Hard Sell| ETHMA

14

EMMA
Tuesday Midday, September 26

"You're late," I say, not glancing up from my phone as Ethan comes through the front door of the restaurant.

"Does anybody like you?" he mutters irritably, crossing his arms as he stands in front of me.

I grin. "Olivia does. She asked me to be a bridesmaid." I can't help it. Two days later, I'm still riding high on that one.

His gaze searches my face, and when he smiles back, I have the strange sense he gets what the invitation meant to me. "Yeah?"

"Yup."

His smile gets wider. "Excellent. I'm one of the best men. Maybe we can walk down the aisle together."

I purse my lips. "Actually, now that you mention it, it's a church wedding. I'm pretty sure your skin will burn off if you try to enter the building."

"Ha-ha," he says drily. "Shall we?" He puts a hand at the small of my back and nudges me toward the desk.

Ethan checks in with the hostess, who motions for us to follow her.

He extends a hand, gesturing for me to precede him. Amateur. I ignore this, instead looping my arm in his and tugging him forward.

"Say something charming," I whisper.

"Your ass looks amazing in that dress," he says under his breath.

I let out a low chuckle so that anyone watching assumes we're sharing an intimate inside joke, but my words are chastising. "I said charming not horny."

"Compliments are charming."

"Sure. Compliments on smiles. Hair. A woman's ass, not so much. No wonder you're single."

He glances down at me. "I'm not single at the moment. I have you."

I open my mouth, ready to sling back a tart retort, but . . . I don't have one.

I have you.

I know what he means. He's hired me to pretend he's no longer single. But for a moment, the idea that we have each other felt . . . nice.

"Thanks for coming today," he says quietly.

"I didn't find out about Amanda's plan until after she already called you."

I feel oddly disappointed that it was Amanda's idea to call and not his.

He puts his lips to my ear. "Say you're welcome."

His proximity sends a quick ripple of awareness down my spine, and the way I lean into him, just slightly, isn't even faked, though I hope like hell he won't know that.

"Here we are!" the hostess announces, motioning us toward the center of the room.

It's not a great table, right in the middle of all the foot traffic, but for what we need it for, it's perfect. It'll be impossible to miss Ethan's bosses when they come in. Or for them to miss us.

"So what's our play?" I ask, picking up the menu once we're seated. "Cocktail with lunch to signal we're on a midday date or iced tea to show your new responsible side?"

"Cocktail," he mutters. "Definitely cocktail."

I look at him more carefully, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I just want a damn drink. And lucky for me, The Sams are of the Mad Men era, three-martini-lunch mind-set," he says. "They'd be more skeptical if I wasn't drinking."