Luke hung back as Anna visibly threw her shoulders back and marched forward to greet her guests.

“I’m so glad y’all found La Parisienne easily,” she said smoothly, holding out her hands to a woman with shocking red hair and a thin frame. “I’m Anna Bryce.”

The redhead’s mouth didn’t even twitch. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, not sounding at all like it was. “I’m the head costume manager, Jas.” She pointed to her colleagues, naming them off so quickly that Luke barely had time to put face to name. Then, she looked Luke’s way. “And he is?”

Anna’s head turned, her blue eyes round with panic. “He is . . . He is . . .”

Not one to usually play the knight and damsel-in-distress card, it was obvious that Anna’s nerves were getting the better of her. She needed him, and who was he to leave her hanging? Gripping the cane in his left hand, Luke approached the group with strides as even as he could manage. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“He’s my—” Blondie’s gaze jumped to his as the words sank in. She gave a minute shake of her head, to which he only grinned and brushed past her to stick his hand out to the crew.

“Luke O’Connor,” he said, finding a strange delight in having shocked Anna Bryce for a second time today. Ignoring the heat of her stare on his back, he added, “Nice to meet, y’all. Anna has been very . . . excited about this day for quite some time now.”

Jas, their head honcho, gave him a considering glance, starting at his head and inching her way down his body. If a man had been the one behind that once-over, there would have been call for sexual harassment. As it was, Jas paused at his crotch, not even bothering to hide the hunger in her gaze. It was almost enough for Luke to move his hand over his dick, in the hopes she’d get the hint. “Ms. Bryce obviously has good taste,” she finally drawled, offering her hand for Luke to take.

“I tell her that all the time. Maybe hearing it from someone else will convince her to keep me around.” He winked at Anna, mentally rewarding himself with a pat on the back when she flushed.

“Don’t inflate his ego, Jas.” Anna rolled her eyes and the group laughed. “His ego is big enough already.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said a man from the back of the pack. “If his ego is as big as the rest of him, I’d say he’s . . . proportionally well-matched.”

Now it was Luke feeling the heat of embarrassment. He hooked a finger along the collar of his T-shirt and tugged the cotton away from his skin.

“No complaints here,” Anna replied, obviously getting into character. She linked her arm with his and peered up at his face. “Right, honey?”

“You got it, baby cakes.”

She subtly pinched the skin near his funny bone, a warning for him to heel.

Luke never had been good at remembering his place. He unhooked their arms, placing his free hand on the center of her back. As the conversation continued without him, he let his hand trail down her spine. Down, down, down until the base of his palm rested centimeters from the crest of her perky ass. He paused there, waiting for her reaction.

The one she gave him was more than he could have ever hoped for: her shoulders quivered and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she shifted her weight closer to him. Closer to his touch.

Jesus. Anna Bryce was fire and Luke had no intention of burning anytime soon.

He tore his hand away from her back, feeling the loss acutely as he caught only the last bit of the conversation.

“Your boutique has gained much notoriety recently,” Jas was saying, going to the high-topped tables for the champagne. “It’s one of the main reasons we’re here.”

Tossing him a beseeching look that he read as “please behave,” Anna left his side. Her stilettos clipped against the glossy floors, an instant reminder that this woman was very much in her element. “We’re happy to have you, and I’m such a big fan of your show. Your costume designs are pure artistry.”

Jas sipped her champagne, unimpressed. “Yes, well,” she said loftily, “we are an Emmy-award-winning show. There’s no room to slack. Every strap of ribbon or button needs to serve a purpose in creating a culture of fashion.”

Frankly, Luke had never watched Thick of the Woods and “culture of fashion” was not in his personal dictionary. Rifles, tactical gear, IEDs—those words registered something in his brain. They also triggered memories, memories that he immediately thrust to the side.

But apparently the phrase “culture of fashion” meant something to Anna because she launched into action. “Let me show you this set, then. My cousin, our designer, created this piece with Savra’s character in mind.” She chose a mannequin wearing a bra that looked like it belonged to Madonna from the 1980s: leather, pointy tits, and thick straps wrapping over the shoulders. Luke was half-terrified. “Savra is very much an independent female on the show. Her past as a slave was mimicked here in the link brocade encircling the breasts and on the straps.”

Jas studied the bra top, an indecipherable mask settling over her face. “It’s . . . interesting.”

Luke winced, especially when he saw Blondie’s reaction. Her blue eyes darkened with barely concealed disappointment and her lips flat-lined. Much as he wanted to escape, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave Anna to fend for herself among the Hollywood vultures. So, he made himself useful by pouring champagne into the flutes and handing them out.

Who didn’t like a good glass of the bubbly?

Maybe, if they were lucky, the sweet bubbles would tame Jas’s tart tongue.

He saved Anna’s flute for last. With his cane providing much needed stability after an already active day, he closed in on her and caught her attention with the word, “honey.”

Like earlier, her azure gaze clung to his, a question he refused to answer hovering in their depths. “Your champagne,” he said in a low voice. He dropped his lips to her ear to murmur, “Don’t let them terrify you.”

She accepted the flute, a tremulous smile playing on her lips. “Thanks, baby cakes.”

Then she winked.

Ah, there was her spunk.

Mission accomplished.

Luke retreated to the refreshment table and dug in to the crackers and the cheese he’d carefully sliced. He was so consumed by watching Anna work the group as the savvy entrepreneur that he hardly realized he had company until a voice spoke up.

“Your girlfriend is about to make the deal of her life,” said the guy from earlier, the one who’d claimed Luke to be well-proportioned. Martin, was it? Max? Hell, Luke couldn’t remember, but as long as he kept the conversation short and simple, he doubted he’d have time to embarrass both himself and Anna.

