She and Clarke may not be actually engaged, or even on speaking terms, but she was still wearing his ring.

But, to give herself credit, it was hard not to be at least a little bit dazzled to be talking to the Jarod Lanham. Growing up on the Upper East Side, Audrey was no stranger to extreme wealth, her own family included, but this man was on another level entirely. Self-made and richer than Audrey’s and Clarke’s families combined, Jarod was a bit of a legend in Manhattan social circles, especially since he had homes all over the world and spent a limited amount of time in the city.

Despite being frequently photographed with gorgeous models and actresses, generally on a yacht or in glamorous mansions in Monaco, the man was famously elusive when it came to relationships. It was also hard to miss that he was better looking in person than he was on the magazine covers. In pictures, he was attractive enough, but in a generic stock-photo-of-a-businessman kind of way. In person, he had a sort of raw masculinity beneath all the polish. And then, of course, there was that smile…

Realizing she was staring, Audrey felt herself blush and glanced down at her book, just as a waiter came over to ask if Jarod wanted anything to drink.

“I’ll have an Irish coffee, extra hot, light on the whipped cream.”

The server nodded, then turned to Audrey, who looked down at her empty hot chocolate mug and figured what the hell. “Same. Though don’t you dare go light on the whip.”

Jarod surprised her by closing his laptop once the waiter left, even though he couldn’t have possibly done any work in the two minutes it had been open. “You left me hanging.”

“What?”

Another smile. “When someone introduces himself, it’s customary for the other to do the same.”

“Ah,” she said with a laugh. “Forgive me, I was dazzled by your celebrity status.”

“It happens.” He winked.

Audrey smiled and extended her hand. “Audrey Tate.”

They shook hands for a second time, and Audrey was a little surprised to realize that despite his attractiveness and appealing charm, she didn’t feel it. There was no electric current when their palms touched, no butterflies beyond the slight excitement of meeting someone who’d graced the cover of People.

“So, who is Audrey Tate, other than a ski-indifferent whipped cream enthusiast? I’m guessing… a New Yorker.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“You’ve got the look.” The admiring glint in his gaze told her it was a look he approved of, though she appreciated that his flirting felt harmless rather than propositioning. After Brayden, she was extra appreciative of a man who respected a ring on the left hand.

“Manhattan, born and raised. And actually, it’s my job to have the look.”

“Model?”

“Flattering, but not exactly. Instagram influencer.”