I match her grin with one of my own. “Funny, I was just about to say how awesome it is to actually be married to one.”

Chapter 3

The bar closest to our bank of elevators is called Rain and has a water theme, including walls that feature streams of water running down them in what appears to be a permanent loop.

Jamie and I sit at the bar, which is made of a hollowed out slab of marble filled with water and covered with glass. Goldfish swim in the water, back and forth in this makeshift river. It’s whimsical and fun, though I have to wonder what the fish think about the whole thing.

“They love it,” Jamie says. “I mean, they’re goldfish. Usually the most they can aspire to is a bowl in some kid’s bedroom. This is the big time for them.”

I laugh and have to concede that she has a point. And then we both raise our glasses and toast the fish.

We’ve been down here for an hour, chatting and drinking and trying to firm up our plans for tomorrow.

“So shopping is definitely on?” Jamie asks. “I’m in the mood to do serious damage to my credit card. And you get some sort of discount here¸ right?”

“Only in the hotel stores. We go out into the mall, and you’re on your own.”

“Fair enough.” She sips her martini. “After lunch, then? I have the first interview at ten and the next at eleven. And after that, I’m done.”

“Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.” She’d read over her prep material a little bit in the limo and then again before we came down here. “And I’ll get up about six to give it another go-over. Don’t worry. This isn’t my first time playing a reporter.”

“I just want you to rock it,” I say. “This might lead to a full-time job, right?”

“Maybe. Gloria kind of hinted around. But I’m not going to get my hopes up. I’m just going to take my check for this gig and run. Straight to Michael Kors,” she adds with a laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“You should come down with me tomorrow. Watch the interview. Or at the very least, scope out the trade show. It’s mostly about games geared toward smartphone users.”

“I’m tempted,” I admit. “But I’ve pretty much decided that my goal for the weekend is to be as unproductive as humanly possible. So while you’re slaving away, I’m going to be drinking mimosas by the pool.”

“You bitch.”

“And completely proud of it.”

Jamie grins, then slides her hand into her purse. She stops mid-motion, then catches my eye, her expression sheepish.

I know exactly what she was doing—she was going to check her phone to see if she’d missed a call or text or email from Ryan.

I know, because I’ve done the same thing a half dozen times since we arrived at the hotel. And there hasn’t been a single word from Damien.

“We’re pathetic,” I say. “Two fabulous, smart women out on our own, and we can’t even go an hour without checking for a message from our significant others. Seriously, how girly and needy are we?”

“I’m not being girly and needy,” she says firmly. “I just keep expecting him to ask me what I’m wearing under my clothes.”

I raise a brow as I take another sip of my drink. “And what are you wearing?”

Her grin is slow and devious. “I’ll never tell.”

I laugh and we clink glasses. But I remain silent on my own relative state of undress. And, yes, I do feel naughty.

Which reminds me…

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. “Not girly and needy,” I tell Jamie, who is giving me The Look. “We need a selfie.”

“Oh! Totally! With the drinks,” she adds, which is easy for her to say. I end up leaning way back, holding the drink in my left hand and the camera in my right. Honestly, it would be easier to ask the bartender to take it, but Damien told me he wanted selfies, and for this particular game, I’m all about following the rules.

“Did you get us?” Jamie asks as I open up my photos.

“Hang on.” It’s a reasonable question. Photography is my hobby, but that doesn’t translate to selfies. I tend to shift at the last second and mess them up completely. “Oh, check it out. This one’s not too bad.”

I pass her my phone, now open to the image of us, smiling and holding our glasses. Instead of shifting to the side, though, I apparently lifted my arm, because we don’t fill the frame the way I had planned. Instead, we’re in the bottom third, and the crowded tables in this popular bar are in the background. I figure that’s even better, since it gives a sense of location.

“Nikki!” Jamie’s voice is a low, startled whisper. “Did you look at this?”

“At what?”

“The picture. What’s behind us.”

“I—no.” I frown. “What are you talking about?”

She slides the phone back to me. “Look.”

I do—and then I turn toward her and grin.

“Don’t turn around!” she says, as if I were planning to.

Of course, now that she has said that, the urge is powerful. Because now I know who’s behind us. Now I know why neither of us have received any sexts.

Now I know that this weekend is going to be more interesting than I anticipated.

“I have to look,” I admit.

“Yeah, me, too.”

We both shift on our stools. And there, just sitting and talking as if they haven’t got a care in the world, are Ryan and Damien.

They look up at the same time, and Damien’s eyes meet mine. At first, his expression is flat. Corporate. Then his mouth curves up and his eyes darken, and I can see such promise of heat and pleasure that my stomach turns to butterflies and my mouth goes dry.

I expect him to say something. I expect him to come over.

I expect him to do anything but what he does next, which is turn his eyes away and continue talking to Ryan, as if I wasn’t sitting right there at all.

I smile, suddenly understanding.

And this, I think, is going to be so much better than sexting.

Beside me, Jamie still isn’t with the program. “Should we go sit with them?”

“No,” I say with a grin. “That’s not the game.”

“The—oh.”

Just as realization dawns, the bartender sets fresh drinks in front of us. “From the gentlemen,” he says with a jerk of his chin, and we both turn to raise our glasses in a silent gesture of thanks. Damien, however, is the only one at the table.

I give him a little nod, then turn my back to him, hiding my grin.

Beside me, Jamie is about to lean toward me, presumably to ask where Ryan is. But that’s when I see Ryan approaching her. He takes a seat on the open stool beside her, and I casually reach for my drink, then take a sip as I eavesdrop on my best friend.

“Haven’t I seen you on television?” he says.

Jamie turns to him, her body language suggesting she gets this question all the time and is bored with it. “It’s possible.”

“I’m Ryan.”

“I’m not the kind of girl who picks up strange men in hotel bars.”

“No? I’m not a strange man.”

“Too bad.” Jamie’s voice holds as much heat as a small nuclear reactor. “I like strange.”

She slides off the stool. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she says politely. “I need to go to the ladies room.” She glances at me, her expression playful. “I’ll be right back.”

She walks away, and Ryan is left sitting alone at the bar.

“She’s very particular about the men she dates,” I say. “And she’ll only fall for a truly spectacular guy.”

Humor flashes in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He inclines his head, then leaves. I take another sip of my drink and plan to tell Jamie that we really need to move on to food. Too many drinks and too little solid food is starting to mess with my head.

As I’m thinking about my increasing state of inebriation, someone moves up behind me. I know without turning that it is Damien, and when he asks, “Is this seat taken?” his low, familiar voice sends shivers through me.