I stand up as Charlotte enters the living room, dressed to the nines for our first official date. I drag my eyes up and down her body, taking in her long legs and hourglass figure modeled so beautifully in a pale blue silk, knee-length dress. My breath hitches in my throat as I follow the spaghetti straps laying gracefully over her toned shoulders down to the curve of her full breasts.

Damn.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, fidgeting a little under my stare. I pull my eyes up to her face and let out my pent-up breath. Francesco didn’t just dress her—he gave her a full makeover. Her soft golden-red locks are gathered loosely over one shoulder; her tastefully applied makeup accentuates her high cheekbones and full lips; and her cornflower blue eyes pop beneath her metallic eyeshadow.

I clear my throat. “You, uh, look nice.”

Her blush deepens. “Thanks.”

I nod to toward the door. “Ready for our debut?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath and throws back her shoulders. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

I motion for her to go out the door first, to be chivalrous, sure, but also to get a glimpse of her gorgeous backside in that dress. Just as I thought. Charlotte is just as fine from the back as the front.

I open my garage door as Charlotte walks over to her Camry. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d drive.”

“Why’d you think that?”

She glances at my Jeep. “Mine isn’t a deathtrap, to start.”

I stare at her 1996 Camry. “And yours is in peak condition?”

“Mine is safer,” she says, planting a hand on her hip.

I snort. “What’s wrong with my car?”

“It’s a Wrangler, there are no doors, it’s top heavy—”

“Yours is a piece of crap!”

“Hey!” she shouts. “Don’t insult Wanda like that.”

“Wanda? Oh my God, please tell me you didn’t name that piece of—”

“Shhh, she’ll hear you!” Charlotte glares at me. “And yes, every car gets a name.”

“Not mine.” I start walking over to my Jeep. “I’m driving, end of story.”

“Tate—”

“You can drive separately if you want, but I am not rolling up to Santiago’s in…” I glance over my shoulder “…that.” I refuse to say Wanda. I hop in and fire up the engine, watching Charlotte fume in my rearview mirror. I know I’ve won, she just hasn’t figured it out yet.

Three, two, one…

Charlotte throws up her hands and stalks over to me. She climbs into the passenger’s seat, throws herself back in her seat, and buckles in. “You’re impossible. It’s like you enjoy annoying me.”

“Of course I do.” I back out, exit the gate, and wait for it to close behind me. “You’re adorable when mad.” Then I slam my foot down and tear off down the street.

“Tate! You’re going to kill us!”

I grin at her. “Aw, babe, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

I weave in and out of traffic with ease, flying by the other cars on the road. The faster I push my Jeep, the whiter Charlotte gets. This girl is way too fun to rile up.

“Tate,” Charlotte whispers, clutching the crossbar, “if you don’t slow down, I’ll…I’ll jump out!”

My laugh dies on my lips as I glance over at her. She’s serious and white as a ghost. I take my foot off the gas pedal and switch lanes. “There, better?” I furrow my brow when she doesn’t answer. “It was just a little fun.”

Charlotte nods and tries to relax into her seat. “I know. It’s just…I was in a bad car accident as I child.”

“Christ, I’m so sorry.” I’m a fucking idiot.

“It’s okay,” she says, flashing me a tense smile. “You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but still…” I edge my speed down a little more. “What happened?”

“Oh, um—” She puts a hand on her lap, stilling the fluttering hem of her dress. “It’s not a happy story. I don’t want to ruin our first date.”

I grip the steering wheel. I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I feel like it’s something I should know. “Okay, we’ll come back to that.”

She shrugs and looks out at the passing cars.

“Maybe this is a good time to get to know each other,” I suggest, attempting to change the subject. “We don’t know anything about each other, and we’re supposed to be faking a whirlwind romance.”

Charlotte smiles. “True. Well, I’m Charlotte Laine from Santa Barbara and—”

“I love Santa Barbara,” I interrupt. “Great surf.”

“Wouldn’t know. Never been.”

“No way,” I say, staring at her.

“Eyes on the road!”

