As we ride to the restaurant, I can’t pull my eyes away from Gabby. Somehow, in the time between the elevator ride and boarding the cab, a dark cloud descended, and I can see the sadness all over her. I want to call Daphni right now and demand she get her ass back here, but I know that would humiliate Gabby even more and I can’t bear to do that. All I want is to put a smile on her face again. A genuine smile—not one of those fake ones she constantly wears to keep everyone around her off her tracks.

I want to ask her what is making her so sad, but I already know the answer. I am not her sister, and though I’m sure she appreciates the gesture of me taking her out tonight, I am not the one she wants sitting across the table from her. I need to put my ego aside, though, and suck it up. Though I may not be her first choice, I sure as hell am going to make sure she has a fun night.

I play a perfect gentleman and make sure to open the door of the cab for her as we pull up to the restaurant. She insists on paying for the cab but I beat her to it. A sad part of me enjoys this: the feeling of us being on a real date, even though I know it’s just a delusion. A quick look at Gabby shows that she is clearly enjoying this a lot less than me. And why would she enjoy it? She was hoping for a fun night out with her sister and instead got stuck with the help.

And still, I’m pulled toward her. So when we walk the thirty feet toward the restaurant, I hover my hand again over Gabby’s lower back, knowing full well that it’s a pathetic excuse to touch her. But I can’t keep fighting this inexplicable pull to be near her, to be touching her.

As we make our way to the hostess stand, I lose any decent excuse to have my hand still on her, so I reluctantly drop it to my side. The restaurant itself is small and intimate and a far cry away from any of my normal haunts. I was a guy who preferred ordering off a menu that included pictures and where beer was on tap. A quick look at this place showed me I was clearly out of my element. The damn tablecloths probably had a higher thread count than the sheets rumpled on the corner of my mattress back in my one-bedroom flat. Gabby confirms the reservation and the hostess ushers us to a small, intimate table in front of a large bay window overlooking the street. It’s the best table in the restaurant by far, and I am sure it had everything to do with the person who made the reservation.

After we are seated, the hostess hands us our menus, her smile never faltering. “Welcome to Fiola. We were expecting your sister as well, will Daphni be joining you?”

I bite my tongue as I watch Gabby offer the hostess a forced smile. “Unfortunately, she won’t be able to.”

The hostess nods, her smile fading. She is obviously disappointed, and was most likely eagerly awaiting her chance to meet the pop star. The hostess’ disappointment isn’t lost on Gabby, and I see a flash of annoyance in her eyes. As the hostess steps away, Gabby calls back out to her.

“Wait—Daphni did leave her card when she made the reservation tonight, right?” Gabby asks, and the hostess nods in response. “Perfect. My sister really regrets that she can’t make it tonight so she wanted to put the whole meal—and a very generous tip—on her card,” Gabby explains.

“Oh, yes of course,” the hostess responds, her smile returning as she shuffles away.

I watch amused as Gabby opens the wine menu, trailing her finger down the list. As she reads, a mischievous smile dances across her face.

“I am feeling like a nice Pol Roger tonight,” she comments before closing the menu.

I check out the menu myself and quirk a brow as I read the $725 price tag on the bottle.

“Excellent choice,” I comment, returning her conspiratorial smile.

The waiter soon arrives and we place our orders, including our bottle of champagne. I’m pretty hungry, but apparently my appetite is no match for Gabby’s. Either she has not eaten for several days, or she is eager to run up a four-digit bill as a “screw you” to her sister. I try and stick with one of the cheaper entrees but Gabby overrides it and orders the steak and lobster for me. I don’t even bother arguing when I see the wide smile cross over her face as the waiter scribbles down her long order. It's the first time I have seen her with a genuine smile this evening, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin that.

The waiter returns promptly with the bottle of champagne and with great fanfare, uncorks it, pouring two generous flutes of the bubbly liquid.

Lifting her glass, Gabby clinks her flute with mine. “Sláinte!” She declares, before tipping her glass back and emptying it in one giant gulp.

I take a more measured sip before setting my glass down on the table as Gabby pours herself a second glass.

“How do you know sláinte?” I ask.

Gabby shrugs nonchalantly as she takes another long sip. “I traveled a bit through Scotland during college and did some work in Glasgow, so I spent a lot of time in the pubs there with my roommates from the hostel.” She smiles as she takes another sip. “Your people like to drink.”

I laugh and drop my elbows onto the table. “So, what kind of work did you do?” I ask, wanting to know more.

“I did some volunteering with Oxfam,” Gabby says dismissively. “How about you, what kind of work did you do before you were stuck babysitting my sister?”

I pause before answering and let my eyes linger a bit longer on her. My attention doesn’t go unnoticed and, under my assessment, she suddenly decides to focus on the napkin in her lap.

“How come you don’t like to talk about yourself?” I finally ask her. I had debated pushing the question aside in favor of politeness, but I was too curious to know the answer. Time and time again, I had seen her deftly avoid any personal questions, always steering the questions back to her sister or Melissa or anyone else she spoke to. Gabby fascinated me. She was, in some ways, so easy to read and in others, a cryptic puzzle that I was dying to solve.

The question catches her off guard and she looks up from her napkin. “I don’t mind talking about myself,” she counters.

“Every time I ask you something, you somehow manage to direct it back to me. And it’s not just me—I’ve seen you do it with everyone.”

