After I send a rushed text to Liam telling him to hold on, that I’ll have the rest of the money soon, I pray that he’ll cool down.

All I can do is hope…

The rest of the day, I try my hardest to concentrate on the homework Cage sends me—links about Russian liquor and food, culture, and Brighton Beach, where Igor Vasiliev mostly hangs out when he’s in New York. There’s a huge Russian presence there, and that’s where Cage and I will be going tomorrow night for dinner at a restaurant run by one of Vasiliev’s friends.

Cage also sends a link to a picture of us in front of the art gallery last night. It made the gossip columns, and I can’t quite bring myself to wonder how my family and friends will handle the news if they should see it.

Truthfully, nothing can shut out that last text from Liam. The more I think about it, the more I can’t hide from the fact that he wants his money now, and I don’t know how much longer he’s going to keep my secret. The best thing I can do is kick ass at girlfriend practice tonight so I’ll do well at tomorrow’s dinner. Then Cage will let me go, I’ll send the money, and this will be over.

My heart constricts at never seeing Cage again, but I know it’s for the best.

Isn’t it?

I calm my nerves by sneaking into his study and pouring myself some brandy from the crystal decanter. The liquor is strong, but I swallow it down. The burn relaxes me, and by the time he gets home, I’m on steadier ground.

I’m already in my cocktail dress for tonight’s dry run. The Carolina Herrera color-blocked sleeveless creation has a full A-line skirt and a sweet, innocent high, frilled collar. I’ve put on enough cosmetics to look good, but not enough to draw negative attention. We’ll see what the makeup artist does with me tomorrow.

When Cage walks into my bedroom, he’s ready to go, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit with his hair combed back. The moment he sees me at the vanity table, his gaze lights up, and it’s not in the usual lustful way.

“Hi,” I say, smiling at him. Somehow, he’s enough to take my mind off Liam. He always is.

A small smile overtakes his mouth, tilting it. “Hi.”

This greeting is different from most of the ones we’ve had before. Usually he’s demanding, reminding me that I’m the escort and he’s the boss, but there’s something more intimate about this hello.

I think he realizes it, too, because his gaze shutters.

“Almost ready?” he asks.

“I just have to tidy my hair.”

I have a bamboo brush that I’m about to run through my straight, shiny locks. I used the high-end grapefruit-scented shampoo, conditioner, and mousse in my bathroom, and my hair is thick and smooth. Cage saunters over to me before I start, and he takes the brush from my hand.

He touches my light brown strands, and I close my eyes, dizzy. I open them again at the feel of the brush running over my scalp and through my hair.

It’s as if thick cream is flowing through my veins, sweet and warm. In the mirror, my eyes are bright, my cheeks flushed.

“How was work?” I ask.

He gives me another stroke with the brush. God help me, but I’m purring between my legs.

“Everyone’s preparing the paperwork for the Vasiliev deal,” he says. “I want it ready to go.”

“You’ll close the deal.”

“We’ll close the deal.”

He sounds so assured that he almost fools me, because his shoulders have gone tense. He doesn’t quite believe that I can pull this girlfriend thing off, does he?

“I’ve been studying all day, Cage,” I say. “I’m going to nail this.”

He resumes brushing my hair, and I move with every stroke. It’s almost a sexual thing, but not quite. I feel closer to him now than most times, especially last night, after he banged me and left me without a word.

“Out of curiosity,” I say, “what are you going to tell Mr. Vasiliev after you close the deal and I’m not around anymore?”

Cage’s tone is businesslike as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “As luck would have it, your mother will soon need you to go home to take care of her during an illness. Igor will respect that we have to spend some time apart, but the distance between us will prove too much. Half a country away, you’ll rethink our relationship, thus breaking my heart and keeping me away from women for a long time.”

My stomach curdles. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

He sets the brush on the surface of the table, and I try not to feel badly that he seems not to care about us “breaking up,” even if it’s a fake breakup.

I meet his gaze in the mirror. “From now on, you’re going to have to keep your wild dating life real low-profile in order to keep his business. Can you manage that?”

Cage doesn’t say anything. He only keeps looking at me in the mirror until overwhelming heat consumes me.

Then he steps away from me, completely out of the reflection.

“Let’s go, Karini. Just enjoy tonight’s wining and dining and romancing.”

I guess I’m not going to get an answer about his future with other women. Still, it’s as if he’s making last night’s strange behavior up to me, just as he did this morning when he cooked me breakfast.

I’ll take what I can get.

He leaves the room, and I stand from the vanity table seat. He has no idea he’s taking my heart with him.

So what will I do when this arrangement is over? Cry? Wallow in what could’ve been with a billionaire who has no idea how to connect with me except sexually? Yes, I’ll have the money I need, but just thinking about being away from him hurts…

My phone dings where I left it on the bed, and I freeze, dreading who might be texting me.

I inch over to it to see that my worst fear has come true.

Time is running out.

Panicked, I shut my phone off and take it with me as I run out of the room to catch up to Cage.

* * *

Cage takes me to Columbus Circle where there’s a small, red-shaded tasting room that specializes in Russian vodkas. He’s bought the place out for the night, and we sit at the dark-wooded bar by ourselves, the sole customers.

