My pleasure at seeing Annabelle as she walks down the stairs isn’t entirely faked.

She's still got the librarian-chic thing going with her big glasses and bobbed hair, but she's poured herself into a dress straight out of a classic movie, one that shows off her ample breasts and little waist. It’s a relatively modest dress, falling to her knees, but I can see that she has nice calves which are lengthened by the vintage pumps that match the dress perfectly.

She’s not beautiful, not in the classic sense. Her smile is a little too toothy, her cheeks a bit too round, the freckles a little too obvious. But her unusual taste in clothing suggests self-confidence, and her expression as she walks up to me is open and friendly and happy.

She's not my type … but she’s someone’s type.

After a few polite words with her father, Annabelle re-introduces me to her mother, who welcomes me graciously. After a few minutes of chit chat, Mrs. Winter excuses herself to go greet other guests.

“Thanks so much for coming,” Annabelle says quietly to me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

I’m being paid to be here, of course, but I don’t bother reminding her of that. I decide to focus on being charming.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Elizabeth Taylor in that dress?” I ask her.

I’m exaggerating a little, but not all that much. While she lacks Taylor’s overblown sensuality, Annabelle’s curvy figure, pouty lips, and large eyes have an old-time Hollywood feel to them.

She makes a light snorting noise and rolls her eyes.

“No, I’m serious,” I assure her. “Did you ever see Butterfield 8 or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?”

Annabelle shakes her head.

“You’re nothing like her characters, which, trust me, is a good thing, but you could totally carry off her look.”

“What’s that?” Annabelle asks.

An image of Annabelle, minus those silly glasses, in a vintage silk slip with a cocktail in one hand, leaning provocatively against a wall flashes through my mind, and I’m stunned to realize she actually could carry it off. She’d probably look amazing, and I feel a completely unexpected tug of lust at the thought.

I blink to clear my mind. “Oh, just, you know, you’ve got that retro thing going on,” I mumble, aware that I’ve come perilously close to telling a client I’d like to see her in her lingerie. “You definitely remind me of her.”

“Well, thanks.” Annabelle’s tone tells me she doesn’t really believe me but she appreciates the effort.

She steers us through the crowded room, stopping occasionally to shake hands or make small talk with the other guests. Okay, so she’s not model-gorgeous, but she’s pretty, and personable, and knows her way around a cocktail dress, and I think, This chick must have some serious issues if she’s this insecure about her sisters.

Then I meet them.

We’re standing near the bar where I’ve just secured a glass of champagne for Annabelle and a soda water for myself (I don’t drink, but even I did, Gentlemen, Inc. has very strict rules about not drinking while we’re on the clock), when a tall, slender brunette appears out of nowhere.

“You must be Archer,” she exclaims. “Annabelle’s told us so much about you! I’m Carina.”

It takes all my acting ability to remain cool and simply shake her hand without doing a double take or letting my jaw drop open or otherwise letting on what an impact she makes. She is beautiful—tall, with high cheekbones, flawless, evenly tanned skin, and a slender, shapely figure. But even more so, she has a charisma to her that few women have. Her smile lights up her face until it seems to glow, and she moves with the graceful poise of a dancer.

“So you’re Annabelle’s sister,” I say, smiling politely. “I can see the resemblance.”

Out of the corner of her eye, I can see Annabelle’s lips tighten and realize she probably thinks I’m making fun of her, but there is a resemblance. If I hadn’t known they were sisters, it would have taken me a while to make the connection, but now that I know, it’s obvious.

“You have the same eyes,” I say, and it’s true. They share the same large, expressive green eyes.

“You’re very observant.” Carina flashes her white teeth at me and fixes me with those hypnotic eyes, and for a moment, they’re all I can see. “Annabelle, do you mind if I steal him away from you for just a moment? There’s someone I’d love him to meet, plus Aunt Mila’s just arrived, and she was asking for you.”

Beside me, I feel Annabelle tense up, and Carina’s spell is broken. I smile blandly at Carina. “Sorry, but I made Annabelle promise not to leave my side,” I say. “I’m at sea in a crowd like this.” I tilt my head bashfully, doing my best imitation of a shy guy. “Besides, I miss her when she’s not around.” I turn to Annabelle and gaze at her fondly. I hope I’m not overdoing it. “I’d love to meet your aunt, though,” I say to Annabelle. “Shall we go find her?”

