Bad Engagement (Billionaire's Club #10) - Elise Faber Page 0,6
person you asked?”
Gentle golden-brown eyes, a soft curve to her lips. “Yes, Jaime,” she murmured. “The first one. The only one.” White teeth closing over a plump red bottom lip. “I wasn’t lying before. You’re not the only one who’s done some Insta fantasizing.”
“I—”
But whatever he was going to say—and fuck if he knew what he’d been about to force out—was lost when the waitress set down a plate in front of Kate then an identical one in front of him.
“You guys have everything you need?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you,” they said at almost the same time.
The waitress left, and Jaime found himself staring at Kate, the steam from the pasta wafting up and coating his face. But he barely felt it because he couldn’t believe she’d asked him first.
They had a connection.
He’d been discounting it because . . . well, social media wasn’t real life.
He’d been discounting it because he’d thought that no way could she be into him, not like he was into her.
He’d been discounting it because . . . he’d been off his game for months.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, twining some pasta around her fork.
“Which one?”
“Why you do the whole social media Jaime the Vet thing?”
“Oh.” He picked up his own fork. “At first, it was just exciting to have animals to work on, and I wanted to document it. Also”—he grinned, thinking of his mom and her demand for information about his life. She was great, but sometimes needy, and it had been an easy way for her to stay in the loop without having to call her every day—“for my parents. They liked knowing what was up, and it was better than them hounding me about my dating life.”
She chuckled as she brought her fork to her mouth, the bite of pasta hitting her tongue, drawing his attention to those plump lips as she chewed and swallowed, a soft moan drifting through the air.
A soft moan that was way too sexy for a first date.
Although . . . not too sexy for a fiancé?
No. Mentally, he smacked himself. Fake fiancé. The keyword being fake.
“I know all about families and pushy,” she said, pulling him out of all thoughts fake. “I’m the oldest sibling and the only single one. Oh, the humanity!” Her lips quirked when she rested the back of her hand on her forehead, a la fainting Hollywood starlet of the past. Then she sighed, and a little sad crept into her eyes. “I don’t necessarily want to be single, but—” She lifted and dropped one shoulder. “Sometimes things don’t always work out the way we want.”
“I feel that.”
A sigh before she set her fork down and then lightly clapped her hands together. “Okay, so here is your last chance to run away or to demand an exorbitant payment in exchange for playing my fake fiancé.”
“I thought we covered that already. I’m happy to play your fake fiancé.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “Just like that? No ulterior motives, no secret basement with a cabinet full of serial killer tools?”
“Just like that,” he said. “And my condo doesn’t have a basement.”
She began winding pasta around her fork again. “I noticed that you didn’t address the ulterior motive piece of my statement.”
A snort. “I already told you I wanted a date.” He waved a hand at the table, the plates, the glasses of wine. “Thus, my ulterior motive satisfied.”
“Hmm.”
She put the bite into her mouth, and he took the opportunity to do the same. The pasta was good, great even, but he could barely taste it. Not when his focus was so firmly on the woman across from him. Fascinating. Beautiful. Empathetic. Nice.
And quiet.
Just a little quiet, as though she didn’t mind short stretches of silence.
It was nice, that quiet. Peaceful, not oppressive. She was nice.
She set her fork down, eyes going wide, and he felt a blip of alarm travel through him. “What?” he asked.
“I just realized that if we’re doing this, there is so much I need to brief you on. My family. My parents. My siblings—”
“That’s the definition of family, right?” he teased.
“Shush, you,” she said, though her smile was teasing the corners of her lips up. “But also, yes, I guess that’s what I meant by family.”
“Can’t we play it by ear?” he asked. “It’s only two dinners.”
“They’re going to interrogate you.” She groaned. “They’re going to want all the details of how we met and our first date and—oh God!—my friends. You haven’t met my friends. They don’t know