Nick threw Jordan a look, trying to decide if his character was so smitten that he needed to feign an interest in any topic that involved sequins and spray tans that did not also involve cheerleaders.

She stood up on her toes and whispered in his ear. “Don’t worry. It’s like a bottle of wine that needs to breathe. They mellow out after about an hour or so.”

DINNER WENT SMOOTHLY enough, particularly because Jordan’s friends turned out to be a warm, welcoming group. Nick felt satisfied that to an outside eye—or eight of them—he and Jordan appeared to be simply a normal guy and girl on a date on Saturday night.

From time to time throughout dinner, he studied Jordan curiously. He was having a hard time sizing up what, exactly, was “normal” for her. A week ago, she’d been entirely in her element at Eckhart’s fund-raiser, chatting it up with the crème de la crème of Chicago society while wearing a designer dress and drinking wine that cost more than what many people earned in a week. On the other hand, she seemed just as comfortable with her friends, wearing jeans and a sweater and eating homemade pizza in a house that looked like a Toys “R” Us had exploded inside it.

She surprised him. He could handle anything Xander Eckhart threw at him; was unfazed by money laundering, undercover ops, fake identities, fake condos, offices, and cars, and private investigators who followed him around the clock and watched his every move. But Jordan had managed to throw him off guard more than once already, and Nick knew that could be a dangerous thing.

A prime example was that kiss neither of them acknowledged.

Despite being much shorter in duration and objectively far more pleasant than any other assignment he had been given, this was one undercover investigation he looked forward to wrapping up. Quickly. Before anything got . . . messy.

Shifting his attention away from Jordan, Nick turned to Charles, the lawyer, who sat on his right. The two of them spoke about Charles’s criminal defense practice, with Nick being careful not to give away the fact that he obviously knew a lot more about the justice system than the average real estate investor.

“Does your firm handle a lot of high-profile cases?” he asked. He hadn’t recognized the name of the firm when Charles had mentioned it earlier, but Chicago was a big city with a lot of lawyers.

“We get our fair share,” Charles said. “I mean, nothing as high-profile as the Roberto Martino trial. Not that my firm would represent the likes of him.” He lowered his voice. “At one point, we talked to Jordan’s brother about handling his case, but he decided to go with a different firm. Which is a shame, given the way things turned out. I mean, Kyle gets eighteen months over at MCC for a crime that hurt no one, yet it took years for the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office to get their acts together and arrest one of the most notorious crime lords in the country. That’s our federal criminal justice system at work.”

“Charles.” Corinne reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand with a meaningful look in Jordan’s direction. “You know she worries about Kyle. Let’s not bring that up tonight.” She smiled. “Maybe you could tell us how you and Jordan met, Nick.”

All conversation at the table stopped.

Frankly, Nick was surprised it had taken this long for someone to ask. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jordan take a nervous sip of her wine. He knew this was the part of the evening she’d dreaded, the part where they told more lies to her friends.

Perhaps he could help her out with that.

“Jordan and I met two weeks ago, at her store,” he said. “On the night of the big snowstorm.”

Pete chuckled. “You really must’ve been jonesing for wine to go out in that mess.”

Nick reached across the table and linked his fingers through Jordan’s. “I think Fate had a higher purpose for bringing me to her store that night.” He winked at her. I’ve got this.

Melinda melted. “That’s so sweet.”

“Then what happened?” Corinne prompted.

Nick faced Jordan’s friends. For her sake, he’d tell the truth—perhaps not the whole truth—but at least nothing but. “Well, I asked Jordan a few questions, some quips were exchanged, and I distinctly recall her making a sarcastic comment about chardonnay. I can’t tell you exactly what happened from there, but five days later I found myself at Xander Eckhart’s party drinking pink champagne.”

Her friends laughed. Charles raised his glass. “That’s how it happens, Nick. A cute smile, a few clever words, and five years later you’re watching Dancing with the Stars on Monday nights instead of football.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Pete said indignantly.

As the group teased Pete, Nick felt Jordan squeeze his knee underneath the table.

She spoke softly as she held his gaze. “Thank you.”

It took far more effort than it should have to make his tone sound as cavalier as always.

“Any time, Rhodes.”

MELINDA AND CORINNE struck fast, cornering Jordan in the kitchen while she opened a bottle of Moscato d’Asti she’d brought to go with dessert.

“About your mystery man,” Melinda led in. “I think he really likes you.”

“I agree. This one has the legs to be around awhile,” Corinne said. “And I like him. Which, of course, is the most important thing.”

“We like him,” Melinda emphasized.

Jordan set the corkscrew on the counter, their enthusiasm making her feel like an even bigger jerk than before. Of course they had to go and like Nick. Although she couldn’t say she blamed them—he was laying on the charm a little thicker than usual tonight.