I inhale. Looking down at me from behind those thick eyelashes, lips pouting in sincerity, Dash looks disarmingly innocent.

Except if the last five minutes have taught me anything, it’s that he could give that actress a run for her Emmy.

“Works for me,” I shrug, like I’m not ruffled. “So long as I get my investment money.”

By the time we board, I’ve sworn to myself not to get overwhelmed by anything else on this trip. After all, it’s not like I’m some wide-eyed innocent. I’m a grown woman who’s lived in New York, I can take wild propositions and handsome men in stride.

But I have to admit, it’s hard not to squeal over the first-class cabin. Leather seats that recline all the way, enough leg room for an NBA star. No worrying about manspreading or fighting over the arm rests. I’m not about to protest this tiny bit of luxury.

Like a gentleman, Dash takes my bag and swings it up in the overhead bin. His shirt rides up, revealing a tanned strip of stomach, and a trail of golden hairs snaking down to—

I avert my eyes. Focus. And not on his delicious abs.

I clear my throat and get settled in the window seat, whipping out my trusty notebook and pen. “OK,” I say firmly, keeping my mind—and eyes—fixed on the prize. “What’s the lowdown?”

“On what?” Dash asks, sprawling in the seat beside me.

“On your family. I’ll need you to give me the whole story on Zelda, Palm Beach, your life… Anything and everything a real girlfriend should know.”

He laughs, and I’d be lying if I claimed the sound didn’t make my skin tingle. Just more proof that there’s really no justice in this world. If there were, a man as rich and hot as Dash would have a braying laugh that reminded people of a donkey.

His looks back at me. “Oh, wait. You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” I say, getting annoyed. “I need this plan of yours to work. Some of us aren’t born with a gilded spoon shoved up our… noses. I have a lot on the line here, and I’d appreciate it if you’d cooperate.”

“Right. Sorry.” He smirks. “My beautiful, scrumptious faux girlfriend, please, ask whatever questions your delightful little heart desires.”

I huff but find that it’s near impossible to stay irritated with Dash for long.

Too bad. That would make this trip a whole lot easier.

“What’s to know?” Dash says with a casual shrug.

“Why your grandmother has such a hold over you, for a start,” I comment. “Can’t your parents deal with it?”

“They would,” Dash nods, “If they were still with us.”

With us? I turn with an inquisitive look. He can’t mean…?

“They passed,” he explains, his tone so light you would think we were still discussing that threesome. “Boating accident. I was fifteen. Zelda…”

“Oh.” I blink, my mind racing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“How could you?” Dash gives another easy shrug. “I don’t really talk about it. But it’s probably something my super-fake girlfriend would know. So…”