I swear that everyone standing in this room has their eyes on me. Running their eyes down the length of my body, admiring the dress that hugs it like a second skin. Flicking their gaze across my face, taking in my natural makeup, staring at the curve of my eyelashes. Combing my perfectly styled hair, which is clipped over one shoulder the way I requested for Aaron’s benefit. Examining the diamond necklace glittering around my neck and the matching bracelet at my wrist from the boxes Aaron hid beneath the sofa cushions.
But they’re not. There’s only one set of eyes on me—and if there are more, I can’t feel them. The only ones I’m aware of are bright blue and belong to the incredibly handsome man clad in a suit, leaning against the wall. His gaze is drinking me in unapologetically and sparking lust in the pit of my belly.
I let my eyes rove over him in the same manner. Brashly. Obviously. Appreciatively. And, shit, do I appreciate the sight of him. The dark grey suit tailored to him that makes his eyes pop and the stark white of his shirt against his tan skin makes him a vision. A very sexy, very confident vision.
He looks away for a second when he excuses himself from his conversation. His eyes are back on me the moment he strides toward me purposely, like he’s not willing to let anyone get between him and me. As if he can’t be in the same room as me without needing to be next to me.
He stops in front of me and rests a tender hand at my side. “You look beautiful.”
“You picked the dress,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
“No.” He curls his fingers around my neck and pulls me closer to him. “Thank you for wearing it. Really, you look incredible.”
I run my fingers down the front of his dinner jacket. “You brush up pretty good yourself, Mr. Stone.”
He pulls my lips to his. “I know.” He kisses me slowly and sensually, each touch tingling through my body. “God, I wish we could skip this,” he murmurs, nuzzling his lips into my neck. “I want you out of that dress more than I wanted you in it when I saw it.”
I smile. “Obligations, sir. Come on. Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“No,” he says seriously. “You’re all mine.”
“Aaron,” I scold, tapping his chest. “How many of these people are spying on us?”
He laughs. “Probably half of them, but I don’t care. Don’t you think sneaking off before dinner would give my parents something to talk about?”
“You’re so bad.”
“Bad for you, Bambi.”
“What a charmer.” I grin and kiss him quickly. “Behave. Everyone’s sitting for dinner. Let’s go.”
I walk and he stops me. “One thing.”
“What?”
“Did you use the personal shopper?”
I look down and smile. “Do you need to ask?”
“Do we really need to do dinner?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a shame.” He pulls out my seat and places his lips by my ear. “Because I’m already thinking of all the ways I can take your body tonight.”
I swallow my gasp as he sits next to me and introduces me to the others around the table. The Australian boss and his wife, the modeling director and wife, and the head of advertising and his girlfriend. Pretending I care is a challenge when his words are ricocheting around my mind and adrenaline is flooding my body.
Getting through this dinner with his hand resting on my thigh? That’s another challenge altogether.
I spend my appetizer silent, listening to the quiet hum of conversation around the table, and it isn’t until Aaron nudges me while we’re waiting for the entrée that I realize I’m being spoken to. And that I’ve been looking at him.
“Gosh, it’s adorable,” Mrs. Modeling Director’s Wife gushes, holding her hands to her chest. Oh, God. I hate the gushers. “Dayton, you must tell us the story of how you met. I’d simply love to hear it.”
Murmurs resonate around the table, and my throat tightens. That day is seared into my mind and my heart no matter how I try to forget it. It’s one of a thousand memories of that vacation that have locked themselves inside my body and refuse to leave. And telling the story, actually telling it, instead of having a gentle reminder from Aaron, makes all the memories come to life again.
“Oh.” I look down and smile. “It was such a long time ago. I’m not sure I remember.”
Aaron laughs. “Don’t play that card, woman. You know I was the one who tried it on.”
I glance at him and pretend to fake a sigh. “Fine.”
Mrs. Modeling Director’s Wife’s eyes twinkle.
“It was the summer before my senior year of high school and my parents had taken me to Paris for two months. My father had business to do with an old friend, so they decided to turn it into a vacation. The last time I was there, I was just a child, so it was if I were seeing the city through fresh eyes.
