Page 73 of Sixth Sin

“Ross Gregory,” he says, nodding at the maître d.

“Rosten’s going to be mad we didn’t talk to the press,” I whisper as we’re ushered to a private table near the back. At least he picked an upscale restaurant where, other than the occasional whisper, the clientele is unimpressed by our presence.

“Fuck Rosten,” Noah growls, pulling out my chair before taking his own seat.

Amalia is swanky. Dark and mysterious with crystal as far as the eye can see. Access is by reservation only, and if you’re not an A-lister, good luck. You’re more likely to acquire a day trip to the moon.

Everything is beautiful, from the ambiance to the view.

And I’m miserable.

Noah orders, waiting until the waiter disappears before letting out a soft chuckle. “What’s his name?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The guy who’s got you so twisted up.”

I blush and stare into my wine glass. “That obvious, huh?”

Grinning, he tips his wine glass toward me. “Doll, if you pined over him any harder, his name would be etched across your forehead.”

So much for being subtle. Groaning, I slump forward. “I’m sorry. I’m being a horrible date. Can we start over? I promise—”

His wine glass clinks onto the table. “Can we be completely honest with each other?” Noah’s voice takes on a serious note, and I immediately sit up. He’s no longer smiling. “I promise, you can trust me.”

“Sure.”

“You’re a really nice person, but I don’t think either of us are here because we want to be. Rosten yanked our strings, and we danced like marionettes.” He punctuates the image by moving his arms up and down like they’re bound by wire. “Am I right?”

I nod, letting out a sigh of relief.

“We both have someone else on our minds, so how about we call this what it is—two friends sharing a meal on a jackass’s dime.”

God, I could kiss him right now. “I’m good with that.”

With the tension gone, he lifts his wine glass again, his eyes crinkling as he takes a sip. “So, are you going to tell me his name?”

“Dominic.”

“Lucky guy.”

“What about you?” I ask, raising my own glass to my lips. “What’s her name?”

“Brent.”

Chardonnay shoots out of my mouth like a fortified geyser. Noah calmly dabs his suit with his linen napkin as if he didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb on me. “You’re gay?” I whisper, mouthing the word.

“Yes,” he mouths back. “There’s a secret club of us. I’d show you the handshake, but I’d have to kill you.”

Okay, I deserved that.

“But you’re Noah Braddock.”

“And?”

“America’s Heartthrob. Every woman’s fantasy. The oceans would rise with the salt of their tears if they knew.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s a little dramatic. Do you write greeting cards?”

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