“Your business did. That’s—that’s what I mean.” The flare of bravery sputters out. What business do I have telling him that I came here to show him what he’s been missing out on all these years? What he’s been missing is nothing but an illusion. All of it is an illusion, including this...date. This dinner.  I plow ahead. “You’ve been coasting on the history of this place for way too long. It needs some flash, some flare....”

“Some Jenny London?”

That makes my stomach turn over, and not in a pleasant way. It’s true that they’re paying me a modest salary plus providing me with an employee bungalow at Bliss, but Connor’s bonuses are double that amount. I take another bite of salad and nod to keep myself from agreeing out loud.

“I don’t buy it.” Roman leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You don’t?”

“Not for an instant.”

“I’ll be stepping out for the main course,” the waiter says. That guy has all the cool in the room. He’s the one who should get a raise, not me. The door clicks shut behind him.

“What don’t you buy, exactly?” I’d never have challenged him before. Not in a million years.

Roman shakes his head from side to side. “You act so innocent that it’s almost believable.”

I look around, an exaggerated motion. “Am I in some mafia movie?”

He laughs, the sound low and rich. “I know why you came here.”

Roman drops this revelation with a quiet confidence. I might throw up. How does he know? How does he know? Even if he recorded every keystroke on my computer, he’d never find evidence of me communicating with Connor. He can’t see into my bank accounts. He can’t know that the plan is for me to bow out gracefully after a few weeks, take the money, and start over back in the city. He can’t. Right? I realize I’m clutching the cloth napkin into a tight little ball and release it back onto my lap.

“I’m here to be your social media manager.” My voice trembles on the word social, because of course it does. I can’t sit down for this. He seriously staged this dinner so he could fire me in the middle of it? What a cruel, unfeeling bastard. Even if I do deserve it. I stand up from the table and pace toward the balcony doors, pushing one open to feel the breeze. “And I’m doing a shoddy job. I didn’t even take any photos of the balcony. I should do that before the sun goes beneath the horizon, otherwise I’ll have missed a golden opportunity, pun not intended—”