Another bank of cameras, even more of them flashing in my face. Many more than were at Sebastian’s opening last week.

“You are such a liar,” I murmur into Isabella’s ear, a wide grin on my face. I know exactly how it’s going to play on the gossip sites when the photos hit later tonight—Billionaire Jasper Pace flirts publicly with new lover.

“I didn’t lie about anything.” She keeps her smile on, too, leaning in a little closer so that each of them gets a few shots of her practically nuzzling my neck. Isabella Gabriel’s new beau is a billionaire with ties to real estate...

We move a few more steps down the red carpet, which I personally think is a little much for an industry awards ceremony, but I’m not going to say that out loud. Not here. “You said this was a small event.”

“I said it was a smaller industry event.”

“As opposed to—”

“I don’t know, Paris Fashion Week?”

We both laugh together, her face illuminated in the camera flashes, and my heart turns over in my chest.

It killed me to send her on her way at the end of dinner. Killed me. I could have died from the sheer lust I’d been containing all through dinner only to end up blueballed and alone at the end. It was according to plan, but that doesn’t mean I liked it. At all.

I also wasn’t partial to the flash of understanding that moved across her eyes like a thunderstorm in miniature as the elevator doors closed. If she thinks she understood, then...

I don’t know. Maybe she did. That’s the infuriating and intoxicating thing about Isabella. I’m never sure where exactly we stand in this game, and I love it and hate it simultaneously.

According to plan, yes, but I didn’t make that decision until toward the end of the meal, when every cell in my body was screaming at me to take her back to my bedroom and take her until she was ruined for all other men. But something stopped me cold. It was the overwhelming sense that if I did that, we’d have crossed a line too early in the game, and it might send us rushing toward a premature end. 

Not that I think Isabella is going to back out. But I couldn’t ignore the feeling. I couldn’t ignore it, so I sent her home. A move neither of us could possibly have expected.

I still don’t know why I care if she backs out early. I never thought she’d accept in the first place. Now we’re here, out in public, on a date that’s a thousand times more real than a behind-the-scenes dinner in my apartment, and I don’t hate it. I don’t hate the camera flashes. I don’t hate the fact that we’re going to be the subjects of all the gossip outlets in the city by morning, if not by midnight.

I can’t explain it. I wouldn’t even begin to explain it to someone like my father. He’d probably remind me that nothing matters except business.

We step off the carpet and into the lobby of the Lincoln Center, where Isabella dives right in. I underestimated her when she first walked into my office. I might not know much about the fashion industry, but I know quite a few big-name designers and fashion house owners. Some of them are here, and all of them recognize Isabella Gabriel. She kisses cheek after cheek, holding hands with elegant woman after elegant woman in gown after eye-catching gown. They’re all wishing her good luck.

When I finally offer her my arm again, she’s glowing. “And you still think you’re not a liar?”

Isabella looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “About what?”

“You made me think you were some down-on-her-luck fashion designer.”

“What did I ever do to give you that impression?”

All of my memories of her collide into a swirling slideshow, her voice overlaying the entire thing. It hits me like a tidal wave. She never said she was down on her luck. Maybe the timing with that building in Hamilton Heights wasn’t the best for her, but she’s clearly not a woman trying desperately to climb the rungs. She’s got a place in the world, and it’s a good one.

So why did she feel like she needed to say yes to me?

I don’t have time to think about it, because there’s a movement to the hall where the ceremony and dinner are taking place. Isabella makes conversation with every person around us on the way there, and the constant flow of conversation continues all through dinner.

It should be boring as hell, but watching Isabella is a sight to behold. I can imagine her at fifteen, charming everyone in the Bronx to help pay the rent and groceries. I’ve done well for myself at Pace, Inc., but I never had to reach as far as she did. She’s radiant. She’s in her element. She’s my date.

Technically, I guess, I’m her date.

Suddenly, while I’m in the midst of thinking about how I’d love to steal her away to some dark alcove and push the understated pink gown she’s wearing up to her waist, she’s standing up from her seat, all the lights in the house on her. Everyone around the table is clapping. I join in only a second too late. The woman seated on my other side—Clarisse?—clutches my arm. “Can you believe it?”

“I can.” I answer even though I have no idea what Isabella has won, other than that it seems like a big deal. She’s presented with a crystal trophy up on the stage, and her award is announced again—Best Designer Under 30 for the entire year. Wow.

She steps up to the podium, absolutely beaming. “Thank you so much.” That’s all I hear, because I’m lost in the sight of her in the spotlight, her back straight, her hair and makeup flawless, everything about her projecting confidence and drive. I can’t be the only one in the room wondering which award she’ll take home next year—if she’s even still in the city. She could be anywhere across the planet, selling anything.

That’s all I hear until she takes a deep breath and looks out into the crowd. “And finally, I’d like to thank Jasper Pace.” All around me, heads swivel in my direction. “For giving me a brand-new fire.” She smiles for another long moment. “Thank you.”

Applause erupts all around me, and my cock jumps in my pants.

I need my hands on her.

Or at least the surprise I have hidden in my pocket.