Their fake relationship…

…isn’t just for Christmas!

Ex-footballer Lewis Matola urgently needs to clean up his reputation, and heiress Susan Collier is the only woman who can help. Their agreement’s clear: they’ll be each other’s fake date for the holiday season—no feelings involved! But as Christmas Eve draws near, Lewis becomes intrigued by the side of Susan she keeps hidden from the world. Soon it’s more than just snow swirling between the unlikely pair…

BARBARA WALLACE can’t remember when she wasn’t dreaming up love stories in her head, so writing romances for Mills & Boon is a dream come true. Happily married to her own Prince Charming, she lives in New England, with a house full of empty-nest animals. Occasionally her son comes home as well! To stay up to date on Barbara’s news and releases sign up for her newsletter at barbarawallace.com.

Also by Barbara Wallace

Saved by the CEO

Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss

Their Christmas Miracle

One Night in Provence

In Love with the Boss miniseries

A Millionaire for Cinderella

Beauty & Her Billionaire Boss

Royal House of Corinthia miniseries

Christmas Baby for the Princess

Winter Wedding for the Prince

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Her Convenient Christmas Date

Barbara Wallace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09177-0

HER CONVENIENT CHRISTMAS DATE

© 2019 Barbara Wallace

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To all the square pegs in the world.

May we love our edges.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THE BAR WAS one of those pop-up, themed locations that were trendy at the moment. Holiday Cheer was the name and its existence had temporarily transformed the mezzanine of the Regis Hotel into a garish, yet strangely enticing Christmas wonderland. The walls were made entirely of poinsettia blossoms, while strings of holiday lights crisscrossed the air like tiny multicolored stars.

In the middle of the cheer, at a bar framed by Christmas trees, Susan Collier was having a deep, meaningful conversation with her cocktail glass.

“So what if I don’t have a date? It’s not like I have the plague. Plenty of women go to weddings without a plus-one.”

Her cocktail, the sympathetic ear that it was, didn’t disagree.

Too bad Ginger and Courtney weren’t as sympathetic. The two catty little trolls from marketing enjoyed a good laugh about her while powdering their noses. So good, in fact, they didn’t realize Susan was in the stall listening to every word.

“Is it any wonder?” one of them had said. “She’s got a perpetual stick up her bum. I don’t know why Maria invited her to the wedding in the first place.”

“I should fire them both for insubordination,” Susan muttered. The cocktail offered itself up in mute solidarity. Lifting the glass, she polished off the contents in one swallow.

“You’re drinking those pretty quickly. Sure you don’t want to slow down?” the bartender asked when she signaled for another.

“Didn’t realize there was a speed limit.” She tapped the rim of her empty glass with her index finger. “Keep ’em coming. And, if you’re worried about me toddling off and driving, don’t. I used a car service.” Because that was what women without dates did. They car serviced.

“Aren’t you afraid they’ll miss you upstairs?”

Susan snorted. Did he mean the wedding to which she’d received an obligatory invitation just because her office was next to the bride’s? The one for which she had stuffed herself into shapeware and a vintage dress with the hopes it would make her Kardashianesque rear end look its best? Doubtful.

“Just make the drink,” she told him.

“All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the man replied.

Warning taken. Whatever the warning was.

She didn’t know why she’d bothered attending this wedding in the first place. If Maria Borromeo hadn’t been one of the few people who was moderately friendly toward her, Susan would have canceled when her brother Linus backed out of being her date. No one would have cared then any more than they would care if she spent the entire reception sucking back gin cocktails in the bar.

She knew her reputation. Shrewsan, they called her when they didn’t think she was listening. It was no secret she was the least popular Collier at Collier’s Soap. Her brothers—half brothers, that is—inherited all the positive Collier traits. Things like the Collier charm and lanky athletic good looks. She, on the other hand, didn’t get the Collier anything. Nor did she get any of the good Quinn characteristics either, as her mother used to love pointing out. Except perhaps a passing resemblance to a great-aunt Ruth, the dumpy one.

The bartender returned with another red cocktail with an extra cherry this time. Susan forgave him for his earlier question. He was a good guy, Mr. Bartender. She liked how his red flannel shirt and neat white beard matched the Christmas decor.

“What do you call this thing anyway?” she asked him when he set the drink down. The cocktail list had been full of cute holiday-themed names that she hadn’t bothered to read, zeroing in on the first one that listed gin instead.

“A Christmas Wish,” he replied. “Guaranteed to make your wishes come true.”

Susan barked out a laugh. “You mean if I drink enough of these I’ll meet Prince Charming?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Hardly.” Clearly he wasn’t as good a listener as her cocktail friend. Cinderella Complexes were for the Gingers and Courtneys of the world. She was rich and successful in her own right, and her half brothers weren’t wicked. “I’m not waiting for some man to rush in and rescue me from my miserable existence.”

Although every once in a while…

She stared deep into the contents of the glass where tiny bubbles rose from the bottom. Every once in a while she wished there was someone who really understood her. Her brothers…they loved her, but great as they were, they didn’t really “get” her. They didn’t understand what it was like to be the perpetual square peg in a round hole, always pretending she fit.

How lovely it would be to share her life with someone who saw the truth. With whom she could fit without having to pretend. Who thought her beautiful and special, warts and all.

She was getting maudlin. And the room was spinning. Maybe the bartender was right and she’d had enough. Why else would she be wishing for things that weren’t ever going to happen?

“Hey, mate, do me a favor and get me a glass of soda water, will you?”

A tall, perfectly carved physical specimen of a man approached the bar, his face dripping wet. From the red stain on his shirt collar, Susan guessed he’d been the recipient of a Christmas Wish square in the face.

“Word of advice,” he said to the bartender, his words coated in a Yorkshire accent. “Before you agree to be in a wedding, make sure you haven’t hooked up with anyone on the guest list.”

“Ran into a bitter ex-girlfriend, did you?”

“Two. And they compared notes.” He grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins and began wiping the liquid from his face.

“Must have been some notes,” she muttered.

He looked in her direction for the first time. “You’re not going to lob your drink at me too, are you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I dunno. Female solidarity or something. You’re here for Hank and Maria’s wedding, right? For all I know, they’re your friends too.”

