Page 52 of Fauxmance in the City

“I’m astonished you made it to work today.” I lowered my voice. “You were wasted last night.”

Sam furrowed his brow.

“Don’t act like you don’t remember.” I pointed a sharp nail into his chest. He dropped his gaze to it but didn’t move it away. “You do remember?”

“You mean when you asked me to go home with you?” He smirked.

“You asked me!” I hissed, dropping my finger.

Patrick’s head snapped up from where he was perched on a chair just inside the door. “Oh, dear. Well, that explains why Catie was fishing around my office this morning, asking about you.”

“I wasn’t . . . Ugh,” I groan in frustration. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just like you to maul me in a bar and the next morning pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I’m not the one pretending,” Sam threw at me.

“I’m not pretending!”

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Patrick stood. “I’ll leave you two alone to sort this out.”

Sam and I stared at each other as Patrick shuffled between us and out the door.

“This is such bullshit, Sam.” I crossed my arms and tried to bring my cool back to the surface. I didn’t want him to know how rattled I was.

“In my defense, I was very drunk.” He cleared his throat. “I barely remember last night.”

“Same,” I quickly said. Either he was telling the truth, or he regretted kissing me.

Sam’s phone buzzed and he lifted it in front of his face, reading a message. I used the distraction to walk to the door. I had my answer. It was time to forget any thoughts I had about us being perfectly matched.

We were diabolically opposed.

“All settled?” Patrick asked, swinging his gaze between Sam and me.

Sam’s stormy-blue eyes held mine for a moment and something passed between us—sorrow, desire, regret—and I almost faltered, but then he turned away sharply, slicing the connection.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re as we’ve always been.”

“Frenemies?” Patrick asked, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Drop the first two letters, then you’ll have it.” Sam’s smile was ice.

“I hate to agree, but he’s right.” My smile was saccharine sweet. “We’ll never be friends.”

“Never.” Sam turned on his heels and walked to his desk.

I sighed, and in that breath, I released Samuel Harding from my mind. A line had been drawn, and neither one of us would dare cross it.

No matter the consequences.

thirteen

“One more shot of Max skating the perimeter, then we’ll move on,” Karen says, speaking into her walkie-talkie from the side of the large ice-skating rink in Prospect Park.

Max glides with finesse and determination, but every cell in my body is focused on Sam as if they’re magnetized and he’s the connector. Sam and one of the pretty young assistants are huddled on a picnic bench, their heads tilted toward each other like they’re conspiring.

After our explosive fight, I walked back to my office in a daze. When the car came to pick us up, Sam slid in next to me and didn’t say a word during the ride. He’s avoided me since we arrived. Not in an obvious way. No one would notice since I’ve been preoccupied with prep, and there’s nothing that involves Sam.

I’ve kept a smile on my face, but my insides feel like a shovel has scooped my organs out and left a gaping void.

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