“We’d been there for around ten days when I finally made it to the Eiffel Tower alone. I’d been there with my mom several times, but she was always in a rush to go somewhere else. It was my chance to really enjoy it.” My lips quirk, and Aaron slides his hand into mine. “I was standing in front of the tower, completely awed by its size and beauty, when someone came up behind me. ‘Beautiful, don’t you think?’ he asked. I was holding a coffee and jumped so hard I nearly spilled it over both of us.”
Giselle, the girlfriend of the head of advertising, sighs and leans forward. “Do you remember how that felt?”
I raise my eyes to hers, my heart pounding at the memory. “Do you remember how it felt when you saw your first love for the first time?”
Aaron’s fingers tighten around mine.
“I do. How did it feel?”
“Like the world had stopped,” I answer quietly. Silence lingers for a moment, and I speak again. “Of course I agreed with him. The tower is beautiful. He handed me his sweater so I could wipe the coffee from my hands and laughed at me.” I turn my face to Aaron’s, my lips curving to one side. “‘Oh, you’re talking about the tower,’ he said. ‘I was talking about you.’ I blushed and he practically dragged me to a nearby café to replace the coffee he insisted he’d made me spill, and the rest is history.”
The three women all smile widely, their eyes full of that mushy, romantic stuff only Aaron has ever made me understand. The stuff that makes your heart go boom-boom and your lungs go clench-clench.
“It’s true,” Aaron agrees as the entrées are placed in front of us. “In fact, I think if she’d refused to get coffee with me, I would have slung her over my shoulder and poured a cup down her throat.”
“You’re so romantic, baby, I can barely stand it.”
He laughs and brushes his mouth across my knuckles. “I’m trying to tone it down, sweetheart. Can you tell?”
“Not at all.” I roll my eyes to the amusement of the rest of the table. I pull my hand from his but he tightens his grip. “Aaron? I need to eat.”
“So eat one-handed.” He holds up his own fork.
I stare at the fish on my plate. “I don’t think I can.”
“I told you I couldn’t let you go again. Now, after hearing you tell that moment, our moment, as if you’re living it all over again? Nothing could tear me away from you.”
I swallow and take my fork with my other hand, hoping to god no one else will say a word to me through this dinner. If they do, I might just burst into the tears that have been hiding since I saw him again.
I get my wish. The rest of the dinner is full of business talk, and true to his word, Aaron never lets my hand go. He rubs his thumb over the back of it, brings it to his lips, and presses it to his cheek repeatedly.
“Dayton?” Giselle looks to me.
“Yes?”
“I’m going for some air. Would you like to join me?”
No. But the look in her eye, a knowing look, tells me that I should whether I damn well want to or not. I grasp my wine glass and kiss Aaron’s cheek.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time.” He pats my butt.
Giselle leads me onto a balcony that stretches the length of the hall. We’re the only people here, everyone else still engaged in conversations around their respective tables.
“I think it’s a universal belief, you know.”
“I’m sorry?”
She lights a cigarette and leans against the ornate gates keeping us safe. Her dark eyes hit me with an understanding and knowledge only a few people have.
People like me.
“That call girls don’t fall in love.”
Her words vibrate through my body.
“How do you…” I flatten my hand against my stomach.
The smile that curves her lips isn’t the malicious smirk I expect. It’s gentle and kind. “How could they? How could they fuck any number of men a day and still go home to their boyfriends or husbands and have a normal relationship? Where would the trust, the belief, the honesty of love be?”
It dawns on me, washing over me in a warm flood. “You were one. Before.”
She nods. “Before Mick. I was the call girl you are. Highly desired, highly paid, highly respected. I gave my agent the biggest cut and took the most home. Falling in love was something reserved for the novels I lost myself in at the end of every day.”
I approach the railing and lean next to her. “I think we all do that.”
“We all need some hazy dreams in our blunt reality.”
My head jerks in a nod. “I agree.”