“That would require me to have friends.” Had she said that out loud?

He arched his brow in a mixture of half surprise, half curiosity. Oh, well, too late to take the comment back now. Besides, it was the truth. She didn’t have friends. She had family, she had colleagues and she had acquaintances, but friends? That would involve allowing people closer than arm’s length, an impossible task when you were a square peg. It was hard enough trying to pretend your edges didn’t matter.

“Sounds like I’m not the only one who got burned tonight. Weddings aren’t the fun people make them out to be, are they? Unless you’re the bride and groom, that is, and even then… Thanks, mate.”

The bartender had returned with the soda water along with a white cloth napkin. “No problem. I don’t suppose I can get an autograph when you finish? I’m a huge fan. That stop you made against Germany a few years ago? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Thanks. Definitely a finer moment than this one.”

Ah. Susan recognized him now. This was the infamous Lewis Matolo. Maria mentioned her fiancé knew the former footballer. She’d been in a downright tizzy over his attendance at the wedding. Matolo, or “Champagne Lewis” as the tabloids called him, came with a reputation. Then again, if your nickname involved alcohol, that was probably a given. He’d gotten the moniker after they snapped his picture leaving a London nightclub, shirtless, with a woman under each arm and an open bottle of Cristal in each hand. From what Susan had read, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence.

She watched as he dipped a corner into the glass and began dabbing at a red spot on the front of his shirt. Sadly, he didn’t succeed in doing anything more than turning the spot into a damp pink stain.

“You’re going to need detergent,” Susan told him. “Otherwise, all you’re doing is making it worse.”

He looked up through his long lashes. “Are you sure?”

“I own a soap company. Trust me.” Scented soaps and moisturizers hardly made her an expert. More like she tended to dribble food down her front. But being a soap mogul sounded better.

“You own a… Oh, you’re Maria’s boss. Hank mentioned you.”

Oh, good. That made two of them whose reputations preceded them. “Susan Collier, at your service,” she said, saluting him with her glass.

He nodded, apparently assuming it wasn’t necessary to offer a name in return. “So what’s got you holed up avoiding the good times in the ballroom, Susan Collier? Shouldn’t you be upstairs dancing with your date?”

“I didn’t come with a date.”

“Sorry.”

Not him too. Why was everyone suddenly sorry for her dating status all of a sudden? “For your information, I could get a date if I wanted one. I chose not to. A woman is not defined by her dating record.”

She tried to punctuate her statement with a wave of her arm only to come dangerously close to needing her own damp cloth. To make amends for her clumsiness, she took a healthy sip. These drinks were delicious.

“Again, okay. I only meant sorry for presuming. Didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” Hands up in appeasement, he backed a few inches away.

From his place a few feet down the bar, the bartender chuckled. “Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead, mate.”

“No kidding. Tonight’s definitely not my night,” he said as he strained to look down at his shirt. “You’re right. Made it worse, didn’t I?”

“Told you,” Susan replied. “It’s the grenadine. Stuff’s impossible to get out. Tastes good though.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Damn. Now I’m going to smell like a fruit bowl for the rest of the night.”

“I hate to ask, but what did you do to earn a cocktail to the face in the first place?”

A better question would have been what didn’t he do? Lewis tossed the napkin on the bar. He’d been drowning in the karma from a decade of bad decisions for the past nine months. “Nothing,” he lied. “One minute we were talking, the next I had a maraschino cherry in my hair.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, just like that.”

She knew he was lying. It was evident from the look she shot him over the rim of her glass.

“You’re leaving something out,” she said. “I can tell by the way you’re not saying anything.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” She was swaying on her bar stool, the way someone did when the room was starting to spin. Hopefully the bartender was paying attention. “People don’t toss perfectly good drinks for no reason,” she said. “Especially good drinks. So what did you do?”

It was none of her business, Lewis wanted to say, except the glint in her eye made him bite his tongue. Even drunk, she had an astuteness about her.

What the heck. She’d hear anyway. “I might have asked them for their names.”

“You forgot who they were? Both of them? After you slept with them?”

He didn’t say he was proud of it. In fact, he was horrified. “They were from my playing days,” he replied.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so? They were from his playing days,” she announced to the bartender. “That totally makes it all right.”

“I didn’t say it was right. Just that’s why I forgot them.” He was lucky he remembered his playing days at all.

“I completely understand. It must have been hard keeping all those groupies straight.”

Yes, it was, because there had been a lot of groupies and a lot of alcohol and they were all a giant blur of bad behavior. Lewis kept his mouth shut, however, because it was no excuse. Besides, the woman was drunk and he knew from experience that alcohol and arguing didn’t mix. “Are you always this sarcastic to people you just met?” he asked.

“Meh. Depends on how easy a target.”

“You’re saying I’m easy.”

She eyed him through her lashes. “You tell me, Champagne.”

How he hated that name. If he never heard the nickname again, it wouldn’t be soon enough. The irony of the situation—if that was the right word—was that he didn’t remember the picture being taken.

“I’m beginning to see why you don’t have friends.”

His companion’s lower lip started to tremble.

Terrific. On top of everything, he’d gone and hurt her feelings. Why not stomp on a puppy for an encore? “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

She responded with a sniff. “Don’t be silly. I don’t cry.”

She was doing a darn good impression of tearing up. Lewis handed her one of the cocktail napkins from his pile. “Here, dry your eyes.”

“I told you. I’m not going to cry.”

“Then wipe your nontears with it before they make your mascara run,” he said. “And, I’m sorry. The comment was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was. It’s also true.”

“I’m sure it’s…”

“I’m in a bar getting drunk by myself and no one from upstairs has noticed I’m missing.”

“I’m sure someone has noticed,” Lewis replied. Granted, she wasn’t the kind of girl he’d look for, but she was hardly forgettable. Her black dress was sexy in a naughty-secretary way—prim but tight enough to show she had curves. She had black curly hair that she’d pulled into a high ponytail—to match the dress he presumed. It worked together to give her a no-nonsense vibe. If there was such a thing as a no-nonsense sex kitten, she was it.

“If it helps, no one’s looking for me either,” he said.

“Of course they aren’t,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “You insulted two women.”

