She spent all day Saturday recovering from Friday’s gala—which ended up going until the wee hours of the morning. Damn Connor for suggesting these old people couldn’t party. They were raging drunk by midnight, and Connor couldn’t manage to get them out of there until past two in the morning.

Sam was sure a day of laying low on Saturday would give her enough energy for Sunday’s luncheon. However, when she woke up Sunday morning, she still needed two espressos to get going.

Connor texted her at ten o’clock. Pick you up at 11:30, he said. She groaned and headed into the shower. Her feet were pissed at her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn stilettos, standing, for so many hours straight. Normally, at a club or a work event, she felt like she had permission to go barefoot at a certain point. Or slip into the foldable ballet flats she used to pack in her purse. But with Connor, she didn’t even have to ask to know that would be a violation of her contract.

She let the hot water soak into her skin and soothe her muscles. Sam worked through what she saw had become a daily ritual now. Complete hair removal, exfoliation, deep conditioning treatments for her hair, and an immediate post-shower moisturizing regimen.

Sam padded into her bedroom to flip to the James-approved outfit of the day. He’d even gone so far as to attach notes to each outfit specifying the date, time and occasion of her dresses.

She pulled it out and found another little backless number. He sure liked those, and was probably totally unaware of how awkward it was to wear little stick-on cutlets over her breasts instead of a real bra. This dress was floral, bright, and flared out at the hips before stopping at her knees. He’d paired them with a strappy pair of silver Jimmy Choos.

Connor came to her door, and she thought she saw him look her up and down, but it was impossible to really tell behind his reflective sunglasses. “You look nice,” he said.

“So, all James’ note said was ‘investors meet and greet.’ Care to tell me more about my duties here?” she asked as Connor drove them to The Mansion on O Street. I have to admit, I’m getting a serious introduction into some great venues and catering for work with all these outings, she thought to herself.

“I’ll basically be conducting information mini-interviews with some contacts. There will also be some investors, and potential investors, for Trezor there,” he said.

“So my job is…”

“Arm candy,” he said. “Sorry, babe. I have a feeling not too many WAGs will be there.”

“Babe? WAGs?” she asked. “You’re a strange one, you know that?”

“And just so you know, people won’t be drinking. Well, drinking as much, I should say. For some reason people think it’s okay to go bottoms up for hours when it’s called a mimosa.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s also a smaller, more intimate gathering. Which means more eyes will be on us. We really need to sell the whole happy engaged couple shtick,” he said.

“Got it.”

Pulling up to the mansion, the valets had to have been sweating in their heavy velvet costumes. Still, they plastered smiles on their faces and rushed to open Sam’s door. We’re all playing our part, she thought.

Connor placed his hand on her back to guide her up the stairs, and she stiffened at his touch on her bare skin. He hadn’t touched her so intimately on Friday night, mostly offering an elbow or taking her hand. Something about this made her feel like he knew her too well.

“That’s the Steins, over there,” he murmured under his breath. He took a mimosa for himself, but she shook her head when he offered her one. Without a word, he got a flute of just orange juice for her. “They’re current investors, but have lowered their funding in recent years. His wife is big in philanthropy. Shocker. Here we go.”

She warmly greeted the wife first, followed by the stodgy husband. Sam had found that older women weren’t intimidated by her, and there was rarely any cattiness in their interactions. It was a welcome change from the twenty- and thirtysomethings she was used to dealing with at the office.

“Connor, you have such a lovely fiancée,” Mrs. Stein said. “And so eloquent, too. Not many young women have both qualities these days, I’m afraid.”

“I count myself very lucky,” he told her, before he disappeared with her husband to talk business in the corner.

“I must say, we thought Connor would never get married,” Mrs. Stein said. “He had a bit of a… reputation. As I’m sure you know. But, alas, men never change. All it takes is one good woman to snap them out of that playboy state.”

She smiled amicably at the older woman. “I do love a challenge,” she said.

Mrs. Stein laughed, her blue-tinted hair swishing around her face. “Don’t we all, dear.”

Connor returned, his big smile matched with Mr. Stein’s. The older man patted Connor on the shoulder. “You have quite the shark of a future husband,” he told Sam. “I can’t recall the last time someone squeezed such an impressive percentage out of me.”

Mrs. Stein rolled her eyes. “Probably the last time you were four drinks deep before noon, love,” she said.

Connor excused them, and his hand returned to the small of her back. Sam blushed once again, unable to keep the flush out of her cheeks. But she couldn’t help it. Well, what do you expect? It’s not like you’ve had much time to yourself lately, what with work being so hectic. You’ve had no time to relax. Or release any of that tension.

