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What the Paparazzi Didn’t See


“Why did you agree to have a drink with me?”

The waitress deposited their drinks and he raised a martini glass in her direction. “You seemed to be in your element at that party.”

“Haven’t you ever faked it?” She clinked her glass to his. “What you see isn’t always what you get.”

He stared at her over the rim of his glass, a slight groove between his brows. “Have to say, you’re an intriguing woman and I can’t figure you out.”

She shrugged. “What’s there to know? We’re two people who wanted to escape that party. We’re having a drink. End of story.”

“Is it?”

His gaze locked on hers, potent and smoldering, and her breath hitched.

She took a sip of her martini, needing the alcohol to loosen her tightened vocal cords. “You’re expecting an epilogue?”

“A guy can always live in hope,” he said.

What the Paparazzi Didn't See

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