Chapter 3
3
FIA
T his was going to be a piece of cake.
Mason was exactly what I thought he’d be. He dripped wealth and acted like it, but in a conservative way that only accentuated his loaded pockets. Stern and on the quiet side, Mason was the kind of guy who was used to having what he wanted come his way like it was the most natural thing in the world. I could work with that.
All he needed from me was to smile and laugh with the wives of his board members, to lightly gossip in the way his real, equally as rich, and connected girlfriend would, and to look pretty. I checked all of those off the list before the guests even took their seats, and before I knew it, Thanksgiving dinner was in full swing.
I didn’t like whiskey, but it was being served by the gallon. Whiskey straight. Whiskey on the rocks. Whiskey cocktails. I choose something on the sweet side to lessen the bite but still winced around my glass, stealing a glance down the table at my fake boyfriend.
Maybe it was the whiskey fumes, but Mason had a sort of glow around him that held me captivated. He was handsome in a tall, dark, and mysterious kind of way, with broad shoulders and a chest I wanted to curl up and take a nap on. His eyes were a deep blue that caught the light of the candles on the table, and every so often, they glanced over at me, making my heart beat faster every time.
This could be worse. I could be fake dating an old, stinky, gremlin of a man.
We weren’t seated together, of course. That wouldn’t be appropriate for the level of dining tonight. Instead, I was seated between Abigail Edgewood, the wife of a billionaire philanthropist who had a small share in Mason’s business, and Darcy Mires, the socialite wife of Rodney Mires, but I wasn’t totally sure where he fell in Mason’s rankings. Darcy couldn’t be much older than me. She was exactly what she should be for the role she was playing tonight—beautiful, blonde, and dripping in diamonds. Good for her, I thought, sipping my drink.
“It’s so like Mason to not even mention he was dating anybody.” Darcy giggled around her Whiskey martini, which should be an illegal concoction. Her cheeks went a little pink after a sip, and she cleared her throat, hating it as much I hated my own drink. “I apologize. I tend to stick to gin.”
I gave her the smile I’d practiced all morning during a research study in Central Park. I sat on a bench on the east side of the park, watching the rich wives take their daily after-Pilates-and-before-brunch walk. I studied how they moved, how they talked, and how they dressed to prepare myself for this dinner.
Darcy confirmed that everything I assumed about the upper echelons of New York City was correct, and now, I was killing it.
“He wanted to keep things private,” I said in a lifted version of my own voice, summoning a character I’d hashed out on my way to this dinner. “The tabloids can be ruthless, I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh, completely.” She waved her hand, giving me a knowing smile. “When I married Rodney, we were all over the news. It was insanity. Before then, nobody knew. It was so hush-hush. I’m honestly shocked you’re going public without a ring on your finger.” Her ginormous diamond ring glistened in the light of the chandelier above us in emphasis.
“It’s his decision. I’m just along for the ride.” I smiled at her over the rim of my glass and choked down another sip. It started to taste better, to drink easier, but I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
A trio of waiters brought out the main course an hour into the dinner. At the other end of the table, Mason began to speak as the turkey was laid at the center, his voice slightly dry and definitely monotone. “It’s glazed in our new Honey Whiskey that we age in charred bourbon barrels.”
His dad, who looked like a more snotty, aggressive version of Mason, wrinkled his nose. Mason’s expression fell almost imperceptibly but I noticed, since I was watching him so closely. My brows furrowed in concern.
I was still in the dark about why exactly Mason needed a date. I figured it had something to do with his business, perhaps wanting a more conservative look that favored family values. Having a woman at his side while he spoke to investors over the holidays at the many, many parties outlined in the insane schedule of events he sent me made perfect sense in that regard. But seeing him with his father made me wonder if there was more to this.
Darcy continued to talk to the people seated around us but my focus honed in on Mason instead, watching as he conversed with his dad in low, emotionless tones. Did either man ever smile?
I glanced at Colin next, who was seated near Mason, engaged in conversation with the men and women seated directly nearby. Even Colin seemed on edge.
I narrowed my eyes at Mason, willing him to look at me, as if he could telepathically tell me he needed me to intervene to save him from an increasingly uncomfortable conversation. From my vantage point at the other end of the table, I was too far away to do anything without shouting.
I picked at my food for the next half hour but not because it wasn’t delicious. If Mason had anything to do with the menu, I owed him a gold star because it was the best Thanksgiving dinner I’d ever had in my life. Something was missing, though. It was evident as the guests began to disperse, leaving the main table to nibble on bite-sized desserts and taste more whiskey at the bar in a more intimate setting. This could have been any other dinner party. I didn’t feel like I just ate Thanksgiving dinner. I wasn’t fighting over who got to take leftovers home or whether canned cranberry sauce was better than the homemade version. Nobody even argued about sports or politics.
None of us went around the table describing what we were most thankful for.
