Dating Games(40)

“Still, you’re not the type of girl who does random hookups. You’re either all in or all out. There’s no in-between with you. I just…” She blows out a breath. “I don’t want you to fall for this guy and end up getting hurt because this is only a business deal for him.”

“It’s nothing more than a business deal for me, too. Weren’t you saying I deserved to have some fun this summer?”

“That is true. And Trevor certainly does deserve to have the fact that you’re dating one of the most eligible men in New York shoved in his face.” Her eyes focus on me. “And it will be shoved in his face. Not by me, but Hamptons’ parties are a hotbed for gossip columnists. Gossip websites will publish photos of you together. You won’t be able to keep it quiet for long.”

“Julian doesn’t want it to be kept quiet. He wants us to act as if it’s real.”

“And there’s no part of you that wishes it were?”

“Of course not,” I respond quickly. “I’m not interested in him.” I straighten my spine, exuding all the confidence I can muster just as the sound of my phone ringing rips through the space. I dart my eyes to the screen, a warmth filling me when Julian’s name pops up.

“Not interested, you say?” Chloe teases, getting up from the couch. “Your wide smile and increased breathing indicate otherwise, Evie.” She narrows her eyes on me. “Just be careful.”

With that, she disappears into her bedroom, allowing me to speak with Julian in private.

Not wanting to sound overly eager, I blow out a long breath, then bring the phone to my ear, answering in a sultry tone.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Guinevere. As requested, I’ve emailed you an itinerary for the next two months.”

His tone is clipped, formal, almost as if I’m merely another call he has to make in conducting business. It’s like he’s a different person than the man who left me a panting mess on Chloe’s front stoop last night. Did I imagine it all?

“Please check your calendar and let me know what conflicts you may have. I prefer to know in advance. Like you, I’m not fond of surprises.”

“All I have planned this summer is work,” I answer in a tone matching his own.

“There are some events that may occur during the week, so I’ll need you to take the time off, if it can be arranged.”

“I don’t foresee a problem. Like I said last night, my boss doesn’t mind if I work out of the office, as long as all my work is turned in by my deadline.”

“Also, my personal stylist needs your measurements to pull things for you. She’ll be reaching out to you sometime today. She’s located in Midtown. You can either go to her or she can come to you.”

“Personal stylist?”

“If you’re to act the part of my girlfriend, you need to dress the part. Don’t worry. You can keep the clothes when the summer is over. My stylist has a list of things you’ll need. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” I ask, feeling overwhelmed as I not only attempt to absorb the difference in demeanor, but the reality of what pretending to be this man’s girlfriend will entail. "But—”

“Take a look at the itinerary. I’m sure it will answer all your questions. If not, the number for my assistant is included. Goodbye, Guinevere.”

“Goodbye, Julian.”

But the line’s already dead.





Chapter Sixteen





The Steam Room is particularly busy Monday morning as I sit at my usual table with the perfect view of the counter and dining area. The murmur of low conversation competes to be heard over coffee beans being ground and employees shouting orders to each other. I’ve yet to indulge in any of their pastries, but I feel my hips getting bigger simply from sitting here these past few weeks… Calories by osmosis or something like that.

I do everything I can to focus on how to determine which of the men on my list of possibilities is the real August Laurent, like I’m playing my own version of To Tell the Truth. Instead, all I can think of is Julian. How sweet and charming he was Friday night, then how cold and distant he seemed during our brief phone call. All weekend, I reminded myself it shouldn’t matter, that it’s only a business relationship, that it’s not real. But I felt something. Was he really that good of an actor?

The itinerary he sent is quite extensive. There’s something requiring my presence every weekend. It boggles my mind to think people live this way. Galas. Fundraisers. Art auctions. Pool parties. Bonfires. And this is a normal summer. I already feel like I don’t belong, and I haven’t even stepped foot in the Hamptons yet.

I try not to think too much about it, concentrating instead on the copious notes I’d made the previous week. As I flip through them, I’m unable to shake the feeling I missed something. None of the men on my list scream escort. Maybe August Laurent isn’t in town. Maybe something came up and he had to take some bored housewife off to a remote island in exchange for a ridiculously obscene amount of money.

As I’m about to pull up the web browser on my laptop to sort through another one of the dozens of articles I found online theorizing about who he could be, my cell rings, the number to my work line popping up, indicating it’s a forwarded call.