“And here I’d gone five whole minutes without thinking of my stupidity.” Good to know her tears didn’t dull the bite of her tongue.

“Now you know why no one’s looking for me, except my friend here.” She waved her half-empty martini glass, the red liquid sloshing against the sides. “Unless you want your reputation to get worse, you might want to slide down a few stools.”

“Trust me, my reputation can’t get much worse, luv.” A drink in the face was nothing when everyone in the UK thought you were washed up. Maybe not everyone, he corrected, but the people who counted. Like the people at BBC Sport who thought Pete “White Noise” Brockton made a good commentator.

“More likely, you’re going to mess up your reputation sitting with me,” he told her.

“Whatever. Here’s to our rotten reputations. Oh, no!” The liquid had splashed over the rim when she’d waved her drink. Running down the stem, it dripped onto the napkin he’d tossed down earlier. “And she’d been such a good friend.”

Her lip was wobbling again. Reaching into her space, he took the glass from her hand before she could take another sip.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“I think you’ve had enough.” Personified drinks were never a good sign. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender hold up four fingers.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” She went to grab the drink only to pitch forward. Fortunately, her hand grabbed the bar rail, keeping her from falling completely.

Without missing a beat, she continued. “It’s Christmastime. A girl should get as many wishes as she wants.”

“Christmas Wishes,” the bartender supplied when Lewis frowned. “It’s the name of the drink.”

“Well, you’re going to wish you didn’t have this last wish tomorrow morning. Why don’t we switch to water for a little while? Get you hydrated.”

“I don’t need water. I’m fine.”

“Trust me.” Lewis set the drink on the bar as far down as he could reach. If she wanted it, she was going to have to stand up and walk around him. “You’re an expert on soap? I’m an expert on getting drunk. You need water.”

“Fine. I’ll have the water.” The way she huffed and rolled her eyes like a teenager proved his point. Lewis had a feeling she wouldn’t be caught dead making such an expression sober.

“Thank you. Bartender?”

Giving a nod, the bearded man poured two large glasses, minus ice. “Room temperature will go down a little easier,” he said.

Good man. Lewis took the fuller of the two glasses and handed it to Susan. “Here, drink up. Then I’ll call a car to take us home. You’ll have to pick up your car in the morning.”

“Don’t have one,” she said in between swallows. “Took a car service.”

“Even better.”

“Wait a second. You’re taking me home?” She looked up at him through her lashes.

Wow. Her eyes were really pretty. He wasn’t sure if it was the sheen from the tears or the bar lighting but the hazel color had a copper center that looked lit from within. They were almost hypnotic.

“I’m making sure you get home safely,” he told her. While he imagined she could handle herself, Lewis didn’t like the idea of sending her home alone—car service or not. “We’ll share a ride and I’ll have the driver drop you off first.”

“Oh.” Her gaze dropped to her glass. “That’s very nice of you.”

There was no missing the disappointment in her voice. He didn’t stop to think, but after going on about no one liking her, his dropping her off was probably a kick in the teeth. When she sobered up, she’d be really embarrassed.

“Bad form to leave a woman alone when she’s been drinking,” he said. “Or, to take advantage of her.” Not that he would have taken her home, but he might as well take the sting out of his rejection.

It worked. A tiny blush bloomed in her cheeks. “You’re a very decent person,” she said. “Even if you did forget those women’s names.”

Lewis couldn’t remember the last time he was called decent. “Thank you. If you get a chance, spread the word. I’m in need of an image makeover.” A big one. Otherwise, he’d be stuck as “Champagne Lewis” for the rest of his life. Or worse, he’d fade into obscurity.

“You and me both,” she replied.

“Amen to that, sister.” Helping himself to the other water, he clinked the bottom of his glass against hers. “Amen to that.”

CHAPTER TWO

IF THERE WERE two things Susan detested, they were headaches and people bothering her when she wanted to be left alone. Saturday morning brought both: a blinding headache and a phone ringing loudly right next to her ear.

Lifting her head from the sofa—where she’d collapsed facedown after stumbling from the bathroom—she glared at the caller ID, planning on killing the person.

Just her luck, it was her brother Thomas. One of two people in the UK she couldn’t kill. He was also the only person whose call she had to take. As CEO of Collier’s, he was technically her boss.

That didn’t mean she had to be pleasant though. “Do you know what time it is?” she growled.

“Happy Saturday to you, as well. It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

Really? She pulled the phone from her ear to check. When she’d lain down, it was just before seven that day. “Sorry. Thought it was earlier.”

It suddenly dawned on her why Thomas could be calling. “Rosalind didn’t have the baby, did she?” She pushed herself upright, ignoring how the blood rush made the room—and her stomach—sway.

“Not yet. The doctor thinks she’ll go right on her due date, same as she did with Maddie. And you sound like dirt.”

She felt like dirt. No longer having to worry about being alert, she slid down into the cushions. “Maria’s wedding was last night. I overdosed on sloe gin.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Not as good as you’d think.” And ending with her nearly falling on her face when she tripped going up her front steps—right after she’d insisted she was perfectly able to navigate the walk on her own. She could just imagine the look that had crossed Lewis Matolo’s face when he caught her by the waist. A combination of smugness and disgust, no doubt. At least he was gentleman enough not to say anything out loud.

“Is there a reason you’re calling?” she asked. “Because otherwise, I would like to go back to dying.”

“Actually, there are two reasons, if you can stave off your demise for ten minutes.”

“I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises. What do you need?”

“The first thing isn’t a need, it’s an invitation. Rosalind and I were talking last night. About how fantastical the last eighteen months have been. Between her accident and last Christmas…”

Fantastical was a good word for it. Eighteen months earlier, Rosalind had disappeared after her car plunged off a bridge in Scotland. She had reappeared last Christmas hundreds of miles away with amnesia of all things. Rediscovering their relationship had been a challenge. Susan liked to think she helped the cause by sharing some hard truths Thomas hadn’t been willing to tell his returning bride.

Of course she was the only one who thought so at the time, but the three of them had put the issue behind them.

“We thought, with the baby arriving soon, it would be the perfect time to reestablish ourselves as a family,” Thomas continued.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve decided to renew our vows on Christmas Eve. Nothing huge. Just family and a few close friends.”

