“That was just chatter,” I say, as I maintain my grin. “You know how it goes.”
“You mean with Cassidy? It was casual with Cassidy Winters?” he asks, inserting the adjective of his choice—casual—as if he can get me to agree to use it.
“No, I wasn’t saying that it was casual. I was saying it was chatter. Meaning there was nothing going on,” I say crisply, correcting the bold little bastard.
He nods and strokes his chin. “Got it. But that’s not the case with the chef. Because in Miami last month, you were tagged in a Facebook photo that has you giving her a kiss on the cheek.”
He reaches for his phone, slides his fat thumb across the screen, and shows me the photo. He had it ready and waiting. He’d called it up in advance, preparing to pounce. I shrug, my mind quickly playing out scenarios. Then I go for it. I pucker up and give Abe a quick air kiss on the cheek. I fight every instinct to cringe as my lips come within millimeters of his baby face, but I’ve got to pull this off. “See? I’m just an affectionate guy.”
He wipes his palm across his cheek. “So it was nothing with the chef?”
I nod and gesture to his face. “Just like that was nothing,” I say, wishing I could give him the brush off he deserves. But if I walk away, or say ‘no comment,’ it will just fuel him. Answering coolly gives me the greatest chance of diffusing this bomb.
Abe anchors his attention to Charlotte. “Does it bother you that up until a few weeks ago, Spencer Holiday was in the papers as a noted New York City playboy?”
She shakes her head and smiles sweetly. “No. I know who he comes home to at night.”
“Not every night,” the reporter mumbles.
Anger lashes through me. That’s the end of Mr. Nice Guy. “Excuse me? What did you say, Abe?” I ask pointedly, because it’s one thing to be pushy. It’s entirely another to be an asshole.
He raises his chin. “I said, so every night you’ll be running The Lucky Spot as husband and wife?”
Liar.
But the liar makes a good point, and his remark reminds me that Charlotte and I are going to need a game plan for managing this fake engagement at work during the next few days. Or maybe not, since it’ll be over soon.
Once again, that thought churns my stomach.
Before I can answer Abe’s inquiry about how we’ll run our business, Mrs. Offerman joins us, inserting herself into the impromptu interview. “Everything okay?”
I never thought I’d think this, but, boy, am I glad to see her.
“Just catching up on how quickly Charlotte and Spencer became exclusive,” the reporter says to Mrs. Offerman. “Very quickly.”
She arches an eyebrow, and her curiosity seems to set in. “Is that so? I knew it was fast, but wasn’t aware it was quite so recent.”
Turns out I’m actually not happy to see her. Not at all. Especially since she says those words like they’re poisonous.
Charlotte clears her throat, pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and meets Mrs. Offerman’s gaze, then Abe’s. “It is recent, as we’ve said many times. Everything happened quickly. But that’s sometimes how it goes when you fall in love, isn’t it?” Charlotte says as she runs her fingertips along the sleeve of my shirt. There’s a layer of cotton between us, but I swear her touch ignites my skin, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. She tilts her face and meets my gaze. My breath catches when she locks eyes with me, and briefly the rest of the restaurant ceases to exist.
I nod, swallowing dryly as I do. I’m not sure who my answer is meant for—her, them, or us.
But my yes feels honest at the very least, and that matters to me.
Charlotte rises on tiptoes and brushes a soft kiss to my lips. When she pulls away, she hooks her arm through mine and stares at the reporter. “It’s not a problem that he was seen with someone else a few weeks ago. Doesn’t change a thing. It doesn’t change how I feel for him.”
Abe has no more questions. At least for tonight, she’s managed to throw him off the scent of our charade.
I flash back to our playful revenge on Bradley at her building gym the other night. Sure, Charlotte got a kick out of the show we staged for her ex, but that kiss on the treadmill to make him jealous was nothing compared to what she just finessed for me. She keeps saving me, again and again.
My heart trips over itself in a race to get closer to her.
Something is happening. Something strange and completely foreign. My heart is speaking a language I don’t understand as it tries to fling itself at Charlotte.
Great. Now, that’s two organs I have to do battle with every day.
* * *
When it’s time for the show, my father commandeers my attention on the brief walk across Forty-fourth Street to the Shubert Theater entrance.
“Everything okay?”
“Absolutely fine,” I reply, because the last thing I want is for him to worry. A cab screeches by, spewing out exhaust, then slams on its brakes at the red light. “The reporter was annoying, but nothing I haven’t heard before.”
My dad shakes his head. “I meant with Charlotte. Everything okay with her?”
“She’s fine,” I answer with a smile, glad that my dad cares more about the woman than the story.
He points to Charlotte, walking several feet ahead of us with the others. “You two are perfect for each other. Don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but now as I see you together, it’s like it was right in front of me all along.”