Annabelle turns her face up to mine, relief on her features. “Yes, let’s. Carina, I’ll catch up with you.”

We start to turn away. “A pleasure to meet you,” I say over my shoulder to the beautiful Carina. Far from looking offended at our abrupt departure, she has a satisfied smile on her face, and I get the feeling I’ve just been tested.

“What was that about?” I ask as we walk away.

Annabelle rolls her eyes. “She wants to get you alone so she can bombard you with questions.”

“Why?”

I see her cheeks get a little pink. “Partly to embarrass me, partly to make sure you’re good enough for me.”

I laugh. “She sounds … loyal. For a moment there, I thought she might be making a pass at me.”

Annabelle raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Would you have minded?”

“I wouldn’t be interested in a woman who made a pass at her sister’s boyfriend right in front of her,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too self-righteous.

“Well, just ignore her if she tries again,” Annabelle tells me.

“Of course I’ll ignore her. I’m here for you.” I pride myself on being a professional, after all.

Annabelle sighs, a rueful smile perched on her lips. “I wish I had an unlimited budget. I could get used to this,” she says in a low voice.

Now that I’ve met Carina, I can kind of see where some of Annabelle’s insecurity comes from, but it still seems crazy that she feels like she has to hire a guy in order to get treated halfway decently on a date. I’m about to tell her as much—I’m getting paid enough, I can be a nice guy for an evening—but she interrupts me before I can say anything.

“Would you like something to eat? The buffet’s opening in a moment.”

“Shall we find your Aunt Mila first and pay our respects?”

Annabelle smiles. “Sure, let’s get it over with. She can be a bit overbearing, but I can’t ignore her.”

We find Aunt Mila, who, I gather, is Annabelle’s father’s sister. I recognize her type from my days at the golf club—wealthy, attractive, and used to getting what she wants. We spend a few minutes talking before heading to the buffet. Our plates full, we head to one of the many small tables that have been set up around the enormous dining room. I’m about to take a bite when we’re interrupted by a tall blond woman in a long white dress. An elegantly dressed man stands at her side.

“Annabelle, I’ve been looking for you.” She glances at me and holds out her hand. “I’m Brianna, Annabelle’s oldest sister.”

I stand up and have to repress the impulse to bow. Where Carina radiated warmth and intimacy, Brianna has a regal coolness to her that gives her a queenly, intimidating air. “Archer Carlson,” I say. “A pleasure.”

“All mine.” She smiles graciously. “Allow me to introduce my boss, Jared Merchant. Jared, my sister, Annabelle, and her date, Archer.”

Hands are shaken all around. It would be polite of me to ask them to join our table, but from the reserved look on Annabelle’s face, I’m not sure that’s what she wants.

“I won’t intrude,” Brianna says as if reading my thoughts. “I just wanted a chance to meet Annabelle’s new boyfriend.” She sweeps her gaze over me as if looking for flaws.

I slide my hand over Annabelle’s and do my best impersonation of a man who’s crazy in love. “I’m a lucky guy,” I say.

Brianna nods, and she and Jared sweep away. Annabelle visibly relaxes at her departure.

Okay, I can see that Brianna might be kind of hard to live up to, too. She seems like someone who would be hard to please.

Still …

“Your sisters don’t seem so bad,” I say. “I thought they’d be more like your stereotypical sorority mean girls.”

“Oh, no, they’re really nice, and I love them a lot,” Annabelle insists, “It’s just …”

She bites her lip, a surprisingly sexy gesture that draws my attention back to that pretty little mouth of hers. I get another flash of her wearing that Liz Taylor lingerie and for an odd moment, I’m distracted by the thought of what that mouth would feel like against mine, then I pull myself together and focus on what she’s saying.

“They kind of get all the attention, especially Carina. I stopped bringing boyfriends or even guy friends home because one look at her and she’d be all they ever talked about again. It’s not her fault,” Annabelle adds quickly. “She doesn’t encourage them. And I guess it wasn’t really theirs, either. I can keep a guy’s attention as long as they’re not around, but once they are …” She shrugs.