She blushed deeper at the thought of getting herself off. Sam couldn’t remember the last time she’d masturbated, or made use of that little silver vibrator Emma had given her for Christmas. The thought of dildos terrified her, which Emma knew. That’s why the little bullet had been so perfect.

“You okay?” Connor whispered in her ear. She felt his thumb dip slightly lower down her back. It played at the waist of her dress.

“Yeah,” she said, and smiled up at him. A twinge between her legs intensified when she was reminded of how handsome he was. You better take care of yourself before you see him again, she thought. It’s not his fault he’s ridiculously gorgeous.

Besides, he’d made his feelings perfectly clear when he’d signed those papers. Who cares if he was checking you out before? If he even was! He wouldn’t be the first man to assess her and then pass her up. Men are visual creatures, that’s all.

Sam ate just the right amount at the luncheon. Enough to ward off any talks of her being too uptight to enjoy herself. However, it would be hard to overindulge at a so-called luncheon where the only food was walking appetizers. She could hardly fill up on the occasional bacon-wrapped date stuffed with goat cheese that happened to mosey by. For the most part, she depended on glasses of orange juice.

“This thing is about wrapped up,” Connor told her two hours after they arrived.

She nodded. “I think you’ve talked shop with just about everyone here.”

“You running out of compliments to give the old women?” he asked with a smile.

“Hardly,” she said. “I still have the one where I ask about their secret to such a youthful, glowing neck tucked away.”

“Shark liver oil,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“They use shark liver oil. It used to be a main ingredient in Preparation H in America, but now they have to import it from Canada. It smells disgusting, but apparently works.”

“Are you bullshitting me? How do you know this?”

He looked at her, surprised. “I thought everyone knew that. Isn’t that what your male model boy toys use to keep that perpetual glow of a prepubescent?”

“You’re so weird,” she said.

“You like it. Hey, are you hungry? Do you want to grab a meal somewhere that serves more than a bite at a time?”

“Ugh, yes, please. The only edible thing here were those dates.”

“You can’t blame the elderly. I think your taste buds disappear or something after a certain age.”

“Where are we going?” she asked as he lowered the top of the Mercedes and she wrapped her hair in a scarf.

“It’s a surprise,” he said with a wink.

“What is this place?” she asked as they rolled up to a simple, two-story red brick joint near Lincoln Park.

“You’ve never been to Kenny’s?” he asked, incredulous. “It’s the best barbeque in DC!”

The scent of the Southern-style BBQ permeated the air and made her mouth water. Connor ordered for them—brisket and ribs, collard greens, coleslaw and cornbread. “This is amazing,” she said as they sat on the patio with their cafeteria-style plastic trays. Finally, she felt comfortable enough to slide out of her heels.

“I’m happy to be the one to introduce you,” he said.

She licked the hickory sauce off her fingers and looked at him. Maybe there’s more to him than I thought. “Tell me something,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“Anything. About you. I’d like to get to know my husband better.”

“Not much to tell,” he said. “You know I was a SEAL pretty much all of my adult life. I did a number of tours, saw the world—or, I should say, the parts most people don’t really want to see. I was engaged to Sandra for my last deployment, we broke up, what, three weeks ago now.”

“Three weeks?” she asked, shocked. “That’s it?”

“Well, I figured you knew that. Considering we met because I went to your office to get the financial mess of it fixed.”

“I know, but… I don’t know, I didn’t know you came to my work right after your engagement ended,” she said.

He shrugged. “Why let tasks wait?”

“So why did it end? If you don’t mind me asking.” Sam had heard some of the details at the office, but wanted to know if there was more to the story than what Connor had said before.

He sighed. “It’s not a very unique story. I thought we were happy enough. I went by her place to surprise her and take her out for lunch, and caught her on her knees with some guy’s cock in her mouth.”

Sam put down the cornbread slathered in butter. “Are you serious?”

“Afraid so,” he said. “And the thing is? She didn’t seem particularly embarrassed or anything. In fact, she tried to turn it around on me. Said that I just wanted some little military housewife or something.”

Sam was shocked. He was cheated on? She couldn’t fathom it. He could have anyone he wanted. “Wow,” she said. “I mean… I guess I get now why you wanted to do the fake engagement.”

Connor cleaned his hands with a wet wipe and leaned back. “So. Why are you doing the fake engagement? What are you going to use the money for, if I can be so bold as to inquire?”

She blushed and reached for the first lie she could muster. “Down payment on a house,” she said.

“That’s really mature,” he said, and looked at her thoughtfully.

Sam turned redder and dug back into the cornbread. She’d never even thought of owning property.