“Then if this is the competition, you’ll crush it,” I reassure him.

Austin downs his drink and shoots me a look. “Now that business is out the way, you want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me rephrase, what’s going on with you… and Callie.”

I tense. “There is no me and Callie. We had a business arrangement and it went down in flames, end of story. You were there, she practically left a hole in the wall bolting.”

“And you haven’t heard from her?”

“Nope.”

“And you haven’t tried to talk to her?”

“Nope.” I glare, bracing myself for his motivational pep talk, but instead, Austin just shrugs.

“OK then. Because those two women over there are checking us out. Want to go say ‘hi’?”

I turn. Two gorgeous, willowy blondes are hanging out on the other side of the smoothie bar, sipping juices in their skin-tight yoga gear. One of them makes eye contact and flutters a wave. Austin smiles back, and they make their way over.

“I’m sorry, but do I recognize you?” one of them asks him with a faint European accent.

Austin’s smile grows. “The depends, do you like baseball?”

And he’s off, flirting up a storm the way he always does. I turn to the other woman, and make conversation, even though my heart’s not in it.

“You know, you look familiar, too,” she muses, propping her chin on her hand in an exaggerated pose. “I’ve seen you somewhere, I’m sure of it.”

“I get around,” I say, and she trills a laugh.

“Wait, I think you know my cousin, Georgia?”

“Oh. Yeah,” I say, “In Palm Beach, right?”

“Yes!” she lights up. “You’re the Dashford guy, oh my gosh, I went to a party at your grandmother’s place last year. It’s stunning.”

The mention of Zelda makes me wince with guilt. “She’s got great taste in designers,” I deadpan.

Another trill. “You are just so funny!” she says, pushing me lightly. “You’re the big-shot investment guy, I read an article about that start-up you’re running. They’re going through the roof. That’s amazing,”

“I don’t run anything,” I try to correct her. “I just sign the checks.”

“Don’t be modest,” she coos, and I find myself missing Callie more than ever. She never cooed at me once or batted her eyes like this. And I know, even a month ago I would have loved getting my ego stroked by this woman saying all the right things, but now?

I don’t feel anything.

“You should take me out for dinner,” the woman flirts, fixing me with a sultry look. “And tell me all about yourself. I hear Melissandre is great,” she adds, naming the hottest, priciest new restaurant in town. “I’ve been dying to get a table, but I’m guessing you can just make a call.”

I snort. “Not these days.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard?” I ask. “I’ve been cut off. No more fancy dinners for me. It’s hot-dogs from here on out.”