“That’s crazy,” I tell her. “You’re very attractive. And you’re obviously very smart. And nice.” I’m not lying; she is all those things. “You deserve better than a guy who can't keep his thoughts off your sister.”

“Thanks,” she says with the wearily polite air of someone who’s heard this before. “If I had a normal family, that might be true. But as long as those two are around, I think I’ll always be in their shadow.”

We eat and make small talk. I had a walk-on role on a popular sitcom a few months ago, and tell her about meeting the show’s star. Annabelle tells me a little bit about her research into sound waves and how it could impact the quality of hearing aids.

I learned a long time ago that you can’t fake interest. The trick to being a good actor—and a good escort—is to learn how to be sincerely interested in what the other person is saying. Plus, you never know what random little bits of information will prove useful in the future.

So I listen thoughtfully, occasionally asking questions, and learn a little about the upcoming generation of hearing aids. She’s passionate about her research, but I can see that she’s not the type who’s great at small talk or flirting; she wants to go straight to the serious stuff.

It wouldn’t surprise me at all if she’s like that with relationships too. I think of Alex, who was obsessed with Trevor from the first time he kissed her, and I hope that Annabelle is at least a little smarter than that.

After dinner, we make the rounds again, Annabelle showing me off to family friends and relatives. Not a bad crowd. As Annabelle had suggested, it’s a quite a mix of people, from Fortune 500 CEOs to human rights lawyers to socialites, and our conversations, though short and casual, are interesting.

We’re chatting with Aunt Mila again when Annabelle’s mother reappears.

“Annabelle, can I borrow you for a moment? I need your advice on something.”

Annabelle excuses herself and moves away a few steps with her mother. With her out of the way, Aunt Mila gives me a frankly appraising look.

“So, Archer, you’re an actor?” she purrs. “Tell me a bit about what you do.”

I mention the commercials and the sitcom and the music video, trying to sound professional and serious about my career. When talking to a woman like Mila, it’s more important than ever to not sound insecure or desperate; that’s when they start to think of you as something for sale.

“Fascinating,” she says, though I don’t think it’s my resumé that she finds fascinating. “It’s a shame Zac’s not here tonight,” she says with studied casualness. “Do you know Zac Borstein, the director?”

I blink. “I know of him, of course.” Zac Borstein is one of the most successful independent filmmakers in the business today. His films are edgy and original, they win awards and get attention … and they’ve launched some major careers.

“He’s an old friend of Nick’s,” Mila continues, referring to Annabelle’s dad. “Nick actually put up most of the money to get his first film produced. He usually comes to these things, but I gather from Moira that he’s in London until next week.” She shakes her head. “Such a shame for you to miss out on a connection like that.”

My heart starts to race.

These people know Zac Borstein.

Actors a lot less desperate than I am would kill just to be in the same room with Zac Borstein. Failing that, they’d do just about anything for the chance to be introduced to him.

“Yes, that is a shame,” I say, hoping I sound nonchalant. “Maybe some other time.”

Mila sighs then smiles. “Well, we should keep in touch,” she says. Her eyes widen as if she's just had an idea. “You know, Zac and I are friendly—maybe I could get you a meeting with him.”

I know, from the glint in her eyes, the silky determination in her voice, that there’s a price to pay for that meeting.

Like I said, life is a series of transactions.

I have a pretty good idea of what Mila’s price for an introduction to Zac would be, and I really don’t want to go there. I swore off sleeping with wealthy women for favors a long time ago. I did what I had to do when I was younger, but it’s not a past I’m proud of, and it’d definitely not one I want to revisit.

But still … Zac Borstein.

“Here.” In one graceful motion, Mila extracts a card from her purse and hands it to me. “I see someone I need to talk to. Let me know if you’d like to pursue this.”

With a meaningful smile, she turns and glides away. She’s a good-looking woman, she obviously takes care of herself …

Shit. I’m looking for a way to justify this.

No.

I’m not going back there, not even for a little while, not even for Zac Borstein.

Still, I can’t help wondering if my big break is walking away with Mila.