He popped a cracker into his mouth. “Is she?”

Though he wasn’t facing Martin, there was no mistaking the man’s pointed stare. “Do you know who Jas Oliveria is?”

Not a fucking clue. “Can’t say that I do. This is Anna’s business.”

“And you do . . . what?”

Luke didn’t think he was imagining the other man’s condescending tone. It sent a fissure of annoyance through him. Before his discharge from the army, Luke had been known as Sergeant First Class O’Connor. Now, he was just . . . O’Connor, Herbal Retail Specialist.

It had the ring of a glorified pot dealer—not exactly resumé-worthy and definitely not a title that would impress a dude from Hollywood. Not that Luke particularly wanted to impress the guy.

“I was in the army until recently.”

“So, the cane isn’t permanent?”

The urge to ream Martin in the face was strong. Strong enough that Luke’s knuckles tingled just at the thought of making contact. He promptly shoved another cracker into his mouth, and bit out, “Not permanent.”

“Might I ask what happened?”

Jesus, were personal boundaries not a thing anymore? Luke tightened his grip on the cane. “You can ask,” he drawled, “but don’t be surprised when you’re not given an answer.”

“I figured as much.”

Luke finally looked at the guy. “Then why bother?”

Martin shrugged. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

More than anything, Luke hated when people wanted to poke at the soldier and see what happened. He wasn’t a museum object with a goddamn description placard. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation about his discharge.

Going for another cracker and a slice of cheese, Luke popped the pairing into his mouth and chewed. It was either that or succumb to the urge to bash the asshole over the head with his cane.

“You answered just as I thought you would,” Martin murmured, going for the champagne bottle and refilling his flute. “I hope you realize that if Ms. Bryce is offered this deal, you won’t have a place with her. The media likes a good story, but they like the story of a single, entrepreneurial woman even more.”

It was on the tip of Luke’s tongue to admit that there wouldn’t be a problem because he and Blondie weren’t actually dating. But . . . he ground his teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, Martin the Dick had a point. America wouldn’t find a lingerie boutique owner and a former soldier to be a perfect match.

Especially not an injured soldier who couldn’t even walk his dog around the block twice a day.

Keeping his focus fixed on the group, he made sure to maintain the nonchalance in his voice when he said, “Not sure how this is your problem.”

“I’m the head of public relations for the crew and cast of Thick of the Woods.”

How impressive. Luke held back a snort. “Again, I don’t see how my relationship with Anna concerns you.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.”

Luke’s back stiffened. “You got that right—”

“But when Jas makes her an offer, it’s going to include more than just the panties, Mr. O’Connor. It’s going to entail Anna flying back and forth to LA, long hours for as long as the show is aired on TV. Once Jas finds a designer she likes, she latches on until the very end.”

“I hear leeches do the same thing.”

The ensuing silence was a good indicator that Luke had succeeded in pissing off Martin. The guy clearly had grown soft, being in the position that he was, with no one to speak up to him in fear that they’d lose their job.

Luke had nothing to lose. And the way he saw it, neither did Blondie—either this Jas lady commissioned La Parisienne for the pieces or she didn’t. One fake relationship wouldn’t make a difference at the end of the day, no matter what Martin said.

Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Jas hired the boutique and then promptly never spoke directly to Anna again.

“Listen,” Luke said, dropping a hand on Martin’s stiff shoulder, “if Anna wants to break up, that’s her call. Until then, I’m gonna keep a good thing going.” He gestured to the man’s champagne flute. “Until then, don’t mind if I suggest keeping your opinions to yourself. I’d say a lot more but the threat of being put in the doghouse is enough to keep me quiet.”

With one more nod, Luke was on his way. He stepped close to Anna, laying a hand on her shoulder to capture her attention. “You need anything else from me?”

Lifting a finger to Jas and the others for a moment alone, Anna pulled Luke to the side and away from curious ears. With her fingers brushing his bicep, she tilted her chin back to meet his gaze and, fuck, but he felt that one look way more acutely than he wanted to. “Are you leaving?”

He wanted to both pull her closer and push her far, far away. “Do you need me to stay?”

Her hand fell away to tuck a stray blonde hair behind her ear. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Why did he suddenly wish she’d asked him to stick around? Luke shoved the random emotion to the side. “Okay.”

“Thank you—I really appreciate everything you’ve done today.” So lightly he almost didn’t feel it, she touched her finger to the back of his hand. “I’ll swing by on the way home to take Sassy out.”

“No,” he rushed to say, hating the way her gaze shuttered at the word, “I’ve got him. If I can walk here from the store, I can take my dog around the block.”

The two of them needed to get back on track. They weren’t dating. They weren’t even friends. Sure, he’d lent a hand today but that didn’t have to mean anything more. She’d enlisted him to find her the perfect guy, and Luke was assuredly not the perfect guy for her or for anyone else.

Like Martin the Dick had said, any relationship between Luke and Anna was doomed to die and he wasn’t even referring to the celebrity world. He was talking about real relationships between two non-celebrities.

He wouldn’t make a good boyfriend and she had Julian to think of too.

He glanced over to the costume crew, noting their impatient expressions, and leaned down to press a platonic kiss to Anna’s cheek. If he felt the crazy urge to move his lips over two inches and claim her lips with his, he chalked it up to still being hung over. On his withdrawal, he whispered, “Give me a call tonight. I’ve got a date to find you for this week.”

And he had a woman to find for himself. Clearly his self-imposed celibacy was wreaking havoc on his mind. Brady had told him to stop living like a monk—tonight, he planned to shed the robes and get back on the wagon.

Maybe then he’d remember that he wasn’t interested in Anna Bryce.