Page 31 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“I’mextra?”
“Bubbly. Effervescent. You know what I mean.”
“Extra,” he muttered. “So he really is a Spanish aristocrat?”
“Titled and everything.”
“He’s pretty good-looking.” Epic pursed his lips. “If you like the Antonio Banderas type.”
“I thought we established I’m on team Tyrone Power.”
“We did, didn’t we?” His lips curled into a shy smile.
In a way, Epic reminded me of an old Hollywood heartthrob. He had that look—dark hair, impossibly blue eyes. He was tall but still coltish. Elegant in jeans, a button-down, and my jacket.
Epic had the ability to blend in, whether he was waiting tables, eating cheese and drinking twenty-five-year-old port, or bantering with my intimidating ex. He had a poise so unexpected that if I’d blinked, I’d have missed the transitions.
I’d been drawn to him from the first, and he hadn’t let go of my arm. Suddenly, I was aware of his body and the fact there was only a king bed in our suite. Pullouts were notoriously uncomfortable, plus, they required taking out at night and putting back in the morning. Even if the maids did all the work, it still meant moving furniture and ruining the aesthetic of the room.
Of course, the last time I’d considered theaestheticof a room…was never.
“You’re awfully quiet. Did it hurt seeing him?” Epic asked.
“Maybe a little.”
“I take it your work came between you? What does he do?”
“He manages his family’s philanthropic trust, and he’s on the board of trustees for a children’s hospital. He also has a number of social obligations each year, and he’s a brand ambassador for Piaget.”
“Of course he is,” Epic muttered.
“So you can see why it didn’t work. He needed a husband who would support the work he’s doing.”
“But so did you.”
“Bullshit.” I couldn’t imagine that. “The last thing I’d want in a husband is staff.”
“You think William’s going to be his staff?”
“William has a career of his own. I can't imagine how they're making things work.” I checked the signs to make certain we were headed in the right direction. “This way.”
He stopped and looked around as if to memorize the path. “This place is confusing, isn’t it?”
“What Luis wanted was someone willing to make being his husband into a career.”
“And you would hate that.”
“I spend too much time pressing the flesh frivolously as it is. Imagine me at a banquet for a hospital board or a photo shoot on a yacht.”
“So where are you happiest?”
“What do you mean?”
“You travel for work, right?” I nodded. “Do you like to travel?”
“Not really. I’m most comfortable in my office at home. I have alerts set for certain types of news, and my team and I follow whatever trails we can to uncover where dirty money starts and where it ends. Missing persons, mail-order brides, drug mules, sweat shops, employment scams. Trafficking anything is a multibillion-dollar industry, and someone has to clean all that cash. That’s where you start to see the big picture.”
"Hey." Surprise stole over his features. “You’re an intelligence analyst after all.”