The air is cool in here, contrasting with the summer night outside. Cage orders and then I listen raptly as our server explains in a thick accent about how vodka is distilled and the different ingredients it’s distilled from, and then we taste the smooth liquor.

It goes down like silk.

We have plates of foie gras and caviar as appetizers, then Chicken Kiev for an entree. Oddly, no matter how much I drink tonight, nothing gets me even buzzed. It might be because the latest text from Liam has upset my system, and I’m so desperate to do well with this “girlfriend” thing that nothing is going to stop me—not even with Liam hanging over me.

Even so, when my nerves fail me and I spill some of the vodka I’m having with dinner on the bar, Cage frowns at tonight’s first faux pas.

I quickly use my napkin to clean it. “Sorry. I swear, the alcohol isn’t a factor in my clumsiness.”

Our server, who has left us to dine alone, comes by and cleans the mess without a fuss.

When he leaves, Cage looks as if he’s wondering if there’s time to contact a charm school so I can take some emergency classes there.

I touch his arm. “Mr. Vasiliev isn’t going to disapprove if I spill a little vodka.”

“It’s not that. You seem extra…jumpy tonight. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen with—”

“Our dinner tomorrow. I know, Cage. I know how much this means to you.”

It seems that he has to pull himself out of this dark place that my one little mistake has put him in. The stress is weighing on him so heavily that it almost has him in a vise.

I try to distract him. “So we can guess what Mr. Vasiliev is going to ask me during dinner. What do you think he’s going to question you about, besides how we met and all that?”

“I told you that he already grilled me about my ambitions and plans early on.”

I trace my finger down my vodka tumbler. “Okay. But anybody who reads a business article about you can get those answers. How about, you know, your hopes and dreams? Those are different from ambitions and plans.”

He stays silent.

I try again. “If Mr. Vasiliev were to engage me in conversation about those topics, I’d need to know what you’ve told him. A girlfriend would be up on those kinds of things, don’t you think?”

I’m balancing on a wire here. On one side is the Cage I’m dying to know more about—the one who seems so close to revealing more about himself to me sometimes. On the other is the Cage who might shut down immediately if I push too much.

He finally answers. “You want to know about my hopes and dreams? All right. I hope to always have enough money to buy my security. And I dream of never having to answer questions like these ever again.”

All right. That last part wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, but at least he gave me something.

“You’re happy with your status quo in life then?” I ask.

“Very.”

“Then…” Oh my god, I’m about to say something I’ll regret, but I can’t stop now. “If you were so happy with how you ran your dating life with all those temporary women, why did you decide to keep me around?”

Mistake. Big mistake. He freezes right before my eyes, black ice, impossible to get a grip on, as hard as stone.

“Well then,” he says, gesturing to someone near the exit. “That should do it for the night.”

Something tells me that my huge mistake during this rehearsal wasn’t in drinking too much booze or inspecting some cool salt- and peppershakers on a dinner table. I challenged Cage’s boundaries of intimacy again, just not in a physical way this time.

I obviously got to him.

Our limo driver comes over, and Cage stands and nods to him.

“Take her home,” he says.

What?

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I’m staying here for a while.” He sits back down and orders something else from the server.

I feel as if I’m drifting on a wind that’s blowing me away from him, and I barely hear the driver as he says, “Miss Lively?”

I numbly turn to him to see him sweeping his arm toward the door.

I don’t make a scene. I just go with him, my steps heavy. Cage could’ve had more drinks in his home if he wanted to, but I’ve obviously upset his balance and he doesn’t want to be around me.

Tonight I think I robbed him of that control he so sorely needs, and all he can do is get it back by distancing himself.

The ride to his place seems to take forever, and when I’m finally inside, I slink to my bedroom, shutting my door behind me. I really messed up tonight. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Haven’t I learned to do that yet?

After I go into my walk-in closet to put my shoes on their rack, I try not to linger there, to think about how he got me off in here last night, how I thought that maybe we’d found a twisted yet deep connection…

I rush out of there, moving into the bathroom and turning on the light. I stand in front of the marble sink for a moment, then begin to take off my mask of makeup, one layer after the other. What’s left in the end is a woman, not a girl, I’m only starting to recognize—sadder and wiser, but she’s definitely changed from even a couple of days ago.

I finally see what Cage sees, and I want to cry.

But then I hear a slamming sound, like a door. I don’t move. About twenty frightened heartbeats later, I hear my own door open, and I hold my breath, still staring in the mirror.

There’s only one person who can get into Cage’s place and slam the doors that way.

He walks into the bathroom and stands behind me in the mirror, his tie gone, his jacket off, his collar undone. His hair is messy, as if he’s run his fingers through it while fighting himself about something, and I see the same dark look in his eyes that he had last night, right before he dominated me and I so willingly submitted.

“I thought you were staying at the bar for a drink,” I whisper.

But then I see Cage lifting a red blindfold in the mirror. It dangles like a new, exciting escapade.

“You need another lesson, Karini,” he whispers, right before he ties the silk around my head, making everything go black.