The Invitation by Vi Keeland(5)

I thought about it. He actually didn’t. Hudson came off more bold than bashful. “No, but…”

Fisher rested one of his hands on each of my shoulders. “Take a deep breath.”

“Fisher, we should go.”

The emcee came on again and asked everyone to please take their seats, as dinner was about to be served.

Fisher pulled out my chair. “Let’s at least eat. If you still want to ditch after we’re done, we can. But I’m telling you, you’re just being paranoid. The guy hasn’t got a clue.”

My gut told me to leave now, but when I scanned the room, I noticed we were the last of a few stragglers standing, and people were looking at us.

I sighed. “Fine. Dinner and then we’re out of here.”

Fisher smiled.

I spoke softly, aware of the other guests seated at our table that we’d been rudely ignoring. “Where have you been, by the way?”

“Talking to Noah.”

“Who’s Noah?”

“A cute waiter. He’s going to be an actor.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure he is. We were supposed to stick together, you know.”

“It didn’t look like you were too lonely. Who was that Adonis, anyway? You know I don’t like it when you have men in your life better-looking than me.”

I sighed. “He was gorgeous, wasn’t he?”

Fisher drank his beer. “I’d do him.”

We both laughed. “Are you sure you don’t think he noticed anything? You’re not just saying that because you want to stay, are you?”

“No, we’re absolutely fine.”

Somehow, I relaxed a little over dinner. Although that might’ve had more to do with the waiter who kept refreshing my drink without being asked than deciding Fisher was right. It wasn’t that I no longer thought Hudson knew we were imposters, but rather that the buzz from my gin martinis left me unable to care if he did.

After they cleared our plates, Fisher asked me to dance, and I figured why not? A girl could have a worse evening than one spent dancing with two handsome men. So we hit the dance floor for a catchy pop song, and when the music slowed, Fisher took me in his arms.

Halfway through, we were laughing in our own little bubble when a man tapped my partner on the shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Hudson.

My heart started to pound in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of being back in the gorgeous man’s arms, or the prospect of being found out.

Fisher smiled and stepped back. “Take good care of my girl.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Something about the way he said it made me feel uneasy. Though Hudson took me in his arms and started to move us to the music, just as he’d done earlier.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“Ummm… Yes. This is a very nice place for a wedding. I’ve never been here before.”

“Who did you say you were a guest of? The bride or the groom?”

I didn’t say. “The bride.”

“And you know each other how?”

Shit. I looked up, and Hudson’s mouth curved into what resembled a smile, but it definitely wasn’t a funny—ha-ha type of smile. It was more cynical than jovial.

“I, uh, we used to work together.”

“Oh? Was it at Rothschild Investments?”

I wanted to run for it. Maybe Hudson sensed I might do just that, because unless I was imagining it, his grip on me tightened. I swallowed. “Yes. I worked for Rothschild Investments.”

The only thing I knew about Evelyn’s short-lived job there was that she had worked as a receptionist and couldn’t stand her boss. She used to refer to him as GQ Prick.

“In what capacity might that be?”

This was starting to feel like an interrogation. “As a receptionist.”

“A receptionist? But I thought you were a perfumist?”

Shit. Right. I hadn’t been thinking earlier when I’d been honest about my profession. “I, uhh, I’m starting my own business, and things got delayed, so I needed an income.”

“And what type of business is it you’re starting?”

At least this part wasn’t a lie. “It’s called Signature Scent. It’s a mail-order, custom perfume line.”

“How does that work?”

“We send twenty small scent samples for the person to rate from one to ten, along with a detailed questionnaire. Based on the types of smells they like and their answers to our survey, we create a scent just for them. I created an algorithm that builds the formula based on the input we collect.”

Hudson scanned my face. It looked like he was trying to figure out some sort of puzzle. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. “That’s actually a good idea.”

Maybe it was the alcohol fueling my nerve, but I was suddenly offended that he seemed surprised. “Did you think because I’m blond I wouldn’t have any?”

Hudson flashed what I suspected might’ve been a real smile, but it quickly faded back to his stoic face. He stared down at me for a long time as I held my breath, waiting for him to call me out as a fraud.

Finally, he said, “Will you come with me for a moment?”

“Where?”