“But my character probably won’t emphasize that fact tonight, since most of those stuffy wine snobs will be at this party,” she threw back.

The two of them looked over as Huxley stumbled his way into the living room and sank onto the couch.

“I overheard you talking. You’ll take my place, then?” he asked Nick.

“It’s our only option at this point.”

Huxley shook his head dejectedly. “Three years working for the FBI and I’ve never had to take one sick day. Today of all days, this happens.” He leaned back against the pillows and looked Nick over. “You’re going to need a suit.”

“I have several suits,” Nick said, appearing offended.

Huxley did not seem impressed. “A real suit.” He held up his hand, cutting off Nick’s objection. “No offense, but Men’s Wearhouse or whatever isn’t going to cut it tonight. You want to blend, remember? Every person at the party will be checking out the guy walking in with Jordan Rhodes. You need to look like someone they would expect to see her with.”

“Hey. I would date a guy who wore a suit from Men’s Wearhouse,” Jordan said indignantly.

Nick sized her up. “Huxley’s right. I better get a new suit.”

Jordan folded her arms across her chest, on the defensive. “You two are way off base with these assumptions about me.”

Nick turned to face her, taking the bait. “Okay, I’ll eat my words right now if you can honestly say that you’ve dated anyone in the last three years who wore a suit from Men’s Wearhouse.”

Jordan stared him in the eyes, wanting to prove him wrong like nothing else.

But.

She sniffed reluctantly. “Just to be clear, it’s not a criteria I have. True, I tend to meet mostly men who have white-collar jobs. And if they want to spend their money on expensive suits, well, that’s their business.”

Nick shrugged. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, princess.”

Jordan’s eyes widened in surprise. She stepped over to him, pulling herself up to her full five foot five inches. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, but nobody’s calling anybody a princess around here.”

“Brooklyn.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m from Brooklyn.” The edges of Nick’s lips curled up in a grin. “Your majesty.”

Jordan stared him in the eyes for another moment, and then turned to Huxley. “Doesn’t the FBI have some sort of top-secret vitamin shot they can give agents in these circumstances? Something that can get you up and running by tonight? Anything?”

“Sorry. I’m afraid you’re stuck with Nick.”

Lovely.

“Trust me, I’m not exactly thrilled about it, either,” Nick said. “No offense, but being cooped up in a van for seven hours sounds more fun than hanging around with some elitist wine crowd.” He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “We don’t have a lot of time to pull this all together. Now that I’m taking your place, I need to find a backup man and get him up to speed,” he said to Huxley. “And I need to go shopping, too.”

He was so bent out of shape about the darn suit. Because of that, Jordan was tempted to hold her tongue and let him figure things out by himself. But like it or not, for Kyle’s sake, the two of them were in this together. So she pulled out her cell phone.

“I’ll take care of the suit.” She scrolled through her contacts list, found the person she was looking for, and dialed.

A man’s voice on the other end answered. “Please tell me you’re coming in to shop. We’ve been dead this whole week because of the blizzard.”

Jordan smiled. Two years ago she’d discovered Christian, a personal shopper at the Ralph Lauren store, and he’d never let her down no matter what the fashion emergency. “Are you working this morning? I need a man’s suit. Fast.”

“No problem. I’m at the store already.”

“Perfect. He doesn’t have a lot of time to shop, so do me a favor—pull some suits in advance. Shirts and ties, too. Nothing too trendy, something classic. I need a size . . .” She looked expectantly at Nick.

He didn’t look thrilled that she was taking charge, but he didn’t object either. “Forty-four long.”

She repeated the information to Christian, who sounded intrigued.

“You’ve never sent me a man before,” he said. “This forty-four long must be special.”

“Oh, he’s special all right. And he’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Wait,” Christian said before she hung up. “I’m dying here, Jordan. You’ve got to give me something. Who is this mystery man?”

She hesitated for a second, then realized she had to bite the bullet and start the lies at some point. Might as well cut her teeth on Christian.

“His name is Nick. He’s . . . my boyfriend.”

ON THEIR WAY out, Nick held Huxley’s front door open for her. “Boyfriend, huh? I didn’t realize we had taken things to that level.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—this is my first undercover operation,” Jordan said. “I’m a little unclear about the rules. Are we seeing other people in this fake relationship?”

He followed her down the steps to the sidewalk. “You expect me to make this decision on the spot? I’m a man, Jordan; I can’t be pressured into these kinds of things.”