I can’t believe this is me staring back at myself in the mirror.

I look like a starlet from the forties with my dark hair waving over half my face and down to my shoulders. My fingernails and toenails are polished, and my makeup is flawless, giving me a natural glow that almost fools me into thinking I’m not wearing much at all. My bronze, full-skirted gown is a one-of-a-kind from an up-and-coming designer, the sleeves adorably capped, the bodice dipping just low enough to be playful but not gauche. The hand-worked embroidery uses tasteful beads that flash in the light, and my sandals are delicate and high-heeled.

Then there’s the jewelry.

I don’t have a necklace because Travis’s assistant Clarice said we don’t want my jewelry and gown competing with each other. He requested that I merely wear “simple” earrings and a bracelet tonight.

“Mr. Star thinks your ears are lovely, just perfectly sweet,” Clarice told me with that professional smile, but I still blushed like crazy, and when she left me alone enough to inspect myself here in the bathroom mirror, a surge of happiness overwhelmed me. He thinks my ears are lovely, and on these adorable ears of mine I’m wearing a pair of darling hoops featuring 1.77 carat diamonds that have been set in rose-gold cobblestones. My bracelet matches, and altogether, I look fresh, not like a tarted-up mistress or temporary date at all.

Then again, I kind of feel as if I need an armed guard around me tonight with these diamonds. However, Clarice assured me that there’s no need to be nervous about the gems. Travis has deemed that I wear a “beginner’s set” that’s worth “only” about $33,000. The jewelry is nice enough to attract compliments tonight, but it’s not remotely show stopping.

Knowing that I’ll never even get within gaping distance of any more gems in my life, I decide to enjoy wearing these while I can and hope to heaven that I don’t drop anything down a restroom drain.

Just before seven o’clock, Clarice escorts me downstairs and through the lobby, where the doorman and a few upscale residents stare at me. They smile at the picture I present, and I feel as if I’m glowing while I move toward the limousine outside.

Much to my surprise, Travis is there waiting, dressed in a tuxedo and standing near the open backseat door.

“I thought you were sending a car for me,” I say.

“I decided to come with it.”

A blast of heat sweeps over my skin as he looks at me in my dress and jewels. His gaze holds the same fire that I’ve seen a few times when he’s been particularly hungry for me.

“Nova,” he murmurs, eyes darkening.

An odd shyness comes over me and I start to fidget with the skirt of my gown. Then I remember the lovely beading on it and stop. “Your staff did a good job making me over. You should give them raises.”

He frowns slightly before assuming his typical cryptic expression. “I doubt it was much work to shine you up.”

Is he getting tired of how I tend to put myself down sometimes? I think about how, so far, I’ve done everything right for him. I need to remember that.

He sweeps his arm toward the backseat.

I nod and smile. He takes my hand in his then helps me inside. My skin tingles just before he lets me go. As he shuts the door and moves around to the other side to get in, I look at my surroundings—the ice-filled bucket of champagne, the stereo and TV system, and the illuminated, mirrored bar. I spread my skirts around me, and Travis gets in and shuts the door, closing us in together.

As he expertly pops the cork on the champagne bottle and fills a flute I ask, “Can you tell me exactly where we’re going?”

“An event for animal rescue charities.”

I blink. “Do you have pets?”

“No.” At first it seems like he’s annoyed by the question, but then he continues. “At least, I never had one of my own. The family I lived with while growing up got rid of their dog early on and I…” He cuts himself off and concentrates on pouring champagne for himself. “If I had a dog now, it wouldn’t be fair to him. I’m rarely around, and a pet deserves better.”

As he drinks his champagne, he completely shuts down again, and I wonder if it’s because he let out a little part of himself to me just now. I also wonder if he realizes that he does have pets, and I’m but one of them.

He’s ice cold as he answers my question about where we’re going in a more direct way. “This is part of what I do, Nova. I go to benefits, mingle, give money to deserving charities. It’s always for a good cause, but every one of them has the same people running in the same circles. You’ll see tonight.”

Then he turns on the TV, drowning out any more serious moments between us. We drink our champagne until we complete the short yet traffic-ridden journey to the Plaza Hotel and The Grand Ballroom, where the event is being held. After we’re out of the limo, Travis bends his elbow, signaling that I should take his arm, and we make our way into the flush-lit room where a band is playing swanky music.

Travis steers me away from the cameras at the entrance, and we follow a hostess to our seats at a front table. After she leaves us with a saucy look at my date, he goes to pull out my chair as if not noticing her attention. I look around the table at our dinner mates and make a heroic effort to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

I recognize every one of these people: a pop star and his partner, a Hollywood power couple, another billionaire who owns sports teams who’s sitting next to the tennis star he’s dating, and…

Holy smokes, I think the mayor of New York City is across the table, standing at his chair and fast-talking a group of slick men.

“Travis, buddy!” someone says behind us.

Before I can sit, I look over to find Jason Savage, the star of a series of car-chase blockbusters that keep breaking the summer bank.

