Page 16 of Silver Fake

"Upstairs." He says the word without looking me. "We'll talk upstairs."

As the elevator doors close behind us, John releases my hand to press the button for the rooftop balcony. But to my surprise, he laces his fingers back through mine as he settles back against the wall.

The air around us is thick with tension. I watch as the numbers light up, one by one, marking our ascent. John leans against the wall, his eyes staring straight ahead. I have no idea what he's thinking right now. So I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest, determined to confront him as soon as we get outside.

But then a few seconds later, the elevator doors slide open. And the breathtaking sight before me leaves me speechless.

The view of Barton Beach from this height is nothing short of magical. An endless expanse of blue water glitters under the radiant sun while palm trees sway gently in the breeze. Out in the distance, small boats bob on the gentle waves while seagulls soar overhead.

For a moment, as I stare out across the water, I forget about everything - about the matchmaker, about Nelson, about John and his unexpected claim - instead I'm reminded of why I decided to come here on vacation in the first place.

Behind me, someone clears their throat.

"Excuse me, Mr. Barton. Would you like to start with a beverage?"

I turn around and see a waiter standing behind us. He appears to be in his early twenties, with an earnest expression on his tanned face and a neat row of freckles dusting his nose.

"Your usual champagne is already chilling on the table," the waiter continues. "But we have a wider selection if you and your date would prefer something else."

I can feel my cheeks warming at the implication he gestures to a table that has been set up on the terrace for two.

The table has been carefully arranged with white linen and silver cutlery. Chilled shrimp cocktail sits delicately on a bed of crushed ice next to a tray of canapés topped with smoked salmon. And, as promised, at the center of it all, a bottle of champagne sits proudly in a bucket.

John gives the waiter a friendly smile. "My usual will be great, thanks. Lisa will have the same."

The waiter nods in response and then pours two glasses before disappearing back down the elevator, leaving us alone once again.

John walks over to the table and pulls out a chair. "Have lunch with me." He says it in a casual tone, but there's something in his voice that's unyielding.

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

John looks down at the straps of my heels digging into the flesh of my swollen feet and frowns. "Lisa, please sit down."

I blow out an exasperated breath. But then I deflate and sit down anyway. There's no point in standing around glaring at each other all day when we have more important things to discuss. John pushes in my chair and sits down across from me.

For a moment, the two of us sit in an awkward silence. John eyes me intently, almost daring me to ask questions. Finally, I break the tension and take a sip of champagne.

"So," I start cautiously. "Care to explain all this?"

John gives me an amused smirk. "What, the food?"

I glare at him. "You know I'm not talking about the food."

John sighs then inhales deeply, his jaw clenching as if he's gathering his thoughts - or bracing himself for my reaction.

Finally, he says, "Look, I'm sorry about what happened downstairs. I got...a little carried away."

"Alittlecarried away? You told Nelson that I was yourgirlfriend."

"He'll get over it," John chuckles.

"You can't just go around telling people I'm your girlfriend. You're my boss. What if the firm finds out?"

John shrugs. "I had to say something to get Nelson off you."

I raise a defiant eyebrow at him. "You do realize that Nelson and I were visiting a matchmaker, right? What if I wanted him on me?"

John's eyes snap up to meet mine. "Did you?"

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