“Margaret is complicated. I’m not her biggest fan, but she’s still my mother. We’ve never been particularly close because she meddles in my life. We both have very strong personalities that tend to clash.”
“And that’s why you were closer to your stepfather?” I blurted out.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t tell Margaret that. My stepfather had—” He paused, as if considering what to say next, then ran his palm from side to side across his somewhat scruffy chin. “—commitment issues that only made my mother colder after his death.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard of my father’s infidelities. I’d found that picture of him with Margaret that was dated during his marriage to my mom. And then, the stepmonster herself had exposed she and my dad were an item before Mom had sauntered into the picture and married him.
Still, it stung because I wanted to believe the absolute best about both my parents.
Observing my silence, Oliver asked, “You think I sound like a spoiled rich boy for feeling that way about Margaret, don’t you?”
Maybe if his mother were anyone else other than the woman I’d recently discovered had bent me over and screwed me with no lube, I might, but I shook my head. “You know your story better than anyone else.”
“What about your mother?”
I thought of the beautiful model I’d shared fifteen years with, and my shoulders touched my ears. “She was—is—wonderful.” I glared at the candle in the center of the table until the flame blurred my vision. I was hardly aware of our drinks reaching the table, but then Oliver’s hand rubbed against mine.
“Do you know what you want to order?”
Ignoring his concerned expression, I looked down at the menu and back at him. “What are you having?”
“The barramundi.”
Tilting my chin up to the waitress, I nodded. “Can I get that too, please?”
“Yes ma’am. Please let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a genuine version of the accommodating smile I offered my boss everyday.
As soon as she left, Oliver resumed his focus on me. “I want to know you,” he said. “Not just every inch of your body—I want to know you. And the longer it takes me to learn, the better.”
I tried not to hold my breath, to keep my tone even, but I failed miserably when I asked, “Are you asking to see me on a regular basis?”
“I’m already seeing you.” He drank from the craft beer he’d ordered, swallowing hard, licking his lips to draw my attention to them. “Give me something, Lizzie.”
“What do you want to know?” I touched my chest, shocked at how quickly my heart was beating. “My favorite movie is The Princess Bride, I’m obsessed with TV series, and I want to work in fashion.”
He shook his head. “I already know all that, beautiful. Something new.” Before I was able to attempt to feed him some of Lizzie’s past, his phone rang. Sliding away from the table, he looked at me apologetically. “I’ve got to take this, but I’ll be right back.”
While I awaited his return, I fished my own phone from my purse to send Pen a message. Spotting a text from her already sitting in my inbox, I grinned.
Where are you, woman?!? I’m home and you’re nowhere to be found. Are you with Mr. Sex-In-A-Business-Suit? If you are, don’t forget what I said!
As if I could. I was about to respond, but then a hand covered mine. Dropping my phone into my lap, I lifted my eyes to take in the sight of Oliver, but my gaze connected with the short, good-looking man standing beside the table. He was older than me by at least twenty years—maybe mid-forties—with dark hair and eyes and a disbelieving expression.
Anxiously, I slid a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, can I—”
“God, if I’d known you were living in Los Angeles now,” he murmured with a suggestive smile that drained the blood from my face even before he put a name to me. “It’s so good to see you again, Alice.”
Alice.
Not Lizzie or Gemma, but Alice.
Hearing that name instantly brought to mind the day three years ago when I’d picked a pseudonym for my job—because no escort used her real name. Pen and I were having dinner with friends at the Hard Rock, and when I quietly told her about my plan to make the transition from PSO to half-naked concierge, she’d joked about me going down the rabbit hole. Up until five months ago, the name had stuck.
Staring back at one of my former clients, I fought to maintain my composure. I couldn’t remember him, which was probably a good thing and meant he wasn’t a raging lunatic.
“It’s ... nice to see you again, too.” I peeked around him, keeping an eye out for Oliver. As much as I wanted this man to go away, I also knew going about it the wrong way could put an end to my date if I somehow offended him. “How’ve you been?”
“Same as before. I’ve relocated to L.A. for the next few months while we finish a new development.”
I bobbed my head, hoping I resembled the good-listener the agencies always advertised me as. “Hopefully there won’t be any hiccups.” I looked past him once again.
When I returned my focus on him, he’d wrinkled his forehead. “I promise I’m not being rude! It’s just that ... I’m here with someone tonight.”
His dark eyes widening in comprehension, he reached into the back pocket of his slacks. “I completely understand. You’re a gorgeous girl, so I know you must be busy.” Mortified, I watched as he dug a business card from his wallet. My hand shook as I accepted it, and I wished to God the restaurant floor would open up and swallow me under Rodeo Drive.
“Give me a call when you’re available.”
While I had no intention of ever contacting him, I knew that it was better to let him believe I was still in the industry. I folded the card and clutched it in my fist. “I’ll let you know.”
“See you soon, Alice,” he said, turning on his heel. He nearly bumped into my date on the way back to the table he was sharing with a few other men who were most likely business partners. When he gestured to me, and they all looked over, the flush creeping up my face flamed higher.
I hoped Oliver hadn’t heard a word of what was said.
Hesitantly taking his seat across from me, Oliver turned a scowled to my former client’s table, looking like he was seconds away from storming over there. “Did I miss something?” he asked irritably.
“No.”
“He wasn’t harassing you, was he? I saw him giving you a card and I know the owner of this—”
“No!” I practically shouted. “He’s a ... modeling scout. He wanted to know if I was interested in some commercial work.” That explanation sounded incredibly cocky, but after thinking of my mom several minutes ago, it was the first thing that came to mind that made any sense.
“I told him how awkward I was behind the camera, but he insisted I take his card,” I added calmly, fidgeting with my fork’s prongs.
It was just one more lie to keep up with on top of all the others, and my head spun when I realized just how fragile the house of cards I’d built had become.
Oliver stayed hushed for a few moments, tracing his index finger around his half-full beer glass. Eventually, he lifted his light blue eyes and offered me a slight smile. “Everyone wants you, beautiful, but you’re mine.”
“Yours?” I laughed because it was the only thing I could do not to choke. “A little possessive, are we?”
“A little.”
Through the rest of dinner, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being stared at from across the restaurant. And every few minutes, Oliver threw a curious glare of his own in the direction of my former client.
Opting to skip dessert, Oliver seemed like he was in a rush to leave. As soon as the valet brought his black Viper to the front of the building and we were safely hidden behind the protection of several tinted windows, he bumped my knees apart.