I freeze on my feet as Travis greets him. I feel like one of the blushing sheer curtains that decorates the room—there but taken for granted.

Then Travis rests his hand on my back, and a yank of desire pulls at me. Still, I manage my best smile, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Jason,” Travis says, “this is Nova.”

He doesn’t say “my friend” or “the girl I’m currently putting up in one of my luxury apartments.” No, I’m just Nova, and I reach out my hand to shake Jason’s.

“Pleased to meet you,” I say.

He brushes a kiss on the back of my hand, then smiles wickedly at me. “Pleased to meet you. Damn, Travis, and I thought your taste in gems was already spectacular.”

I touch one of my earrings. Then I realize Jason isn’t talking about the jewelry. He’s talking about me. I flush like a teen seeing her first R-rated movie and glance at Travis.

Travis’s jaw twitches. “Yes, I prefer real gems that stand the test of time, while some prefer the trendy stuff that never lasts.”

Jason’s eyebrows lift. “Is that so?”

Travis’s gaze flicks toward Jason’s accompaniment. “That’s my opinion.”

I recognize Jason’s date immediately.

Candy Badham, who has about ten platinum songs to her credit. She and Jason were just photographed together on vacation in Spain, and she narrows her eyes at him—I think playfully. He winks at her as she turns to me.

“He needs a leash, that one,” she says in her British accent. Then she takes my hand, enveloping it in both of hers. “I’m Candy,” she says.

“Nova.” Oh my god, I’m on a first-name basis with Jason Savage and Candy Badham. These people are talking to me as if I’m one of them. It’s as if they think Travis and I are a real couple or something.

As Candy starts chatting with me about what’s on the menu for tonight, I almost begin to believe in this fairy tale Travis has created. Maybe it’s the dress that’s fooling them. Maybe it’s the jewelry. I don’t know, but Travis is watching me with an enigmatic expression as Candy teasingly asks Jason why he thinks I’m on the menu.

They kid with one another, and Travis slides his fingers down my arm to my hand, then squeezes my fingers as if in approval. I warm through and through, but when he lifts my hand to his lips then kisses my knuckles while looking into my eyes, flames consume me. Something is connecting us, a red-hot string that’s been lit to life. The searing aftershock travels through me.

I look at him as the music and chatter surround us. He looks at me.

Then the darkness returns to him, settling in his gaze as Jason grips his shoulder.

“If you don’t mind,” he says to Candy and me, “this guy and I have some catching up to do.”

And with that, Jason steals Travis. My “date” glances back at me, and for a moment I think he wants to stay.

I’m wrong, because he goes just as easily as he came.

I’m anxious about being left alone, but it turns out I needn’t be.

For some reason, Candy keeps talking to me, sitting us down, telling me about her trip to Spain. As cocktails are served, the rest of the table listens to her tales of debauchery and fun with Jason, and we laugh at her jokes. Everyone seems to think I’m something more to Travis than I am, but I don’t care. I’m going to enjoy the food, the company, the everything.

It isn’t until dinner arrives that Travis returns and takes his seat next to me, but he doesn’t look at me as he did before, with that intimate link between us. He’s withdrawn from me once again, and his shoulders have gone tense, his attitude colder than ever.

Although the caviar, lobster, and total ambiance are like nothing I’ve ever experienced, I wish I weren’t experiencing this. My nerves start to tumble as I wonder if I’ve done something wrong again.

By the end of the night, I’m saying genuine goodbyes to the people I’ve met, especially Candy.

“You remind me of the girls at home.” She says “gels” instead of “girls,” and she’s holding my hand. “I miss them. There’s something about you, Nova, that’s so very real.”

I don’t want to burst her bubble, so I only smile.

“Perhaps we could arrange something with Travis. Dinner?” Her gaze sparkles with mischief. “Or perhaps a spot of tea, my darling?”

“Tea.” I perk up, and no matter Travis’s mood, even something simple like tea, scones, and jam is enough to cheer me. “I’d love that.”

“Good. I’ll contact you after I get back from the next leg of my tour.”

And that’s when I remember that this is a passing fairy tale. Candy is a superstar and I’m a pauper at the ball. Candy thinks I’ll be around longer than my two-week agreement with Travis. But I say a fond goodbye to her anyway, and Travis is there when I turn around.

Unreadable. Mysterious. A gaze so deep green and unfathomable that I’ll never see all the way into it.

My pulse begins its confused thudding as he nestles his hand in the small of my back on our way out. His fingers are tense, just as they were yesterday when they clutched that armrest during my lap dance.

He’s busy acknowledging everyone who’s thanking him for his time and donations, and it’s only when we’re ensconced in the limo that he leans over to me, whispering.

“We’re going back to the apartment,” he says, “and once we’re there, I’m going to have my way with you.”

Chills run up and down my skin, both of excitement and anticipatory fright.

Tonight could be the night I lose everything to him.