SEVEN HOURS LATER, and thankfully, with the help of motion sickness medication, I miraculously survived. Although, hunching over and spewing my guts out the moment I stepped out of the jet was not something I wanted to remember. And instead of checking up on me, August had looked horrified at the mess and told me how lucky I was that I held it in until we landed.

And I had learned that August was a bit of a mysophobic. When a man greeted him as I hurled my guts, August had tugged me by the wrist without flinching. The man in the suit had gasped, staring at me as if I was a Goddess. He had even fumbled with his phone, claiming to inform Mr. Laurent of a potential wife that August was yet to bring home. In return, August had called me temporary.

What offended me wasn't that I was called temporary, but the fact he seemed to think he had a chance in the first place.

But somehow, things worked out rather well. August offered to get dinner, and I certainly had no reason to refuse, especially after a petty man had put my credit card on hold for shits and giggles. And when he said we would go to a small place, I didn't expect to show up to a five-star restaurant—not one where you had to book several months in advance. It also didn't come as a surprise when the owner graciously sucked up, spewing as many compliments as he could muster.

And when the owner briefly skimmed over to me, he nodded. The staff followed with piercing stares, almost in a pitying manner. Setting the two of us in the VIP lounge as a waiter poured a glass of champagne for me and wine for August. And it was when I heard the hushed whispers, talking of how I was another naive girl, trailing August as if I mattered. The words hadn't bothered me until I realized how this must have looked. Glancing toward him, August returned a prideful smile that seemed to mock me.

He was embarrassing me, purposefully drawing attention toward me. Attention may have been nothing to him, but there was a reason I'd been sheltered away from society. Despite an urge to punch August, he didn't know my situation, nor was he ever going to get close enough to find out.

I twirled the glass of champagne, observing how nervous the waiter was when he returned with our plates. "You're doing this on purpose, right?" I narrowed my eyes, sipping slowly. If the tabloids—no, if my father caught wind, he would lose his mind.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he shrugged, feigning innocence. "Besides, shouldn't you feel elated to be having dinner with me?"

Smiling tightly, I placed my glass down and ignored his comment. Taking a bite of pasta, I hummed in delight. "I also want dessert, by the way," I remarked, watching August raise his eyebrows as though he was asking me if that was all I wanted. "And a pink Lamborgini, please."

"Am I only an ATM in your eyes?" He pitifully pouted. "Baby pink?" Nodding enthusiastically, I mischievously clapped. Part of me wanted him to be joking, and the other half wanted him to be deadly serious.  "In all seriousness, what were you thinking making a bet with Daniel like that?"

I sent a dismissive gesture, "I wasn't," I truthfully stated. "The least you can do is put some faith in me."

"We're talking about the Caeden Storm," he emphasized with a frown. "My family has close ties with them, but he rarely attends any gala's or charity events."

Although the topic wasn't news to me, I played along anyway, "By the rumours, he keeps family-related issues discreet?"

"Is this your way of digging for information?" I pouted at his words. "To an extent. The only person who has never been in the media is his oldest daughter. He has kept her from being in the limelight. I've only met her a handful of times as children."

Tilting my head, I teasingly said, "Good, you would have scared her away with your arrogance."

"It's painful being this good-looking," he stuck out his tongue. And I found that on rare occasions such as this, August was bearable to be around, and it was also enjoyable. Though, perhaps I had spoken too soon and expected far too much.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a five-foot-six figure blazing with irk as her heels stomped toward our table. "Who the hell is this, August?"

He rubbed his temples, "What are you doing here, Paisley?"

"It's Peyton," she tapped her foot impatiently, unfazed by the fact he had called her by the wrong name. "Have you downgraded your standards to nobodies?"

I raised my eyebrow, resisting the urge to burst out in laughter. Peyton Hills—the A-listed model who made her debut in her teens. Although she was a few years older, it was surprising to see how she'd fallen for August's charms. She may have been gorgeous, but her personality said otherwise. "You can go now," she shooed, and when I sat unwillingly, Peyton searched through her Dior handbag for a chequebook. "How much do you want to get lost?"

Sending August a pointed look, his eyes begged me to save him. He clearly attracted the wrong type of females and was currently using me as a shield. Huffing, I shook my head, giving him a warning glance. "This is my girlfriend, Peyton," he slyly beamed. "She's met my parents, and they love her."

Wait a fucking minute! When my brain processed my words, I mouthed as many curse words at him as I could think. Then shifting in my chair, I leaned forward to kick his shin under the table. "He's lying," I blurted out. First, it was Nicolas, and now it was August.

August reached over to my clasp my hands tightly. Attempting to shake his grip, he tightened his hold. "Sweetheart, there's no reason for you to lie," he whispered incoherently, "She's crazy. Please help me," I shook my head. Lamborgini, he mouthed.

"Peyton, wasn't it?" I tried my hardest to keep a straight face. "Buttercup and I are in a serious relationship, and his father would like it if his ex-flings would refrain from embarrassing themselves like this in the future."

She looked mortified, "B-Buttercup?!"

August coughed, eyeing me coldly. "Isn't it an adorable nickname?" How dare you embarrass me this way? That was what he would have demanded if he could speak freely. "So do us both a favour and piss off."

