“Quinn!”

I wheel around to find Valerie bearing down on me. I’ve barely had my required cup of coffee, and I’m already besieged.

“Are you dating Archer Stratton?” she demands. Well, that didn’t take long.

I woke up Saturday morning to find the news of Heath Stratton’s running announcement splayed all over The New York Times. There were also a few dinner photos in the society section—one of them of Archer and me. The caption under our forced smiles read: “Archer Stratton, youngest son and CEO of Stratton Financial, with girlfriend Quinn East, Director of Development at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.” I had smiled at that title upgrade. Archer knew it wasn’t my position—yet—but he gave it to the reporter anyway.

“Valerie,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, “good morning to you, too.” I should have known this was coming. Development officers scour the society section to stay abreast of what the wealthy did and who they saw.

“Don’t ‘good morning’ me, Quinn,” she snaps. “Are you dating Archer or not?”

“I am,” I admit. The whole city knew, so why lie?

Valerie gasps. “What?”

“We started dating after we met at the wing reveal.”

“No way,” Valerie says, shaking her head. “I was there, Quinn. I witnessed your absurd conversation. You two were the opposite of friendly.”

“Maybe opposites attract,” I say, using Holly’s line.

“Yeah right,” Valerie scoffs. “He’s so out of your league.”

I shrug. “Apparently not.”

“I have no idea how you weaseled your way into Archer’s love life, but I bet it has something to do with this new proposal.”

I stiffen. “How’s that?”

“You start dating Archer right when the man decides to fully fund a wing renovation?” Valerie sneers at me. “I tried pitching him, Quinn. He was a pompous prick—”

“Hey!” I snap, growing protective. “That’s my boyfriend.”

“Whatever.” Valerie tosses her hair over her shoulder. “You may be a good enough actress to fool Marisa and Peter and everyone else in this goddamn town, but I’m on to you.” She pushes past me and storms off.

The air leaves my lungs in one big breath. I’m barely through the door and I’m already getting death threats.

I round the corner to my office and run into my assistant. Todd steadies me with his hand. “Quinn! I saw the paper on Saturday. I thought you hated that guy,” he says.

“I do—I did,” I correct. “I mean, we got off on the wrong foot, but then things just…happened.”

“Wow,” Todd says. “And this big gift? Did you…” He trails off with a wink.

I stalk into my office. “Not you, too. I already got this crap from Valerie a second ago.”

“I’m not judging,” he says, sitting in the chair opposite my desk. “I think it’s brilliant. Girl’s got to do what a girl’s gotta do, right?”

“This girl didn’t do what you think, so drop it.” I sit down and flip open my laptop. “I can already tell this is going to be a long day.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it. I’ve seen your calendar, so I’m—” he jumps up “—saving your ass.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hair appointments, nail appointments, gown fittings. I’ll book them all.”

I stare at him. “That’s incredibly kind of you.”

“I like you,” Todd says with a shrug. “Plus, Archer’s hot. He won’t stick around if you show up looking like a hot mess.”

I shake my head. “Glad I’ve got you to keep me honest, but actually, I’m good on gowns and Archer’s assistant put me in touch with a stylist.”

“Give me their name, and I’ll book your appointments going forward.”

I frown. “But it’s not work related—”

“Come on,” Todd interrupts, rolling his eyes. “This stuff’s fun! Let me help.”

Isn’t that what Archer is always telling me?

I sigh. “Okay.”

My office phone rings, and I glance at the number. “It’s the boss lady,” I say to Todd. “I’ve got to take this.”

Todd nods. “I’ll email his assistant and get that name.”

I smile my thanks and pick up the phone. “Good morning, Marisa.”

In classic Marisa-form, she skips formalities. “I’m on my way to a donor meeting, but I had to call. I saw the society section on Saturday. Are you dating Archer Stratton?”

Holy cow. Maybe I should skip the coffee and go right for the emergency chocolate.

I give my canned response. “I am. We got together after the wing reveal.”

A pause. “What about the gift agreement?” she asks. “Is Archer still going to sign it?”

“I believe so,” I say, caught off guard. “His lawyers are still looking it over—”

“Great,” she cuts in. “Keep on top of this.”

“Um, sure…” I furrow my brow. How am I not getting yelled at?

“I have to go, the donor’s here. But Quinn, if you don’t mind me saying, this strategy is rather…unconventional. Effective, but irregular.”

Please tell me she’s not implying—

“Just be smart about this, and don’t get hurt,” she continues. “Men like Archer don’t keep girls like you for very long.”

What the—?!

“I’m sorry for being blunt, but I don’t want you to get in over your head. Bye now—and good work, Quinn.”

I sit there, clutching the phone, long after she’s clicked off. Sleeping for a gift? That’s not what this is. Archer and I have a quid pro quo arrangement that has nothing to do with sex.

But from the outside…

And the timing of the gift…

I slam the phone into its dock and lunge under my desk for Iggy. Screw chocolate, I need tequila. Valerie. Todd. Marisa. Does everyone think I’m sleeping my way up the food chain?

My hand closes over the tiny bottle right as my cell chirps. OH MY GOD. What now?

It’s Archer, of course.

I swallow the scream building in my throat. If only Archer knew the morning I’ve had because of this campaign.

I pause. Should I tell him? I don’t want to, but he deserves to know why I’m standing him up.

I bite my lip. I’m not sure he’ll understand or care, and it’s such an important part of my life. I couldn’t take it if he makes tomorrow night into some media stunt.

I put the phone down, shocked that he let it go, and try to focus on catching up on work. I reread the same email three times before I grab my cell. I type out the text before I can change my mind.

I wait for his reply. It comes a full minute later.

I grin to myself. I knew he couldn’t resist that pitch.

I try to ignore the strange fluttering in my stomach. This would be just like all the other times we’ve gone out together…except this time we wouldn’t be faking it for the cameras or family. This time, we’d just be there as, what, friends? The idea feels strange to me.

My phone goes off again.

That damn fluttering starts up again. Is Archer Stratton being nice to me?

I get another message.