Page 10 of French Martini

“Uh…” Indy twists his lips.

Salem looks uncomfortable as he takes a step toward me and places his hand over mine. “I follow a few design blogs.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wasn’t planning to tell you, but maybe it’s relevant now?”

With my hands shaking, I nod. “Tell me what, Salem?”

“Alain is…” He blows out a breath. “He’s engaged, Low.”

The words feel like walking into a wall. “What?” I grip the edge of the bar to steady myself, unsure whether my legs will hold me up. “Oh.”

“To a designer. Gerard Stanton.”

I back away and pace in front of the bar for a second. “I definitely can’t go. The gossip mags will be all over me for a reaction.”

“Fuck that,” Kit says. “You’re going with your head held high.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Kit. He nearly destroyed me.”

“Do you still love him?” Bane asks.

I recoil at the mere thought. “Fuck no. I’d rather drink bleach than ever let him near me again. I despise him. Honestly, I could handle his smug face if I had to, but I don’t want to do it with hundreds of eyes watching my reaction. I’ve done that and I’m not going to again.”

“I have an idea,” Salem says. “What if you had one too?”

“Had what?”

“A fiancé.”

I scoff. “And exactly how would I pull that off?”

“One of us could be your stand-in.”

Ridley grins. “That’s fucking epic. Totally do that.”

I shake my head. “No. He knows you guys. He’d never buy it.”

“He doesn’t know me,” Salem says. “Or Stewart.”

Kit scrunches his nose but nods.

“No offense, Salem, but he knows I’m not the young twink type. As for Stewart, he’s sweet but we don’t have that kind of chemistry. It’s not gonna work.”

“I think you’ll regret not going,” Jerryn says. “You’ve earned it.”

“There’s gotta be a solution,” Bane says. “There’s always a way.”

“Come on, guys. Where would I find someone willing to be a fake fiancé for a week of bullshit award pomp?”

Sunlight from outside floods the space as Oakley and two guys he works with enter through the front door. He smiles and nods in acknowledgment as they take a table.

“Well, well, well,” Ridley says, gripping my shoulder. “If it isn’t a solution.”

FOUR

OAKLEY

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