“That sounds…lovely.” Susan hated the tiny knot of jealousy that twisted in her midsection. Her brother had fought hard for his life and family; a proper sister wouldn’t envy his happiness.

Especially when his voice hummed with a bashful excitement. “Maddie’s going to be the maid of honor,” he said. “She’ll be heartbroken if her favorite aunt isn’t there.”

“I’d be heartbroken if I missed seeing her,” Susan replied, the knot easing slightly. The prospect of seeing her young niece dressed like a princess was too charming to resist.

“So you’ll be there?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t like she had Christmas Eve plans.

“Great. I’ll let Rosalind know. The other reason I called…” On the other end of the line, Susan heard the clink of a teacup. “I’m going to need you and Linus to host the Collier party again this year. I promised Rosalind I would take time off when the baby was born so we could bond as a family.”

Susan groaned. Not again. Collier’s had been holding a company Christmas party for its employees ever since the days of Queen Victoria. What was once a show of largesse toward the workers had morphed into a fancy cocktail party hosted by the CEO. Last year, Thomas had begged off because of Rosalind’s amnesia, leaving her and Linus to play the benevolent owners.

“Can’t Linus host by himself?” Everyone loved Linus.

“I’d prefer both of you to be there. Especially since Linus has been…”

“Unreliable?” She thought of how he’d left her in the lurch last night.

“Distracted,” Thomas replied. There was a pause, during which she imagined him studying his cup of tea while he thought of the right words. “Look, I know the party’s not your favorite event…”

“Try least favorite,” Susan corrected. The whole affair was an exercise in awkwardness for everyone involved. Smiling and making small talk with people like Ginger and Courtney. It’d be like the wedding times ten. “I was actually thinking of staying home this year…”

“You can’t. You’re a Collier. It wouldn’t look right.”

“I doubt people will care—they’re more interested in the free booze.”

“Susan…”

“Fine.” She noticed he hadn’t corrected her. “I’ll host the party.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else or can I go back to dying now?” Her head was demanding coffee and aspirin before it could handle any more conversation.

“Die away,” her brother replied.

They said their goodbyes, and Susan tossed her phone on the cushion next to her. Five minutes, she thought as her eyes fluttered closed and her body fell sideways. Five minutes and she’d head to the kitchen for caffeine.

The phone rang again, the shrillness next to her ear making her wince. She fumbled for it without opening her eyes. “What did you forget?”

“Nothing that I know of,” said an unfamiliar voice. Deep and with a strong northern twang, it caused tingles to trip up her spine. “I was calling to see how your head felt this morning.”

How did this stranger know she had a killer hangover? “Who is this?” Susan pushed herself into a seated position—again.

“Lewis Matolo. The bloke who brought you home, remember?”

Remember? She was hoping to forget. Nearly bursting into tears, tripping over her own two feet. She’d worked hard her entire adult life to project an image of togetherness and control to the outside world…and Lewis Matolo had seen none of that.

She also remembered him being incredibly attractive. If you were into the cocky, athletic sort.

“How did you get my number?”

“I texted Hank and Maria and asked them.”

“You bothered them on their honeymoon.” Her heart actually fluttered at the idea. Why on earth would he go to that much trouble to track her down? Surely, not simply to check on her well-being.

“Don’t worry. They were killing time at Heathrow waiting for their boarding call. I’m glad to see you made it to your apartment safely. No tripping up the stairs?”

Thankfully, he couldn’t see how warm her face was. “I told you, the sidewalk was slippery from the cold weather,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” It was clear from the amusement in his voice that he hadn’t bought the excuse then and he still wasn’t buying it now. Susan blushed a little deeper.

“Since you didn’t fall and break your neck,” he continued, “how would you feel about lunch?”

“Lunch? With you?” A dumb question, she knew, but he’d caught her off guard. She needed a reality check before her heart fluttered again. Why would someone like him be asking her out?

“No, with Prince William. I have a…business proposition to run by you.”

How stupid of her. Of course he would be calling about business. Doing her best to hold back a sigh, she said, “New business ideas are my brother Thomas’s bailiwick. You’re better off calling him directly. I don’t get involved in that end.”

“You misunderstand. This isn’t about Collier’s. It’s about… Let me just say I think I have an idea that might benefit us both.”

Beneficial to her but didn’t involve Collier’s? He had her attention. “Go on?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve read Lorianne’s blog today?”

Lorianne Around London was the UK’s most popular gossip website. A treasure trove of royal, political and celebrity gossip, the blog was influential and widely read, even by those who claimed they didn’t. “The only thing I’ve seen today is the inside of my eyelids. Why?”

“You might want to check it out on your way to the restaurant,” Lewis replied. “There’s a “Blind Item” you might find interesting. Now, are we on for lunch?”

Susan ran a hand through her curls. Her hair was a stiff mess from being retro-styled and she still had a splitting headache. Without checking a mirror, she knew she looked like a plump, raccoon-eyed nightmare. Hardly suitable for public viewing.

On the other hand, Lewis’s offer intrigued her foggy brain. A business venture that benefitted her, didn’t involve Collier’s and was somehow connected to a “Blind Item” in Lorianne Around London? How could she resist?

“Where and when?” she asked.

The Christmas tree next to the fountain was decorated with pairs of miniature shoes. At night, it was lit with hundreds of rainbow-colored lights, but at midday all you could see were mini sneakers and stilettos. It was supposed to be making an artistic and social commentary, but damn if Lewis could figure it out. Walk a mile in another’s shoes, maybe? Guess he wasn’t sophisticated enough because he preferred the lights.

Still frowning, he turned his attention back to the restaurant. It was ten minutes past their agreed-upon time. Susan didn’t strike him as the kind of person who ran late. He’d done a little digging on her when he’d texted Hank and Maria. If anything, Susan was the kind of person who arrived early and grew annoyed when you didn’t too. She hadn’t been joking last night when she said she wasn’t very well liked at her company. In fact, Maria had used a very specific word to describe her, and for a second Lewis wondered if his plan was a good idea.

He caught the eye of a waiter who immediately approached the table. “Can I get another sparkling water?” he asked.

The young man nodded. “Of course. Right away.”