“I don’t do…” she protests, before stopping mid-sentence. She lifts her head thoughtfully before bringing her eyes back to me. “Yeah, I guess I do kind of do that.” She chuckles lightly before leaning back in her chair. “I guess I never noticed.” She directs a playful glare to me. “And no one ever called me out on it before.”

I can’t help but laugh in return. “You’re easy to read, Gabby.”

With my words, her smile drops off her face and I see her square her shoulders, her body tensing up as the walls around her that had begun to come down instantly surround her again. Fuck.

“No, what I meant to say is, you have these tells about you. Sometimes I can just see what you’re feeling. Not all the time, just sometimes.” I grip my jaw and run my hand along the stubble dotting my chin, hoping that I can stop running my mouth and shut up for two fucking seconds.

We sit in an awkward silence for what feels like hours. I try focusing my attention on the incredibly fascinating set of forks in front of me, begging for the stupid waiter to return again with the fifty appetizers Gabby ordered.

“I guess it’s a bad habit,” Gabby’s soft voice breaks through the silence.

I look up at her sad eyes and have to physically restrain myself from not covering her smaller hand in mine. More than my need to touch her is my desire to comfort her, to be the man who gets to reassure her. It’s stupid, but it’s a strong feeling and hard to push away.

“Growing up as Daphni’s sister, no one ever really seemed to care what I had to say. It was never as interesting compared to you know, ‘world-famous pop star Daphni Monroe,’” she shares, and it’s like I can see all the bricks of the barricade she had constructed around herself come crashing down. She is sharing something real with me and offering me a piece of herself that I could sense she had not given to many.

I nod thoughtfully. I am scared to fuck this moment up. I can see that she is letting me in and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. Before I can think of an appropriate response, I blurt out, “Well, I think you’re fucking fascinating.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop myself, and realize how much of a bloody idiot I must sound like to her.

An adorable blush races up her cheeks and I spot the faintest smile. It makes me want to smile like some lovesick fool. The effect this woman has on me is completely throwing me off kilter. I push back my smile and force myself to say something, anything, before I completely lose myself and start giggling like a bloody school girl.

“So, tell me, Gabby, how you came to find yourself in my humble home country.”

Gabby’s face lights up and she takes another long sip of her champagne. “I was in Glasgow. It’s such a beautiful city. I was backpacking through the UK on a summer break and I ended up meeting this woman in my hostel who was working with Oxfam. They were beginning to get an influx of refugees from Syria and needed translation help. I had studied Arabic in high school and undergrad, so I decided to stop traveling and stay in Glasgow for a bit with Oxfam helping with their refugee-resettlement work.”

I’m assuming she catches the look of surprise on my face and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat before self-consciously taking another long sip of her drink.

“So you canceled your vacation to volunteer instead?” I ask.

“Well…I wouldn’t put it quite like that. But essentially, yes.”

I can’t help but let my eyes linger on her. I thought I had her pegged. Shy, book smart, a bit of a loner, but utterly brilliant. Incredibly beautiful. Sexy and completely unaware of how dangerous the effects of the sway of her hips, the dip of her breasts, were on men. And she was also a humanitarian who favored volunteer work over touring Europe. How does this woman share any DNA with her sister?

“Well, maybe you’re not so easy to read,” I say with a slight chuckle.

I watch as Gabby runs her long finger over the rim of her glass. Her expression is hard to read. She looks almost…disappointed.

“I mean, what is a billionaire heiress doing slumming in hostels in Glasgow volunteering with refugees?”

That comment pulls a smile to her face. She playfully rolls her eyes before taking another sip from her glass.

“Just because my family is full of billionaires doesn’t mean I’m one. And it doesn’t mean I don’t work hard and like to give back!” she huffs out, before finishing the remaining contents of her glass.

Impulsively I cover her hand in mine, sending a surge of heat through me. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Gabby. It’s just that sometimes you confuse me.”

“Oh,” she responds softly and I catch a hint of disappointment flicker in her features.

I can tell those weren’t exactly the words she wanted to hear from me. Taking advantage of my hand over hers, I trace the pad of my thumb over her hand until she finally drags her eyes up to meet mine.

“I like being confused,” I say, my voice husky and hungry.

We stare at each other like that for a long moment, both not saying a single word. We are locked in our silence and I swear we are both holding our breaths. All I can feel is this surge of energy passing between us. We sit in this spell until I hear the waiter clearing his throat at the side of our table. I pull my hand away and manage to shake off whatever effect being this close to Gabby has on me. I have to remember: this is not a date. This woman is the little sister of my boss. This cannot fucking happen.

I decide to focus all my attention on the elaborate plates coming my way. Dishes teeming with scallops wrapped in bacon, samplers of caviar, and platters of some other weird, fancy shit soon cover the table.

As soon as the waiter steps away, Gabby grabs her fork to spear a scallop. She erupts in giggles as the fork misses her mouth, and it’s only then that I notice the nearly empty bottle of champagne. Shit.

I haven’t refilled my glass yet, so that means the majority of the bottle is currently swimming through Gabby’s bloodstream now.

I know I’m not technically on the job right now, but I still feel weird drinking. I can keep up with the best of them, but judging from that moment we shared a few seconds ago, at least one of us needs to be in control tonight.