VICTORIA DIDN’T HAVE to see the heads turning to know people were watching her and Tristan when they walked into the country club dinner. A surge, familiar from her time spent on camera, flooded her veins. That whisper of doubt and stage fright reminding her the camera was on. That she had an audience.

Fortunately, she’d learned how to suppress that long ago. She hid it under a smile, until the murmuring faded to the back of her thoughts. There was nothing the room could do to her beyond stare and whisper. She looked good. Tristan looked better. She thought she remembered how well he wore a tux—she was wrong.

Despite not having boarded professionally for years, he still had the physique. The cut of his suit showed off broad shoulders and a sturdy chest.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and led them through the room. The contact rolled over her with an unexpected comfort, carrying a thread of something more alluring underneath. She stepped closer.

There were men here twice his age, with women on their arms who were younger than her. She shouldn’t care that she was thirteen years his junior.

He squeezed her hip. The gesture was gentle enough no one would see it as odd, but it sent a shock through her. “Are you okay?” he whispered, breath caressing her ear.

Her mask must be slipping. She froze her smile in place. “I’m fantastic.”

“You look incredible.” He dipped his head to draw his nose along her neck. It was for show, but that didn’t stop the thread of desire that tugged inside. “Time to shine.”

There was an edge to his words. Playful mixed with seriousness. It was the nudge she needed to cast off shadows of doubt and dive into the role she was here for. Given that the future of the organization rested on the contacts she’d make tonight, she didn’t think it was too much of

an exaggeration to say this was one of the more critical parts she’d been cast for.

They approached a man in his early to mid-thirties, who gave Tristan a half-grimace. Bernie Hardt, a partner in one of the newer angel investor firms in town. Didn’t come from money, but wasn’t afraid to flaunt what he’d earned. She knew the dossier of most of the people here, since she’d tried and failed to schedule appointments with a large number of them.

“It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.” Bernie greeted Tristan as they approached, but his gaze drifted to and stayed on Victoria.

Tristan’s chuckle was canned, and they shook hands. “Figured tonight was as good a time as any to catch up with old friends.”

“Glad you did. Who’s your lovely companion?”

“Victoria Small.” She extended her hand in greeting, and he accepted.

“As in Vicky Next Door?” Bernie asked.

Of course the first person they encountered would bring up her child star days. That was okay. She knew how to field that. “As in. But it’s Victoria now.”

“Sure. I remember seeing that in the tabloids a few years back. I thought you were with the other one, though.” He meant Mischa.

She never flinched. “The tabloids never get it right, you know how gossip blogs work.”

“I know there’s usually some truth to the fabrication,” Bernie said.

There was. She and Mischa rode the highs of their relationship like a drug. It was always about the next rush of endorphins, and when the thrill of him wasn’t enough to block out the rumors, she’d decided to give the gossip blogs what they wanted, and retreated into real chemical highs. Not that this guy needed those details.

“You ever experiment in college?” she asked, tone pleasant. “With anything at all?”

Red raced across his face, and he frowned. “No.”

“Right.” She winked. “I promise that’s what I’ll tell anyone who asks. But imagine if you had, and there were photographers following you twenty-four-seven, waiting for you to do something—anything—that could be taken out of context.”

“I imagine that would be unfortunate.” Bernie wouldn’t meet her gaze. He wasn’t even staring at her tits anymore.

Maybe she was laying it on too thick. She needed to project that confident air without turning people off. She slid into a more demure posture, and scooted closer to Tristan. “Fortunately, I have good friends now who keep me from being taken out of context.”

Bernie raised his brows. “Friends?”

Tristan grinned. “I’m pretty sure I’d be lynched by about a dozen different men if I tried to stake a claim to Ms. Small. Good friends, though.”

“I see. Nice meeting you. I need to catch up with an associate.” Bernie brushed past without another glance.

She hid her cringe. They didn’t even get to the Would you like to make a small donation part of the conversation.

“He would have told you no,” Tristan said, as if reading her thoughts.

“Why did we start with him, then?”

He shrugged and turned them back to face the room. “He rubs a lot of people here wrong. If he doesn’t care for you, it’ll make a lot of them curious.”

And that was the number one reason Tristan made the perfect date tonight. She hooked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I do like the way you work a room.”

“We’re just getting started...”

When he trailed off, she followed his gaze to the entrance. Mischa and Ash had just arrived. Victoria noticed two things. Ash didn’t look happy to be here, but she walked into the room as if she belonged. Back straight, eyes ahead, and almost gliding in strappy-sparkly flats.

And she and Mischa booth looked surprised to see Victoria.