I face forward with a shake of my head. “We’ll go sometime.”

“You’re a surfer, then?”

“I was. I moved to L.A. from Kentucky after high school for the surf.”

“Kentucky?” Charlotte laughs. “Do they have waves there?”

“Nope, thus the move. I was obsessed with becoming a surfer and/or actor. Acting worked out first, so I went with that.”

Charlotte nods. “Where do you surf in L.A.?”

“I don’t anymore. It’s something I want to get back into, though.”

We grow silent for a moment.

“I moved to L.A. a year ago ‘to be an actress,’” Charlotte says in a singsong voice. “Yeah, me and ten thousand other girls fresh out of college, I quickly found out.”

“L.A.’s a tough scene. Took me a solid year to even land an audition.”

“Which one was your big break?”

I snort. “None. I was waiting tables one day and Kevin walked in. The rest is history.”

“Figures.”

“It’ll happen. Give it time.”

Charlotte gives me a funny look. “Thanks. That’s…kind of you.”

“Plus, you’re with me now, babe,” I smirk.

She rolls her eyes. “Yup, figured you couldn’t keep it up.”

“What?”

“The normal human act.”

I ignore that. “So, your parents live in Santa Barbara?”

“Just my dad. My mom passed away when I was in middle school.”

“Oh. I’m, uh, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Charlotte moves her clutch around on her lap before putting it right back where it was. “So, what about you? Siblings?”

I want to press her, but her expression tells me I wouldn’t get anywhere. “A younger sister in Kentucky. She takes care of my mom and the farm.”

“The farm?”

“Horses.” I see Charlotte’s mouth drop out of the corner of my eye. “No joke, darlin’. I grew up on a bonafide horse farm in Lexington.”

“And you left that to be a surfer?” Charlotte shakes her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Wasn’t my scene.” What I don’t add is that my father and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye on me choosing L.A. over college.

I turn onto Sunset Boulevard and spot the restaurant up ahead on the left. I narrow my eyes at the crowd gathered out front.

“What’s going on?” Charlotte asks, voicing my exact thoughts.

“I don’t know—” I catch my breath as we get closer. “Goddammit.”

“What?”

My knuckles grow white on the steering wheel. “I’m going to kill Kevin.”

“What you are…” Charlotte frowns. “Oh.”

The crowd is actually a horde of reporters with enormous cameras clutched in their talons. Onlookers hover around the perimeter, knowing what it means when these vultures park outside a restaurant.

I consider blowing by the restaurant and then sneaking in the back door (Beverly Hills restaurant owners are usually pretty understanding about this sort of thing), but I know Kevin set this up for a reason. He wants our relationship to be front page news tomorrow, and if I back out, he’ll set us up the next time Charlotte and I step out in public. It’ll never end. Best to get this part over with.

“Kevin tipped off the paparazzi,” I say, slowing down the car. “I had no idea our first public appearance would be so public, but—”

I stop as I hear my name ripple through the crowd. A shout goes up and heads turn toward my Jeep. “They’ve spotted us.” I glance at Charlotte. She’s wide-eyed and tense. “I’m guessing this is your first paparazzi attack?”

She nods, her gaze not leaving the horde drawing nearer.

“Great,” I mutter. This is going to be a nightmare. “Here goes nothing…”

The valet runs out to meet us before I’ve even rolled to a stop. I throw open my door and race around the car to help Charlotte climb out. The crowd surges forward. Reporters disappear behind their cameras. People are shouting my name, lobbing questions at Charlotte as onlookers are filming our every move on their phones.

Another valet shoves away a few reporters, allowing me to reach Charlotte’s side. Charlotte’s cringing against her seat as the crowd reaches their arms toward at her. A hand grazes her calf and she flinches away.

I curse under my breath. It’s times like these that I wish I did have doors on my Jeep.

“Charlotte!” I yell, getting her attention away from the crowd behind me. I grab her waist, lift her out of her seat, and set her onto the pavement. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close.

“Are you okay?” I say into her ear, trying to be heard above the noise. Her answer is drowned out in the surrounding commotion, but I catch a “yes.”

