even Ahmed could feel it. Rafiq didn’t reply, he just twisted his mouth up and turned away from me to stare out the window. When we arrived at the penthouse, he didn’t get out of the car with me. Hell, he wouldn’t even look at me.
“I’m going to meet some friends in the city,” he said in a cold voice. “Don’t wait up.”
I scoffed. “Why would I?”
I slammed the car door before he could reply and headed into the building without looking back as the town car roared away behind me.