“You did tell him, didn’t you?” Victoria growled the question through a grin.

Tristan’s smile wavered. “There wasn’t time. I kind of warned him.”

Great. Might as well get the awkwardness over with.

“Not what I expected when you mentioned a date,” Mischa said.

Victoria was grateful he waited until he was close enough the words would only reach them.

“She blackmailed me.” Tristan’s phony expression was gone.

“I called in a favor,” Victoria corrected him. The term blackmail churned in her gut, and she swallowed the bitter taste.

Mischa looked between the two of them, before landing his gaze on her. “What kind of favor could he possibly owe you?”

“Don’t ask.” Tristan’s answer mirrored Victoria’s thoughts. “Short version is, this is a business arrangement.”

Mischa raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t make it sound any better.”

“Thanks.” Victoria kept her tone sugary sweet, not appreciating the implication. “He’s introducing me to some of his contacts.”

She noticed Ash stayed quiet during the exchange, looking around the room every few seconds, before turning back to the conversation. She reminded Victoria of a trapped rabbit.

“Georgia? Georgia Wolfram?” A couple in their sixties approached.

Ash turned at the name, her frightened expression replaced with a mask Victoria was certain matched her own.

Ash and Mischa drifted a few feet away, talking to the couple.

“Georgia Wolfram?” Victoria growled the name at Tristan. “As in, Ralph Wolfram’s daughter? Her?” The little shy girl with the cutting scars wasn’t just Mischa’s fiancée, she was investment firm royalty. Go figure.

Tristan nodded. “Don’t expect to make a connection there though. There’s a reason she doesn’t tell people her real name.”

That must be quite a story. “But that’s how you scored the invite tonight.”

“That’s how Mischa scored the invite. If I need to talk to any of these people, I do it outside bullshit affairs like this.”

Because they took his calls. She spotted another familiar face. “You promised to introduce me to Dean Rice Jr.” She nodded across the room.

“I can do that.” Some of the tension evaporated from Tristan’s expression. They approached Dean. The conversation went more smoothly this time. He and Tristan were on good terms, and he was mildly fascinated with Victoria’s cleavage.

She was used to that kind of attention, and for the most part it passed through her like a vacant stare. But as they chatted, she couldn’t help but glance sideways at Tristan. She wouldn’t mind if he took an opportunity like that.

As the conversation wound down, Victoria handed over a business card. She only had half her attention on the obligatory I’ll call you. It was difficult to focus when she kept hearing whispers about Georgia Wolfram.

“Can you believe she’s showing her face?”

“After what she did.”

“The ungrateful girl.”

Victoria’s blood ran cold. She might not like what Ash had the ability to do to Mischa, but she couldn’t stand rumors and whispers like that. They’d ruined her career, and no one deserved to be put through that.

Mischa joined them, minus his date.

“I wonder if he even knows,” someone said. “About the running away. Spitting on her mother’s memory, bless her soul.”

Victoria looked at Mischa to see his jaw clenched and his fists balled up. She knew that look of barely controlled fury. And Ash hadn’t returned.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me.” Victoria stepped back from the group. “I’ll get her,” she said to Mischa, keeping her voice quiet.

He looked at her with what she suspected was disbelief.

“I’ll play nice. Pinkie swear.” One of the sincerest things she’d said all night. Ash didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Victoria stepped into the bathroom, grateful it appeared empty. Except for the stall at the end, where blue sparkly flats showed under the door.

“Ash? Doll? Are you in here?” Victoria spoke softly. No reason to draw more attention to them.

No answer. Not that she blamed Ash. Victoria hadn’t exactly been flowers and sunshine when they spoke. But a familiar ache gripped her chest. The one that came with gossip and people spouting shit they didn’t know anything about.

The same as she’d done to Ash, asking her to stay away from Mischa. Wow, wasn’t she a shit?

Victoria stopped outside the stall. “I see your shoes. “No one out there, and I mean no one, is pulling off strappy suede flats with crystal the way you do. Cinderella much? I want to make sure you’re all right.”

She hoped the sincerity was clear in her voice. Guilt and sympathy were clawing for dominance inside.

Still nothing.

Victoria sighed. “Are you going to hide in here all night? Mischa’s worried about you.”

“Because you care?” Ash’s question was bitter.

And fair. Victoria needed to earn otherwise. “If I didn’t care I wouldn’t be here. Are you going to make me talk through the door?”

“I’m not making you stay.”

