One photographer asked to see the back of Ashley’s dress. She let go of Marcus’s hand for a moment and turned, flashing a sexy look over her shoulder that nearly left him flat on the red carpet. He was already losing all sense of direction. This was not good. He had four long hours ahead of him of pretending to be her charming, smitten date. He needed a mantra, something he could repeat until it became innate. Don’t fall for her, Marcus. Don’t fall for her.

Five

Ashley had promised herself she’d sweep into this opulent ballroom relaxed, with an easy, confident smile on her face. She’d walk in like she owned the place—crystal chandeliers, expensive champagne and all. Heck, this was her party. Tonight was all about her.

Precisely the problem. Confronted with the throng of people in the jam-packed ballroom, she knew how empty the promise had been. She always managed to say the wrong thing or get flustered when someone asked her too many personal questions. She wasn’t built for fancy parties and dealing with hundreds of people at one time. Dinner for two, no press or media, was much more her speed.

The masses closed in when they spotted Marcus and her—a sea of eagerly advancing faces wanting a picture, voices offering greetings and questions, hands reaching out and touching her. Some touching Marcus. The inquisition about him started at a fever pitch.

“Tell us about your date.”

“Where’d you find the handsome Brit?”

“How did you keep him a secret?”

“You two look so perfect together. Has the matchmaker made her own match?”

Her pulse picked up. If she was already feeling panicked, wanting to escape, this would be a long night. She scanned the crowd for Grace but saw her nowhere. Ashley had no choice but to smile politely and nod in agreement when someone congratulated her. She laughed nervously at bad jokes. Music thumped loudly. The din of voices became almost paralyzing as people talked over each other.

She and Marcus were pressed tightly against each other under the crush of the crowd. Marcus had handled it all beautifully, being specific enough and deflecting when appropriate, but once the verbal onslaught became truly overwhelming, he cast his magical green eyes down at her. In that moment, she saw comfort in them, not the man who disliked her so greatly.

She popped up onto her tiptoes and spoke into his ear, gripping his strong shoulders, loving the scratch of his five o’clock shadow against her cheek. “I’m a little thirsty. Can we get a drink?”

“Brilliant. I think we both could use one.”

She squeezed his hand in response, landing back on her heels. He didn’t flinch, as if he could take the pressure however long she chose to strangle his fingers. And she liked that feeling. A lot. It felt as if she could test him and he would never, ever fail. He was precisely what she needed at that moment. A handsome British rock.

Marcus began winding them through the crowd. She walked by every person she didn’t really want to talk to and waved, shrugged her shoulders, pointed to Marcus and mouthed, “He wants a drink.” So far, he’d been a dream date. Of course, he was her fake date. Not a man who wished to take her anywhere by choice other than an unpleasant apartment board meeting. Not a man who wished to end an evening together with anything more than a cold, detached handshake.

For now, she’d pretend that he really did want to be with her and that she hadn’t been so stupid as to say the things she’d said the night they went on their date—the endless ramblings about how her last boyfriend had dumped her because her job was too insane and she wasn’t cut out for having kids. She’d never even had the chance to explain to Marcus that James was eleven years older than her and, at the age of forty, on a completely different timetable. Plus, he’d been a jerk of inordinate magnitude when she’d dared to express the tiniest doubt about their future.

So, in the interest of pretending that she and Marcus were a real match, it was time to play the role of Manhattan Matchmaker, the woman Marcus and everyone else in this room wanted a piece of.

“Gin and tonic?” Marcus asked when they finally reached the bar.

She nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

A man tapped Marcus on the shoulder and introduced himself as Alan, one of the network accountants. “I’m on my second drink made with this Chambers No. 9, and I have to say, I’m very impressed.”

The bartender slid their drinks across the bar, and Ashley took a gulp.

“Isn’t it the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted?” she replied, even though this was her first taste. If she and Marcus were going to convince anyone that they were a real pair, she’d be well acquainted with Chambers No. 9 by now. She took a second drink, a sip this time. It truly was lovely—in taste and in the way it took the edge off. By the bottom of the glass, she’d be much better equipped to carry on countless conversations.

“Thank you both,” Marcus said, partaking of his drink, continuing his conversation with Alan.

A nonstop parade of people approached Ashley, most asking for tidbits on the upcoming slate of new episodes. “What’s the most unlikely pairing you put together this season?” one entertainment reporter asked.

“Probably a pair of lawyers from rival law firms. I’ve never seen two people argue as much as they did. The production team was sure I’d missed the mark, but I could see the attraction between them. Once they set aside their egos and their issues, they fell hard. It’s one of my favorite episodes this year.”

Marcus listened and nodded. “She knows when two people should be together.”

“And what about you, Mr. Chambers? Tell me about your gin.”

Ashley listened as he spoke about his father and grandfather, his impressive lineage, the history behind Chambers Gin. Ashley had nothing like that to brag about, not that it bothered her. She just didn’t like the looks of pity she got if anyone asked about her family and she told them the truth—she’d grown up with two brothers, and their parents loved all of them very much. Other than that, there hadn’t been two dimes to rub together, and she wasn’t even sure how they’d ever survived.

Marcus was quite the opposite, born with an aristocratic silver spoon in his mouth. He worked hard, though. She’d give him that. He didn’t seem content to rest on laurels—those that belonged to him or his family. “Gin is my family’s passion, and it really is an art. I started my professional life as a securities trader, but I’m so glad to be running the family business and leading the charge with our new brand in the US.”

Grace showed up right on the heels of that conversation. Marcus got them another round of drinks from the bar after Ashley made the introductions.

“He’s insanely hot,” Grace whispered in Ashley’s ear.

“Yeah, I got the memo.”

“Has it been okay so far tonight?”

Ashley leaned closer so no one could overhear. “It has. It’ll be interesting to see what the ride back to our building is like. He won’t have to be nice to me anymore at that point.” Several network people and more reporters had inched closer to them. “But I’ll catch you up about that tomorrow.”

Grace fished her phone from her purse and consulted it. “I have to go. Problem with the guest list. I’ll catch up with you later.” She patted Ashley on the shoulder. “You’re doing great. Just keep smiling.”

Grace disappeared into the crowd as Marcus brought their drinks.

“Ashley George, I want to know when exactly you got a boyfriend,” a woman said from behind them.

Ashley turned, only to come face-to-face with Maryann, editor for the online gossip site that had published the embarrassing pictures of Ashley buying ice cream on a Saturday night. Maryann was a near-perfect human specimen, long legs and a button nose, but her personality was of the rodent variety.