As the man walked away, Lewis noticed a handful of diners looking in his direction. The Mayfair restaurant was too posh a location for autograph seekers. The people who dined here were supposed to be nonchalant about dining with celebrities. That didn’t mean they weren’t above sneaking a peek when one was in their midst, however.

When he was a kid, places like this were a foreign country. They were for people who lived on the other side of the city, who drove nice cars and whose kids always had new clothes. They definitely weren’t for nobodies who bounced from foster home to foster home. Sometimes he pinched himself that he was really able to walk into a restaurant like this one and order whatever he wanted. Sometimes he masked his anxiety with extreme cockiness.

Sometimes—most times, in the past—he’d drunk to keep from feeling exposed.

It’s all right; you belong here.

For how long though? Celebrity was a fleeting thing. Washed-up athletes were a dime a dozen. If he couldn’t get a broadcast job, what would he do? Football was the only world he knew. The sport defined him. Made him matter. Made him somebody.

It’s your reputation, Lewis. That’s how his agent had put it after telling him he’d lost the BBC commentator job. People are afraid you’re going to pull one of your antics again. No one wants to risk waking up to see their studio analyst double-fisting bottles of Cristal on the front page.

In other words, he needed to prove to the world he had shed his Champagne Lewis persona for good. He’d been trying to deliver that message for the past nine months, but karma kept tripping him up. Like last night. He was surprised that the drink-tossing incident hadn’t made it onto Lorianne’s blog. The woman had spies everywhere.

Reading today’s item, however, made him realize a few things. First, that he was damn lucky, and second, that if he wanted the world to know he was a changed man, he needed to do more than simply give up drinking and stay home. He needed to give the public proof, something splashy, that would convey the message for him.

The idea as to how had hit him like a jolt this morning. It was crazy, but it was worth a shot.

Now he needed his proposed partner in crime to appear.

He was about to turn his awareness back to the window when a flash of blue caught his attention. Finally. Susan Collier cut through the dining room, her peacock blue jacket popping amid the room’s gold-and-green garlands. She wore a pair of oversize sunglasses covering her face and moved like a person who didn’t have a moment to spare. Quite a different appearance from the soft, hazy woman who’d tripped her way up her front stairs the night before.

“Sorry I’m late. We got stuck in traffic.”

Lewis saw it for the excuse it was. He also always seemed to have problems with the traffic on days he was hungover. “No problem. I’ve been sitting hear enjoying the view. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

“It should. They started decorating the day after Halloween.”

She looked down at the bench he sat on. Although the alcove table could accommodate up to six people, it had been set for intimacy. This meant the only seating was the velvet bench that curved along the wall. She had no choice but to slide to the middle so they could sit side by side. “Interesting choice of table,” she remarked.

“I like sitting by the window.” He moved over to make room. Not too much room though. He wanted to sit next to her. That was the point.

“Don’t suppose you read Lorianne’s site,” he said when she’d settled in—her sunglasses remaining in place.

“You mean ‘Blind Item’ number five? How could I resist? You had me intrigued.” Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was a printout of Lorianne’s blog.

This A-plus bad-boy former athlete with the fancy name was seen playing the gentleman for a member of one of London’s most established families last night. He walked the lady to the door and didn’t stay the night. Fluke? Or has he washed his hands of his wild ways?

She folded the paper in half again. “Those are some of the lamest clues I’ve ever seen. ‘Fancy name’ for Champagne Lewis? ‘Washed his hands’ for Collier’s Soap? Was this your doing?”

“I wish. Our driver must have given her the tip. Lorianne’s known for her network. He must have texted her after he dropped us off and Lorianne shoved it in her column.” That was the beauty of the internet. In the old days, the public would have had to wait another twenty-four hours for the news item to go public.

“Interesting, don’t you think?” he asked.

“How so?” Susan replied.

“Good afternoon. Glad you could join us.” It was their waiter, returning with Lewis’s sparkling water. “Can I get you anything? A cocktail perhaps?”

“The lady will have a Bloody Mary.” Lewis ignored the way Susan’s head spun around to stare at him.

“A glass of water will be fine,” she told the waiter, in a no-nonsense tone.

“And the Bloody Mary.”

The poor young man looked from Lewis to Susan and back, clearly unsure who he should listen to. “She’ll have water and a Bloody Mary,” Lewis told him. He leaned in so he could lower his voice. “Hair of the dog, Trust me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll be nursing that headache of yours all day.” A drink wouldn’t ease the pain of her throbbing head necessarily, but in his experience, it helped more often than not. “I’m the expert, remember?”

“Fine.” She told the waiter to bring her both. “If alcohol is such a cure-all, why aren’t you having any?” she asked once the waiter had gone.

“Simple. I’m not hungover. Plus, I don’t drink. Anymore,” he added when she opened her mouth.

“You don’t? Since when?”

Since he’d woken up with one too many hangovers and realized what a mess he’d made of his career, that’s when. “Been nearly nine months now.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“Few people do.” And those who did, didn’t believe it would stick. “I decided last spring it was time to get my act together. Turn over a new leaf, as it were.”

“How’s the new leaf working out for you?”

“There’s been a few bumps.” Like last night. “Turns out being sober is only half the battle. Dealing with the mess you left behind…”

“I’m guessing last night was a bump.”

“For both of us, wouldn’t you say?” He took a sip of water. “Are you going to wear those glasses throughout lunch?” It was impossible to gauge her expression when it was hidden by those big black lenses. “Feel like I’m having lunch with a Russian spy.” Or a woman embarrassed to be with him.

Although her lips pulled into a smirk, she removed the glasses. “Satisfied?” she asked.

Her excess from the night before revealed itself in a pair of dark circles that washed the color from her face. Her eyes’ warm copper center was still visible though. Lewis had wondered if he’d imagined the unusual color. He hadn’t. He hadn’t imagined the intelligence in her eyes either.

“So…” She dropped her gaze, blocking his view once more. “You said you had a business proposition for me.”

“Yes.” Apparently they were going to get right down to business. Lewis could deal with that. “Now that I’ve retired, I’m hoping to get into broadcasting but no one wants to give me so much as a meeting. They’re all afraid to take a risk.”

“No offense, but can you blame them?”

