The Romance Plan - Lila Monroe Page 0,25

occurs.”

“Right, right.” We laugh.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure my nipples are the least of Liam’s concerns right now,” I say, digging through my closet until I find a pair of gold metallic heels. “The guy should be bringing a therapist as his date, not me. Or a TSA agent.”

Maddie looks at me blankly.

“You know…” I explain. “For all the baggage. He’s the scandalous love child, remember? Not exactly someone you want around reminding the family of Harry’s big mistake.”

“Ah, yes,” she says, nodding slowly. “Of course.”

“Oh come on!” I frown. “That was funny!”

“It was funny-adjacent, maybe,” Maddie admits with a smile, “though I feel like it’s possible you’re using that razor-sharp wit to deflect from the matter at hand.”

I eye her across the bedroom. “The matter at hand being…?”

“How bad you want to make out with your hot boss again.”

“Uh-uh,” I say firmly, though secretly there’s a tiny part of me that’s not quite convinced. “Not tonight. I don’t need that kind of family drama in my life.”

“In that case, why don’t you just approach the whole thing as an editor?” Maddie asks. “Watch the story unfold, stay out of any awkwardness, and if it gets weird…” She holds up her jam jar. “There’s always wine.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” I say, and we clink. I follow her into the bathroom, where she twists my hair up into an elegant chignon and gives me a perfect cat eye with a tiny stub of eye pencil she finds at the back of my makeup drawer. “Looking good, QT,” she says, stepping back to survey her handiwork. “Even without any visible nip.”

“Okay,” I say, plucking the mostly-empty glass of wine from her hand and steering her toward the doorway. “Let’s get this soapy show on the road!”

Maddie’s only been gone a few minutes when the bell rings. Liam. I swallow down the hive of bees in my chest and make myself count to five before hitting the buzzer to let him in. When I swing the door to my apartment open a moment later, Liam is standing on the other side in a perfectly fitted tux, his dark hair slicked back off his forehead and his shoes shined to gleaming.

I gape at him for a moment, I can’t help it.

He looks good.

Finally, Liam clears his throat, snapping me out of my daze—before I start drooling all over those well-shined shoes of his. “You look... Beautiful,” he says, sounding awkward. And sure, he’s just being polite, but I’m tempted to blow off the memorial altogether. Instead, I imagine taking his hand, leading him through the apartment to my bedroom, and peeling one expensive item of clothing off him at a time before falling onto the mattress and—

“We should go,” I announce, my voice coming out the tiniest bit strangled. This is a memorial service we’re going to, not a meat market!

“Right,” Liam gives me an odd look. “Of course.”

The event is being held in a gilded reception hall in the New York Public Library. It looks gorgeous, with candles glittering on linen-covered tables and a soul band playing covers of songs by The Temptations and Otis Redding. Waiters circulate with trays of mouthwatering hors d’oeuvres: fresh crabmeat and avocado, fluffy little quiches topped with caviar, puff pastry stuffed with vegetables and feta cheese. I barely resist the urge to tip a full tray of cocktail weenies into my purse—after all, who knows how much longer I’m going to have a job that pays the grocery bills? Instead I pop a beet and goat cheese puff into my mouth and trail behind Liam as he dutifully makes the rounds, chatting with the hundreds of industry and society types who’ve come to pay their respects to his late father—

And drink from a literal fountain of champagne, of course.

“I was so sorry to hear about your dad,” gushes a bespectacled agent from a tony uptown agency, his balding head gleaming in the candlelight. “You must miss him very much.”

“It’s very admirable, how you’ve stepped in to help Celeste with the business,” another says, leaning in a little too close. “Your father would be very proud.”

“Would he?” Liam asks shortly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know.”

I lift my eyebrows. On one hand, this guy has never met a social grace in his life. On the other, I can’t help but feel bad for him. It can’t be easy to stand here eating canapés and smiling gamely while well-wisher after well-wisher comes up to him singing the praises of a