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It was the woman sitting across from me at the table who made me vaguely but insistently wish I had never been born. How much longer was I supposed to put up with any of this? Playing along, stalling for time, meeting with financial planners to see if there was any chance of finding a way out of this without having to do the unthinkable and marry the beautiful, brainless woman in front of me. I had considered selling my penthouse, my car, more of the artwork, and even some of Mom’s jewelry. It only seemed right since she had gotten us into this.

Not that it would be nearly enough.

Maybe I wasn’t being fair. Maybe there was a brain in her head, though I had to question its presence, considering she was willing to marry a stranger. And for what? I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why would she go through with this?

And why the hell didn’t I have the balls to ask? If I asked, it would be the same as acknowledging any of this was happening, and I refused to. I would not allow it. Not even if it meant saving the company.

Not when there was someone I genuinely wanted.

It didn’t matter how I tried to push Winter out of my thoughts or how hard I fought against the way she made me need her. I had been successful, too, fighting the soul-searing desire she stirred to life until the kiss I should never have initiated. There was too much riding on our success to wind up getting caught with our tongues shoved down each other’s throats in the dressing room. It was bad enough I’d developed a reputation in the past for screwing around with willing cast members. All I needed was rumors spreading that I had only purchased the rights so I could get into the choreographer’s pants.

The week that had passed since then hadn’t brought any further temptations. We were both busy, not to mention the way she avoided me whenever possible, only speaking directly to me when we were talking business. Nothing personal. It was safer to keep each other at a distance.

Because the closer she came, the more I wanted her.

“I’m so glad to have a chance to eat here.” As always, Isobel was all bright eyes and wide smiles, her breathy voice making my skin crawl. There was something artificial about her, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but years spent being raised by the most artificial woman in existence gave me a sharpened instinct.

Maybe that was what set my teeth on edge, how much she reminded me of my mother in so many small ways. There was a reason they got along as well as they did, at least on the surface.

“I guess it hadn’t opened yet before you went to New York?” Nobody could say I wasn’t trying to at least keep the conversation moving. I might have had less than no respect for her, knowing she was part of this farce, but then I was part of it, too, begrudgingly or not.

“It might have, but it wasn’t on my radar at the time.” She swirled her merlot slowly, picking at a piece of bruschetta with the other hand. “My dad tried to convince Sebastian Kennedy to open a location in his hotel, but Sebastian declined.”

I remembered that, and Christian Lawrence had refused to take no for an answer for a long time. Eventually, Sebastian had pretty much told him to fuck off. The memory made me grin in satisfaction. “He was already so busy here.” And your dad is an ignorant blowhard who isn’t used to being refused. No wonder he and Mom were friends.

“Speak of the devil.” She sat up a little straighter, her glossy lips stretching in a smile. How bizarre, watching that change come over her. She was performing. I’d spent a lot of time with performers, too, so I recognized it on the spot. “Mr. Kennedy. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She extended a hand before Sebastian had a chance to get a word in. He had hardly reached the table.

“Sebastian, please. You must be Isobel Lawrence.” He clasped her hand warmly, giving it what looked like a firm shake. “Jackson told me he was bringing you in for dinner with us tonight. Sorry you have to make the sacrifice of dining with him, but at least you won’t be sorry once your entrées arrive.”

Even her laughter was familiar. It was almost musical, like the tinkling of bells, but it never reached her eyes. “I bet you’re a couple of naughty boys when you get together, aren’t you?” she asked, giggling.

“Only slightly naughty.” Claudia Granger joined us, sliding an arm around Sebastian’s waist before shaking Isobel’s hand. “I keep him in line. Though I can’t speak for Jackson,” she added, winking at me.

For the first time since the two of them got together, I found myself wondering why I couldn’t find a woman like her. Where the hell did that come from? That kind of thing was for other people, not for me, but apparently something had changed. All it took was the presence of a beautiful, empty woman I would’ve happily forgotten to show me the importance of having the right person in my life.

“We have something special for you,” Sebastian promised, patting my shoulder before he and Claudia moved onto another table, greeting the guests warmly. What a shame they couldn’t sit down with us to take some of the pressure off me, but some favors were too much to ask.

The heavenly aromas of garlic, onion, and Sebastian’s famous meatballs weren’t enough to stir my appetite, but I dug in once the handmade ravioli and meat sauce arrived. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could get the hell out of here. I was a producer. I wasn’t an actor. It was only so long I’d be able to keep up the pretense of feeling pleasant. Wasn’t it enough that I had extended an invitation to get together one-on-one?

Apparently not. “You seem distracted. Are you sure this was a good night to get together?” Isobel murmured when I was halfway through my dinner. Instead of sounding sympathetic or concerned, she was more exasperated than anything else. “No offense, but I did cancel other plans to have dinner with you tonight.”

If anything, her sudden change in tone came as a relief. She had opened the door a crack, and I intended to kick it wide open. “Now that you mention it, I am very distracted by the show.” Setting down my cutlery, I dabbed at my mouth with my napkin. “But since it seems so important to my mother that we get together, I thought I would at least take you to dinner to get your opinion on the situation we’re in.”

She pushed her plate away in favor of folding her arms on the table. I noticed she hadn’t eaten that much. What a waste. I was ready to clean her plate for her, and I didn’t have an appetite when we first sat down. “Finally. I’ve been waiting all night. Now, maybe you won’t look so much like you just swallowed something sour.”

“Is that how I looked?”

Apparently, my soft, self-deprecating laughter hit her the wrong way since a scowl flashed across her face. For a second, I could see the woman she would become one day. Easily disappointed, impossible to please, with a sense of humor about as dry as sandpaper. “I’m glad you think it’s funny, but there are plenty of men in this town who would be happy to sit across the table from me.”

She was serious too. Maybe the three scotches I’d had were one too many since I couldn’t get a handle on her attitude. “With all due respect, why aren’t you with one of them?”

“Because you happen to be the man my father thinks I should marry.”

Now that it was out there, I couldn’t help but jump at the chance to get answers. “Why? I know why my mom wants us to walk down the aisle. Why does he?”

She lifted a shoulder, sighing, and for the first time, it occurred to me she might be trapped along with me. “Because you have the kind of legacy he wants me to marry into. I mean, come on. Your grandfather was friends with the Rat Pack. Your name carries a history in this town. You have potential.”

Her gaze drifted downward until those emerald eyes stared into the candle’s dancing flame in the center of the table. “And up until this point in my life, that’s not something that could be said for the men I’ve dated. Because personally, I don’t give a shit about history and potential. But if I want access to my trust when I turn twenty-eight, I need to be married to the right kind of man. Hey, presto, that’s you.”