Micah shook his head in disbelief. “You’re an escort’s wet dream. You could get on your phone right now and hire one. There are probably thousands in New York alone, and I can guarantee you that every last one of them would be more professional than me.”

“I don’t want them. I want you.”

Mica’s mouth felt suddenly too dry, and he fought to swallow. “I don’t understand,” he said honestly. “You’re hellbent on paying me to… what, exactly? Hang on your arm at fancy corporate banquets?”

“Making an appearance at work events would be a requirement, yes. So would attendance at family dinners, and pretty much any public event where I would have need of a date.” He paused, before hesitantly adding, “Spending time together in private will be necessary as well – at least in the beginning, so we can get to know each other enough to make this look convincing.”

Micah should have said “no” immediately; he shouldn’t have asked questions or let the man explain.

In fact, he shouldn’t have even sat down to eat the man’s stupidly delicious crepes. As soon as he’d seen Damon, Micah should have apologized for his behavior the night before and explained that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t actually a prostitute.

Damon probably would have called him an Uber and sent him on his merry way. In all likelihood, Micah would have never seen the man again.

But he didn’t want that.

So, Micah had selfishly sat down and eaten the damn crepes.

And now, here he was, so desperate for an excuse to see Damon again that he was seriously contemplating moonlighting as a frickin’ escort.

“I… thanks for the job offer, I guess, but I’ll have to pass.”

It wasn’t even the fact that he was secretly a police detective that held Micah back. It was because it was obvious that Damon wanted this to be purely a business arrangement – a monetary transaction, a no-feelings-attached sort of deal. And Micah knew himself well enough to know that he’d be leaking feelings by the end of this thing if he agreed.

Damon didn’t outwardly show his surprise at Micah’s refusal, but he could tell the man was displeased. “It’s bad form to reject a man before even seeing his offer,” he said before abruptly standing. He stalked across the kitchen, where he rifled through a drawer and retrieved a pen and some scrap paper. He wrote something down on the piece of paper before folding it and sliding it across the kitchen island to Micah.

“What’s this?” he asked hesitantly.

“A number.”

Micah frowned. He had seen stuff like this in movies before, but didn’t think it was something people did in real life. Nevertheless, he carefully unfolded the piece of paper… and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw what the man had written down. He immediately slapped a hand over the ridiculous number. “I think you accidently added an extra zero,” he squeaked out.