The question burns in my throat, and I want to ask with every part of me. So I do.
“You gave it up?”
She takes a long drag. “Yep. Six months ago. Mick hired me last year to be his date for his sister’s wedding and his company for the night.” Smoke leaves her mouth in a white, billowing cloud. “And he kept hiring me, randomly it seemed, until I was with him more nights than not. He was taking me to dinner, to shows, everywhere. After three months of it, I asked him what the hell he was playing at. And he told me he was falling in love with me.”
“And you were falling in love back.”
“I couldn’t not. I left him that night thinking about my options. He’d made it clear he couldn’t have a serious relationship with me as long as I was doing my job. I had to ask myself if I valued my job or love more.”
“And you picked love.”
“I picked love.” She grinds the cigarette into an ashtray on the wall and drops it in before turning to me. “Dayton, call girls do fall in love. We fuck hundreds of men without an ounce of emotion, but that doesn’t mean we’re not capable of it. We’re still human, and we still have hopes and dreams.”
I snort. “How many call girls do you know who have fallen in love?”
“Just one. Just me.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
“Because above anything, call girls are masters at the art of pretending. We pretend every day, to other people, and occasionally to ourselves. And you, my darling, are pretending so hard you almost believe yourself.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Giselle takes my hand and leads me to the door. “Just because you’re not falling doesn’t mean you’re not in love.”
She pushes the glass door open and we sit back at the table without a word.
Every time I’m at an event like this, I look around the room and wonder how many of the guests are call girls. How many of them have been hired for the same reason as me. How many are smiling and pretending to know everything about their handsome, rich date.
Usually, I know. Usually, they’re easy to pick out.
But Giselle has caught me. Somehow she sees me for who I really am and has called me on it. Somehow…she knows and she understands.
And now I’m on edge. Apprehension is prickling at my skin, making my hair stand on end and shiver. If she can tell, how many other people are here who are call girls who can tell? How many can see right through the façade I hold each day?
Dessert dishes are cleared away, mine only picked at. Aaron turns in his seat to face me and gently cups my chin in his hand.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie, wrapping my fingers around his. “Do you want another drink?”
“I’m fine.” His eyes narrow. “Dayton?”
“Give me a second.” I kiss his hand and stand. Music begins as I cross the room to the bar and take a deep breath.
No one ever knows.
What if she says something?
Fuck.
Everything could be over in a second.
“White wine please,” I tell the girl behind the bar.
“Dry, medium, or sweet?”
“Medium.”
Giselle appears at my side. “Make that two.”
I look away.
“Dayton. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“You have.” I straighten. “Are there any others here?”
“Two. One is just starting by the way she’s been wringing her hands all night, and the other is too star-struck by her client to do anything.”
“How do you know?”
“My ex-agent is my best friend.”
I smile as two glasses are put in front of us. “Charge it to the Stone account,” I tell the bar girl. “Both.”
She nods and disappears.
“Thank you,” Giselle says. “Normally I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“About knowing or now?” I shoot her a wry smile.
“Both.” She returns it. “But I just got a grilling from the boss, so I thought I’d better come apologize.”
I glance over to the table and find Aaron’s eyes fixed on us. I laugh into my glass. “Don’t worry. I’m just not used to anyone knowing.”
She places a hand on my arm. “I didn’t tell you for some fucked-up reason or to freak you out, I promise. I just…” She sighs. “I see how he looks at you and how you look at him. The way you told the story of how you met… Jesus. There’s so much between you it’s impossible to ignore.”
“He’s my client.” I drag my eyes from his to hers. “If I could have, I would have run ten thousand miles when I saw him again. Believe me.”
“I do.” She laughs. “I believe you completely, and I know we just met, but I’m asking you for something.”
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“Believe,” she replies simply. “Disregard everything you’ve ever been told about your life and believe in something beautiful. Something that’s staring you in the face every time you look into that goddamn lovely pair of blue eyes.”
I chew on my lip and turn back to those eyes. “Believe in what?”
“Love. Always believe in love.”