Page 70 of The Art of Almost Losing It
The people at the neighboring tables stare at us.
“Hi, Mrs. Fairchild!” Piper waves. “Are you still organizing that polo charity match this summer?”
“Could we have a bottle of the Malbec?” I beg the waiter.
Toni’s friend Francisco takes my hand. “Your grandmother tells me that you’re about to purchase your very own condo in Manhattan. Two bedrooms. I just want you to know—I am a decent handyman.”
“His last sugar mama kicked him out,” Toni tells me as he pours everyone a glass of red.
“You’re actually here for Piper,” I point out.
Francisco raises a beautifully penciled-in eyebrow.
I pick at my own scraggly ones.
“I am making barely above minimum wage.” Piper waves. “So I need a wealthy man in finance. We can’t both be broke and couch-surfing in New York City.”
“If you’re taken, then where is he?” Francisco leans in and trails his fingers along my shoulder. “This mysterious billionaire who you allegedly captured?”
“Yeah, where is he?” Gran says. “Because I need to know if we can order appetizers or not.”
“I, um…” I fumble for my phone. “Well, I think he might not be able to…”
“Oh damn, there he is.” Gran stands up and waves. “Don’t tell your mother he was late—she’ll think he’s some sort of violent kidnapper or something.”
Piper inhales her wine.
Across the restaurant at the bar, I see a tall, dark-haired man push off the bar top and head toward us.
And he looks pissed.
14
GRAHAM
“Itake it since I haven’t seen you on the news being hauled away in chains that your fake girlfriend is still cooperating,” Aaron says dryly.
“Keep it down.” I duck my head.
The restaurant is crowded, and the bartenders are overworked and not paying attention, but still.
“It hasn’t even been a week, and I’m not going to survive Dani.”
Especially not if my stepdad thinks I’m the next serial killer he needs to catch.
“How long is this going to go on?” My brother frowns.
“Forever.”
“Forever like she wants you to marry her?”
“No. I don’t know. She’s…” I think about her in my bed, in the nest of blankets. “I mean, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.”
Aaron’s hand comes down hard on the bar top.
The tipsy people next to us look surprised, then they take in our bespoke suits and million-dollar Patek watches and decide it’s better left alone.
“She is not in love with you.”