I waved to her, finding her embarrassed and infuriating expression entertaining. She picked up my glass of champagne, and without hesitation, poured it over August. When Peyton reached for another glass while glaring, I caught her wrist. Pulling her into earshot, innocently grinned, "You and I both know the real reason you got on Vogue."

Her face turned bright red. Whipping her hand out of my grasp, she threw the glass toward the wall above me and stomped away. Flinching momentarily from the racket, I let out a sigh, "What were you thinking when you went for someone like her?"

"The same reason you did when you agreed to Daniel's bet," he countered, "I wasn't," with a shrug, he had patted his black dress pants with a napkin. "We should get going now, huh?"

I held up a finger, "I should get going," I corrected him, wiping my lips free from the alfredo sauce. "You and I shouldn't be seen together, so let's keep it to a minimum," standing up, I pulled the bag over my shoulders. "See you, and drop my luggage at the hotel."

He blinked, perhaps unable to comprehend what had happened. And before he could respond, I had passed through the backdoors, scrolling through the list of contacts in my phone for Landon's. On the third ring, a cheerful voice answered, "Where should I pick you up?"

"I'll be at the end of the street by La Monti," I replied, "Don't ask why. It's been a long day."

He laughed, seeming to be fumbling with his keys, "I'm by there, so stay put for ten minutes."

"Thank you," I exhaled before he hung up. Huffing from the heat, I strolled toward the end of the street as I thought about the possible excuses I could make. Landon was my personal driver, but above that, he reported to my father about my whereabouts. Even so, my father had made sure to fly Landon out to France in case I needed something.

Slumping onto a bench by a nearby fountain, I pretended to busy myself from the whistles that came. When a series of honks threw me out of my passive state, I immediately tossed a toothy smile to the driver. I raised my brows at the sleek black Levante Maserati. Breathing in relief, I was ever so grateful that Landon had the air-conditioning on full blast. And when I spotted my favourite drink in the cupholder, I dramatically sent an air-kiss. "You're an angel, Landon."

As Landon drove off, a familiar caller ID popped onto my lock screen. After a sigh, I decided to pick up. "How the hell did you disappear so quickly?"

"Taxies are quick," I casually lied. "Don't worry, I'm on my way to the hotel," hanging up, Landon wore a curious gaze. "I don't have a boyfriend, so don't get any ideas. I've been reminded how I can't have a boyfriend until I'm married."

"Then get a girlfriend," he teased, and in response, I punched his arm. "How's school going? Have you made any friends?"

I choked at his question. My family had promised not to monitor me during my studies, but they were also compulsive liars. "Y-Yeah! It's been great. I've been more focused on my classes than making friends."

"So, according to your words, you're anti-social?"

If that makes it more believable, I thought. "You could say that," I trailed off, widening my eyes, turning to my head to the window. "You guys haven't broken your promise, right?"

"No, they've decided to let you be free at the academy," he began. "He told me to tell you he's heartbroken that you ignored his calls."

My jaw dropped, "So heartbroken that he put my credit card on hold?" A chuckle escaped from Landon's lips, and it was all the answer I needed. When the car finally stopped, I dreaded going. It was suffocating to be around the elites of society. Mustering my courage, I turned behind, "See you, Landon."

"Have fun!" He called, waving as I slammed the door shut. Landon flinched at the impact and pointed an accusing finger.

Sorry, I mouthed. Skimming my surroundings shortly to make sure that I knew no one, I rushed into the hotel. And when I noticed that August was yet to arrive, I headed to the reception desk. "Calista Lockhart," I leaned over the counter and whispered.

With a sudden gasp, the receptionist shot up from her seat. "Miss Lockhart, you're back!" She exclaimed excitedly, "I'll call the manager right away!"

"Wait, that's not–" unable to finish my sentence, she had dashed into the backroom. "Necessary." I sighed. Peeking a look behind me, I grew conscious of the prying eyes.

When the manager rushed out minutes later, dishevelled and out of breath, he beamed. "It's been a while. H-Have you been well?" He straightened out his suit, gesturing me to follow him to a room that I assumed was the VIP lounge.

Having no motivation or willpower to argue in front of others, I obliged. Upon entering, I was greeted by a table of snacks and the highest grade of alcohol. Moving to take a seat, he diligently shifted to pour a glass full of my favourite rosé champagne. "You usually go by Lexus Creed, but I assume you'd like to be called Calista Lockhart for the duration of your stay?"

I could sense how nervous he was by the way his hands unsteadily poured. "I do business under the name of Lexus Creed," I corrected, crossing my legs as I found comfort in the brown leather seats. Although it was considered an inconspicuous name, it happened to be my initials backwards. "Please treat me like any other guest," picking up the key and keycard he left on the coffee table, I dangled them in front of my face. "Nice to see you too, but lighten up," chuckling with a shake of my head, I headed toward the elevator. "And Marcus?"

He looked both surprised and honoured that I called him by his name. "Yes, Miss Lockhart?"

I placed my index finger over my lip in a hushing manner. "Let's keep my identities a secret, yes?"