“I know you!” I blurted. “You were on ET the other night.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to smack myself. You did not just say that.

The smile on his face faltered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and uttered a small groan. “Yes, I’m sure I was.”

So it really was him. The rich playboy with daddy issues used an online dating website. None of this made sense.

The waitress returned to set the wine glass next to me. I watched her fill the glass impatiently and I took an unnecessarily large gulp as she poured him more wine. I couldn’t look away from him. I was fascinated by him—and my strong feelings towards him.

“I apologize for all the secrecy, but unfortunately it was necessary.” He reached inside his suit jacket that looked like it cost more than my car and pulled out several papers and a pen. He set them down and slid the pile towards me face up.

Oh, right. The non-disclosure agreement. In the email, he outlined the expectation for me to sign it “upon arrival.” I pulled it towards me and signed it. The penalty for violating the agreement was a whopping three million dollars. No article writing for me, then. I slid the papers back towards him and he folded them back into his jacket, looking slightly relieved.

He looked at me shrewdly. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve interviewed several candidates but I found none of them suitable.”

Candidates. What a strange word. “What is it exactly that you want me to do?”

The mysterious smile reappeared. “I don’t want to get into that today. I just want to get to know you.”

My face grew hot, made worse with the wine. I was aware that he could see how uncomfortable I was. He was gorgeous and I was a nobody. I didn’t get it. “What I don’t understand is why you think you need a paid arrangement.”

No, stupid! Don’t say that. Just shut up and take his money!

He took another sip of wine and I heard the liquid hiss through his teeth. Then he looked at me. “I know what I want, and I have very little time. This is just the easiest way for me.”

A small shiver went through my body. Why would he want me? But he did all the same and it was overwhelming.

“So, tell me about yourself, Jessica.”

Now, I felt like I was in an interview. “Well, I graduated last year with a Bachelor’s in English and I really want an editing position at a magazine somewhere. I’ve been trying to get one for a year, but all I could find were unpaid internships. I signed up for this because I need an income to pay for my expenses.” I shrugged. “I think that I’m a pretty honest, reliable person. I could leave references for you, if you want. To be honest, I really need the money.” It was embarrassing to admit it.

Suddenly, the room was filled with the smell of freshly baked pizza. I snapped my head around and saw the rather perfect sight of the waitress bearing a steaming pizza. She set it down over a metal stand in the middle of the table. It was a cheerful, vivid red with slightly burnt edges, no doubt cooked in a wood-burning oven. Little specks of green dotted the sauce and I smelled the basil from the rising, swirling steam. I had a reaction that could only be described as Pavlovian.

“The pizza here is the best in the Bay Area. It’s almost like eating pizza in Rome.”

I didn’t care where it was from, as long as I got to eat it. “I can’t wait to try it.”

He smiled politely as he cut a slice for me and slid the plate in front of me. Perhaps he was used to the type of girls who only ordered salads when they went out.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Flustered, I glanced at his face and saw that he was serious. “No, ‘course not. I’ve never really—” I stopped myself. I almost told him that I’d never had one. “I’ve never really had much time for boyfriends.” My hand trembled as I took another sip of wine.

I watched him eat the pizza with a knife and fork, feeling suddenly barbaric as I picked up my slice with my hands. “Do you live in the city?”

He gave me an uncertain nod. “I have a house, but I’m rarely home.”

He probably had places all over the world. I finally bit into the pizza and moaned as the acidic taste of the tomatoes exploded over the perfectly baked crust, slightly blackened from the wood fire oven. “Oh my God!” I moaned elegantly through my mouthful of pizza. “This is—this is incredible!”

Luke seemed to choke on his pizza as he looked at me and laughed. It was different from all of his polite, almost mechanical smiles. The corners of his eyes creased and he covered his mouth with his hand.

Was he mocking me? No, there was kindness in his eyes—not cruelty. I returned his smile and laughed in spite of myself. “I’m actually kind of psycho about food. I volunteer at a soup kitchen every week and I organize the recipes.” Perhaps the wine made me so talkative, but I was flattered by Luke’s interest and the way he leaned in so he could hear me talk. I kept forgetting that this was an interview.

“Every week, really? What for?”

He sounded suspicious. Of course he was. He made me sign a NDA, for God’s sake. I gave him a half shrug. I didn’t exactly want to go into detail. “It started as a community service thing I wanted to do for my resume, but I found myself really enjoying it.” A frown crossed my face. “Well, until yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

I mentally slapped myself again. He doesn’t need to know every damn detail of your private life! I waved my hand. “It’s not a big deal, but my car got broken into while I was volunteering and my GPS was stolen.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, it kind of sucks.”

We lapsed into silence as we finished the pizza. I devoured three more slices, savoring each bite. Does he eat like this all the time? Why wouldn’t he? After many sips from the equally delicious wine, I felt myself slip into a warm, happy stupor.

“So where did you grow up?”

I snapped to attention. “Hm? Oh—well I moved around a lot as a kid. First I lived in Richmond, then Fremont, Oakland, Antioch.” We were wading in dangerous waters. “How about yourself?”

His face tightened. “Chicago. Well, I was there until my mother passed.” He shrugged. “Then my father sent me overseas to a boarding school in London.”

God, so he really went to a boarding school. Years of lying in bed while reading Harry Potter and fantasizing about what it would be like to live in a castle full of children made me burn with jealousy. “What was it like there?” I said in an awed voice. “Were there houses?”