After twenty-five years on this planet, I had punctuality down to an art. A customized black-and-gold Erin Condren planner outlined my days, weeks, months, and years. Everything went in that spiral-bound book—morning workouts, weekly blow-outs, monthly book club. I’d even blocked out my free time each day. And, as an additional scheduling security measure, I replicated every single appointment in my phone’s calendar.
I was never late. Unless it was on purpose.
When I pulled onto 5th Street, the clock in my Lexus SUV dashboard read 1:10 PM. I was supposed to meet Bennett ten minutes ago. My belated arrival was intentional, meant to throw him off-guard. Meant to make him worry I was standing him up. Sweet irony, given his track record with women; it was usually the other way around.
At any rate, I hoped he was sweating in his Gucci dress socks. Especially after he summoned me so cryptically.
We need to talk. Starbucks on 5th, one PM tomorrow.
When I asked why, he’d refused to elaborate. It was bizarre, not to mention irritating. Bennett and I didn’t do coffee dates. We weren’t even friends. We barely tolerated existing within the same social solar system.
I could only think of two possible explanations: Bennett was dying of some rare, incurable disease and wanted to make things right between us, or he wanted something. My money was on the latter.
It was quarter past one by the time I pulled into an empty stall, shifting the ignition into park and hitting the engine on/off button. Before sliding out of the car, I gave myself a once-over in the rearview mirror, fixing a stray mascara smudge and reapplying a coat of Charlotte Tilbury Love Bite. What I really needed was a suit of armor, but bright red lipstick was the next best thing.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted me as I pushed open the glass door to the cafe, immediately spotting Bennett at a small wooden table off to the corner. He was hard to miss. His broad frame filled the black leather armchair, the body of an athlete from playing competitive rugby throughout high school and college. Rumor had it, you could bounce a diamond off his abs, which was a pity when you considered who they belonged to.
Streaks of sun-kissed copper graced his chestnut hair, which was immaculately styled. It matched his neatly trimmed stubble, creating the effect of effortless and groomed all at once. Bennett basically rolled out of bed looking perfect every day, which made me hate him that much more.
He’d already purchased two drinks and he was scrolling his phone, seemingly at ease—and decidedly not sweating over my late arrival.
The bastard knew I would come.
My heeled Rag & Bone booties clicked on the ceramic tile flooring as I approached, drawing his attention. Our eyes met, and he locked his phone, flipping it face down. A pretty blonde girl a few tables down watched the two of us with ill-concealed envy on her face.
I knew Bennett looked appealing from the outside, but she wouldn’t be jealous if she knew what he was really like.
“Thayer.” He stood up to greet me and his handsome face lit up with a movie-star grin, courtesy of good genetics and modern dentistry.
It was difficult to tell whether he was genuinely happy to see me or merely wanted me to think he was. Bennett was difficult to read at best and impossibly opaque at worst—one reason I shouldn’t have even been here. Yet here I was, against my better judgment.
“Bennett.” I sank down into the armchair across from him, unwinding my Burberry Classic cashmere scarf. He eased back into his seat, unfazed by my frosty tone. I crossed my legs and tried to gather my thoughts, bracing myself for whatever battle of the wits was sure to follow.
“I assumed you encountered some traffic.” Bennett gave me a look that said he knew that wasn’t the case. “So I ordered for you.” He slid the cup toward me. Grande dark roast, no room, black as the midnight sky. My usual to a T. On the surface it seemed like a nice, harmless gesture, but I knew better.
“Trying to butter me up?”
“Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said. Bennett was anything but. He flashed me a disarming smile that had the opposite effect, and I scrambled to fortify my emotional walls.
“How do you know I still drink the same thing?”
Until the eleventh grade or so, you could have called us friends. We even bonded while studying for AP Chemistry, which was where my penchant for strong black coffee began, necessitated due to the all-nighters I pulled before exams. But something changed between us not long after that, and in decade that followed, Bennett made it abundantly clear that he could not stand me. It was a two-way street.
“Call it a hunch.”
Irritation simmered within me. The worst part was, he was right. I was still perpetually early, I still drank my coffee the same way, and I was still a creature of habit. He had my number. And that’s what bothered me most.
“Thanks,” I said grudgingly. I accepted the cup, taking a sip because coffee was coffee, even if Satan was buying. “Now, why am I here?”
He dodged my question by completely ignoring it. “How have you been? I feel like it’s been ages since we had the chance to catch up.”
“Fine.” I didn’t ask him the same in return, because I didn’t care.
“How’s work?”
I clutched my cup like a shield. “Also fine.”
Then I remembered what Millie told me last week about his mother’s cancer relapse and my hostility waned. I’d known his family for two decades and beneath it all, I wasn’t a total monster. An unwelcome pang of sympathy stabbed at my gut.
“How’s Lydia?” I asked softly.
Bennett’s face fell, composure faltering. “She’s doing okay. You know, taking it day by day.” He cleared his throat. “She’s a fighter.”
I nodded. “She definitely is.”
“Circling back to you.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his opposite knee, revealing dark purple dress socks. “How are things with you and your new boyfriend? I’ve heard you two are getting serious.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Millie told him. Sometimes, my life was like being trapped in a never-ending reality show—whatever came before the Real Housewives phase of life. Though, I hoped that wasn’t my future because it was seriously depressing.
“They’re great,” I said. “We’re great. So why did you—”
Bennett cut me off. “What was his name again?”
My mouth went dry. Bennett’s steel-blue eyes pinned me, watchful and waiting. I took a sip of still-scalding coffee, buying time. I hadn’t committed to giving my ‘boyfriend’ a name. I thought fewer details would make it easier to keep my story straight, but now I didn’t have a name to pull out of my back pocket.