“Maybe once upon a time, but I’m not the same guy I was nine months ago. I’ve grown up, and if they gave me a shot, they would see that I know my stuff. I’d be damned good.”

He shifted in his seat so he could look her straight on. “It’s maddening. They won’t even meet with me. It’s as though the world has slotted me into a role and now I’m stuck in it for life. Whether it fits or not.”

“Everyone thinks they know you,” she said in soft voice. She was folding and unfolding her glasses with great thoughtfulness.

“Precisely.” The rush of someone understanding made Lewis want to grab her hands and squeeze them. “Telling them isn’t enough. They need tangible evidence that I am not the same person. That’s where you come in.” Taking a chance, he reached over and laid his hand on her forearm.

In a flash, her hands stilled. Lewis felt the muscles in her arm tense. Slowly—very slowly—her gaze rose to meet his. “How so?”

Before he could answer, their waiter returned. As the man placed her drinks on the table, his eyes flickered to Susan’s arm, which she quickly pulled away. Lewis tried not to smile. “Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

So eager had he been to discuss business, neither of them had had a chance to look at the menu. “Not—”

“I’ll have the egg-and-avocado sandwich,” Susan announced. “Is that all right? Or do you need to change my order?”

Man, but she had a bite to her. And here he’d thought last night’s sharpness was from the alcohol. “Sounds perfect. In fact, I’ll have the same. You’re very decisive, for a woman who didn’t have time to study the menu,” he said once the waiter had moved on.”

“I read the item at the top of the page and decided it sounded good. I’m not much for hemming and hawing when there’s a decision to be made.”

“You don’t like to waste your time.”

“Not if I can help it.” She swished her celery-stalk garnish around in the glass and took a crisp bite off its end. “Bringing me back to my question. What are you looking for from me?”

Lewis placed his hands on the table. He thought about covering her arm again, but that might look too forward. This was where actions and word choice mattered. “You might think I’m crazy, but I got the idea from Lorianne’s site. Until now, I’ve been staying out of the public eye, hoping people would realize I’d given up the party life, but it hasn’t been working. People only believe what they see.”

“Or think they see,” she added.

She caught on quick. “Precisely. This morning, I read Lorianne’s ‘Blind Item,’ and I realized I had things backward. Instead of being out of the public eye, I need to do the opposite. I need to be seen as much as possible, only, in the way I want to be seen.”

“In other words, you want to create a new tabloid persona. Makes sense. Although I’m not sure where I come in.”

“Well…” This was where the proposition got tricky. “I was hoping you’d be my partner in crime,” he said. “Nothing says changed man like a relationship with someone completely against type. A woman who is the total opposite of all the other women I’ve ever dated. You.”

Susan stared at him, drink hovering just below her lower lip. “Are you trying to get another drink tossed in your face?”

“Wait.” She’d set her drink down and was gathering her things. “Hear me out.”

“I already heard you. You spent your sporting career dating beautiful women. Now, to prove you’ve changed, you want to date someone who isn’t beautiful and that someone is me.”

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Really?” She cocked her head. “What did I miss?”

“Yes, I dated a lot of beautiful women, but…” He threw up his hands in case the noise she’d made was the precursor to a drink toss. “They were just good-time girls.”

“The kind of girls whose name you forget.”

“Right. I mean, no. You should never, ever forget a lover’s name.” He could almost hear the thin ice cracking beneath him with each sentence. So much for making sure his words mattered.

“You’re smart,” he rushed on. “You own a respected business. Doesn’t Collier’s Soap have the queen’s blessing?”

“We have a Royal Warrant, yes.”

“See? You’re someone society takes seriously. No one would expect to see you involved with a party boy like me. So if you were involved…”

“They would assume you must not be the empty-headed wild man anymore.”

Forgetting about overstepping, he clasped her hand in his. “That’s it exactly.”

Her fingers were cold and damp from her glass. Lewis pressed his hands tight to warm them. “And it’s not as though you’re unattractive,” he added.

She didn’t smile. So much for humor. He was mucking this up big-time. “Look, you’re smart. You’re cute.” Cute wasn’t the right word, he realized. She radiated too much class and intelligence to be labeled merely cute. Sophisticated? Maybe. Different?

Yeah, different. Unique.

“Bottom line is, I need your help, if I’m to have any chance of getting a network job,” he said. “Lorianne has already marked us as a potential couple. It would take a while to find another woman as qualified.” Not to mention one whose company he enjoyed as much as he did Susan’s, surprisingly.

“Why is being a broadcaster so important?” she asked. “Surely there are other jobs out there?”

“Because I think I’d be good at it. No, I know I’d be good at it,” he told her. There was more though. “Besides, football is the only thing I’ve ever known. I’m not ready to leave it behind.”

The field and the fans had been the only real home he’d ever had. Without them, all he’d have would be a handful of hazy memories of the glory days. He wasn’t ready to be kicked to the curb, unwanted, again. To go back to being nobody.

He blinked. Susan was frowning at him from over her drink.

“Were you even listening?” she asked.

“Sorry. I drifted off for a moment.”

“Obviously.” She took a long sip of her drink, which, Lewis noticed, was about a third gone. “You said on the phone this proposition would be mutually beneficial. You explained what you would get out of this ‘arrangement,’ but what’s in it for me?”

“Simple,” he replied. “You get seen with me.”

Thank goodness she’d swallowed before he spoke or she would have spit tomato juice all over the table. “You’re joking. That’s your idea of mutually beneficial?”

He leaned back against the bench, his arms stretched out along the back. “You disagree?”

Talk about ego. Like he was such a prize.

She took in his chiseled features—far more prominent in the light of day—and the way his cashmere sweater pulled across his equally chiseled torso.

Okay, he was a prize.

Still, did he think her so desperate she needed a fake boyfriend?

Aren’t you? She ignored her own question.

“I think you have an extremely high opinion of your appeal.” She paused to sip her drink. Much as she hated to admit it, the combination of tomato juice and vodka was easing her hangover. The tension in her shoulders and neck were lessening with each sip. “Why would I care whether I was seen in public with you?”

“To quote… ‘my own brother didn’t want to be my date.’”

“When did I say that?” It was true, but she couldn’t see herself sharing the information.

“While we were waiting for the car.”

