on the scrawny side, whose hair is a little less controllable than I’d like it to be and whose bank balance leaves a lot to be desired, but other than that I’m happy enough with my looks, my morality and the space in the universe I occupy the best I can. I’m a good friend and a nice person. But the thought of Gage McCabe finding me worthy of anything at all is crazy and also would never in a million years happen.
Because I won’t let it.
I can’t.
I wouldn’t survive it twice.
“Well, even if it was worth it to him, it wore off,” I tell him.
“What happened?”
I’m not sure why he’d be hanging on every word of my story, but he seems genuinely interested. “My mother found out he was cheating on her with four of the women in her book club, so she divorced him and accepted the marriage proposal of the COO of Quaker Oats. I think she married him mainly for his country club membership. So we moved to Iowa. It was a big change from New York but at least her new husband was faithful and, more importantly, rich. Not quite in Husband Number Two’s league but she could drink gin and play bridge and sit by the pool all day, which worked just fine for her.”
I wish I wasn’t telling him this stuff, but I need to do something to fill the heavy-in-ways-I-can-barely-but-am-determined-to-handle silence.
“What about now? Is she still there?” I get that strange vibe again that he already knows the answer to his own question.
“No. Husband Number Four has a bungalow in the Hollywood Hills once owned by one of the Gabor sisters. My mother even started smoking her cigarettes through one of those hand-held plastic filters. But after a major sex scandal involving several of her husband’s top producers—and him—his movie studio has been hemorrhaging money. So I’m sure my mother is currently in the process of scouting around for her next sugar daddy.” It doesn’t exactly bring back heart-warming family memories. “What about you? Have you always lived in Chicago?”
“I grew up in Ann Arbor. I moved to Chicago after college to get my MBA and start my third company.”
Third? So he has bought and sold a few of them. “What number is my bar? Out of all the businesses you’ve built or bought?”
His smile is lazy but alert. Dazzling, you could say. If you were susceptible to things like that. “A lot. Too many to count.”
“Try. I’m curious.”
He thinks about it for a second. “Maybe forty, give or take.”
Wow. No wonder it all feels less than personal to him. “How old are you?”
He laughs at my directness. “How old do you think I am?”
I already know, from one of Josie’s online searches. “Twenty-seven.”
Still smiling. “Good guess.”
“You’re not going to ask how old I am?”
He’s unrepentant. “It made sense for me to do my research. It’s what I tend to do before I invest my money. I happen to know you turned twenty-three two weeks ago.”
“I suppose you know my birth date, star sign and favorite color too.”
“November 7th. Which I guess would make you a Scorpio, I think it is. And, if I had to guess, I’d say your favorite color is … yellow.” He gets an almost dreamy look as he says the word.
I watch his face, more fascinated that I’d like to admit. It’s not the kind of thing you can google. “You’re right.”
This time his smugness is laced with a subdued but genuine delight. And it hurts, weirdly. Somewhere behind my rib cage. He’s just so outrageously stunning.
There’s an almost stricken edge to my voice. “What else did you find out?”
“Just what I came across as I was looking into the business records. Your birth date happened to be listed on the company details.”
It makes me wonder if he knows anything about … the monster under my bed. But how could he? Secrets like that aren’t listed on Google. So I steer the conversation back towards him. “Is your family still in Ann Arbor?”
“My two brothers are. My parents checked out around five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
It’s a weird way to put it. Checked out. And he seems uneasy with the subject. But then he says, “They were very much in love, right up until they died.”
I smile at him, sort of sadly. What a concept. “I’ve never met anyone in love.”
“Really?” Like this is shocking to him.
“No.”
He blinks at me. There’s a softness to his manner when he’s