Page 34 of Devil in a Tux

“It’s my world, darling. Welcome to paparazzi hell.”

“Is it always like that?”

“Not always.”

I pulled out my phone and turned it on. I had just the one missed call from my sister. I’d get to that later.

“It’s not safe to have a cracked screen.” Evan eyed my poor abused device.

I quickly put it away. “It’s still working.”

He shook his head. “Not safe.”

I looked out the window to avoid his disapproving eyes. After a minute of tense silence I asked, “Will Albert always be driving us, or do they rotate?”

“Albert is my driver.”

I nodded. “Albert?”

“Yes, Miss Borelli.”

“What is your last name?”

“Jensen, Miss—”

I cut him off. “You can call me Alexa, unless you want me to switch to calling you Mr. Jensen.”

“Yes, Miss Alexa.”

“And are you married?”

Concern registered on Evan’s face.

“Yes, ma’am, I am. Six years now,” Albert said.

I settled Evan with a hand on his shoulder as I leaned forward. “Any kids?”

Albert’s voice became animated. “Just one. Jessica. She’s five.”

CHAPTER9

Evan

Alexa’sonly question for me on the drive to Brooklyn was, “Are you sure this is going to work?”

It had to work, so that limited my answer to, “Of course.”

As I replayed the events of dinner during the silence, I kept coming back to her saying she picked something to be grateful for each day. I found that habit intriguing, and also a bit inspiring. Not many people surprised me, but she had.

Albert pulled up in front of the address I’d given him in Brooklyn. Maybe it was the current darkness, but the neighborhood had looked better on Google street view. I opened the door for Alex and helped her out. Just the feel of her hand in mine jolted me in a way I wasn’t used to. I normally had better control than this. The view down her tank top as she leaned forward to get out didn’t help.

“Thanks for dinner.” She patted her purse and gave me a genuine smile. “And thank you again for your generosity. This will help a lot of families.” She backed away, and her smile faded. “I don’t know what to say…”

The awkwardness was palpable. “We’ll figure it out.” I knew feeling cheated was wrong, but that didn’t stop it. Fake dates didn’t end in kisses, or even hugs, I reminded myself. “I’ll walk you up.”

“No,” she huffed. “You won’t. That’s reserved for people I like.”

“But your ankle.”

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