Clive’s teeth gleamed like little white targets for my fist.
What the actual fuck? She couldn’t possibly like—
The bet. It hit me like a freight train. I’d forgotten about our wager, but it made sense why she was indulging Clive’s delusions.
Ivy and I weren’t on a real date, so I didn’t have to worry about scoring a second one; I could just say I had. Meanwhile, Scarlett was under the impression that she needed to work for hers.
At least, that was what I told myself because the alternative explanation was too nauseating to contemplate.
Since she didn’t know Ivy was a cover, I had to make an effort to “win” or she’d get suspicious.
“Did I mention that Ivy is studying environmental law at the University of London?” I said. “She’s brilliant.”
“You got a lawyer to go out with you? Impressive,” Scarlett said. It was lighthearted enough to pass as a joke but pointed enough for me to know it wasn’t.
I narrowed my eyes while Clive smirked.
“Law student,” Ivy corrected with a laugh. “I mean, it’s Asher Donovan. Who wouldn’t want to go out with him?”
Clive’s smirk disappeared.
A wisp of discomfort coasted through my stomach, but I washed it away with more wine.
Ivy was playing her part. I couldn’t fault her for that. Still, I wished she would’ve called me Asher instead of Asher Donovan. I shouldn’t complain, considering how many doors the latter opened for me, but sometimes it felt a little dehumanizing, like I was a walking brand instead of a person.
Scarlett’s brow creased with a small frown. She slid a glance at me, her gaze oddly questioning, before she turned back to Ivy. “So, environmental law. Do you have a specialty?” she asked.
Ivy lit up for the first time since she saw Clive. “Marine protection, but I’m interested in the management of hazardous substances and wastes too.”
For the next half hour, she regaled us with details about her courses while we ate our appetizers—Scarlett silent, Clive scowling, and me interjecting with the occasional mmm and wow.
I was all for saving the environment, but truthfully, listening to the intricacies of the UN’s High Seas Treaty while we ate gourmet crab cakes wasn’t my idea of a good time.
Ivy seemed oblivious to the growing tension. Thankfully, the server brought out our main courses and interrupted her before she could go into more detail about exploited fish stocks.
“This lobster is delicious.” Scarlett speared a piece with her fork and held it out to Clive. “Here, try.”
“Thanks, babe.” Clive shot me a smug look and ate the lobster tail straight off her fork.
Scarlett and I reacted with simultaneous grimaces, but when I focused on her, her face had already smoothed into a smile.
“Tell us about rugby,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about it.”
She cast the bait, and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker. If there was one thing men loved, it was talking about themselves.
While Clive extolled the virtues of rugby and his “importance” on the pitch, Ivy poked at her pasta with a frown.
“Ivy, darling, would you like more wine?” I asked solicitously.
The word darling tasted strange when aimed at someone who wasn’t Scarlett, but I swallowed my misgivings. We were halfway through dinner, and it was time to take things up a notch.
Scarlett’s seeming fascination with Clive’s rugby rant faltered.
“Yes, please.” Ivy pushed her glass toward me. She might’ve hated wine at uni, but perhaps she had developed a new appreciation for it because she gulped it down like a desperate woman who’d finally stumbled upon an oasis in the desert.
The dinner dragged on.
If I hadn’t regretted the double-date idea before, I sure as hell did now. Listening to Clive talk was insufferable. Seeing Scarlett stroke his ego with questions and encouraging nods was worse.
I tossed back my drink and glared as she laughed at his stupid joke about a priest taking up rugby. Anyone could’ve seen the conversions punchline coming.
“Excuse me.” Ivy’s chair scraped back with a rasp of wood against the carpet. “I don’t feel too well. I’ll be right back.”
Concern leaked through my irritation. I’d been so focused on Scarlett and Clive, I’d neglected Ivy. Her face did look paler than when we’d arrived, but she hurried off before I could respond.
Her departure cast an immediate pall over the table.
Clive stared after her, then tossed his napkin on the table and stood. “I have to use the loo, too. I’ll be right back.”
Five seconds later, he disappeared into the hall housing the toilets.
Yeah. Not suspicious at all.
I didn’t know why Ivy and Clive broke up, but judging by their reactions to each other, the attraction wasn’t dead.
I couldn’t have planned it better myself. Maybe they’d rekindle their flame and Clive could leave Scarlett the fuck alone. Ivy was too good for that wanker, but if she was into that, then it was none of my business.
Scarlett and I sat in silence, the specter of our dates and a thousand unspoken words hanging over us.
