Chapter 1 - The Stranger at the Next Table
“I need a boyfriend by tomorrow,” Clare whispered, pressing one hand against her chest.
At the next table, the dark-haired man stopped with a black leather folder beneath his hand.
A silver number was stamped into one corner.
Then he turned toward Clare.
He had been listening.
Clare Bennett wanted the floor to open beneath her.
Jenna stared across the white tablecloth with a sugar packet frozen between her fingers.
“By tomorrow?”
“Please don’t say it that loudly.”
“I barely said it.”
“It sounded loud to me.”
“That’s because you’re panicking.”
Clare looked down at the untouched porcelain cup in front of her.
Jenna wasn’t wrong.
Twenty-four hours earlier, Clare had believed she could handle the Bennett family engagement dinner alone. She had survived difficult clients, hostile boardrooms, two corporate restructurings, and one spectacularly bad relationship.
A family dinner should have been easy.
Except tomorrow’s dinner wasn’t really a dinner.
Her mother, Evelyn Bennett, had called it “an opportunity to settle things.”
Clare knew exactly what that meant.
For months, Evelyn had been encouraging her to reconcile with Grant Mercer, Clare’s former boyfriend and the polished son of one of her father’s longtime business associates.
Grant was handsome.
Grant was successful.
Grant knew which fork to use at charity dinners.
Grant also believed the word no was merely the beginning of a negotiation.
Clare had ended their relationship six months earlier.
Her mother had never accepted it.
Then that morning Evelyn had called.
“Grant will be joining us tomorrow.”
Clare had closed her eyes.
“Why?”
“Because he cares about you.”
“No. He cares about winning.”
“Clare.”
“I’m not getting back together with him.”
A pause had followed.
Then her mother had delivered the sentence that caused Clare to make the stupidest claim of her adult life.
“Then perhaps you should bring the man you apparently prefer.”
Clare had been tired.
Angry.
Cornered.
So she had said, “Fine. I will.”
Now she had less than a day to produce a boyfriend who did not exist.
Jenna slowly set down the sugar packet.
“So your plan is what? Hire an actor?”
“I considered it.”
“You considered hiring an actor?”
“For eleven minutes.”
“And?”
“I searched online.”
Jenna covered her mouth.
“Stop laughing.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You’re absolutely laughing.”
“I’m trying to understand how Clare Bennett, senior strategy consultant and destroyer of incompetent executives, has been reduced to shopping for a boyfriend before dessert.”
Clare gave her a miserable look.
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
Jenna leaned forward.
“Why not just go alone?”
“Because Grant will be there.”
“So?”
“So my mother invited half the people whose opinions apparently determine whether the Bennett family continues to rotate with the Earth.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“And if I arrive alone after telling her I’m seeing someone, Grant will spend the entire evening acting like I invented another man because I’m secretly still in love with him.”
“Are you?”
Clare’s expression answered before she did.
“No.”
Jenna nodded.
“Then tell him that.”
“I have. Fourteen different ways.”
“And he still doesn’t understand?”
“He understands. He just doesn’t respect the answer.”
The humor left Jenna’s face.
That was the part Clare rarely said aloud.
Grant had never threatened her.
Never shouted.
Never done anything dramatic enough for outsiders to recognize immediately.
He simply pushed.
If Clare wanted space, Grant sent flowers.
If she refused dinner, he appeared at her office with lunch.
If she said their relationship was over, he told mutual friends she was “confused.”
He transformed boundaries into temporary obstacles.
Tomorrow night, Clare knew exactly what would happen.
Grant would smile.
Her mother would hope.
People would watch.
And Clare would once again be expected to defend a decision that should have required no defense at all.
Jenna sighed.
“All right. We need someone believable.”
Clare stared at her.
“You’re actually helping?”
“Of course I’m helping. I’m also going to remind you for the rest of your life that you created this problem yourself.”
“Fair.”
“What about Daniel from legal?”
“Married.”
“Marcus?”
“Moved to Boston.”
“Ethan?”
“He thinks cryptocurrency is a personality.”
“Good point.”
Neither woman noticed the man at the next table until Clare said quietly, “I don’t even need a real boyfriend. I need someone convincing enough that Grant finally stops looking at me like I’m property he temporarily misplaced.”
The chair behind Jenna moved.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
Jenna’s eyes shifted past Clare.
Her expression changed.
“Clare…”
“What?”
“Don’t turn around too fast.”
Naturally, Clare turned around immediately.
The man from the neighboring table was looking directly at her.
He appeared to be in his late thirties, perhaps thirty-seven or thirty-eight. Dark wavy hair. Neatly trimmed beard. Navy suit that looked custom-made without needing to announce it.
He wasn’t smiling.
That somehow made him more noticeable.
Clare had seen him when she entered the lounge but had deliberately avoided staring.
Now she wished she had paid closer attention.
Something about him made the room seem arranged around his presence.
Two men near the entrance kept glancing toward him.
A server had addressed him as “Mr. Vale.”
Jenna suddenly looked as though she had recognized a dangerous animal.
The man stood.
He walked toward their table.
Clare straightened.
He stopped a respectful distance away.
“You don’t need to ask anyone.”
Clare blinked.
