Page 41 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Forrest

Celeste’s yacht dwarfs every other vessel in the marina—a gleaming display of wealth stretching nearly two hundred feet. From the upper deck, I watch the sunset light up the Manhattan skyline, as I try to shake the knot in my gut.

“You’re brooding,” Celeste observes, handing me a champagne flute. “Not a good look for your big night.”

“My big night?” I ask. “I told you this was all for another client.”

She gives me a knowing look. “Ah, so we’re still stuck on that narrative.”

I haven’t seen Sora properly in three days.

After what happened at the brownstone—after I tasted her, made her come apart under my tongue—she retreated behind a wall of distance.

We finished painting Dakota’s room in silence, ate DoorDashed burgers, without talking about anything real.

We plunged into the deep end, then Sora resurfaced, sputtering and gasping, and apparently promising never to get too close to me again.

Sora’s been strategically avoiding me while she can. Dakota and I move into the brownstone this weekend. I wanted to break the ice with Sora before we went from uncomfortable friends to uncomfortable roommates. So, I planned and invited her on our first role-play date—the billionaire experience.

I can’t stop thinking about what might’ve set her off. I thought I had her. The way she trembled, those soft sounds she made, the vulnerability in her eyes. But then she followed up the affair with her question about how much I’d charge for what we’d done…

I know something triggered her.

And her question stung more than I want to admit.

“Earth to Forrest,” Celeste says, snapping her fingers. “You’re gone again.”

“Sorry.” I sip the champagne, bubbles sharp on my tongue. Gross. It was supposed to be a prop in my hand as I wait for Sora to arrive, yet I keep absentmindedly sipping it. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” Celeste’s lips curve knowingly.

“What if I admit I’m in uncharted territories?” I ask.

“Then you’d finally clue in to what the rest of us have,” she answers. “But I don’t really see the problem.” She straightens my jacket collar, her touch efficient rather than intimate.

I shrug, scanning the horizon. “Question for you—could you ever love an escort? Accept his past, embrace his future.”

Celeste’s silence says it all.

“Exactly,” I add bitterly. “Disregarding how I feel, is this a safe game to play? What if I do my job too well?” I had to fill Celeste in on the ruse I’ve cooked up for Sora, and my plight to help her career, when I asked for her help.

Short of buying a big-five publisher herself and putting Sora on shelves, Celeste eagerly pulled out all the stops for this evening.

“Meaning she falls for an act and not the real you?”

“Possibly. I act so much, I don’t ever remember the real me.”

She studies me, head tilted. “I went out on a date with this cute younger guy, all innocent of course, and you know what he told me?”

I know damn well she’s talking about me. It’s why Celeste still hires me to escort her to events—she doesn’t want to date right now. I doubt another suitor has miraculously appeared in the past couple weeks. “What’d he say?”

“It’s never too late to start over…rewrite your story. If you’re tired of the act, maybe it’s time to make a change. Leave the business. You know you’d have Rina’s full support.” Sometimes I forget Celeste is dear friends with my boss.

“Using my words against me,” I muse.

“ Inspiring you with your own words. What’s your hesitance?” Celeste asks. “You’ll miss the thrill of all the different women?”

“Not remotely,” I quickly answer. “I’ll miss the guaranteed paycheck.

There’s nothing else I can do that makes this amount of money, this quickly, without requiring me to put my degree to use.

” Not to mention, if I so much as upload a résumé to Indeed, Sean and his firm would cook me like a sunburn.

They won’t let me take any type of corporate job until their debt is repaid.

“There are more important things than money,” Celeste intones, surveying her luxurious yacht. “All this, and do you think I’m happy?”

“Dakota needs me to have a solid income and flexible schedule. Escorting just makes sense for now.”

“But does it?”

The question hangs between us. Before I can answer, a sleek town car pulls up to the marina entrance. Through the lightly tinted windows, I catch a glimpse of long, dark hair.

“She’s here,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry.

Celeste follows my gaze. “Then that’s my cue to disappear. The chef, servers, and captain all know the plan.” She presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Maybe tonight, try to be yourself.”

“Dressed like this?” I ask, touching the lapels on my tux.

“You’re in a tux these days more often than not. Maybe this is the new you.”

I roll my eyes. “Thank you for this.” I mean it. “I owe you.”

“Consider us even if this actually works out.” She winks and unburdens me of my champagne flute before she heads for the gangway.

