Lindsay flops down on the sofa and folds her arms across her ample chest. I’ve never considered plastic surgery before—Holden seems absolutely fine with my breasts—but I admit, there’s something to be said for not having to wear a bra.

I lift my head, grateful for the brief reprieve in my studies. “What’s up buttercup?”

Her sigh is heavy.

She curls her feet up under her butt and shifts so we’re face to face. I sense her question before she asks, and immediately tense up. “So, Holden,” she says. “Things are kind of serious, huh?”

I swallow hard enough that it comes out a gulp. “Not really…”

She arches her manicured eyebrows. “You’ve seen him five nights in a row—and slept over once, maybe twice. He’s stayed the night here, too. That’s not serious?”

“It’s complicated,” I say.

My text chirps and she waits for me to look at it. My heart squeezes with instant relief. It’s Holden. No interview tonight—just the theatre. Dress nice.

Time?

A smile plays on Lindsay’s lips. “Must be Holden. You’re glowing.”

My cheeks grow warm. “I guess we’re going to a show tonight.”

“Like a movie?”

I shake my head. “The theatre.” My mouth goes dry. “Shit, what the hell am I going to wear?”

Lindsay’s eyes twinkle. “Well, that’s at least one thing I can help you with.” She jumps to her feet and holds out her hand. “Come with me, my pretty. I’m sure there’s something in my closet that will fit.”

* * *

The V-neck on Lindsay’s royal blue dress plunges almost down to my belly button. Somehow, with a ton of tweaking and a few pieces of magic “tape” my boobs are held in place, but I might as well be naked the way Holden is staring at me.

“I approve of the outfit,” he says.

My tongue jabs the inside of my cheek. “Thought you might.”

There’s a light teasing to my voice that hides the nervousness buzzing through me. It’s getting harder not to think of evenings like this as dates, when we bypass the interview questions, and go to dinner or the theatre—the theatre!—instead of the office.

Worse still, I’m sinking deeper into this fantasy world I’ve created with my web of lies. I keep thinking that tomorrow I will tell him the truth, but as each day passes and I continue the deception, the weight on my shoulders increases exponentially.

Tonight could be the night I finally come clean…

The limo inches through downtown Manhattan toward Broadway, and my skin prickles with anticipation. I’ve lived in New York for almost a year and never been to a show. Mom took me to Phantom of the Opera in Canada once, but somehow I doubt the experience will be anywhere close to the same.

“What are we going to see?” I ask, aware of Holden’s presence. His scent, his aura—they’re overwhelming. Consuming. The tingle between my thighs reminds me of just how much.

Holden’s mouth twitches. “Chicago.”

Not the show I expected, but it doesn’t matter. The second the car pulls up to the curb outside the theatre, my pulse comes alive with excitement. Holden gets out of the car first, and walks around the back to my door. He extends his hand, and I take it, stepping out onto the sidewalk amid a chorus of soft gasps from a gathering crowd.

All of a sudden it hits me—Holden’s life is not private, no matter what intimate details of his past he keeps to himself. There are paparazzi everywhere. I duck my head, unaccustomed to the attention, and Holden puts his arm around me, guiding me to the front door and away from the flashing cameras.

“I should have called ahead to clear the path,” Holden says, sounding annoyed.

“It’s fine.” At least it should be, if I wasn’t terrified that my face would be splashed on the news and someone—aside from my ever-watchful mother—would recognize me. My throat constricts. Oh my God. What if someone tells Holden who I am, or he reads about it in the news, before I can explain?

I grip his arm. “We need to talk.”

He glances down, eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “Can it wait, sweetness? The show starts in a few minutes.”

It can’t wait—but it doesn’t look like I have a choice. I bite my lip and nod. Holden pats my hand, almost condescending, oblivious to the tension taking hold of my body, and guides me to our front row seats. Someone puts two glasses of champagne in our hands, and the lights dim.

There’s no time to doubt or worry, or do much thinking about anything but this moment. Because Holden slips his hand in mine, leans close, and whispers, “Enjoy the show, sweetness. It’s always been one of my favorites.”

The first actors appear on stage, the music starts, and I forget everything.

Everything but how full my heart feels in this moment.