Victoria turned so she could lean back against the wall. “I told you we recognize our own.” Repeating the words made her cringe. Did she really deliver a line like that with so much conviction? She didn’t need Ash to trust her, but she did want the other woman to come out of hiding. Show those smug fuckers what they said didn’t matter

“Which means I’ve been the girl on the other side of the gossip. I might not think you’re good for Mischa, but no one deserves to hear that kind of shit said about them,” Victoria said.

“So you’re here to coax me out?” Skepticism muted the edge in Ash’s voice.

“I’m here to walk out next to you, make sure you don’t have to look at any of those snotty shits, and let you keep your pride.”

“Why? Didn’t you ask to be here?”

And Victoria would do it again in a heartbeat. “I did. And I’m staying. These people are wallets to me. I don’t care if they sign their checks out of guilt, or so they look better than their friends, as long as my kids benefit from the results. And I just told you why I’m talking to you.”

The latch on the stall door snicked open, and Ash stepped out. She glanced at Victoria as she stepped past. “Thank you.” Ash’s voice was soft.

She washed her hands and looked up, meeting Victoria’s gaze in the mirror.

“Ready to face the world?” Victoria asked.

“No.”

Victoria assumed they had things in common. Self-destructive habits. Being attracted to world class boarders. But as she stared back at Ash’s reflection, she saw something that gnawed at her. Her own insecurities wrapped in false bravado.

“How long have you been faking smiles? Your whole life?” Victoria asked.

Ash shook her head. “Just the first two thirds.”

At least one of them got out. “Just like riding a bike.” Victoria took her hand. “You only have to sell it for the next five minutes.”

They returned to the ballroom, and Victoria picked Tristan from the crowd in seconds. She tugged Ash in that direction, pleased the other woman kept her head high. Faking it sucked, but no one here had earned the right to know they’d cracked Ash’s shell.

They approached Tristan and Mischa. Ash held out Victoria’s hand as they drew closer. “Trade you dates?” Ash asked Tristan.

The way Tristan wrapped his fingers around Victoria’s sent a shot of heat racing over her skin. “I’d love to.” He pulled her to him.

Victoria didn’t know where her reaction came from, but she didn’t have the strength or desire to shake it. If Ash could be Cinderella, she could be a princess for the night too, couldn’t she?

*

TRISTAN COULDN’T IGNORE the whispers about Ash, but they didn’t surprise him. Few people in this room were genuine. He hated that it happened, and it was worse that tonight their target was someone he knew.

What he hated just as much was the familiar murmur in the back of his head. The nagging voice pointing out that of course Mischa found a way to draw attention.

Which was more ridiculous a thought than normal tonight, since this wasn’t Mischa’s doing, or Ash’s. The logic didn’t stop the follow-up thought, and Tristan hated that more. The gnawing envy that said Mischa will recover, so Ash will too. That’s what he does, despite impulsiveness and lack of planning—

He silenced the voice before it ran rampant. Tristan didn’t feel that way. It was a wound that healed more than a decade ago, left behind by his snowboarding coach comparing him to that skateboarding kid who does it better.

Tristan yanked himself back to the now, focusing on the conversation with Dean and Mischa. When Victoria returned with Ash, it was easier to keep his smile in place. She was right, she made him look good.

It also felt right to draw her back to his side. It didn’t matter that this was a business arrangement. With Victoria’s hand in his, he was anchored to the one real thing in this room. At least between the two of them, he knew where they stood.

Mischa and Ash left, and Tristan took Victoria to meet more people. One conversation bled into the next.

“What do you do?” someone asked her.

“Take care of the kids.” The way she said it rang true.

Shock greeted her. “I didn’t realize the two of you had children.”

Once upon a time he figured he’d have his own kids. A family. Then as twenty-five turned to thirty, and thirty-five, and he realized he’d never had a long-term relationship, he had to admit maybe that wasn’t in his cards.

“Not ours.” Tristan shook his head. “Everyone’s.”

Which earned him stunned looks. “That’s a bit pretentious.”

“Do you think?” Victoria never missed a beat. As the night crept on, he found his gaze drawn to her more often. The way she held herself, the confidence despite the fact she was technically here begging for money, was alluring.

Her nearness—the soft scent of peaches that drifted from her skin, her weight as she pressed into his side—and the way she had an answer for every topic, all added to how stunning she looked tonight.

“My organization sponsors after school programs, tutoring, athletics, you name it, we help children achieve it,” Victoria said.

That frequently earned her an obligatory, “That sounds lovely. I’d like to get involved.”

“Fair warning, she drives a hard deal.” Tristan grinned. It was easy to talk her up. The first couple of times, he expected to have to force the praise, but it was real. What proved more difficult was keeping his eyes off her when other people were talking. “She wants a building from me.” The comment wasn’t meant to scare people away. This was a competitive group. They’d want to go one better.

