“I’m not falling for Julie.” He almost believed it. “And I said no to movie night. I’m sure she only suggested it because she thought it was what I’d like to do.”

Because that’s what she did. Shaped herself to be whatever she thought people wanted her to be.

Colin’s smile slipped. “So you’re not seeing her? Remember, the deal requires that you have at least five dates, but it can’t go past August. . . .”

“I know what the bet is, Colin.”

And we’ve already had more than five dates. No need to tell Colin everything.

“So then what’s the problem?” Colin asked. “You told her no to movie night and she got mad? Is that it?”

“Not exactly.” As far as Mitchell could tell, Julie Greene didn’t do mad. He tugged at his tie, which inexplicably felt tighter than usual. “I kind of suggested that we go to a nightclub. In the Meatpacking District.”

There were several seconds of stunned silence before Colin began snickering. “Dude, have you ever been to a club? You know they don’t serve single-malt Scotch and play Bach, right?”

“Yes, Colin, I’m aware. It’s like I said when you first walked in. I made a mistake.”

Colin was still shaking his head. “Mitchell Forbes at a nightclub. Oh, how the mighty have fallen for the sake of a broad. But you made the right call,” he said with approval. “This will keep her at a distance on the off chance she was getting the wrong idea. A woman like Julie Greene will know exactly what an invitation to a club means. It’s not exactly aperitif hour at Bemelmans.”

Mitchell winced. Had anyone ever thought Julie might actually enjoy having an aperitif at the classy Bemelmans? Or had they always assumed that she wanted glitter and vodka shots? Just the way he had.

“And on the bright side, you’ll probably get to go straight to the front of the line. Julie’s hot and she’s a regular at those places. She’s there with a different guy every week.”

Mitchell’s mouth turned sour at the thought of being just another of Julie’s throwaway toys. But hell, that was why he’d picked her, right? This type of casual, meaningless dating was her world.

It was all she’d want or expect from him.

So just why the hell did that bother him so damn much?

Chapter Ten

Julie put Grace on speakerphone and set her phone on the bathroom counter so she could finish applying makeup.

“Are you sure he said he wanted to go to Pair?” Grace asked, sounding as baffled as Julie felt.

“Positive. I asked him twice, and even asked if he knew where it was. Definitely the Pair we know, on Little West Twelfth Street. Total bridge-and-tunnel crowd,” Julie said, referring to the mobs of partygoers who flocked to Manhattan’s trendy Meatpacking District from New Jersey and the outer boroughs. Translation: not Mitchell’s scene. At all.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Grace said as though reading her thoughts. “I mean, granted, I don’t know Mitchell well, but I thought he was more of a sip-whisky-in-a-hotel-bar type of guy. Not a clubbing, vodka-and-soda, hip-hop-loving douche bag.”

Julie paused in her mascara application and frowned down at the phone. “Hey, not all guys who frequent nightclubs are douches.”

She didn’t dare tell Grace just how many Friday nights she’d spent just like this one: applying smoky eyes, putting on glittery lip gloss, and donning her tiniest outfits.

“Greg wouldn’t be caught dead there,” Grace said loftily.

Julie’s hand paused in the middle of applying eyeliner. Well, if she’d been looking for a positive to the evening, that was it. The less Mitchell had in common with Greg, the better.

“What happened to movie night?” Grace asked. “Isn’t going to an impersonal club kind of the opposite direction you need to go for your story?”

Yes, exactly, Grace. Thanks so much for the reminder. “He didn’t go for it,” Julie replied, careful to keep her tone neutral.

“Really? I totally thought staying in would be right up his alley. I mean, not that I can picture the man vegging out in ratty sweats, but maybe one of those dressing gowns that old men wear?”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to him,” Julie said. “Maybe get him some nice tobacco to go with his pipe.”

That was, if they ever got to movie night.

“Well, I’m sure he just suggested Pair to impress you,” Grace said kindly. “If he knows anything about you, he probably thinks it’s your ideal way to spend a weekend night.”

And he’d been right.

Or at least he’d have been right just a couple of weeks ago.

She paused and studied herself in the mirror. What’s changed?

Her reflection gazed back. You know what’s changed.

“Whatever,” Julie muttered to herself. “Look, Gracey, I gotta go. He’ll be here in a few.”

“’Kay. Good luck. And if you have a heart, do not make that poor man dance.”

Julie hung up the phone, smiling at the absurd mental picture of Mitchell Forbes dancing. He definitely didn’t seem the type unless it was the fox-trot or the waltz.

So why had he suggested it in the first place? She wanted to think that it was for her sake. That he knew her party-girl track record and was trying to appease her. But a nagging doubt had inserted itself in the back of her brain and wouldn’t let go.

What if he hadn’t wanted to do movie night with her?

And why was she not relieved at getting a free pass to skip movie night? She’d been dreading the very thought of that couch potato moment from the time Camille had mentioned the story.

But she hadn’t known Mitchell then. Hadn’t considered that the thought of curling up on the couch with him might be kind of appealing.

Hadn’t considered that as much as she didn’t think of herself as a movie-night kind of girl, a man wouldn’t either.

She looked at her perfectly made-up face in the mirror, itching to scrub it all off and put on her PJs. But she couldn’t

Because I’m not good enough for Titanic and popcorn.

The sharp buzz of the front door interrupted her moping. Mitchell was here. She fluffed her hair and pasted a smile on her face. She could do this. She’d done it a million times before.

She did a double take when she opened the door. She hadn’t put a lot of thought into how Wall Street would transition to Meatpacking District, but the effect was noticeable. And unsettling.

Julie’s first urge was to button one more button on his black button-down and add a tie. And where are your glasses?

He looked like every other guy she’d ever taken to a club on a Friday night.

She didn’t like it.

“You’re sure about this?” she blurted out as he slid past her with a peck on the cheek.

He glanced down in surprise. “Sure about what?”

“Pair. That’s really what you want to do?”

For a second she saw a twinge of regret. Like it was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Instead he gave her a brief show of dimples. “Of course. It’s Friday night in New York City.”

This was all wrong: his tone, his trendy attire, his too-laid-back attitude. Who are you?

“And besides, you look hot,” he said, reaching for her hips and nuzzling at her ear. Julie gave a forced smile. His compliment felt hollow. She didn’t want to be hot. Not to Mitchell. She wanted to be beautiful.

His hands slid up the back of her thighs and under the tight fabric of her tiny skirt. Normally Julie relished the process of picking out nightlife attire, but tonight little thought had gone into it, and she’d grabbed one of her defaults: a black mini, a sparkly black halter top that showed most of her back, and a pair of five-inch stilettos. She felt plastic.

“We should get going,” she said, pulling back sharply when he leaned in for a kiss. He looked confused and slightly hurt, and she smiled to soften the rejection even as she chided herself. Get it together!

“I got us a car,” he said as she grabbed her clutch from the table. “I figured it’d be easier than trying to deal with a cab on Friday night. Especially when you’re wearing heels.”