She kind of arched toward him, but he stayed straight and glanced to the right as if distracted by something else. A sports reporter by trade, the curvy brunette was a beautiful woman. She’d also worked her way through most of the other single men in the squad. Danny had never been attracted to her, but having sown his own wild oats, he wasn’t about to judge her for her exploits.

He did judge her for being a snake.

Because he was certain that Mara was here to stir the pot. He’d seen her work the same “oh, I just wanted to say hi” shtick on a happily married friend. The poor guy had ended up with a furious wife and no idea that Mara had been hitting on him. It was the latter that had saved him—he’d been so clueless that his wife had accepted he’d done nothing to attract the attention.

And while Danny and Catie might be faking their relationship—and shit, it was starting to hurt inside to think that—he wouldn’t disrespect her by allowing Mara to play bitchy games. Especially since Mara probably had a plant in the crowd armed with a camera. Next thing he knew, she’d feed one of her entertainment friends an exclusive about how there was “trouble in paradise” or other similar stupidity.

An arm twining with his, a familiar body leaning into his, Catie’s hand rising to pet his biceps.

“Mara,” Catie said with a smile so genuine it could melt butter and give a church sermon.

Demon child.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed avant-garde plays,” Catie continued. “Aren’t you so looking forward to seeing how Leon explores the twin motifs of loss and belonging?” A glance up at a worshipful Leon.

Mara gave a thin-lipped smile. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the media material,” she answered. “Decided to accept the invitation at the last minute.”

Like when she’d discovered that Danny was going to be in attendance, Catie thought with an inward bite of sarcasm. Worst of it was that Mara was an excellent sports reporter and Catie had been inclined to like her—until she’d seen the predator hidden behind the silky hair, spectacular boobs, and makeup so on point that it made Catie want to grit her teeth.

It should be a rule that shit-stirrers were bad at makeup.

Thank the universe that Danny seemed too smart to fall for her. From what Catie had heard in sporting circles, Mara was on the hunt for her final conquest.

“I’m getting on in age, darling,” she’d said to a friend of hers while touching up her lipstick in the mirror of a hotel bathroom. One of Catie’s running partners had been at the same event—and in a stall at the time—and had eavesdropped without shame.