"What don't you get?"
He was still focused on the road, and I gave his profile a good, long look. He was beyond gorgeous and obviously rich. On top of that, he didn't look much older than I was. If I had to guess, I'd put his age at no older than thirty.
What was he? A trust fund baby or something?
When it came to female attention, he wouldn't need anyone to pretend anything. Probably girls would payhim, and not only with money.
I asked, "What's the catch?"
"It's complicated."
Yes.It definitely was – as I soon discovered for myself.
Chapter 8
The music was loud and jazzy, like something out of the 1920s. Around us, the place was jam-packed with expensive looking people. Some appeared to be around my own age while the vast majority looked at least a decade or two older.
Even before we walked in through the ornate front door, Jax had wrapped a protective arm around my waist and was now guiding us through the mass of society-types who were drinking and talking.
The whole scene was entirely surreal. Nearly all of the men wore tuxes, while the women wore a stunning array of cocktail dresses – some long, some short, but all fabulous in their own way.
I glanced down at my own outfit – the burgundy cocktail dress that I'd refused to give up. Thank goodness I had, or I'd be feeling seriously outclassed right about now.
I gave a silent scoff. Who was I kidding? Istillfelt outclassed. I was a fake girlfriend in a borrowed dress. Isodidn't belong here, and stupid or not, I couldn't help but wonder if everyone knew.
As if reading my mind, Jax said in a low voice, "Hey, you're my girlfriend, remember?"
I tried to laugh. "So?"
"So if anyone gives you grief, I'll toss 'em out on their ass."
I gave him a sideways glance. "You wouldn’t really."
"Hell, I'd have to."
"Oh yeah?" I couldn’t help but smile. "Why?"
"Matter of honor." He gave me a sly wink. "Can't let them think I'm a pussy."
He was either joking or crazy. Aside from his impressive physique, there was something about the way he moved – so cocky and sure – that practically screamed he was no pushover.
And heaven help me, I liked it.
Around us, everyone seemed to know him. As we waded through the crowd, he exchanged quick greetings with at least a dozen people, all without stopping for anything resembling an actual conversation.
That was fine by me. I was so blown away by the mansion itself that I was nearly speechless. The place was three stories tall with big, elaborate windows and lights glittering from nearly every room.
Even before we'd entered, I'd realized that this wasn't your average house – and not only because of its size and beach-front location. Outside, uniformed parking attendants had been waiting to whisk away the car. To where, I had no idea. I didn't ask, and neither did my pretend boyfriend.
Instead, he'd led us straight into the mansion like he knew exactly where he was going. Once inside, we'd been greeted by a butler who surely would've taken our coats, if only we'd been wearing any.
But we weren't, and we had nothing to hand over. I didn't even have a purse, which meant that Jax was carrying my wallet and cell phone inside the front pocket of his pants.
As we moved, I gave him yet another sideways glance. WheneverItucked several things into a single pocket, I looked lumpy and awkward.
Buthedidn't. No. He looked like a movie star or secret agent, all smooth and tailored in spite of a car crash, a fist fightanda pocketful of things that weren't his own.
How was this even possible?
