MUSE had to give it to Julien Vitale: He made it to appetizers before unleashing his first snide comment.

Drinks had already been served. Bourbon for Julien and Grey, a Shirley Temple for Adrien, and water for Muse. She hadn't expected the waiter to return so swiftly, and she'd had no idea what to order, so after Adrien had listed off three courses (three, Lord, it was going to be a long night), Muse had said, "I'll have what she's having."

This had merited a narrowed glare from Julien. Grey Hansen, for his part, just sipped his bourbon. He seemed completely amiable so far. He had auburn hair, swept back like some rugged movie star, and a five o'clock shadow on his square jawline. He had black eyes, but not like Adrien's―his were dark as an oil spill.

If Muse was a different woman, she might have found him charming. Him and Julien had already been seated when her and Adrien had arrived. But he'd stood up, air-kissed her hand, and greeted her like an old friend. His eyes hadn't even dipped towards the low neckline of her dress.

He seemed respectful.

But Muse couldn't shake it. Across the table, when they made brief, friendly eye contact, she felt something was off. Something in those black eyes was missing.

His demeanor was amiable now, yes. But she wondered how fast that could change.

The bruschetta―slices of Italian bread laden with diced tomatoes and cheese―was now set down by their waiter. Julien, across from Adrien, surveyed the platter. Then his eyes drifted to Muse, and his lip curled.

Muse had been insulted before. She'd been degraded. When men didn't have to be nice to women, they weren't. Simple. So when Adrien's father opened his mouth, Muse figured, Hey, there's nothing I haven't heard before.

"It's like straight out of that Hollywood movie," said Julien. "You know, that one with the successful guy and the trashy whore who uses him. What was it called? Pretty Woman?"

It was obvious, in this scenario, that Adrien was the successful guy and Muse was the trashy whore.

"Oh, come on, Father." Adrien's voice, though teasing, was strained. "No need to call me a trashy whore at the dinner table."

Grey laughed. Julien's jaw clenched.

Trashy whore wasn't really so bad. But he'd said the trashy whore who uses him. Nobody had ever insinuated Muse was a gold-digger before. There'd been no reason for it, because it wasn't like Muse had ever spent her time hanging around billionaires. And she'd always been adamant about not owing anyone anything―hell, she'd ripped up Adrien's thousand-dollar cheque into tiny little pieces.

Already, Muse could feel her cheeks getting red. She couldn't tell if she was furious or embarrassed.

Beneath the table, Adrien lightly tapped Muse's knee. A quick apology on behalf of her father, maybe.

The comment shouldn't have stung so much. But Muse had just realized that, when the marriage did happen, people would be thinking it.

A billionaire and a waitress.

Muse couldn't decide if it was better or worse that the marriage really was only for money.

"Nobody cares about that sort of thing nowadays, anyway," said Grey.

The attention of everyone at the table snapped to him.

"My wife," he continued, "comes from humble roots, too. If anything, it's given me more perspective on how the other half lives."

Muse had to touch her face to make sure her jaw hadn't dropped. Humble roots? The other half?

Julien cleared his throat. Another subject change. "Will you be signing a prenuptial agreement, Adrien?"

"Yes, Father. Bailey is already drafting one. We'll sign it before the wedding."

Personally, Muse was still stuck on the other half. Did these people not realize they were in the top one percent of financial wealth? Just because their inner circles were people just as filthy rich didn't mean everybody else lived this way. Christ.

Muse hadn't touched a bite of the bruschetta when the first course arrived.

The soup looked good, brimming with vegetables and flakes of red pepper, but she suddenly needed a break.

"Do you mind if I excuse myself to the bathroom?" she said, not really waiting for an answer. The diamond engagement ring suddenly felt leaden on her hand.

Grey and Julien looked too immersed in their soup to care, but Adrien stood with her and said, "I'm coming with you."

The bathroom was every bit as fancy as the rest of the restaurant. Water from the sinks slipped down like a waterfall. Vines hung from the ceiling.

Muse locked herself into a stall, hands shaking.

A memory of her mom flashed in front of her eyes.

Muse had been in her room, twelve years old. Her mother had gently opened the door, peeking her head in.

"Your brother wants ice cream. Want to come with us?"

"No, I'm full," Muse had said.

She remembered the look on her mother's face. A little disappointed, but still smiling. "Well, you have five minutes to change your mind while Dad finds his car keys . . ."

Muse hadn't changed her mind in five minutes.

She wished she had. She was glad she hadn't. The guilt warred within her, always.

A knock on the bathroom stall. "Muse, are you okay?"

Muse touched her face and her fingertips came away wet. Quickly, she balled up some toilet paper, dabbed her cheeks, and flushed it.

"I'm fine," she said, unlocking the stall. She washed her hands even though all she'd done was cry.

"Is this about my dad and Grey?"

No, but yes. Yes and no. God, Muse felt like a mess. She was in over her head.

"Because I don't think the way they do," Adrien added. "I don't agree with the things they say. At all. Like that comment about Grey's wife having humble roots. He's an asshole for that."

"Yeah."

"And my father. Well. The comment about Pretty Woman."

"I should've been prepared to hear stuff like that. People will assume I'm using you."

The bathroom was empty. Muse met Adrien's eyes in the mirror and, neither of them looking away from their reflections, Adrien gently tilted up Muse's face to hers.

Close enough to kiss.

