“You’re going on a date.”
Christian had a talent for turning every question into…well, not a question.
“Yes.” An uncharacteristic burst of mischief bloomed inside me. “That’s where you take someone out for dinner, drinks, maybe some hand-holding. It might sound like a foreign concept, but you should try it sometime, Mr. Harper. It’ll do you some good.”
Maybe it would loosen him up a little.
For all his charm and wealth, he was wound tighter than the spring of his Audemars Piguet watch. It was evident in the precision of his walk, the set of his shoulders, and the unnatural flawlessness of his appearance.
Not a hair out of place, not a speck of lint on his clothes.
Christian Harper was a man who thrived on controlling everything, including his feelings.
He stared down at me, his jaw so tense I could practically hear his teeth grind. “I don’t hold hands.”
“Fine, no hand-holding. Cuddling then, on a bench overlooking the river, followed by some whispered sweet nothings and a goodnight kiss. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
I swallowed a laugh at the way his lip curled. Judging by his expression, my suggestion sounded as nice as being thrown into a vat of bubbling acid.
“You don’t usually date.”
My amusement faded, replaced with a pinprick of annoyance. “You don’t know that. I could’ve gone on a hundred dates since I moved in and you wouldn’t have known.”
“Have you?”
Dammit. I couldn’t lie, not even when every cell in my body urged me to wipe the knowing look from his eyes.
“That’s not the point,” I said. “Maybe it hasn’t been a hundred, but it’s been a few.”
Two, and they were test dates that reminded me why I hated dating. But he didn’t need to know that.
“And where is your date tonight?”
It was an innocent question, but intuition told me to keep the exact location to myself. “A bar.”
“How specific.”
“How none of your business.” I gave him a pointed stare.
Christian’s smile didn’t soften the smooth, bladed edge of his voice. “Have fun on your date, Stella.”
The conversation was over, which was just as well. I was already running late.
But as I left for my date, I couldn’t focus on the man I was about to see.
I was too busy thinking about whiskey eyes and black suits.
* * *
Half an hour later,I wished I’d stayed in the lobby with Christian because my date was going as well as expected, which was to say, not at all.
Klaus was one of the few male fashion bloggers who lived in D.C., and I’d liked him well enough the few times we chatted at events.
Unfortunately, those chats had been too short for me to realize what became obvious after an extended conversation.
Klaus was a massive, raging douchebag.
“I told them I don’t work for free. I understand it’s a charity, but I am a luxury blogger.” Klaus adjusted his secondhand Rolex. “What part of me screams free posts for cancer awareness? Of course, it’s a great cause,” he added hastily. “But it takes time for me to shoot and post, you know? I even gave them a ten percent discount off my usual fee, but they said no.”
“There’s a reason it’s called charity.” I finished my drink. Two glasses of wine in twenty minutes. A record for me, and a testament to how much I didn’t want to be here. But Klaus was my last hope, and I gave him more leeway than usual. Maybe he meant well but couldn’t express it in the right manner. “They can’t afford to pay thousands of dollars for every post.”
“I didn’t ask them to pay for every post. I asked them to pay me.”
Dear Lord, give me strength.
“I did that campaign for free. It took me less than an hour, and I didn’t die,” I pointed out.
I had a soft spot for charities, and I accepted almost all of those collaborations if the organization was legit. Brady hated it, mainly because they were always unpaid, and he earned nothing from those deals.
Klaus laughed. “Yes, well, that’s the difference between men and women, isn’t it?”
My spine stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means most men ask for what they’re worth and most women don’t.” Klaus’s casual shrug made my eye twitch. “It’s not an insult, merely an observation. But someone’s gotta make less money, right?”
My fingers tightened around the stem of my wineglass.
I suddenly wished it weren’t empty. I’d never been more tempted to throw a drink in someone’s face.
He wasn’t wrong about the whole ask for what they’re worth thing, but his tone was so condescending it overshadowed everything else. Plus, he’d nickel and dimed a cancer charity, of all things.
“Klaus.” My even voice betrayed none of the anger simmering in my blood. “Thank you for the drinks, but we’ve reached the end of our date.”
He stopped fiddling with a stray lock of hair to stare at me. “Excuse me?”
“We’re not compatible, and I don’t want to waste either of our times.”
I would also rather stab my eye out with a Christian Louboutin heel than spend another minute with you, I added silently.
Klaus’s face flushed an angry, mottled red.
“Whatever.” He stood and yanked his coat off the back of his chair. “I only stayed out of pity, anyway. You’re nowhere near as hot as everyone says you are.”
Says the guy who buys followers and uses a fake account to comment how hot he is under his own posts. The retort tingled on the tip of my tongue until my aversion to confrontation squashed it.
If I had a penny for every comeback I kept to myself, I wouldn’t need the Delamonte deal. I would already be a millionaire.
I waited until Klaus stormed out in a cloud of overpowering cologne and indignation before I groaned and buried my face in my hands.
Now that Klaus was off the table, I officially had zero prospects for a decent fake boyfriend.
No fake boyfriend, no follower growth, no Delamonte deal, no money, no care for Maura…
My thoughts ran together in a jumbled stream.
Was there another way to grow my account besides getting a fake boyfriend? Maybe.
Would growing my account fast enough guarantee I get the Delamonte deal? No.
But once my brain latched onto an idea, trying to pry it off was like trying to crack a vault with a toothpick. Plus, with no job and no bites on my resume, I was getting desperate.
The boyfriend idea might’ve made me uneasy, but it’d also offered a glimmer of hope. Now, that glimmer had dulled into an ugly, tarnished brown.
I drained my water, hoping it would alleviate the dryness in my throat. All it did was send me into a small coughing fit when it went down the wrong pipe.
“I assume the whispered sweet nothings and goodnight kiss are off the table.”
My skin grew hot at the familiar drawl behind me.