Page 22 of The Player's Obsession

“Great. Perfect. How about you?” I ask.

“Perfect. I can’t eat steaks that are well done. Overcooked meat is dry and has no flavor. May as well be chewing on shoe leather. A great steak should be tender enough for a baby to chew.”

He sounds like a cheesy commercial. I suppress a chuckle.

“I agree.” I slice into my steak, and it melts in my mouth after it passes my lips. I chew three times, and it slides down my throat. Oliver knows his food.

I take a bite of my baked potato. I don’t know why, but I like baked potatoes with steak better than mashed. Mashed reminds me of Thanksgiving Day’s turkey. I’m not a fan of turkey unless it’s homemade turkey burgers and turkey meatballs. Call me un-American, but a huge, plucked bird served on a platter with its organs floating in giblet gravy is not my idea of a tasty meal.

“What about you? Any family?”

“Sure, I’m from New York, both of my parents still live there, and my brother recently moved here.” I leave out the fun fact about them refinancing their home to pay my brother’s legal fees when he was arrested a year ago and charged with intent to sell and distribute marijuana.

“Are you close?” he asks.

“Yes, too close, at times.” I keep my eyes on my food.

“Why do you say that? At times?” he asks.

“We just are. Haven’t you ever wanted a corner of a city that’s your own?” I take a bite of steak to buy myself time to think about my responses before I speak. I don’t want him to look at me differently because, from where I’m sitting, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. His blue eyes remind me of the Pacific Ocean, just after the point break.

“I never thought about it. But I understand the sentiment if dodging fans counts.” He puts his knife down, tastes the spinach, and then moves on to his potato.

“What does your brother do?”

“He’s in between jobs.” How long can I dance around the fact my brother is lost to me?

“Maybe you feel like he needs you too much, and that’s why you need your space.”

“Yes, that’s part of it.”

CHAPTER11

Oliver

Her eyes search mine. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or pissed. I think I hit the bullseye with my premise that her brother is her Achilles heel.

Co-dependent is more like it if my assumption is correct.

“I don’t know how to bring this up other than to be honest with you, is that okay?”

Her eyes darken. Is that panic?

“No, nothing serious. I need your help with something.”

“I can’t imagine you needing help with anything.” She smiles, and I wonder if she’s flirting with me.

“Mm. You’d be surprised,” I blurt out and need to recover because if she feels insulted, I’m sure she will leave the table. “I have a situation, a delicate situation. I have a business arrangement to offer you.”

“Cleaning your house? It’s a part-time job.”

“No. I don’t mean that. Instead, I need an actress for a month to pose as my fiancée.”

“Did you call an agency? I’m sure someone will do it for free.” She chuckles.

“No, it’s not like that. I need someone I have a connection with, and I think we have a—rapport.” I smile and try to look sincere and not creepy. I’m at her mercy and prepared for rejection. “You will be well-paid, I assure you.”

“What? I thought this was a dinner date,” she hisses, leaning over the table, “and now you’re propositioning me? This isn’t aPretty Womankind of proposition, is it?” Her voice grows louder with the word proposition. A couple at a nearby table looks at us. I smile to reassure them it’s nothing, and they resume their conversation.

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