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With difficulty, I drag my attention from her mouth and put it back on my phone screen.

Nick

Always.

I know a place.

Sienna

People will take pictures of us.

“Harwood Heir Steps Out with Stunning Wife After Charity Gala”

“Steps Out for Fast Food”?

“Steps Out for the Best Burger Sienna Hayes Has Ever Eaten”

That does it. She grins, one hand reaching around her hip for her purse. I rap on the divider between the front and back seat with my knuckles.

“Yes?” our driver says.

“You can drop us off here. We’ll walk the rest of the way. Thanks, John.”

The car pulls to a stop on a secluded neighborhood street. I step out onto frosty asphalt, pulling my wool coat closed around me. Sienna does the same on her side. We stand, facing each other, as the car glides out from between us, disappearing around the corner.

We’re alone. Her dress and hair are magnificent in the light from the streetlamps above. She tugs her coat tighter around her shoulders, gathering the train of her gown so she doesn’t step on it. I rub my hands together, puffing steam into them.

Then, silently, I gesture up the street. She and I walk side-by-side toward the sounds of traffic a few blocks over.

Chapter 16

Nick

As we shed our coats in a circular booth at my favorite all-night burger joint, a tray with two cheeseburgers and a large fry in front of us, I can’t help but think this is the single best date I’ve ever been on.

It’s crazy, considering this isn’t a real date, it’s just begun, and Sienna and I haven’t said a single word to each other since we left the car.

The restaurant is mostly empty, just a few tables occupied near the window. Red light from the sign above the counter casts a warm sheen over Sienna’s skin, catching in her dark lashes. She gives me a wicked smile, waving a hand at the food, then fanning her fingers out from her lips in a “chef’s kiss” gesture.

I snort, replying with a grin. We’ve been interacting in silence since her text in the car, and I know it’s because an outing like this one is bending the rules of our contract. We shouldn’t be going off-book like this.

And yet, neither of us has said a word to stop it.

It doesn’t mean she’s into you, I tell myself as she picks up her burger, fingers sinking into the soft bun, and takes a bite. A drop of sauce specks the corner of her mouth. I should avert my eyes, but I don’t. I track the movement of her tongue as she swipes it away.

Sienna sighs, the set of her lips softening as she chews. It’s the sameexpression she made when she tried the coq a vin the night this all started: subtle rapture, sensual pleasure, the kind of appreciation for food I know well.

I’m staring. I know I’m staring. I can’t seem to stop.

She swallows, wiping her hands on a napkin. Then she smirks at me and brings out her phone.

Sienna

This is so fucking good.

I laugh, clumsily unwrapping my own burger. Eating burgers and texting the most intimidating woman alive from across a table wasn’t on my yearly bingo card, but here I am.

At the other end of the restaurant, the cook slaps a service bell and calls out, “Order up!” I watch as a man and woman, holding hands, go to retrieve their fries. They haven’t seen us, or if they have, they don’t know who I am.