“A building? You wouldn’t.” A nervous chuckle followed.

“She’s persuasive,” Tristan said. “Hell, Rinslet stocked a full computer lab, and keeps the tech current.”

Victoria gave a demure shrug. “I’m always amazed at how generous people can be when the cause is worthwhile.”

“I’ll talk to my board and see what we can do.” They’d shake Victoria’s hand, and place her business card in a front pocket.

Tristan and Victoria gave polite goodbyes and moved on. He liked having her by his side, and it wasn’t just because she looked stunning, and drew envious stares from everyone they talked to. She was witty. The dry sense of humor was a nice bonus too.

Why did they have to have the history they did? If she were anyone else... She wasn’t, so there was no reason to let his mind wander down that path. Especially not when she absentmindedly traced her thumb along the back of his hand. Or flipped her hair, exposing her long neck, as she gave him a knowing smile.

And there was definitely no reason to think about finding some place isolated, and sliding her zipper down to reveal what was under her dress, every time she leaned her weight against the palm he liked to press against her back.

He clenched his jaw when an older gentleman approached, wife by his side. Vance and Mary, two of the people who had been whispering about Ash earlier. They were low on his list of people he cared for—friends of his father, with more affluence and reputation than consideration.

That didn’t stop Tristan from keeping his smile in place. He knew without looking that Victoria did the same.

Vance shook Tristan’s hand and kissed Victoria on the cheek. “You’re the charming young woman everyone is talking about.”

“I suppose I am.” Victoria sounded coy, but not shy.

“How much of a donation to take you off his arm?” Vance chuckled, and winked.

White hot irritation mingled with possessiveness and surged through Tristan. Leering was one thing, but that the implication Victoria’s company could be bought—

“Now now.” Victoria giggled, and squeezed Tristan’s arm.

It didn’t silence his reaction, but it was enough to remind him this was the game they were playing. “Do you really think that’s appropriate?” He kept the venom from his question. “The only reason I have her company this evening is by the grace of God, I’m pretty sure.”

“Of course.” Mary’s laugh was forced. “He didn’t mean to cheapen the situation. We just want to know more about this organization everyone’s whispering about.”

Victoria gave them her prepackaged spiel, but he heard the current of stress cutting through. As she handed Mary a business card, Tristan wrapped an arm around her waist. Not to mark his territory or stake his claim. He had to tell himself that. It was to indicate the conversation was over, and nothing more.

“We need to catch up with someone else.” He was already pulling away. “Nice seeing you both.”

As he and Victoria strolled away, she dipped her head toward his neck. It was similar to what he’d done when they arrived. Her warm breath on his skin made his pulse scream through his veins. Did he have the same effect on her earlier? He hoped so.

“Thank you.” Her lips brushed his skin. “If you hadn’t been there, I might have kicked him in the balls.”

Tristan clamped his mouth shut to keep a laugh from escaping, but a snicker still slipped out. “I’d pay money to see that. New fundraiser idea?”

Her laugh wasn’t the same one he’d heard all night. The genuine sound rolled over him. “I’ll run it by the board. It’s a bit risqué, but they’re open to new ideas,” she said.

He had a couple of other risqué ideas, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to run them by her board of directors. He trailed his gaze along her body, unaware he was staring until he met her eyes, and saw her flush.

“What?” she asked. The night’s false bravado was gone from her voice.

He shook his head. “Enjoying the best view in the room.” He shouldn’t be flirting. Not without an audience to play the moment up. But right then he didn’t want to focus on anything except her.

She bit her bottom lip. Something he never saw her do when she was making a pitch. “Careful,” she teased. She drew a nail down his torso, and desire blossomed inside. “You say things like that, and I might think you mean them.”

He hovered his mouth inches from hers. Wanting to close the distance. Needing to nibble on that bottom lip for her. “I never say something like that unless I mean it.”

“No wonder women love you.” She stepped back enough that the air around them muted her scent.

He mentally shook himself. What are you doing? Nothing. Enjoying the company, that was all.

The rest of the night went more smoothly, and by the time he handed his ticket to the valet, he and Victoria were doing as much laughing as talking. A nagging voice lingered in the back of his head. She’s your best friend’s ex-girlfriend. The woman who almost destroyed Mischa.

Tristan corked the reminder. He was having fun. It wasn’t like they were planning a future together, or even beyond him making sure she got inside her condo safely.

And that twinge of disappointment that the night was coming to an end? It could go fuck itself.