As Celeste leaves, I watch Sora step out of the car.

She pauses, looking up at the yacht with uncertainty and awe.

The dress she wears—the same one I tore at the wedding, now perfectly restored by Celeste’s team—hugs her curves in all the right ways.

The pink fabric, veiled in black tulle, catches the fading light, making her glow against the darkening sky.

For a moment, I pretend this isn’t an arrangement or research or whatever we’ve been telling ourselves. Right now, she’s just a woman I adore, and this is just a date I’ve been looking forward to.

“Permission to come aboard?” Sora calls up, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. “Do people still say that?”

“No,” I call back, before I hustle down the stairs to meet her. Once we’re close, I extend my arm, cradling her hand with mine. I press my lips to the back of her hand. “But permission granted. You look like royalty.”

Her fingers feel cool in mine, her grip light. Up close, I notice the nervous pulse at her throat, the careful makeup, the slight tremor in her smile. “Thank you. Perfect compliment, sir.” She gestures at the yacht around us. “This is…a lot.”

“Too much?” I ask, suddenly unsure. Maybe this was overkill. Maybe a quiet dinner somewhere would’ve been better. “Isn’t over the top right on the nose for a billionaire romance?”

Her smile relaxes into genuine. “It’s magnificent. Just unexpected. When you said we were going to research the billionaire trope, I thought we’d have to use our imaginations. But this feels…quite real.”

“Go big or go home,” I quip, trying to mask my nerves. “Daphne mentioned you’ve dabbled in billionaire romances. Does this match up to your vision?”

“Far exceeds,” she answers softly.

A server approaches with champagne. I take two glasses, hand one to Sora, then dismiss him with a curt nod—channeling the impatient billionaire I’m supposed to be portraying.

“Thank you so much,” Sora calls after him, her sweet, innocent etiquette unsuppressable. She turns to me, her lips morphing into a giddy-like smile. “Butlered champagne? Nice touch.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” I offer my arm, which she takes after a brief pause. “Welcome aboard Artemis . For the next four hours, she’s all ours.”

Sora’s eyes widen as we walk through the main salon. Mahogany walls gleam around us, custom furniture arranged perfectly. The chef and his team work silently in the galley, prepping our dinner. A string quartet plays in the corner—according to Celeste, an essential addition to the evening.

“This is incredible,” Sora says, running her fingers along the polished bar. “How did you arrange all this?”

“I have my resources,” I reply, deliberately vague. The powerful billionaire wouldn’t explain himself.

We settle at a table on the aft deck, the Manhattan skyline providing a perfect backdrop as we cast off. The server presents our first course—tuna tartare with avocado mousse.

“To research,” I say, raising my glass. “And new experiences.”

Sora clinks her glass against mine, eyes never leaving my face. “To research,” she echoes, though her tone suggests she’s not fully buying my explanation.

As we work through the incredible courses—lobster with black truffle, wagyu beef with foie gras, a palate-cleansing sorbet—I settle into my role. I give the staff curt instructions, make decisive wine selections, and generally act like a man used to getting whatever he wants.

“You’re good at this,” Sora notes as they clear our main course. “Almost too good. Are you keeping secrets from me, Forrest?”

“Perhaps,” I say, replacing the small sip of wine she took. I made a note to keep her glass full all night out of chivalry, but she’s barely touched it.

“So, the commanding presence, the subtle arrogance. You’ve done your homework. Did you binge-read about a dozen romance books over the past couple days?”

“Google,” I admit. “But this isn’t so different from what I do with clients. I just dial up certain parts of myself and dial down others.”

“Which parts are you dialing up tonight?”

I watch the candlelight play across her face. “Control. Power. The illusion that I can have anything I want.” My eyes rake across her bare collarbones. “Which is most definitely not true.”

“I never understood that fantasy,” she muses softly. “Women wanting a man to hand them the world.”

“What appeals to you?”

She smiles sheepishly. “Taking the world for myself. Hanging my own moon. Being an important part of a team.”

“I like that,” I acknowledge before dropping my voice to a whisper. “But that’s not what we’re doing here tonight. You’re supposed to feel like Cinderella. Special. Singled out and chosen by the prince who will keep your fine ass in Valentino and Louboutins until the day you die.”

Something flickers in her eyes—recognition, maybe. “Is that Hannah’s fantasy?”