“Good. We need to get inside. Remember to smile!”

“Okay,” she says weakly, nodding.

I take her hand and lead her into the fray. Every time we practiced holding hands this past week, it felt awkward and unnatural. But not this time. Charlotte grips my hand hard and with purpose, like I’m her lifeline in this chaos.

“Tate! Over here!”

“Who’s this, Tate? Whose your new lady?”

“Look this way!”

“Big smiles now!”

“Name! We want a name!”

I glance back at Charlotte, making sure she’s handling this onslaught. She’s stiff and anxious, but true to her word, a strained smile is fixed on her face. I look around us and know this harassment’s only going to get worse. I’ve been through paparazzi bombs before, and they won’t leave until they get what they came for.

I tug Charlotte to my chest and hold up my hand. “Alright, alright! Quiet for a moment, please!” I yell above the crowd. It takes a moment, but the reporters settle down.

“Who is this—” one begins, but I cut him off.

“No questions right now. I’ll make one statement, and then you’ll let my girlfriend and me get to our dinner reservation.”

A gust of chatter sweeps through the crowd at the mention of the “g-word.”

“This is Charlotte Laine, my girlfriend,” I shout over the noise. “We met through a friend and have been dating for a week now.”

“A week?”

“What friend?”

I hold up a hand. “We’ve recently moved in together—”

My comment is severed by another round of chatter.

“Tate, more details!” begs a reporter at my elbow.

“Charlotte, look over here, gorgeous!” a cameraman cries.

“That’s all, thank you,” I shout, pushing Charlotte ahead of me through the throng toward the entrance.

“A kiss!”

“Come on, we want some action!”

Charlotte turned around and looked at me with frantic eyes. She mouths no, but I shake my head. I don’t have a choice. Doesn’t she realize that they’ll never stop until they get the shot they came for?

Her eyes go wide as I pull her into my arms. Reporters jostle and bump us as I hook my finger under her chin and tilt her face up toward mine. I meet her wide eyes, cup her cheek, and bring my lips down on hers.

We haven’t kissed since that first practice session with Sandra, but it’s as sweet and addicting as I remember. Charlotte’s lips are soft and giving as I take them with mine, her tongue sugary and hot as I tease it with mine. She tastes like vanilla and mint and cherry. I can’t get enough. I’m barely even aware of the wild, nonstop clicking of cameras surrounding us.

She pulls away first, and I catch a glimpse of her face. She’s furious—livid. I stifle a groan. I’m going to get an earful later.

I take her hand and pull her forward, pushing past the last line of people. I wrench open the door, and we stumble into the lobby. A few reporters try to follow us in, but the host and another valet push them back.

I look up after I’ve caught my breath. “Charlotte?”

She stands to the side, clutching the wall with one hand and her head with the other. Her face is pale, and her chest rises in quick pants.

“Are you alright?” I ask, reaching for her.

She flinches away from me. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps, turning her face toward the wall.

“You’re mad?” I let my hand fall to my side when she doesn’t answer. “Am I going to have to guess?”

She turns and glares at me. “I didn’t agree to kiss you in front of a million people!”

I glance around the foyer. Luckily, we’re alone since the host is still guarding the door. “Care to keep your voice down?”

“You can’t touch me like that. Not without my permission.”

I narrow my eyes. “It wasn’t planned, Charlotte.”

“Well, I’m not some slutty—”

“Mr. Gunner, my apologies.”

I turn away from my INFURIATING girlfriend to see the host coming toward us. “Your table is this way,” he says, motioning us toward the seating area.

I hold up a finger. “Thanks, one sec.”

I turn back to Charlotte and lower my voice. “You need to act the part of my girlfriend, and that includes physical touching.”

She scowls at me.

“Are we going to have a problem?”

“No,” she snaps. “And you don’t have to be so condescending.”

I snort. “You bring out the best in me, darlin’.”

Charlotte clenches her teeth and sidesteps around me. I watch her storm over to the host for a moment before following.

This may be the longest dinner of my life.