“They are, believe me, and that’s why we need to be prepared if we want to fool them.”

“Okay, so what’s the story?”

“Let’s start easy. Our first date, how did it happen?”

“We met in a bar?”

“Nah, too prosaic. We should stick to reality as much as we can, like they teach in spy movies.”

“What’s your angle here? We can’t say you picked me off a catalog.”

My time to smirk. “Actually, we sort of can…”

“How?”

“You came to the agency for a casting, and that’s where we met.”

“And how did we move from the casting to the dating?”

“Ah, and the plot thickens… Any ideas?”

He frowns, concentrating. “You called me to say I had the job, and I told you I’d rather have a date.”

“That sounds farfetched.”

“Why?”

“Would you really have asked someone like me on a date?”

“And by ‘someone like you,’ you mean?”

“Someone who wouldn’t look at home in a bikini catalog,” I reply honestly.

He grimaces. “Ah, yes. Because we models can only date other models…”

“No, but…”

“But?”

“You’re good looking, you know?”

Diego nods, serious, not one bit mollified.

“Above-average good looking…” I insist.

He nods again.

“So, it’d make sense you’d want to date someone as gorgeous as you.”

“Why?”

“Because you can. Because why not?”

“Maybe because before I jump into bed with someone, I need a bit more of a connection. I’m not a horny teenager,” he says harshly.

“Sorry, did I offend you?”

“Not really, I have thick skin. But don’t assume I decide who to sleep with based only on how they look. Last time I slept with a woman only because she had a big rack, I was eighteen and in high school. So, when was the last time you slept with someone only because they had a nice ass?”

Totally against my will, an image of his perfectly round buns wrapped in white boxer briefs slips before my eyes. Those are buttocks that could definitely make me skip the need for an emotional connection.

I swallow, hoping I’m not blushing too hard. “I haven’t… I mean… not really.” At my visible embarrassment, his features soften a little. “Okay,” I concede. “You’ve made your point. I won’t make superficial assumptions about you from now on. Sorry.”

He finally smiles. “Apology accepted, boss.”

I try to bring the conversation back to its original track. “So, you asked me on a date. Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“What made you give up a job for me? If we tell that story, either my mom or my sister is going to ask why you were instantly smitten with me.”

“Why? They can’t accept a man could just ask you out?”

“We’re women, we need details.”

“Okay, I’ll have an answer for when they ask.”

“Can’t you share it with me first?”

“No,” he says, smirking. “It isn’t ready yet.”

I scowl at him.

“Don’t worry.” Diego leans forward in his chair. “I’ll come up with something cheesy enough to sate your mom and sister’s romance cravings.”