I seriously have no idea what’s going on. Noah and I reviewed our game plan at the office just a few hours ago—talk numbers, explain why Estelle should trust her company’s advertising campaigns to Tate & Cane, and get a commitment, even an informal one. But he’s gone totally off script.

They’ve covered a wide range of topics from their favorite sushi bar (they share the same one), to the best Vegas hotels, to last year’s dip in the stock market—which Parrish Footwear weathered quite well, thanks to Estelle’s forward thinking—but nothing to do with securing her business. No hard facts, no persuasive arguments, no recognition of the entire fucking reason we came here tonight.

So far, I haven’t managed to get out a single sentence of the sales pitch I spent three hours preparing. Not to mention that the way he’s flirting with her makes me want to puke. Aren’t we supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Because Noah sure as hell hasn’t been playing the part.

We can’t walk away tonight until we have a firm idea of whether or not Parrish is with us, which means I have a long damn way to go. And the first thing I need to do is have a word with my dear sweet boyfriend. Preferably someplace private, where our client can’t hear me ripping his balls off.

I check my phone, pretending that I heard it ding, then interrupt their lovefest with a plastered-on smile. “Honey, can I steal you away for a moment? My father just texted me with an important question.”

Without waiting for a response, I push out my chair and stand up, grabbing Noah’s hand. I drag him all the way to the back of the restaurant, near the kitchen’s swinging doors. A passing waiter gives us a curious look.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growl, trying to keep my voice low despite burning with rage.

Noah blinks in surprise. Then a smug grin begins to dawn over his face. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of me paying attention to another woman. That’s so cute. Don’t worry, Snowflake. You’re the only girl I have eyes for.”

I correct him with barely restrained fury. “Don’t you dare try to flirt your way out of this one, you self-obsessed ass. I couldn’t give a damn about where your eyes go. I’m pissed because you’re making our relationship look like a joke, and I don’t appreciate being the punch line. You were practically licking the béarnaise sauce off her fingers!”

Another waiter passes by. This one looks amused. I don’t really blame him—we must look ridiculous, a pair of socialites dressed to the nines and feuding outside the kitchen.

I grind my teeth. I’m already humiliated and mad enough that everything just makes me feel worse.

Noah scoffs at me. “Oh, come on. It’s called networking. Greasing the wheels. She knows it’s nothing serious. I’ve done this kind of thing a million times.”

Why am I not surprised? “That hardly makes me feel better. And our waiter seemed confused as to who the couple was here, me and you or you and her.”

“Who gives a shit what he thinks? She’s the one holding the purse strings. She’s who we’re here to impress.”

“I’m asking you to give a shit what I think!”

He blinks. “What? Of course I—”

“No, you clearly don’t, because otherwise you’d be listening good and hard right now.”

He throws up his hands. “Okay, fine. I’m listening. Just explain what the problem is.”

I suck in a deep breath through my nose, trying to calm down enough to put my thoughts in order. “Let me spell it out for you. You’re the one who made such a big deal about putting on a good performance, keeping up appearances, making our relationship look real. And now you’re acting like the same manwhore you’ve always been. Except now, I’m here to catch your collateral damage, and it’s embarrassing. You disrespected me.”

His eyes shoot open wide. “I never meant—”

“It doesn’t matter! Your intent doesn’t change the results. Maybe it never even occurred to you that I’d have a problem with your bullshit. I can give you that benefit of the doubt. But I’m standing here now, telling you how I feel. So, please knock it off.”

He covers his mouth with one hand, pulling down hard, and lets out a loud, harried sigh. “I . . . didn’t look at it like that. I was just trying to woo the client. Like I always do.”

Wow, he actually looks taken aback.

Somewhat shocked, I let my voice soften. “Well, if I’m in your life now, that can’t happen anymore.”

“In my life, huh?” He considers me with an expression I can’t quite read. “So that goes both ways, I guess. I’m in your life too?”

“Seems that way.” I sigh. “We’re stuck together for a good long while, at least.”

Now I can read his face—the first flickers of that familiar sinful smile. He reaches up, and at first I think it’s to cup my chin. But then he just runs his finger down my neck, that long stretch of exposed skin, all the way over the curve of my shoulder. I can’t help my shiver.

“You make it sound like a jail sentence,” he teases.

I smile. Only slightly, but it’s there.

He leans even closer and asks, “Are you sure you weren’t jealous at all?”

My two glasses of wine have lowered my guard. That’s my excuse for why, instead of telling him to shut up, I admit, “Maybe a tiny bit.” Then I regain my senses and add, “But that doesn’t change my original point.”