She kept talking.

“But when we were walking down the hall upstairs I realized I couldn’t deceive you that way, especially after everything you’ve done for me, and because . . . I guess because I like you, and the idea of lying to you about this for weeks made me feel like an enormous asshole. So that’s what was wrong up there, that’s why I turned around and made you come back to the suite—”

“That’s why you were almost running back to the elevator, because you didn’t want the photographer to catch us?”

He’d noticed that part, too.

“Yeah.”

Ben nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Anna expected him to get up and walk out the door. Instead, a grin spread across his face.

“So your only problem with doing this was deceiving me? Okay. Now I’m in on it. Let’s do it.”

Anna sat back on the couch and stared at him.

“What? Are you . . . really?”

Ben’s grin got wider.

“You want a pretend boyfriend for a month? I can be your pretend boyfriend for a month. I don’t have anything to do next weekend; I’ll come to L.A. This sounds like a blast.” He stood up. “Let’s go back upstairs and make sure that photographer sees us.”

Anna didn’t move.

“Wait. Ben. Don’t you want to think about this? I didn’t expect . . . I didn’t expect you to want to do this. Won’t this fuck stuff up for you at work?”

He thought about that for a second.

“Good point. I’ll talk to my boss—as long as I tell her in advance, it’ll be okay. Plus, the client is thrilled about how well this ad campaign went, which means everyone in the office is thrilled with me. I might have to fudge the time line a little, but it’ll work out. See, there we go, problem solved.”

The doorbell chimed.

“Room service!”

Damn it. She’d forgotten about room service. She went to the door to let them in.

“Shall I open the champagne, Ms. Gardiner?” the waiter asked as he set up the food on the coffee table.

Anna looked at Ben, who shook his head. Maybe he’d reconsidered already.

“No, thanks,” she said. She scribbled her signature on the bill and added a hefty tip. By the time the door closed behind the waiter, though, Ben had already picked up the bottle and was pulling off the foil top.

“Room service is great, but why let someone else have the fun of opening a bottle of champagne?” he asked. He popped the bottle and then filled two glasses.

“How about it, Ms. Gardiner?” Ben handed her a glass. “Do we have a deal?”

If he wanted to do this, who was she to argue?

“We have a deal, Mr. Stephens.” They looked into each other’s eyes as they clinked glasses.

Ben took a long sip and then buttoned up his shirt.

“Can we still make it for that photographer? I don’t want to spoil Simon’s plan.”

Anna laughed and checked her watch. Incredibly, it was barely eight thirty.

“We can still make it. But we can also wait to do that part later, now that I’m not trapping you into this.”

Ben shook his head.

“No time like the present, like my mom always says. How do I look? Am I wrinkled?”

She grinned as she looked him over. She was in a much better mood about doing this now.

“You look perfect.”

He took her arm and stopped right before they opened the door.

“Wait. One quick question. If the answer to this is no, I won’t change my mind, just so you know—I just want to temper my expectations. But . . . do we still get to have sex?”

Anna laughed out loud.

“God yes. As long as that’s okay with you?”

Ben backed her up against the door and kissed her hard.

“What do you think?”

Anna breathed him in, let her hands trace over his arms and chest. She kissed his collarbone, his cheek, his lips. Damn, being with him felt so good.

“I think I don’t want to go back upstairs.”

Ben kissed her again, then backed away.

“Oh no, Ms. Gardiner, you’re not getting out of this that quickly. Let’s go.”

He opened the door with a flourish, and she grinned at him as she stepped into the hallway.

Thirteen

By the time they made it to the bar, it was eight forty-five. Someone immediately set drinks in front of them as soon as they slid into their booth.

“Did you call and order drinks ahead for us?” Ben asked as he picked up the pint of beer the waiter had given him.

Anna rolled her eyes and took a sip of her pastel-colored cocktail.

“No. This has Simon’s fingerprints all over it. I’m sorry he decided what you should be drinking tonight. I promise, that’s not how the rest of the night is going to go.” She stopped for a second and then grinned at him. “Well. Not most of it, anyway.”

Ben looked at her over his glass. He’d been pissed at first, when she’d told him why he was really there that night. That she’d only asked him out to trick him into getting photographed with her, and then trick him into dating her, and it was all to benefit her career. He was still kind of pissed, actually, even though he’d agreed to do this. He hadn’t lied to her when he’d said that it sounded like a blast—it did, especially since he’d get to keep sleeping with Anna the whole time. Was he glad that he had a built-in excuse to be away from the Bay Area next weekend? Yes, fine. Was he fucking thrilled to get to keep sleeping with Anna? Absolutely. So, sure, he’d do whatever playacting Anna wanted him to do. Why not?

He looked across the table at her. God, she was beautiful. She almost shone, sitting there across from him, taking tiny sips of her pale purple drink. She smiled that glittering smile at him, not the way she did when it was just the two of them, but the way she’d only smiled at him a few times—that first day on set, and then the day before, when she’d . . . Wait a minute.

“Is the photographer here?” he asked her as he lifted his beer in front of his mouth.

Her expression barely changed, but her eyes did. They looked—surprised? Impressed?

“How did you know?” she asked.

He reached across the table and took her hand. If they were going to do this, they might as well do it.

“That look you just gave me. I just realized you’re acting when you do that.”