ALMOST REAL

THE DRESS

Evelyn didn't wait for an answer.

"Then it's settled! Dinner tomorrow. My apartment. Park Avenue. Both of you. Seven o'clock! I want to hear all about that bakery in Queens!"

Her blue eyes — almost identical to her son's — twinkled as she looked at Alannah's tight black dress, at her hair falling over one shoulder, and at her sharp pretty eyes. Then she gave her a small smile.

Derek's hand was still on her waist from when he pulled her closer and told his mother that Alannah was his girlfriend.

"Mother, we have plans—" Derek started to say, looking annoyed.

"Nonsense. You can't tell me you suddenly have plans when all you do is work," Evelyn cut him off, taking Alannah's other hand in hers. "Alannah, tell him you have no plans and that work should never be more important than family. I don't know why he always has to be this stubborn."

Alannah had to tilt her head to look up at Derek, locking eyes with him and giving him a mocking smile.

"We have no plans," she whispered. "We would love to come to dinner."

Evelyn beamed. "Wear a similar dress again! My son clearly likes it. He hasn't stopped looking at you since you walked in. And those Louboutins — gorgeous!"

Alannah's cheeks burned. "They're..."

"They're not fake," Derek said before she could finish the sentence, his eyes dropping for just a second as he looked her up and down in that little black dress, then looking up again with appreciation in his eyes.

Evelyn floated away, leaving them alone at the dessert table. The Park Avenue gala continued around them. It was a big place, but the space between them felt too small. Almost suffocating with tension.

Derek immediately dropped his hand from her waist.

"Rule two," he muttered, his voice rough. "You stay in Queens, I stay on Park Ave. I like people who understand boundaries."

"You told her I own one of the best bakeries in Queens," Alannah hissed, stepping closer, her curves clearly visible in that little black dress now brushing his tuxedo. "It's $80,421 in debt! Due in 30 days! That's not the best, Derek Cole!"

"My mother has a heart condition," he said in a low voice, his hand reaching out again before he could stop himself, his fingers brushing her elbow. The slight touch felt electrifying. Her skin was soft and smooth. "If I tell her you're struggling, she'll try to fix it and ask too many questions. This way she won't interfere and leave it be."

His hand lingered on her elbow, still feeling the softness of her skin, reluctant to stop.

"And the $80,000 for three months?" she whispered, looking down at his hand. "Is that real? Are you really going to pay me that much just to fake being your girlfriend?"

"Very professional," he said, echoing his own words from when he had slid a card into her tiny hand and their fingers brushed. "It's real. I am a man of my word. If she likes you after tomorrow, I'll pay you $80,000 for the three months. You come with me to all family events and one gala per month. That's it."

"And Rule One?" She had to ask. "No kissing on the lips. Will that rule apply to the whole three months?"

His eyes dropped to her lips for just a second, his eyes darkening. His beard twitched as if he were clenching his jaw.

"As long as you are not wearing that dress, tempting me or looking at me like you are doing now, so innocently doe-eyed, Rule One still stands," he said, his voice lower and huskier.

She laughed, her voice shaky. "Easy there, Mr. Cole. I hate Park Ave boys, remember?"

"Good." He offered his hand again. "Do we have a deal? You stay until my mother leaves, then tomorrow at 7 PM, Park Ave, we have dinner with her?"

She looked at his hand, up at his eyes almost pleading with her, thought about her debt.

Then she placed her tiny hand in his. "One hour. And tomorrow, dinner with your mother. Let's start there. You have a deal."

His fingers closed around hers. Warm. Firm. His thumb brushed over her knuckles once, slow and sensual without meaning it or even realizing it. His big hand dwarfed her tiny one.

"Alannah Reyes. From Queens," he murmured.

"Derek Cole. From Park Ave."

He looked at her again and smiled — a real smile this time. He pulled her closer, his hand sliding to her waist just for show because Evelyn was looking over from across the room. His hand fit perfectly around her waist even over her tight black dress; he could feel her warmth.

"Trust me," he whispered, his beard almost touching her cheek, his eyes locked with hers.

Outside, his driver was waiting by the exit.

He offered her a ride home but she refused, realizing she also has a stubborn side.

"I'll send a car for you tomorrow. 6:30," he said, finally — reluctantly — letting go of her hand.

"What should I bring? For your mother?" she asked.

"Just yourself. And a similar dress. She likes that dress."

"My mother says it's too much."

"Your mother is wrong," he said, his eyes dropping one last time to her curves, lingering on her hips before jerking back up. He swallowed hard and then said, "It's a good look for you when we go to Park Ave."

Liar, she thought. But heat bloomed on her cheeks and ears.

As she walked away, she felt his eyes on her back the whole way.

And she didn't hate it.