She had to fight the urge to slap the smarmy smirk off the middle guy’s face.
“Looks like you are,” Damian said.
“Can I see your ticket?” one of the goons asked.
Lainey’s heart leapt into her chest. She hadn’t counted on being asked for her ticket once she was inside the venue. Crap. How was she going to explain that issue away?
“We’ve had a report of someone sneaking into the event,” goon number two added. “We take the privacy of our guests very seriously.”
Damian slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed his invite over. Mr. Damian Edward McKnight was written in scrolled font across thick cream paper. Lainey would bet money they’d spent more on having the invites printed than she forked out for rent each year.
“Damian McKnight,” he confirmed. “My apologies to have to interrupt you, Mr. McKnight. I’m sure you understand that we have to take these matters seriously.”
Damian nodded. “Of course.”
Just as the goons turned to Lainey, someone came up behind them. This man was in a mask, so obviously he wasn’t one of the security staff.
“I thought I heard a familiar name,” he said. “I was coming up here to get away from the crowd, and it looks like you two had the same idea.”
“Mr. McPartlin.” Damian’s tone was flat.
As in Jerry McPartlin. The Jerry McPartlin. Lainey knew his name because her parents were huge fans of his first restaurant, Ora. They couldn’t afford to eat there regularly, but once a year on their wedding anniversary, they splurged.
“Are you going to introduce me to your lovely guest?” Jerry motioned to Lainey.
* * *
Fuck. Of course it had to be Jerry McPartlin who stumbled across him with a gorgeous, nameless girl in his arms in an area of the building they weren’t supposed to be in. He and the redhead had broken apart the second the security team had walked in, but why else would two people be hiding up here on a private balcony? Any hope he had of changing the man’s opinion had vanished into thin air. Unless...
An idea sprang to his mind. Hadn’t he been saying to Aaron that he needed to look like a family man? Like a guy who’d finally settled down?
This was either going to work brilliantly, or everything he wanted—needed—was going to come crashing down around him. Saying nothing would mean certain failure, and his motto had always been Go Big or Go Home.
“I’d like to introduce you to my fiancée, Ariel.” He squeezed the redhead’s hands in what he hoped was a silent plea for her to go along with his plan.
“Your fiancée?” Jerry cocked his head. “You never mentioned that you were getting married.”
Damian glanced at the woman beside him, who’d stayed mercifully quiet. “Didn’t think it was a necessary part of doing business.”
“It’s a pleasure.” Jerry stuck out his hand, and the redhead hesitated a moment before accepting the gesture.
“Likewise. I’m a huge fan your restaurants, Mr. McPartlin.”
“Please, call me Jerry.” He kissed the back of her hand before looking back at Damian. “Charming and glamorous. Looks like you’re a lucky man.”
“Not lucky enough to secure your business, on account of my image.” He couldn’t resist the little barb, especially since it appeared as though his story had been bought. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to steal a moment away with his soon-to-be wife, can you?”
“Perhaps I was too quick to judge.” His gaze lingered on the redhead’s hand, which wasn’t wearing a ring. “Didn’t you propose with a diamond?”
Shit. His mind whirred again.
“We’re having something custom-made,” she said, her voice silky smooth as though she hadn’t been panting and breathless a few moments ago. “Damian knows how much I like things to be perfect.”
She knew his name? He turned to the woman and her face tilted up to him, her lips full and pink. They curved into a smile. Of course, the security staff had said it aloud when they’d checked his invite. At least that bit of detail could lend extra authenticity to their story.
“That’s my Ariel.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He sensed McPartlin’s eye lingering on her. “She knows exactly what she wants.”
“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.” McPartlin nodded.
“We still need to check your invite, miss,” one of the security guys said.
The redhead stiffened beside him. Her hand tightened around his, squeezing in a way that told Damian she was exactly who they were looking for. No wonder she wasn’t keen to give up her name.
“I’m afraid Ariel’s invite met with an unfortunate end,” he said. “In the bathroom.”
The guards looked at one another, unsure how to handle that information.
“It’s my fault,” the redhead said, her voice perfectly pleasing and yet slightly breathy. “I was at the sink and my clutch got caught and spilled open.”
“It’s not your fault, darling.” He rubbed her back in slow circles, the role of doting fiancé taking him over fully. A wicked smile curved on his lips. “I shouldn’t have been so rough.”
A small gasp sounded on her lips, but it was cut off by one of the guards clearing his throat. “Well, then. We should get moving.”
“It was great to see you again.” Damian nodded to McPartlin as he turned to leave, as well.
“Yes.” The older man looked them both over once more, as if trying to figure something out. “Enjoy the evening.”
Damian and the redhead stood close together on the balcony without saying a word until the men had descended to the ground level. Her relief was palpable in the evening air, and she sagged against him.
“So you’re a gate-crasher, huh?” Damian glanced down into her wide hazel eyes. “That’s a bold move. This is a very important event.”
“It certainly is,” she replied smoothly. “Oh, dear future husband of mine.”
He chuckled. Neither one of them was in a position to judge—they were both liars. Or both saviours, depending on how you looked at it.
“I guess this means I’m stuck with you for the rest of the evening, then?” she said, resting her head against his arm.
“Looks that way.”
He could think of worse ways to spend an evening—and at least having company would keep him from going crazy with all the snobbery in the ballroom. However, he’d put himself into a tight spot with Jerry McPartlin. While letting the man think he had a fiancée could work to his advantage, he’d have to make sure that Jerry McPartlin didn’t need to see his “future wife” ever again.
LAINEY COULDN’T BELIEVE her luck. Damian had practically done all the work for her—the whole thing about her being his fake fiancée meant they had to spend the evening together. And since he was the one who’d made that happen, she’d been able to relax and enjoy his company.
Or, more accurately, quietly freak out and enjoy his company.
They’d danced, eaten tiny, fanciful foods; she watched him bid on the silent auctions and talk to people whose names she knew from the papers. There’d been a lot of business talk, too. But he continued to introduce her as his fiancée, Ariel, and so that meant playing the supportive, doting future