Page 109 of Charming Deception

I take a selfie, which I’m terrible at, trying to get the whole dress I’m wearing in the shot. I’ve been getting Nicole’s opinion on the outfits I try on all afternoon. She’s thrilled about my “life upgrade,” as she calls it. When I told her yesterday I was going to accept Jameson’s proposal, she practically shoved me out her apartment door.

When I send the pic of the dress to her, I find she’s sent me one, too. Of Jameson at a restaurant table with a bunch of other handsome men in expensive suits. Three of the men I don’t recognize, but one of them is Jameson’s brother Damian.

I looked up his siblings’ names after he left for lunch, in a panic about meeting them tonight.

In the photo, Jameson’s wearing the same suit he left the house in today.

Me: Do you have eyes on my fiancé right now? You stalker.

Nicole: That dress is HOT.

Nicole: I’m not stalking him in person dummy. I have a Google alert for that. Here.

She sends me a link that takes me to some Instagram account about the Vancouver “scene,” where I see the same image, with the caption: Dane Davenport, Brandon Ellis and Trey Jones lunching with the Bayshore Billionaires at Nightingale. How do we get an invite?

Weird.

At least it’s late afternoon now, and the photo was posted only twenty minutes ago. He’s probably not still at that restaurant.

Me: I wonder if he knows someone took a picture of him eating his steak and salad and now it’s online.

Nicole: Of course he does. It’s a power meeting. If it was meant to be private, it would be in private.

Right. He said that himself. That he’s in the media because he wants to be. Marketing and all.

Me: Do you know who those men are?

Nicole: My girl Dani knows Brandon Ellis. He’s not into me. I tried. (crying laughing emoji)

Nicole: But if Google tells me the other guys are single, your fiancé better hook a girl up.

Nicole: Also, you should set up an alert. Keep an eye on your man.

Me: Gross. I don’t even want to look at his Instagram.

Nicole: That is the craziest shit I’ve ever heard.

I laugh under my breath.

Me: It’s about trust, my friend.

Nicole: Oh? Days ago he’s the big bad billionaire who can’t be trusted and now he’s golden? Please tell me he slammed some sense into you. Against his headboard.

She’s right. I’m acting way too weird today—happy—but I don’t want to get into it right now.

Me: I have to go.

I toss my phone aside, ignoring the alert as she responds, and take another look in the mirror.

I’ve been back and forth to the room across the hall constantly, where the two stylists Jameson brought in have racks of clothing set up for me to try on. It was weird for the first outfit or two, being the object of their attention, but over the course of the afternoon I’ve settled into the rhythm of it. And I’ve tried on so many items I’ve fallen in love with. Like this dress.

It’s the dress; the one I’ll be wearing to dinner with the Vances tonight. I know it as soon as I put it on. It’s perfect for an elegant dinner with a table of billionaires and my new fake fiancé at my side.

It’s a pale amber-ish color in a silky fabric that sparkles all over. Fitted, with long sleeves and a slight V neckline that gives an alluring hint of cleavage without being pushy about it. Like my new diamond ring, the color is similar to the lightest tone in my eyes.

It goes perfectly with the ring.

I wonder if Jameson will notice.

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