“We want to enjoy our engagement, so there’s no rush,” I say nonchalantly.

Cynthia stares daggers at me, which at gives Amber a brief reprieve from her hostile gaze. She knows that I’m jerking her chain, that as long as we’re engaged I slip out of having to honor her contract. It was the one loophole I managed to iron into the contract, the one her lawyers didn’t catch. Now I’m exploiting the shit out of it.

“A nice excuse to wear this ring longer,” Amber says, laughing nervously. “It’s just so gorgeous.”

“You could afford to buy her something bigger than that,” Cynthia says, meeting my eyes. “Or did you have to make sure you found one with a return policy?”

I tighten my grip on Amber, as anger flares up from my gut. Who the fuck is Cynthia Frost to insult my fiancée? Even if this is all just an arrangement, she’s still my fiancée.

Just before I can speak, Amber says, “Any bigger and I wouldn’t be able to hold my arm up.” She laughs. “This thing is heavy, besides, I don’t want anything too gawdy, you know?”

Cynthia smiles. “Wow, you are just such a charming little fish that found her way from the sewer into the big pond.”

“Cynthia,” I warn, my voice deep and commanding. It’s the only warning I’ll give her.

She furrows her brows at me, and I can feel Amber trembling beneath my grip.

“Not even this crystal-clear water can wash that sewer stench off of you, Amber. I know what--”

Without warning, Amber sneezes, and the entire contents of her wineglass spills out onto Cynthia’s snow-white cocktail dress. Deep red stains soak into the expensive fabric, as Cynthia’s eyes widen in horror.

“Oh, God!” Amber shrieks sniffling, “I’m sooo sorry, Cynthia, I think I’m allergic to something in here.”

Cynthia’s hand trembles, and I see the wine in her glass swirling around, nearly spilling over the top. It looks like a grenade to me, the pin already pulled.

“Yeah,” Cynthia says, showing a smile that is nothing but teeth. “You’re allergic to class, you fucking bitch!”

And just before she flings her glass of wine onto Amber, I pull myself in front of her. The wine hits me squarely on the chest, drenching through my white dress shirt.

Cynthia shoots me one more furious look--she seems more pissed off that I was willing to take the hit for Amber than she is about missing her intended target--and she turns irately on her heel and stalks off.

Everyone around us has gone silent and is looking at us. Well, most people are looking at Cynthia, whose dress is stained and dripping with red wine, leaving a wet trail behind her as she stalks out of my house.

James appears out of nowhere with a towel, and I grab it from him.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

* * *

I reemerge into the receiving room several minutes later wearing a fresh change of clothes. The party is still raging on, but I’ve got more important things to worry about now. I’ll make one last appearance before calling it a night.

Amber is there waiting for me, and James is fiddling with the tea cups.

“Liam,” she says. “I’m so sorry. That was not--”

“You sneezed through your nose,” I say. “Your mouth was technically shut.”

She looks down at the floor, her face red with shame. “It was a fake sneeze, I--”

“I know it was fake, Amber,” I say. “Cynthia was way out of line.”

“Still,” she says, “I shouldn't have sunk to her level.”

I shrug. “It was worth a try, but I think she’s going after me either way. It doesn’t matter how well you behaved around her, she was going to go for my throat regardless. I thought it was worth a shot, but nothing you did messed up my plans.”

She sighs with some visible relief, as I sit down across from her.

I take a cup of freshly brewed tea and sip at it.

“What do you call this room?” she asks.

“The receiving room,” I say, realizing already that she’s going to give me some grief for having such a room.

“The receiving room.” She pauses. “Receiving what?” she asks.

“Guests,” I say. “The idea is, whenever you have guests over, you receive them in this room, so that’s why all the tea stuff is in here. If they are coming for a longer stay, you can invite them further into…”

Amber laughs. “I really am a sewer fish, aren’t I? Your whole world is crazy to me, Liam.”

I shrug. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“So, uh,” Amber says, “I was wondering about that. How often do we see each other...to keep up appearances, I mean?”

“You need to move in,” Liam says. “Rich people may be old-fashioned, but it’s basically unheard of for someone like me to be engaged and wait until marriage to…”

She blushes, and her teacup clanks loudly onto the saucer. “God, Liam, I didn’t mean--”

“I know,” I say, grinning. “But it’s about what other people see. It’s all about perception. If you remain living at your own place and doing your own thing, it is going to scream ‘fake’ to everyone.”

“So which one of the twenty bedrooms can I stay in?” she asks, wringing her hands.

“There are plenty of spares in the east wing--”

“The east wing,” she says, scoffing. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds-”

“I know,” I say. “I’m just obscenely rich--you’ve made that clear--but as I was saying...the east wing is a ghost town, so you’d probably get scared.”

She rolls her eyes. “You think I’m afraid of the dark?”

I shrug. “I barely know you, honestly. Maybe you are afraid of the dark. Could be cute if you were.”

She bites her lip. “I’m not,” she says defiantly.

I narrow my eyes at her. Is she lying? “Well, there’s an empty bedroom near mine.”

“What wing is that in?” she asks sarcastically.

“The west wing.”

“Like the President,” she laughs.

“Sure. Would you prefer that one?”

“I’m not afraid of the dark, Liam,” she says. “But I don’t want to be in some empty wing by myself. That is scary even if it’s not dark. I don’t like big empty spaces.”

“Fair enough,” I say.

She definitely wants to be closer to me. I haven’t decided if I want to sleep with her yet. I mean, her body is hot, and she’s cute in general, but in some ways, I’d be back to mixing business with pleasure. Hell, she might not even want to sleep with me. Then I smirk to myself. She probably does, since what woman doesn’t want to, given the chance?

If she gets lonely, she can walk right down the hall and knock on my door. It would be hard to keep my hands off her at that point.

I wouldn’t want this to get too serious, though. My lawyers just need time to find a way out of the contract--probably some kind of settlement with Cynthia so I don’t have to stay perpetually engaged. Then I’m home free. If I sleep with my fake fiancée, then things would start to feel dangerously committed. Dangerously real.

And Liam Lions does not commit to one woman. It’s not my style.

“I’ll move in next weekend,” she says.

“You need that long to pack?” I ask.

“Yeah, I mean, I have to sort through--”

“I’ll handle it,” I say. “I’ll get James to send a guy over to your place.”

“You can’t even send a guy yourself,” she says, frowning. “You have to ‘get James’ just to ‘send a guy.’”

I sigh. “I don’t know the guy, James does. I pay him to not have to deal with shit like this.”

“Must be nice,” she says.

“You’re about to become a millionaire, Amber. You will get a feel for it soon.”

She shakes her head. “I remember reading a quote once that said no one ever got rich by spending money. I’m going to be smart about it.”

I snort. “Does that quote consider making investments as spending money?”

She shrugs. “I’ve always been too poor to invest in anything. I’ll have to check.”

I look at her lips as she speaks, and I realize I can still taste her from when I kissed her earlier. And when she kissed me back. Sure, it was for show, but I have to admit it felt good. As far as I can tell, Amber was into it, as well.

“I can get a car to take you home--”

“You mean you’ll get James to send a car for me?” she quips.

“No,” I say. “I’ll make the call myself.”

“Why don’t you drive me home?” she asks, smiling sweetly.

I grin. “Alright, that sounds good. I’ll drive you home.”