Susan thought back. Much of the trip home was fuzzy. She vaguely remembered growing angry when they passed the ladies’ room and going on a tirade about being single which may have morphed into a drunken pity party.

Oh, man, now she remembered. Stupid Christmas Wishes. “I was drunk. People say and do a lot of foolish things when they are under the influence, as I’m sure you would agree.”

“In vino veritas.”

He flashed a smirk as he reached for his water. “As for the value of my appeal…? There are a lot of women in the UK who would tell you I’ve got plenty.”

“Then why don’t you ask one of them to be your fake girlfriend? Oh, wait, let me guess. Oh, right, they’re all supermodels and party girls.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you? I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you clearly need me more than I need you.” Or the way it stung.

“You’re right,” he replied. “I do need you more than you need me.”

Points for honesty. Sitting back, she waited to hear his expanded sales pitch.

“Believe it or not, you would get something tangible out of the relationship,” he told her.

Beyond being able to rub the fake arrangement in Ginger’s and Courtney’s faces—which she had to admit, a part of her found appealing. “How so?”

“If my plan works, the two of us will be in the tabloids and gossip columns, a lot. Both our profiles will be raised.”

“Why would I care about a higher profile?”

“You tell me, Ms. Collier.”

He was appealing to her ego again. It wouldn’t be only the Courtneys and Gingers of the world she’d be showing, it would be the world. The equivalent of a giant ad announcing her desirability. As if she were that lonely.

“What makes you think the tabloids, or anyone for that matter, would believe we were a real couple?” she asked. Simply out of curiosity.

“Are you kidding? Celebrities arrange public relationships all the time in order to sell an image. Remember that pop star who was dating the guy from the Brazilian team? Totally to keep people from knowing he was shagging his equipment manager.”

“No way.”

“It’s the truth. I know the equipment manager.”

Susan remembered seeing the singer on the cover of several magazines at the hair salon talking about finally finding love. She’d been a nobody newcomer before the relationship.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You’re not…?”

“No.”

Not that it mattered. She still wasn’t going to say yes to this silly idea.

“Granted you and I wouldn’t become an international sensation, but, if we do this right, we will get mentioned in the papers. We only need to be together a few months. Long enough for people to believe we are the real deal.”

“Even though we aren’t.”

“Right. But the only people who will know are you and me. Everyone else will think you won me over with your brilliant mind and razor-sharp wit.”

“And, if I say yes—not that I am—how long would we need to play act?”

“Just over a month. At least through the holidays.”

Meaning he would be her “boyfriend” at the Collier’s Christmas Party. Wouldn’t that be interesting? To be part of a couple for once instead of standing around watching everyone else? Even if it was only pretend.

Despite his offered upsides, the idea struck her wrong. Did she really want to spend weeks with a disinterested man just so she could stick it to a few petty witches? Seemed like she should be better than that.

Then there was the obvious.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply date a different category of women instead of subterfuge?”

He looked at her for a second, as though weighing his words, his sensual lips drawn in a frown. “If I were looking to get into a long-term relationship, maybe, but…”

“You don’t have to go on. I get your point.” He was looking to repair an image, not actually change his tastes.

“I’m not asking you to decide this very moment,” he said. “Let’s have some lunch, and you think the idea over. Let me know later on.”

“Thank you.” She doubted food would change her mind, but she’d rather not ruin the mood until after she’d eaten.

In the meantime, she was curious if she still looked like death now that her headache had eased. When the waiter arrived with their food, she excused herself and went to the ladies’ room.

Whoever decorated the restaurant had the foresight to install ambient lighting as opposed to fluorescent in the sitting room so women checking the mirror would feel good about their appearance. Unfortunately, all the ambient lighting in the world couldn’t brighten her washed-out complexion. She’d tried to hide the damage with powder and concealer, but the dark circles stubbornly remained. Searching into her bag, she pulled out a compact and touched up her blush. No sense bothering with lipstick since it would only wear off again when she ate. Then she combed her hands through her curls and stepped back.

Her shoulders slumped. She looked like she felt. Tired, and hungover. The jacket was too boxy for her short frame, making her look like a squashed blueberry. People probably thought she was Lewis’s agent or business manager. Certainly not a potential girlfriend. Correction, fake girlfriend.

What made Lewis think the idea would work? No way, people wouldn’t believe they were an item.

Behind her, the door opened and two university-age girls slipped in. Susan immediately envied their long hair which they wore in messy topknots. Envied their cropped sweaters and leggings too. No one would mistake them for a sports agent.

All her life, she had wondered what it would be like to fit. To feel accepted by someone. Anyone. She had a lot to offer, if people would only look.

Don’t be so dramatic, her mother would say. People don’t look if there’s nothing to look at.

Belinda was full of those little bon mots.

Lewis Matolo was offering people something to look at.

Would it be so horrible if the world saw her as someone different? Just for a little while?

Rummaging through her bag, she located a hair tie and forced her curls into a messy bun. Then, she shed her jacket. The black turtleneck wasn’t stylish, but at least the world could see she had a waist.

The world. Susan chewed her lower lip. Was she really that crazy?

Lewis was biting into his egg sandwich when she returned. She tossed her bag on the bench and slid in next to him. “You’ve got a deal.”

CHAPTER THREE

“ARE YOU SURE?”

“Positive,” Susan replied. “You don’t have to keep asking.”

But Lewis felt like he did. They were on their second cup of tea. An entire meal had gone by and he was having trouble processing the fact that she’d agreed to play his girlfriend. “I’m surprised, is all,” he said. Flummoxed was a better word. “You didn’t look very enthusiastic when I pitched the idea.” Which was why, when she’d come back from the washroom and announced she was all in, he’d been floored.

“I’ll admit, the plan sounds insane, but it’s only for a short time, right? Not like you’re proposing marriage or anything.”

“Dating only, I promise.” Marriage was one of those concepts that made his insides squeeze, along with commitment and emotions. As it was, this arrangement would be the longest relationship he’d ever had. Then again, so would anything longer than a three-day weekend.

Her smile seemed to tighten for a second. “Right,” she said, setting her teacup down. “How does this work? Do we draw up contracts? Write out conditions? What does one do in a fake relationship?”

