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Hudson in his suit in a bar of hipsters and simple jeans and T-shirt every day folk should have made him stand out like some kind of sore thumb.
It didn’t.
At all.
Oh, he stood out, but in that way some spend years trying to achieve. The women kept stealing looks at him, men, too. And he didn’t notice at all.
This is my kind of place. No pretention. Ratty barstools from years of use in a long, thin sliver of a bar.
But I’d never seen this place before. Hole in the wall would be the term along with neighborhood.
I give him a long look.
“Not your style?” He lifts his glass of dark amber liquid and takes a sip. There’s a martini in front of me, and I take a small swallow and almost drop it. “I thought it would be right up your alley. How’s your drink?”
Like fresh apples, smooth and a kick that’s nestled all the way down the bottom. “Retro.”
“Yes, well, they didn’t have olive branches.”
An appletini does not say olive branch to me. It says sly sense of humor hidden in the dark depths of the man opposite who grows more intriguing by the minute, and more forbidden apple than anything else.
He taps a hand against the bar where we sit, very close. It’s not packed in here, but there are enough people that sitting close is a good idea. Or a bad one.
“I’ve been thinking, Scarlett.”
“Should I be worried?”
“No, I do it all the time,” he says, so deadpan I almost laugh. “I was thinking about everything you said, people knowing. I don’t like lies, but we’re telling one.”
“A big one,” I point out.
He gives me a strange look. “Yes, I know. But close to the truth is best. So we stick to our plan, get to know each other and if someone asks about us, then tell them our truth. As vague as you can.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It’s the same one.”
“I tell them I’m doing this to help you out?” I don’t know why I say that. I swallow. “That’s a joke. What if it’s media?”
“I’m rich, not famous. I’m not in any media unless it’s financial or something equally boring. The occasional page whatever the fuck it is because I’m at an event I can’t get out of.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“It’s worth repeating.”
Maybe. “But—”
“Scarlett. You talk a whole lot.” His hand comes down over mine and it sends desire racing through me, prickling against my senses. “That’s fine. I’m used to it now.”
His smile takes any sting from his words.
“What I’m trying to say,” he says, continuing, “is I want to be super prepared. Which is why I asked about your family tonight. No other reason.”
Half of me breathes a sigh of relief and the other, more stupid part, is offended.
I have to keep reminding myself this is a job, nothing more.
“Oh,” I say, “there’s nothing really there. It’s just…we’re not close, you know?”