“John?” It came out more like a question than a statement.
Bennett smiled pleasantly, like a well-meaning friend that we both knew he wasn’t. “And does John have a last name?”
Of course, John didn’t have a last name, because he wasn’t real. I fumbled, landing on the first thing that popped into my head.
“Uh, Hamilton.” I’d been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack in the car on the way over and John Laurens happened to be one of the main characters. Hopefully, Bennett wouldn’t make the connection.
“Hmm, can’t say I’ve heard of him.” He pressed his lips together, stroking the groomed stubble on his chin. “And I know everyone who’s anyone around these parts.”
Dammit. He did, too.
“Different social circles, I suppose.” I shrugged, trying to conceal the panic rising in my chest. I liked to think I was an okay liar; passable, at least. But you can’t lie to a liar, and I was dealing with a pro.
“That’s one explanation for it.” He took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim.
My heart stopped cold. “Excuse me?”
Bennett set down his cup, leveling me with a look. “Thayer.” His voice was low and velvety, full of promises and threats. “Let’s be honest. There is no boyfriend, is there?”
My pulse kickstarted, resuming at a frantic pace. Fighting the rush of heat to my cheeks was impossible. I was sure the glowing red emergency exit sign behind him matched my face.
“Sure there is.” As if on cue, the coffee grinder roared to life in the background like some sort of lie detector.
“Okay, let me see his Instagram page.” Bennett held out his large hand, beckoning.
This wasn’t a meeting; it was an ambush.
“He doesn’t do social media.”
“I see.” He withdrew his hand, leaning on his elbow, and his gaze turned razor-sharp. “Then show me a picture of you together. In this digital age, a happy young couple should have lots of those, right?”
My stomach did a nosedive. Was it possible to perform an internet search at light speed to find a stock photo of a smiling couple with a female model that closely resembled me? In less than a minute, to avoid arousing Bennett’s suspicion? Unlikely. I debated making a dash for the exit, but I knew I’d never outrun him in these heels.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“That’s true.” Bennett shrugged, draining the last of his coffee. There was menace in the way he set down the empty cup. “You don’t. But I can’t be the only one who’s curious about your mystery man. Bet your family can’t wait to meet him.”
I fought the urge to squirm. “All in due time.”
In the background, the milk steamer screeched. He raised his eyebrows innocently, a smirk playing on his full lips. I glared at him, wishing I’d stood him up.
My palms began broke out in a sweat as the afternoon sun pouring in through the window went from pleasantly warm to stiflingly hot, and the thin cashmere sweater I was wearing suddenly felt more like a parka. I drew in a breath, trying to steady myself and failing. Why did Bennett care so much about my fib? It’s not like it affected him.
Seconds crawled by while the low din of coffee shop chatter filled the silence between us. Bennett tilted his head and gave me a questioning look, waiting me out.
“Fine,” I hissed. Embarrassment simmered in my gut, syrupy and sickening. Leaning in closer, I lowered my voice. “I may have embellished the truth a little. You caught me, Sherlock. Are you happy now?”
There was the gleam of triumph in his eyes—mingled with a hint of something that, on anyone else, I would have called desire. But this was Bennett so it could only have been the desire to win. It was the only thing he cared about, other than himself.
“True happiness comes from within, Thayer.”
Great. Now he was speaking in riddles. He wanted something.
I rolled my eyes. “I know you’re enjoying this little cat and mouse game, but I’m growing bored.” I twirled my freshly manicured index finger, urging him on. He’d already found my weak spot, but I couldn’t let him know just how weak it was. In our world, the only thing worth more than your reputation was your last name. “Get to the point, please. What do you want?”
His lips curved. “I want to help you.”
“Why?” I asked flatly.
Bennett didn’t do anything unless there was something in it for him. He didn’t volunteer for charity unless there was a photo op involved; didn’t make donations unless his name would be on a big, shiny banner, front and center on a stage. Besides, I wasn’t sure how much help he could be, unless he knew a reputable rent-a-date company.
“Like you,” he said, “I have a small problem of my own.”
Word had been going around for a while now that Bennett’s real estate company was in a bind financially. Well, more than a bind. According to rumors, it was practically insolvent. I hadn’t known how much credence to give it; sometimes, stories like that were fabricated to further someone else’s interests.
But Bennett actually admitting there was a problem? Smoke, fire, inferno.
“Oh, I hear it’s far from small.”
“That’s what they tell me.” He smirked.
I glared at him, fighting the urge to kick him in the shin with my bootie. “First of all, gross. Second of all, I don’t see how your problems have anything to do with me.”
“They don’t,” he said. “Yet.”
He placed both elbows on the table and leaned forward, encroaching on my personal space. I knew he was trying to establish the upper hand, and I refused to let him have it. I didn’t budge. I didn’t even blink.
Notes of leather and rosewood mingled with vanilla wafted over to me. I stilled my expression, keeping it impassive, but inwardly I was fighting the insane urge to lean closer and bury my face in his neck for another hit of his cologne. It wasn’t fair that someone so horrible smelled so good.
We remained in a silent standoff, slightly too close together for either of us to be comfortable. Each of us daring the other to move.
To back down.
To lose.
His cold blue eyes captured mine, pinning me to the spot. “Your story’s flimsy, Thayer. It didn’t take long for me to figure out the truth.”
“Not everyone is as nosy as you, stalker.”
“It’s only a matter of time before someone else figures it out too.”
“So you’re blackmailing me.” Not even Bennett could pretend this was a level playing field.
He shifted in his seat and his knee grazed mine under the table, sending an electric current down my spine. It was just the physical embodiment of my distaste for him. Repulsion, that was it. Had to be.
“No, I’m offering you a deal.”