Fortunately, Lewis had given the matter some thought on the off chance she’d agree. “Obviously, the goal is to be seen together in as many different settings as possible. Like a real couple.”

“And we do this until the tabloids notice?” she asked while pouring the last of her tea. “I know you’re considered a tabloid magnet, but that doesn’t seem terribly efficient.”

“You’re right, it’s not. That’s why I’m going to have my agent leak a few discreet comments. We’re also going to have to attend one or two social events where there’s press. Actually, I’ve drawn up a few notes laying out how I think this plan should proceed.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Moving his teacup aside, he smoothed it flat. “We want everyone to see us, but at the same time we want to look subtle—like this is the real deal—so I’ve come up with a progression of steps.”

Susan’s arm pressed against his as she leaned in to get a better view. “Date at a public venue. Attend a society event. Be seen doing coupley Christmas things?” She turned to look at him. “Coupley Christmas things?”

“You know, Christmas shopping or walking in Kew Gardens. Whatever it is women drag their boyfriends to do during the holidays.”

“I see. Clearly, you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Did you think I would invite you to lunch without some kind of plan in mind?” Lewis replied. He wasn’t stupid. If Susan had said yes, he knew a woman like her would expect details. “You’re going to have to start giving me a little more credit.”

Then again, could he blame her? The whole point behind this charade was to prove he had more to offer than being a drunken party boy.

“Considering I didn’t know fake girlfriends really existed until ninety minutes ago, you’ll have to cut me some slack. I do have one question,” she said, tapping her cup. “How can we be sure people—the tabloids—will believe us?”

It was a reasonable question. The honest answer was they couldn’t. Not entirely. “I get the impression that as long as the story gets attention, they—the papers—won’t dig too deep,” he told her. “However, you bring up a point I hadn’t thought about. Lorianne has spies everywhere—it’s how she gets her scoops—so we’ll need to make sure we act like a couple whenever we’re together, even when we think no one’s paying attention.”

“Is that why we’re having lunch in a cozy corner booth? Again, I’m impressed.”

Lewis was flattered. It wasn’t often that the woman he was with complimented his intelligence. Other skills usually took priority. “Thank you,” he said. “Oh, and another thing…we need to keep this arrangement between us. No one but you, me and my agent, Michael, will know. Will that be a problem?”

She shook her head. “I’d already assumed the arrangement would be need-to-know. If it were a problem, I wouldn’t have agreed in the first place.”

Good. They were on the same page.

“What are you doing?”

She’d taken a pen out of her bag and was making notes on the paper. Lewis watched her write the words Christmas Party with a date. “My brother Thomas has informed me that I’m cohosting the corporate Christmas party again this year. I think it’s only fair that my ‘boyfriend’ attend with me.”

“Corporate Christmas party, huh?”

“For employees and other people we do business with. The ad agency, banks, etc.”

He had to admit he’d wondered if she’d insist on some type of work-related couple appearance after her speech last night. “This wouldn’t be to show up those ladies from the bathroom, would it?”

Her shrug was enough of an answer.

Whatever. It was fine with him if she wanted to put a few people in their place. “I’ll mark my calendar. While we’re scheduling, do you need me to play arm candy for any other events? New Year’s Eve? Christmas Day?”

“As it so happens…” She suddenly stopped and shook her head. “Never mind. The Christmas party will be enough.”

“Are you sure?” She was holding back.

“Yes, I’m sure. Now please stop asking that question.” Clicking her pen, she wrote the word Agreed at the top of the page along with her name and the date. When finished, she held out the pen. “Since you didn’t answer my question about a contract, I hope this will do.”

“Seeing as how I would have settled for a handshake…?” He added his signature below hers. It was official: one image makeover in a half dozen assorted steps. Whether it would work was anyone’s guess.

“I now pronounce us a couple,” he announced.

For better or for worse.

What had she gotten herself into? “When you said we were going to watch a basketball game, I thought you meant at a pub,” Susan said. Some quaint place with brick walls and a fireplace. “Not surrounded by twenty thousand spectators at London’s O2 arena.”

She was decidedly overdressed in a pencil skirt and heels. For some insane reason she’d decided to dress daringly. Her way of showing the world she was worthy of Lewis’s attention. Now she felt stupid.

“I didn’t know London even had a basketball team,” she said as they walked up the ramp.

“There’s an entire league,” Lewis answered, “but they don’t play here. This is a special event. Two American teams.”

That explained the crowds. It didn’t explain why he’d chosen a basketball game for their first date though, so she asked.

“Why else? To send a message. I wanted people to see that I’m more than a footballer. I appreciate all sports.”

“Thus broadening your appeal as a broadcaster. Clever.”

“Thank you.”

They stepped out of the ramp into the brightly lit arena filled with people. Susan had been to the O2 before, for concerts, but this was the first time she’d seen it prepped for a sports event. Below them, American basketball players were warming up on the shiny parquet floor. “Our seats are down there,” Lewis said in her ear as he pointed toward the court. His hand molded to the small of her back as he guided her down the steep steps.

They were really doing this. Pretending they were a couple. Her legs began to shake and from more than just navigating the steep stairs in stilettos. She gripped the railing.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t realize she’d stopped moving until Lewis spoke. He looked at her, his brown eyes narrowed in concern. “Sorry. I—It just dawned on me that we’re on a date.”

“You’re only figuring that out now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really,” he replied.

Until this moment, their arrangement had been conceptual. She hadn’t thought about the fact that in order to be taken for a real couple, they would have to behave like a real couple. Which made this evening a date complete with all the touching and other date-like behavior. Lewis was going to have to pretend he was attracted to her. Did he really think they could pull this off?

They were blocking the stairs. That was one way to attract attention. “Never mind,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you say so.”

Their seats were in the middle of the row, close to the front, but high enough they could see the entire court. They also had a clear view of the giant electronic screen that hung over center court. It was like having a one-hundred-inch television in your living room.

She looked around at the people milling about. “I doubt anyone will notice us in this crowd,” she commented.

“Oh, they’ll notice us,” Lewis replied. He leaned closer, his nose practically nuzzling the outer shell of her ear. “My agent has arranged for us to be outed after the third quarter.”

Outed? This time she had to lean into him. “What do you mean?”

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