Finally, after nearly two hours, I had a chance to talk to Mason again instead of just taking up space at his table. After drinking another whiskey cocktail and watching Darcy take a single nibble from her slice of deliciously decadent chocolate cake with bourdon icing while I proceeded to scarf mine down, I floated over to where Mason was rocking on his heels near the bar, leaning his elbow on the surface of a glossy high-top table and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
He was alone, too. Just my luck.
Blue eyes met mine as I raised my brows at him, tilting my head toward his lonesome table. “Marvelous dinner, darling,” I drawled, tipping my martini glass toward the ceiling in a toast.
“You’ve been enjoying the whiskey, I see.”
I slid up to his side, feeling a little lighter than usual because of the buzz that was actively turning my cheeks a bright pink. “I hate it, actually,” I admitted, glancing around to make sure we weren’t overheard, a bit dramatically, I should add. “I’m shocked you’re a billionaire. This stuff is awful.”
He looked down at me with a thoughtful, slightly narrow-eyed look. Amusement played over his fine, chiseled features. He had a strong, square jaw, cleanly shaven. The kind of jawline that could, “cut glass,” as Liv, my best friend, would say. His jaw flexed for a moment, and I swore I could see the ghost of a smile on his lips before he banished it, shaking his head. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“What do you have to acquire to enjoy something that tastes like water that’s been sitting in the bottom of a burn barrel for decades? A severe accident that destroyed your taste buds?”
“Would you like something else to drink… darling?” He raised a brow, and there it was. A smile.
So, those muscles around his mouth do work.
“No.” I drained the rest of my cocktail, the last sip nothing more than a heavy dose of cherry syrup. I winced, and Mason actually chuckled, which startled me. “Wow, so you can smile and laugh. I was wondering about that.”
“Do you always say everything that comes to your mind?”
“Yes, why?”
He stared at me, the corner of his mouth lifting a touch in a wry grin. “You’re a strange woman.”
“What were you expecting? The female version of my brother?”
“I wasn’t expecting you .” He leaned on the table, turning to face me. Maybe it was the fact that I was a tiny bit buzzed, but I felt like he was really looking at me right then. Like really looking. Taking in tiny details most people didn’t see. I fought against a sudden rush of nerves that felt displaced as he asked, “Did you enjoy the dinner?”
“Do you want my honest opinion?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath. “Do I?”
“Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway.”
“Why am I not surprised?—”
“The table was all wrong, Mason.”
He furrowed his brow. “The decorations?”
“No, they were fine. Although that cornucopia was trash. What are we? Pilgrims?”
“Fia,” he said, cutting me off. My name leaving his tongue sounded like smooth whiskey being poured, and I quickly realized I was in trouble. “What didn’t you like about the table?”
“Look, I’m not trying to be bossy or overstep whatever boundaries come with this—whatever this is.” I motioned between us. “But I know a thing or two about event planning.”
“Colin told me.”
“I bet he did.” I met his eyes, noticing him leaning in, the distance between us closing just a smidge. “This was a very intimate, very personal dinner. Therefore, a circular table would have been best. That way everyone could have conversed as a group instead of talking to the three or four people nearby.” I broke from his gaze to scan the room. “You can’t throw a bunch of people at a long table and expect anything fun to happen, especially people like this.”
“What do you mean?” He sounded sincere, so I pressed forward.
I licked my lips, which were slightly numb from the drink. “Did you want this to feel like Thanksgiving or a dinner you’d throw for your investors?” I looked up at him again, holding his gaze. “Do you get what I mean? It wasn’t warm enough.”
“What are your suggestions, other than a round table next time?”
“Do you really want to know?”
He smiled softly at me, a twinkle in his eye. At least, I told myself that’s what it was. I knew guys like Mason because my brother was one—handsome, young, and rich. Mason could get any girl he wanted if he tried but I doubted he ever listened to their opinions in earnest.
But from what Colin told me, Mason didn’t try, and he’d rarely ever been seen with a girl. Mason liked to be alone, and judging by his strict “How to be my fake girlfriend, volume one” manual currently taking up half the available data in my inbox, Mason knew exactly how he liked things to go and probably had his reasons for that.
Curiosity was already getting the best of me. What were his motives for such a scheme? It had to be deeper than wanting a clean, wholesome image.
If I had any doubts in my mind about going through with this, they were gone now.
I was in. I was one-hundred percent committed to the bit.
I rested my elbows on the high-top, giving him my best and realest smile. “Tell me about our next event, Mr. Whiskey Billionaire. I’ll see if I can give you some pointers.”
The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Mason’s fine.”
For the next half hour, he walked me through the schedule, through the events we would attend together and the scattered parties and dinners he’d be throwing for his company and his staff. During that time, we had to step back into character from time to time to say goodbye to guests on their way out. It wasn’t lost on me that Mason’s father left without saying goodbye.