“No. I’m just realizing how different we are.”

He crossed his arms, watching her with a calculation that had her wanting to hide from his probing gaze. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Yes. “No. But, I mean, this dress? It’s not something I normally wear. I’m like a kid playing dress up, while you probably sleep in suits.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just observed her skeptically as she lifted her glass to her lips. “Actually, I sleep naked.”

She choked on her wine. Legit choked.

A smirk slid into place on his face. A stupid, sexy one. He pulled something out of his pocket while she gasped for breath. “And as far as clothes go, we can buy you a new wardrobe. And lots of jewelry to go with that ring.”

She covered her mouth, still gasping for air. “You—I—you shouldn’t have said that.”

“And yet, I did.” He placed a Visa card in front of her. “Back on topic, before you complain or say it’s too much, hear me out. I have lots of events to attend, and, as my fiancée, you’ll be expected to be by my side. So there will be a need for dresses, and diamonds, and whatnot. Anything you need, you can just swipe my card, and it’ll be yours.”

Her pulse accelerated so steeply, it was a wonder she didn’t fall over dead of a heart attack. “What do you mean? What events?”

“Let’s see…there’s the mayor’s ball next Friday, and Saturday there’s a gala at Rockefeller Center. Sunday’s a matinee at the Richard Rodgers Theatre to benefit kids with cancer.” He counted off on his fingers. “So this week alone, you’ll need three dresses, and accessories, too. Don’t skimp on the jewelry. No one will expect you to wear the same thing twice. It’s unheard of.”

Her heart raced even more, and she held the edge of the table, trying to ignore her fight or flight instinct kicking in. But this was it. This was how she was going to die. “I–”

“Do you speak French? Next week we have an event with the French Ambassador, and it would be awesome if you could—”

The waiter came in carrying two steaming entrées, so he stopped talking. Another server scurried in before him, taking the salads away with aplomb. The second the scent hit her nose, her throat closed up. He set down a huge plate of lobster tail—death on a dish for her. It was the last straw.

She scooted back, a hand to her throat, and stood.

Benjamin stood, too. “What? What is it?”

“I…I—” She shook her head, backed up slowly. “I can’t do this.”

“Maggie, wait!”

No way. Uh-Uh. No, sir.

She was out of there faster than a line drive out of the ballpark.

This whole date was a disaster, just as she’d expected. There was no way this could work. All the signs in the universe were telling her to run, and it was time she listened.

Before it was too late.

Chapter Five

Benjamin had no idea what the hell had spooked Maggie, but obviously something had. She’d been standoffish ever since he’d brought her into Macaluso’s, and he’d been unable to figure out why. He’d treated her to the best of the best, and tried to do everything in his power to please her.

Instead, he’d pissed her off and literally sent her running.

And now he was stuck chasing after her.

He had a feeling this would be a running theme in their relationship—no pun intended. He caught up to her outside the restaurant because she’d stopped and was bent over, resting her palms on her thighs as she took a shuddering breath. “I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t—”

“Shh.”

She jumped as if she was surprised he’d followed her. “Benjamin?”

Apparently, she’d been talking to herself again.

He crouched in front of her and cupped her cheeks, sliding his hands under her soft brown hair. She let him. Something tender, and almost calming, unfolded in his chest. As if she belonged there, with him, and he was only just realizing it—which was shit. She wasn’t his. Not really.

This was all for pretend.

“Take a deep breath. In. Out.” She did, staring at him the whole time, and that quietness inside him spread even more. “There you go. That’s it. Now, slower this time.” Maggie nodded and took another long inhale. She watched him with wide eyes, lips parted, and the trust in her eyes crashed into his chest, punching the air out of his lungs. “Good. Easy, now.”

When her breathing settled into a more human pattern, mirroring his, she pulled away and swiped her hand across her forehead. He fought the urge to pull her back into his arms, where she belonged, damn it. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m allergic to shellfish. And when it was all there, in front of me, I couldn’t breathe.”

“Oh.” Shit. He was a fucking dumb-ass. He’d been so intent on wooing her with fine wine and fancy meals, and waving his cash around, that he hadn’t even stopped to consider she might not be able to eat what he’d ordered. Then again, he never did. This was just the first woman he cared to get to know better. He wanted to learn more about her—like what not to order if he didn’t want to kill her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t have. I mean, you didn’t ask me, so how could you have?”

Ah, so that was what was bothering her. She didn’t like his take-charge attitude. But that was always how his dates went. He took charge. No one had ever minded, until now. “You wanted to be asked. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Well, yeah.” She blew out a breath, and her hair fluttered. “Of course I did. I’m not some empty-headed bimbo who can’t order for herself what she wants to eat or drink.”

He stared at her, trying to make sense of her actions and words. She was so refreshingly different from the other women he’d dated, who looked to him to do everything, and he liked that about her. Being with her was a partnership. A new kind.

But it also made predicting her actions a lot harder than it should have been. And a hell of a lot more painful when he got it wrong, because he wanted to get it right. Because, damn it, he liked her. A lot. And, stupidly, he wanted her to like him, too.

Like he was back in grade school, or some corny-ass shit like that.

Nodding slowly, he took a deep breath. “Of course you’re not. How stupid of me to treat you the way I did. Can you forgive me?”

She swallowed. “Benjamin…”

“I know,” he said quickly, studying her. She looked a little less pale now. Her red lipstick was as flawlessly applied as before, and she was prettier than a real princess. She fit the part of the socialite so well that he’d forgotten she wasn’t one, and he’d come on too strong. “I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll ask.”

She shook her head. “This…we…you want us to pretend to be in love, but how can we do that if we literally know nothing about each other? What would your mother say if she found out you ordered your fiancée a meal that would kill her?”

Damn it, she had a point. But they could work on that. “So, that’s why you left the restaurant? The lobster? Not because you didn’t want to be my fiancée?”

“No. God, no.” She straightened and gripped her purse tight. “I don’t want to do that, either.”

“Good, because—” He froze, her words finally hitting him. His stomach twisted into a tight, mangled ball, and he shook his head. “Wait, what do you mean? You said you’d go through with it. You promised.”

“That was before. Look, we’re simply not a match. Fake or real, we’d never work. I’ll never be able to sell this.” She gestured between the two of them. “Sure, you’re a good kisser, and you have a great knee, but that wouldn’t be enough to make me love you, let alone marry you, in real life. And anyone who knows me would call me on it.”

“We only need to convince people in my life, really, and—” He cut himself off. She’d said… He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be insulted. “I have a great knee? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”