She tried not to openly roll her eyes when he told her not to fucking drop it.
As if she ever had.
The instant they entered the restaurant, Royce transformed into the easygoing guy everyone knew and loved from the show. An excited whisper followed in his wake, and he ate it up. He was all hearty waves and sideways peace signs. Phone cameras captured his every move, and behind him, Liv pretended to be proud of the gilded concoction she carried. She held the tray high in her right hand and pasted a smile on her face to hide the fact that she was silently wishing Royce would burst into flames. She followed him toward the VIP section of the restaurant, where a red velvet rope separated the chosen ones from the lesser mortals. Liv waited for Royce to approach the table first, of course. This was his show. From ten feet away in the dim lighting, Liv could make out the forms of two people at the table—a man with broad shoulders beneath a sport coat and a woman with glossy hair and smart eyes. Whoever this dude was, he was laying it on thick for his date. Their plates revealed the remnants of steak, lobster, and truffle pâté.
“Friends,” Royce said in his best TV show voice. “May I present to you the Sultan.”
The man turned in his seat and—oh crap. Liv knew him.
What was his name? Mike? No. Mack. Brad Mack? Braden. Braden Mack. He was a friend of her brother-in-law, Gavin. He was the dude who’d dragged Gavin into some weird, secret romance novel book club for men to help Gavin convince Thea not to divorce him. But, more important, he was the jerk who had eaten her Chinese food leftovers the first time they met. She’d been looking forward to those leftovers. What kind of person ate someone else’s lo mein? The same kind who saw no problem spending a thousand bucks on a cupcake, apparently.
The man stood and extended his hand. “Royce. Good to see you again.”
Of course. Of course he knew her boss. Because a guy who would waste a normal person’s entire paycheck on a single dinner out would definitely run in the same circles as Royce Preston.
Royce shook Mack’s hand and did the manly back-pounding half-hug thing. “I had no idea you were here tonight. I’ll have to have a word with our hostess about that.”
Oh no. Poor Jessica. Maybe Liv would have time to warn her before he chewed her to pieces.
“This is Gretchen Winthrop,” Mack said, gesturing gallantly to his date. “She’s an attorney.”
“An attorney, huh?”
The woman lifted her hand for Royce to shake. Instead, he pulled it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Beautiful and smart,” Royce said. “It’s a pleasure.”
Liv puked in her mouth.
The woman gently pulled her hand away. “Likewise.”
Except she didn’t really seem sincere in that. Liv liked her immediately. She was too smart for these guys.
“How’s business?” Royce asked as Mack returned to his seat.
“Great,” Mack said. “Just signed the papers on a new building in the old industrial area.”
“That was you?”
“That was me.”
“I had my eye on those buildings.”
Mack spread his hands out in a fake apology. “Sorry. I’m leaning toward a restaurant this time.”
“Ah, you’re expanding your empire,” Royce said. “Good man. Let’s talk and see if we can work together on some things.”
It was the kind of noncommittal, we’re all in this together bullshit Royce dished out to all the other rich men who walked into Savoy. But he wouldn’t follow through. Royce didn’t share the wealth or the limelight with anyone.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Gretchen suddenly said. “But I feel bad that she’s been standing there this entire time just holding that thing. Can she at least set it down?”
Royce shot Liv a deceptively blank stare that simmered with rage. His left eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. But then he broke into a broad grin. “Of course. Olivia, if you would.”
Liv strode forward, eyes everywhere but on Mack, and lowered the tray so the cupcake was eye-level with Gretchen. She tilted her face away from Mack, but he probably wouldn’t recognize her anyway. Her snug chef’s hat hid her curly hair, and she doubted Mack had studied her face long enough while eating her noodles for him to remember it now.
“The Sultan is our signature dessert, featuring a mixture of chocolates from twelve different countries,” Royce continued. “With a champagne-jelly filling and edible gold adornments, it’s served with a twenty-four-carat-gold spoon and