The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(39)

"Are you sure you haven't had any drinks today?" B said, catching her and letting her regain her balance.

"Quiet, you," Gwen said.

Somehow, she managed to make her hair look not terrible, apply some makeup to make her face look not exhausted, and made it down to the front entrance of her apartment with five minutes still on the clock.

Though her feet already throbbed, despite only having the shoes on for a half hour or so. She decided to leave them off while they were in the car. Give her body some time to recharge. For some reason, the butterfly wings of nerves and anxiety battered against her stomach. So much so that she hardly noticed the cool evening air on her bare shoulders.

Beatrice waited with her until the limo pulled up to the curb. She gave Gwen's hand a squeeze as the driver stepped out to open her door.

"Remember, he likes you," B said.

"I'll try."

"Hey, look at it this way. You had a dream about him last night. After he gets a look at you in this dress, I can guarantee he's gonna have a similar experience tonight. That, or he's gay. I know what I'm going to dream about!"

"B!" Gwen said. But her friend just grinned at her and winked.

"Ma'am," the driver said, pulling the back door open and offering her a white-gloved hand.

"'Ma'am,'" Beatrice mocked. Before Gwen could admonish her, she started walking away down the street, laughing.

Her heart thudding so that she could hear the blood rush past her ears (and make her glad she'd applied some antiperspirant to her armpits) Gwen accepted the driver's hand and stepped into the car.

This time, the first thing she did was check to make sure that Henry Manning didn't sit across from them.

But it was only Gwen and Aiden this time.

The light coming in from a lamp outside reflected off the polished toes of his shoes. This time, he wore a tuxedo. Black, with a slight shimmer to it. Though, if he dressed to match her, she realized it was probably actually the same deep blue.

"You look... really good," Aiden said.

Well, Gwen thought, that was interesting. She must really be having an effect on him, if he was at a loss for words. She actually kind of wished Henry sat across from them. It would have given her an excuse to hold his hand.

He'd shaved. She could smell his aftershave, and his cheeks looked touchably smooth. His fingers drummed a tuneless, nervous beat against his thighs. Why was he nervous? Wasn't he expecting this?

"You aren't too bad either, I guess," Gwen said, unable to keep from smiling. She kept thinking about what B said, about him looking at her at the Starbucks.

"I have to apologize about this," Aiden said as the limo started moving.

"Well... you did interrupt girl's night," Gwen said, "But this dress definitely scored you a few points." She reached for his hand.

Aiden eluded her grasp, however, reaching up to rub at those smooth cheeks. "It's Henry. He still thinks he knows what's going on."

"So... he's making you take me to this event?" Gwen asked. She saw then how her dress had been riding slowly up her thighs, and she tugged it back down.

"Yes. He's determined to undermine this whole thing."

Gwen still couldn't see what made him so nervous. Surely he'd been attending similar functions all his life? Unless, she thought, there's something I'm missing.

"What's the big deal? Is there going to be dancing or something?" Gwen said, still trying the humor tack. It always seemed to work for Beatrice. Besides, that actually sounded nice: spending a few hours in Aiden's arms as they spun in circles.

And she felt curious about that, too. Did Aiden like to dance? She couldn't quite tell if he was the type who loved dancing and could do it quite well, or hated it and kept tripping over his own feet.

Aiden shook his head and sighed in frustration. Apparently the limo was a no-joke zone. "This isn't 18th Century Vienna, Gwen. There's no dancing."

"Okay, okay. No need to get so touchy about it. What is there, then?"


"Reporters," he said.

"As in news reporters? Cameras and microphones and stuff like that?" Gwen said, beginning to feel a slow, cold drip of anxiety in her stomach. She plucked at the hem of her dress, her body beginning to pick up on Aiden's nerves.

"Yes, cameras and microphones and stuff. Normally, I try to avoid these types of things. All the celebrity, all the fakery. But he insisted..."

"Insisted? Why?"

"Because he knows that as soon as the press gets wind of this, they're going to dig their claws in. Gwen, there will be pictures of us together in half a dozen magazines tomorrow. And then there will be the interviews," Aiden said.

"There are interviews?"

"Yes. Everyone gets interviewed there. He's testing us, don't you see? Tossing us into the meat grinder so he can find out what we're made of. Or to try and expose us. Probably both," Aiden said. His balled his hands into fists and slammed them down onto the seat. Gwen jumped.

"Why is he doing this? What is it that he's holding over you that gives him this power?" Gwen said.

"Not yet. I can't tell you about that yet. We're not ready for this, Gwen. And he knows it. He's going to win again..."

Gwen put her hand over his fist. It shook beneath her palm, but he didn't try to snatch it away, at least. She got a hint of the anger and frustration boiling inside him.