"You are using me. But I'm using you, too. That's kind of the nature of a deal."

Muse did her best not to look at Adrien's lips as she whispered, "Your dad hates me."

"He hates everyone because he hates himself."

"He really hates me, though. I see it when he looks at me. Like a cockroach. I'm not sure it's even just because of that fondue disaster."

"He looks at me like that too, some days," said Adrien. "I'll never be his equal. It's the opinions of men like Grey, men equally as horrible and handsome and wealthy, that he admires."

"That sounds . . . vaguely homoerotic."

A laugh slipped out of Adrien, and then Muse couldn't help it: she was laughing, too. Their faces, so close Muse could taste the warm peppermint of Adrien's breath, bumped together. Their lips―accidentally―touched. Only for a millisecond, not long enough to count as a kiss.

But that touch alone . . . it was electric for Muse. Almost immediately, she craved the feeling of being kissed for real.

Fuck another woman for all I care, Muse had said.

She wanted to take it back. She wanted to take it back so fucking badly. Instead, she said, "We should go finish dinner. There's still two more courses."

"And dessert." Adrien seemed to have no reaction to the almost-kiss.

"And dessert," Muse agreed, wondering if that almost, not-quite, barely-there kiss hadn't elicited the same desire in Adrien that Muse now felt simmering beneath her skin.

It's just a deal. It's just a contract on paper.

Adrien was a player. A womanizer. A heartbreaker. Muse had to keep herself in check. Even if it was going to be harder than she expected.

***

DESSERT was a fever dream. It couldn't be real. On Muse's plate, a single dollop of custard graced the center, along with a speckle of hazel powder and a drizzle of red syrup. And the leaf. She couldn't forget the leaf.

It took everything in her not to stare, bewildered, while Grey and Julien eagerly took up their forks and began to eat.

In a single bite, Julien was pretty much done.

"How filling," he said, licking the last of whatever was on that fork with the tip of his tongue.

Rich people could not be serious.

Muse glanced at Adrien, who hadn't touched the dessert either. Adrien, under her breath, said, "It's snail."

Grey dipped the prongs of his fork into the custard impostor and scooped up a snowflake-sized amount, only to spend thirty seconds sucking it before pronouncing, "It's delicious."

Once the entire dinner was over, and the chef had personally thanked them for trying his new concoction, Muse found herself outside the restaurant with Julien. Alone. She had a feeling this had been planned, because Grey had insisted on asking Adrien for business advice inside the restaurant at the last possible second.

"So, you and my daughter."

Muse shifted from foot to foot, trying not to shiver in her dress. "Yeah, we're . . ."

"I would like to offer you a job."

A job? He had been the one to blacklist her from every single restaurant chain in New York City, and he wanted to give her a job now?

"I like where I'm working, but thank you."

"It's not suitable for the wife of a CEO to have such a demeaning job. It sends a message. You need respectable employment. If not, it is also acceptable for you to be a housewife."

He had so much audacity Muse was in awe. She needed to borrow some of that.

She opened her mouth to protest, but Julien cut her off.

"Alas, you're not married yet. No need to rush into things. But I expect you will make the right decision soon." He glanced up at the same time as Muse, and they both saw Grey and Adrien inside the restaurant. Adrien had begun speedwalking towards the exit. Julien must have realized his time with Muse was running out, because he added, "I expect you will also give up that apartment of yours and move in with Adrien. Not like you can afford it anyways."

Not only did he know where she lived, but he knew about her eviction notice?

What the hell else did he know?

Grey pushed open the door to the restaurant, holding it for Adrien. She murmured a curt thanks and immediately went to Muse's side. Her stance turned almost . . . protective.

"What were you two talking about?" she asked Muse.

"The weather." Julien didn't wait for Muse to answer. "Sunny skies tomorrow."

Adrien didn't say anything, but her eyes lingered on Muse as if she would be able to see any damage her father might have inflicted.

"I have an early morning tomorrow," said Grey. "Meeting with some associates up at Smith and West. See you later, Adrien?" A wink. "Bye, Muse."

"Yes, goodbye," Julien said.

They couldn't have left fast enough for Muse. She breathed a sigh the moment they were gone.

Adrien leaned on the side of the brick building. Dressed in black, with the sharpness of her jaw and the curved ridge of her nose prominent in the dimmed half-light, she was so beautiful it hurt.

There were a million things Muse could have chosen to say. The job offer. Moving in together. How Julien knew her address.

But all Muse said was, "That dessert was awful."

Adrien let out a laugh. The dark, feminine chime made Muse's heart race. "God, you're right. You know what?"

"What?"

"We should get dessert. Right now."

It was past eleven, but New York City never really slept anyway. Muse felt herself smiling. "Should we?"

Adrien pushed herself off from her leaning position on the wall. "Yeah, we absolutely should. Come on, sweetheart. I know just the place."

The little pet nickname was a joke. And Muse had never liked nicknames. So at that moment she knew, right down to the very fibre of her being, that she was in trouble. Because the word sweetheart coming from Adrien's mouth shouldn't have made her blush. It shouldn't have made her heart beat even louder than before. It shouldn't have made her think of kissing Adrien, in the most feral and unrestrained way possible.

But it did. It did all of those things.

Muse let none of it show on her face. Instead, she took Adrien by the arm like they were some couple from the fifties.

"Okay, darling. Lead the way."