Lander looks at me for a moment, his face washed of emotion. I can’t read him at all.

“Seriously,” I press. “I mean, what are the odds? I can’t believe—”

“No.”

He says the word so quietly I’m not sure I heard him correctly. The restaurant is bustling with laughter and chatter. “Did you say—”

“NO.”

Our appetizers come but neither of us reaches for our utensils as the food is placed in front of us. “No . . . what?”

“You can’t work for my brother.”

“Actually, I can.” I pause before deciding to throw on a carefree grin as if he hadn’t overstepped. “Although technically I’m working for Jessica.” I pick up my fork and stab my salad. “I’ll only be doing things for your brother when . . . well, when he needs me. I still can’t believe the guy’s your brother. Are you sure we’re talking about the same—”

“Don’t do this.”

“Lander, I was a personal assistant before I started working at Ivan’s. The bartending gig was really more of a holdover than anything else. This PA job is just perfect. And the pay—”

“Listen to me!” he snaps, stopping me short. The people at the next table send him a quick, curious glance before turning their attention back to their meals.

“Bell, you have to understand,” Lander continues. “My brother—” He pauses as he searches for the right word before finishing with “My brother is an asshole.”

I break into a fit of giggles, making a display of levity as I mentally parse out his reaction and comments. The sibling rivalry between Lander and his brother isn’t exactly a secret, but from all appearances it’s a friendly rivalry. In fact, my studies and observations had led me to believe that the two brothers had actually become closer over the last few years. I’m pretty sure that’s what everybody believes. But that’s apparently not the case. So perhaps the brotherly love is all just for show?

I let my laughter die down and take another forkful of salad.

“This isn’t a joke,” Lander presses.

“I can deal with your brother. I’ve always been skilled at managing men.”

“I didn’t say he’s a man. I said he’s an asshole.”

“There’s a difference?” I snap before I can stop myself, then grin teasingly to take away the impact.

“Bell, please don’t do this.”

I sit back and really study his face. He’s completely serious, but he doesn’t look angry . . .

. . . he looks worried.

Could he actually be worried about me?

“I need you to trust me,” I say. And in a way it’s true: I need him to trust me so I can betray him.

I stare down at my hands clutching the fork and knife.

This is the first time you’ve thought about what you’re doing in terms of betrayal.