“Excuse me?”
His gaze remained steady.
“I heard your friend ask who you were going to ask.”
Jenna whispered, “Oh my God.”
Clare ignored her.
“And you make a habit of listening to strangers’ conversations?”
“No.”
“Yet you listened to mine.”
“You were discussing the problem three feet behind me.”
“That doesn’t make it your problem.”
“No.”
His voice was remarkably calm.
“But I can solve it.”
Clare stared at him.
Jenna stared harder.
“How?” Clare asked.
The stranger glanced at the empty chair beside Jenna, then back at Clare.
“I’ll be your boyfriend.”
Silence.
A spoon touched porcelain somewhere across the room.
Clare almost laughed, except his expression told her he wasn’t joking.
“You don’t know me.”
“Correct.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Also correct.”
“And you just offered to pretend to be my boyfriend tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
For the first time, something changed behind his eyes.
Not amusement.
Recognition, perhaps.
“I dislike men who confuse persistence with entitlement.”
Clare’s stomach tightened.
He had heard more than she realized.
Jenna finally found her voice.
“Clare.”
“What?”
“Do you know who that is?”
“No.”
The man looked at Jenna.
“Please don’t.”
That made Clare more suspicious.
“Please don’t what?”
Jenna swallowed.
“That’s Adrian Vale.”
The name meant nothing for half a second.
Then it did.
Vale.
Vale Maritime.
Vale Properties.
Vale Hospitality.
But those were only the public businesses.
There were other stories too.
Stories whispered in Manhattan restaurants and private clubs. Stories about old family connections, men who owed favors, disputes that disappeared before they reached court, and an organization that newspapers carefully described as “alleged.”
Some called Adrian Vale a businessman.
Others used a different word.
Mafia.
Clare looked back at him.
“You’re Adrian Vale?”
“Yes.”
“And you think that makes your offer less insane?”
“No.”
Jenna looked ready to crawl under the table.
Adrian remained perfectly composed.
Clare studied him.
“Why me?”
“I already answered.”
“No, you gave me a line.”
A faint expression touched his face.
“You don’t accept easy answers.”
“No.”
“Good.”
He pulled the empty chair slightly away from the table but did not sit.
“My offer has conditions.”
Clare almost smiled.
“There it is.”
“One evening. Public setting. Your rules. No physical contact you don’t approve first. No obligation afterward.”
That stopped her.
Those were not the conditions she had expected.
“And what do you get?”
“Dinner.”
“You can buy dinner.”
“I frequently do.”
“Then what?”
His gaze shifted briefly toward the enormous windows.
“Call it curiosity.”
Clare shook her head.
“Men like you don’t do things out of curiosity.”
“Men like me?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And sometimes we do.”
Jenna leaned closer to Clare.
“We need to talk privately.”
Adrian reached inside his jacket.
Clare stiffened.
He withdrew a simple white business card and placed it beside her cup.
ADRIAN VALE.
One telephone number.
Nothing else.
“If you decide no, destroy it.”
Clare looked at the card.
“If I decide yes?”
“Send me the address and time.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait.”
Adrian stopped.
Clare surprised herself with the question.
“Why did you react when I mentioned Grant?”
The room seemed to become quieter.
Adrian slowly looked back.
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
“You did.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Jenna noticed too.
Clare looked from him to the black leather folder he had left on his table.
The silver number 17 gleamed at its corner.
A photograph protruded slightly from beneath it.
Clare could see only part of the image.
A man stepping from a car.
A familiar profile.
Grant Mercer.
Clare rose.
“Why do you have a photograph of my ex-boyfriend?”
Adrian’s calm expression vanished for the first time.
He crossed the distance to his table and closed the folder.
Too late.
Clare had seen it.
“Mr. Vale?”
He picked up the folder.
“Go home, Clare.”
Her pulse jumped.
“I never told you my last name.”
Adrian said nothing.
Jenna stood beside her.
“Clare…”
“How do you know who I am?”
Adrian looked toward the lounge entrance.
One of the men stationed there had suddenly lifted a hand to his earpiece.
His expression sharpened.
Adrian turned back to Clare.
“Did Grant know you were coming here today?”
“What?”
“Answer me.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“My calendar is shared with my assistant.”
“Who else has access?”
“Why?”
The man near the entrance began walking quickly toward them.
Adrian’s eyes hardened.
“Because this stopped being about tomorrow’s dinner.”
The man reached him and whispered something Clare couldn’t hear.
Adrian looked toward the windows.
Then toward the elevator.
Finally at Clare.
“Your mother’s dinner,” he said. “Where is it?”
“The Bennett Grand.”
“What room?”
“Seventeenth floor.”
Adrian slowly looked down at the silver number on his folder.
Clare felt the blood drain from her face.
“What is that file?”
Adrian didn’t answer.
His phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
Then handed it to Clare.
A photograph had arrived from an unknown number.
It showed Clare and Jenna sitting at the table.
The picture had been taken less than a minute earlier.
Beneath it were six words.
BRING HER TOMORROW. COME ALONE.
Clare looked toward the lounge entrance.
The elevator doors were closing.
May you like
Someone was standing inside.
And Grant Mercer was smiling at her.
